by Ron Collins
An image of Karl Malloy flashed across his mind.
Malloy, his compatriot who had been a U3 mole. Malloy, the man who set the explosive charges that resulted in Everguard’s destruction and some two thousand deaths.
“We didn’t save everyone.”
Admiral Montague cleared his throat. “You saved everyone who could be saved, Commander,” he said.
Torrance’s agreement was only a faint nod.
Commander, he thought.
He hadn’t expected that. The rank sounded odd on his tongue as he pretended to say it. Three syllables instead of six. Strange. He sat back in his chair, still on alert but taking in the three of them.
Umaro’s gaze was firm.
The other two men sat in their chairs, waiting like gamblers at a horse race.
“There’s more to this, isn’t there?” he asked.
“I need you to do something for me,” Umaro replied.
The temperature of the room dropped.
“I want you to accept an assignment to the Eta Cass system.”
“Eta Cass?” he said.
“That’s where Universe Three has set up shop,” Umaro replied.
Understanding dawned.
Universe Three had been jumping Icarus and Einstein into the Solar System to pick people up—or kidnap people, if you believed certain news outlets—and transport them to whatever base of operations they had set up. Torrance had also heard gossip about an operation the United Government had run against the terrorists after Starburst, but he had never seen anything official about it.
“You’ve just given me classified information.”
“As of this morning, you’re cleared.”
“Wasn’t that presumptuous?”
“Was it?”
Her gaze cut into him. The world around him began moving a little too fast.
“We’re going to retaliate?”
Umaro shook her head.
She slid from the corner of her desk and moved to stand behind her chair, her long fingers curled over its edge as she leaned against its back.
“That’s what everyone expects us to do, isn’t it? The press is reporting the loss of Everguard put the war is back into ‘hot’ mode, so I’m sure everyone expects us to go in guns blazing.”
Torrance felt the intensity of the captain and the rear admiral as she spoke.
“But the supreme president has decided to go a different way. We’re going to attempt to bring this violence to an end by sending a negotiating team to Eta Cass.”
“We’re giving up?”
“Is that frustration in your voice?”
“I’m sorry if that was inappropriate.”
“I understand frustration, Torrance.”
“We all do,” Captain Douglas added from the side.
A flicker of annoyance came across Umaro’s gaze as she stepped around the chair and took her seat again. She was clearly upset by the Douglas’s ad lib, but by the time she spoke, her expression was back under control.
“We want to discuss our common goals.”
“Do we have common goals?”
“Universe Three is small enough that they can’t afford to lose people, and with our full manufacturing capability still a standard year away, we can’t afford to lose equipment.”
Torrance gripped the arm of his seat with his good hand.
He didn’t like discussing loss of life as if it was nothing but a bargaining chip. It was that kind of truth telling that made him uncomfortable with the service.
“You’ve been at flight on Everguard for the past fifteen standards, Commander,” Umaro said. “Which means you have no way to fully understand what it’s like to fight this kind of interstellar war. They jump in, pound our forces while they kidnap our people, and then get out before we can jump Orion in to defend them. U3 understands these missions—they know precisely how long it takes a warning call to travel from their target to Kensington, which is where we station Orion because that’s the optimally shortest distance from what our intel officers consider to be U3’s primary targets. That means they have a window for every op. They’ve been precise about it—just under an hour on-station around Jupiter, less than twenty minutes at Mars, jumps to Ceres are timed to last under ten minutes.”
“Impressive,” Torrance said.
“It is, isn’t it?” Montague replied.
Umaro continued. “The only advantage we have is that we can guess the mission window of every op they are likely to run.”
Douglas leaned into the conversation. “Which is like telling a kid that a holiday lasts twenty-four hours, but not letting him know what day it falls on.”
Umaro didn’t hide her glare this time.
“In the meantime,” Montague added, attempting to steer the conversation back onto track, “we can’t jump Orion out to attack them in their own home system because our bean counters are frozen with worry that we might lose her.”
“Which we might,” Umaro snapped.
“There appears to be discord in the chicken coop,” Torrance more mumbled than said.
“What’s that?”
“Nothing,” he replied. “Just something my dad used to say back when I was a kid.”
His dad had always tried too hard to be an earthy kind of a guy when in reality he was just an ordinary day worker, watching over robots, checking their programming, and doing quality control on their work. In some ways not much different from Torrance, really.
Umaro looked Torrance in the eye.
“If you get the idea that opening a negotiation with Universe Three isn’t setting well with everyone, you’re on point. Some think we should throw everything we’ve got into obliterating Atropos—which is where Universe Three has their home base. But most of our strategists say that even if we had the firepower to destroy U3—which we don’t, not yet anyway—well, they say the galaxy is too damned big.”
“Too many places to hide,” Torrance said.
“Right. We think Universe Three’s leadership has already put people in several other locations around the Eta Cass system.”
“That would make sense,” Torrance said. “Spreading their people would keep us from being able to destroy them in one blast.”
“Exactly.”
She glanced at Rear Admiral Montague, hesitating long enough for him to give a gesture that was half a shrug and half an expression of You’re On Your Own.
“Those same analysts say Francis is probably building his own Star Drive engines, too.”
The idea took Torrance back. “They’re copying us,” he said.
“Of course.”
“They’re stealing our scientists, too,” Douglas burst in.
“Bottom line,” Umaro said, “our analysts think that any attempt to crush them will result in Universe Three shuffling off to another planet and growing more resistant. They think a display of force would essentially strengthen U3’s will to dig in. Given the cost of war on a galactic scale, the supreme president has decided we can’t afford to keep throwing money into this situation. This is our chance to bring a peaceful resolution to this whole thing.”
The muscles along Douglas’s jaw rippled. He shifted in his seat but didn’t say anything.
“We are military,” Umaro said in response to the captain’s body language. “We don’t make policy, we enact it. So our intention is to jump Orion into U3’s system and ask Casmir Francis to board us for negotiations.”
“With all due respect, Admiral,” Torrance said. “I can’t imagine anyone from U3 would step aboard a United Government Star Drive cruiser right now.”
“That’s among the reasons we intend to meet on their turf.”
Her expression indicated she thought she had answered his question.
“We’ve already broadcast the request,” she continued. “Ambassador Reyes will arrive on station within a standard week. Assuming Francis agrees to our offer, the mission will launch shortly thereafter.”
“And if he doesn’t a
gree?”
Umaro shrugged. “Then that’s someone else’s problem.”
Torrance pursed his lips. “I see.”
And he did. No one in this room had any idea of what was really going to happen. He rubbed his sore hand absently.
Umaro seemed to be spent, Montague perplexed, and Douglas was just sitting there grinding his teeth to nubs.
“So,” Torrance said. “What do I have to do with this?”
Umaro gave a churlish grin.
“We’re struggling with a technical problem—integrating our newest weapon systems with Orion’s shipboard controllers. It needs to be working now if we’re going to protect our crew. You’re the highest-profile systems leader we’ve got. I want you to lead a technical team under Captain Douglas here. I intend to put you in charge of both Weapons and Systems. Make this happen, and I doubt commander will be your last stop.”
You’re the highest-profile systems leader we’ve got? What did that mean?
“H-MADS?” Torrance said.
It stood for Hallway Multithreat Analysis and Defense System. If the tech notes were accurate, H-MADS was a remotely monitored security system designed to use sensor feeds from hallways and chambers inside the ship to trigger defensive action.
Torrance’s skin grew cold.
“You’re prepared to gun people down on the ship?”
“I see you’ve been reading your technical notes.”
Montague leaned forward in his perch.
“Inviting U3 delegates aboard one of our spacecraft leaves us open to attack, Commander Black,” he said. “You see that, right? Especially if we open our doors to U3’s security personnel—which we assume will be necessary in order to ensure their leadership is comfortable. If you recall, the U3 security group knows everything about our Excelsior ship’s basic systems. We’ve upgraded several elements of it, but it’s safest to assume they’ve kept up with us.”
“You assume U3 has people in our ranks?”
“Of course we do,” Douglas said, the muscles of his jaw flexing. The captain clearly did not want Torrance on his team.
“Everguard alone proves that’s the best assumption,” Umaro added.
“That still doesn’t answer ‘why me?’ I mean, I’m out of date. I don’t know anything about modern systems.”
The admiral swiveled back in her chair. Her white jacket was stark against the soft leather of the seat. Montague sat straight and stiff. Douglas shifted with a satisfied grin that let Torrance know the captain had made this exact same argument earlier.
“Having you there closes the loop.”
Torrance swallowed hard, thinking about what that answer meant. “You want me because it makes a great story.”
Umaro raised one long finger. “You’re getting this opportunity because your background puts you in a position to command respect, and,” she extended a second finger, “you have proven you can keep your cool in tense situations.” She put her hand down. “But like it or not, you stand for something now. When you walk into a room your crewmates see a man who managed a tense situation, a man who understood his spacecraft, and a man who became responsible for saving hundreds of lives.”
He pursed his lips.
“That’s how it works, Torrance. Your skills are your ticket into the game, but a lot of people can acquire technical skills whereas not many can really lead. There are people in this command who would literally kill to have been in the position you found yourself in. You rose to a challenge. Entire careers are made of the kind of thing you just did.”
He hadn’t thought of it that way.
“So, while all three of us fully acknowledge that the PR you can bring to a successful mission has value beyond my ability to measure, I want you to understand that I’m not promoting you because you bring a crowd. I’m promoting you because I see your ability to get things done, and because I need your leadership on that ship.”
“I see.”
“This is your chance, Torrance.” Umaro intertwined her fingers and put her hands flat on the table before her as she leaned forward to stare directly at him. “This is your chance to be that one person who changes everything.”
Torrance frowned at Umaro’s quoting the chaplain. He flexed his mending hand and felt stiffness breaking away. The dull pain felt good. It felt right. The sleeve of his uniform carried the now-obsolete insignia of lieutenant commander. He thought about Marisa Harthing, lying in her hospital room, and about Thomas Kitchell, who would be released soon. He thought about friends who had died on Everguard, his teammates who had been hurt.
The impression of the data crystal in his pocket was a bump against his hip.
The military had been his life for a long time now. He had been purposefully ignoring the anxiety that came with the idea of decommissioning because he didn’t really know what he was going to do next. The idea of finding a peaceful solution to this whole mess was tantalizing.
And, quite honestly, it felt very good to be wanted.
“Will I still be able to study Alpha Centauri A’s signals?” he said.
“When you return?” the admiral asked.
“Of course.” He had waited years, what was a little longer?
“I don’t see any reason you shouldn’t. In fact, I would expect your role might give you access to expertise that might help you.” Her smile showed only a touch of condescension. “I would ask that you go through a standard peer-review process before making any statements, though.”
He gave a close-lipped nod of his head, considering.
She held her hand out over the desk, palm open. “Do we have a deal?”
He paused, then shook it.
“All I’ve ever wanted to do was to serve,” he said.
But that was wrong. He knew it the moment he said it. Marisa had been right all those years ago. Military service fit his personality, but Torrance Black had not wanted to serve. He had wanted to be exceptional. All his life he had wanted to be able to tell himself he made a difference. He wanted to be something more than a cog in the machine.
Until now, he had never really understood that.
CHAPTER 4
Atropos, Eta Cassiopeia System
Local Date: Studna 23, 9
Local Time: 0535
Giving Thunderbolt a final pat of appreciation, Casmir rode across the plot of land the people of Atropos City called the corral. It was a field where thunderhoofs and humans interacted, a few hundred meters per side and bordered by a pair of fences that had been built to mark boundaries rather than restrain movement. The ground here was more hard dirt than grass.
“Treat him well,” he said to the stable hand as he came to a halt and slipped out of the saddle.
The girl was maybe ten years old.
“I will, Director,” she said.
“I know you will,” he replied.
She gave him a confused look. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” he replied. “Why do you ask?”
“You left the bit in.”
He blushed, and went back to the animal. The stable hand would have handled it for anyone else, but Casmir had made a point of doing it himself and he was a stickler for this kind of detail.
“I’m sorry, old friend,” he said as he removed the harness. “I find myself suddenly distracted this morning.”
Thunderbolt didn’t react to the words, but the animal pulled back when Casmir ran his hand over his forehead.
The animal, it seemed, was also a creature of habit.
Casmir made a clicking sound from the back of his throat.
It was a tone of frustration more than anything else, because there was no way to explain to the animal what the mere idea of the United Government’s willingness to discuss independence meant to him. Not that the animal would have understood.
After removing the harness, Casmir left Thunderbolt to the girl. She would see he was groomed and had a proper feeding if he wanted it, then she would leave the animal free to rejoin the herd
and spend the rest of the morning doing whatever it was that these creatures did.
He stomped toward the Castle. Eta Cass had fully risen now and cast sharp-edged shadows across the ground. The smell of the land and the sight of the open sky reminded him of a time when he and Yvonne had traveled to Earth’s Australia, but the big-fronded trees and the unique smell of the nearby river brought him firmly back to this place and this time.
Universe Three had been here long enough that this was now home.
The comparison made him smile, though.
Atropos City and the Australian outback.
An interesting pairing.
Casmir walked on.
His home was a building the people of Universe Three had built for him in the first months of their colony’s existence. They took to calling it the Castle almost immediately, which made him uncomfortable at the time, but which had grown on him to the point where he found he liked the name as long as it was said with just the right amount of sarcasm. Universe Three had built onto it since those early days, though, and in some ways it now seemed like much more of its namesake than he was really happy with.
He pulled a leather glove off one hand as he strode past the security gate, and was working on the other when the door to the main building opened.
“It’s a trick,” Deidra said, stepping out with an entourage of security personnel right behind.
She was shorter than Casmir, and slighter, looking a great deal like Yvonne had in her younger days but with blond hair. She strutted boldly out to meet him, that long hair gleaming almost white in the early light.
“Good morning, my wonderful daughter,” he replied.
“I’m telling you, it’s a trick.”
He strode with her through the foyer and into the central corridor, where Martin Scalese and a collection of guards had gathered to escort them. The governing board would already have been assembled in what the group had taken to calling the Exchange Room, the large assembly area that spanned almost all of the building’s upper floor.
