Rosto looked at me with a studied, neutral expression.
“The Emporium had gone. It had been moved as the Imperium had invaded the Sector in force.”
“You are sure that it was the Imperium?” asked the vice admiral.
“Yes, sir. I emerged from hyperspace in the middle of the invasion fleet and was lucky to get out alive.” I waited for some expressions of sympathy or congratulations, but when none were forthcoming I continued. “I then carried on and landed on a the next occupied planet. Imperial ground forces were landing in force. I made contact with some locals, and was directed to a point close to the spaceport, in the hope that I might make contact with some of the resistance movement that was, well, resisting the Imperium. However, in this I was unsuccessful. I was attacked by Imperium armoured units and had to disengage the planet. Fortunately, I had by then met Annabelle here, and helped her to get off world.”
“Miss Stephens? Have you anything to add?” asked the admiral.
I clearly saw Rosto twitch his head in a negative gesture: Annabelle must have seen this too, for she replied: “That was a succinct description of Captain Russell’s arrival and departure from Calliope. I’ve nothing to add.”
“What did you do then?” asked the vice admiral.
“Sir, I had managed to obtain new co-ordinates for the Emporium. We travelled to that point, and found the craft. But it had been abandoned and booby-trapped in the expectation of the arrival of the Imperium. We just escaped alive and then, hearing on the comms channels that the whole Sector had been taken over by the Imperium, I deemed it wise to return here.”
“Without the Vipers,” pointed out the admiral.
“Or the money,” added the functionary, in a pointed tone.
“Sir, the money has nothing to do with me. You don’t pay for a squadron of Viper class scout ships in cash. You’d need a whole ship just to carry the money about!”
“Very well,” decided the admiral. “Miss Stephens, I believe Colonel Rosto will be debriefing you privately later.”
I could well believe that.
“Captain Russell, return to your quarters. I believe that the Reconnaisance Unit commander has some tasks for you on his desk. He will contact you accordingly.”
I got up and saluted. The two servicemen returned the gesture. The civilians – and here I include ‘Colonel’ Rosto – ignored me. I tried for the best military about turn that I could manage, and walked out. Behind me the voices rose as I closed the door.
I made my way to my quarters and took the opportunity to get a shower and some clean clothes. I had only just finished and was thinking about heading to the pilots’ mess to get some food when the door was opened and Rosto strolled in.
“Frank! Great to see you back, even if you didn’t come back with the spaceships I sent you to collect.”
“Yeah, hi, Rosto. I’d say it was good to see you too, but you know how it is.”
“Come on, Frank. How was I to know that the Imperium were launching a full scale invasion?”
“Rosto, you work in intelligence. It was your job to know. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to get something to eat.”
“I’ll buy you lunch. And over lunch, I’ll tell you what I’ve got planned for you next.”
“Rosto, I’m a Free Union Space Corps pilot. Not your personal errand boy.”
Rosto’s expression never changed. “Frank, you are assigned to the Reconnaisance Unit. Which has been under my oversight for the last three months. I asked your Commander for you, and guess what? He agreed. So now you are my personal errand boy. Get used to it. And come and have some lunch.”
Oh well, at least I was going to get a free meal out of it.
Rosto led me down the corridors to the pilots’ mess. Although he wasn’t a pilot, no one wanted to challenge his presence in the mess and when we had full plates from the buffet he merely waved at the cashiers, and they ‘forgot’ to charge for the food. This was worrying. If Rosto suddenly had the clout to avoid paying for meals in the mess (an organisation that once famously dealt with a payment dodger by having the eaten food surgically extracted from his stomach without anaesthetic on the kitchen counter), then he was seriously influential. Perhaps I needed to be careful.
Rosto took me to a table well away from the other diners. He leant back in the chair he chose, and stared out at the stars through the viewing windows. A star shuttle passed across the screen, an entrancing and beautiful sight. Or it would have been if the shuttle hadn’t been covered in rust stains and badly in need of some tender loving care from a bodyshop.
“Frank, I’m going to be frank.”
“You want to trade jobs? Be my guest.”
“You need not repeat this. In fact, if you do I’ll probably have you horribly killed. Nothing personal you understand.”
“You’ll have me killed and I’m not to take it personally?”
“Things aren’t too good right now, Frank.”
I realised that Rosto was deadly serious, so I started eating. Then I stopped in case I had the condemned man’s last meal in front of me.
“The Imperium is quietly expanding, and putting pressure on our borders. There are small incidents, accidents, and incursions on an almost daily basis now. The trend is growing. The Imperium seems to be waiting for an excuse to trigger an attack, but we need to know where and when.”
“Rosto, what actually happened to the Emporium?”
“What do you mean?”
“It all seemed so easy for the Imperium. There were no signs of any real conflict. No debris. And when we finally got on board the Emporium itself, it had been cleaned out. All the stock and money and people.”
Rosto looked at me without speaking.
“You can’t empty something that size in the time that they had available – if it was a surprise attack. I think that the CEO knew the Imperium was coming for his Sector.”
“Sometimes Frank, you are distressingly bright. I hope that you are bright enough to be able to keep such thoughts to yourself. Yes, we too think that the CEO sold his Sector to the Imperium without telling the other Merchant Princes what he was doing.”
I started eating again, satisfied. The rich and powerful always look after themselves and each other. “I suppose he has organised a nice, soft, cushy exile for himself, then.”
“Indeed he has, Frank. A nice, temperate, garden world in a star system inside the Imperium’s borders. Wine, women, money – he lacks nothing.”
“Typical.”
“Which is why I’m thinking of sending you to kidnap him.”
I sprayed a mouthful of food across the table in horror. Rosto fastidiously picked some potato from his lapel and dropped it on the floor. A small cleaning bot whizzed up at once, ingested the potato chunk with a self-satisfied burp and sped off again.
“I take it you are surprised?” Rosto asked, amiably. He picked up his fork and picked at his food while I tried to recover the power of speech.
“Why? Why do you want him? And why send me?”
“Hum. The easy questions first, eh?”
Rosto stirred the food on his plate and then ate some without any sign of enjoyment. I could empathise with that: I wasn’t enjoying the taste of this meal either. It was proving to be rather indigestible. I glanced around the mess. The other flight crew were playing cards, drinking, or showing their bravery and distaste for danger by eating the food.
“Frank, we are concerned that Colonel Starker has had a major success with this operation. In return for some money – something the Imperium has in great quantity – he has taken over a strategically important Sector. We no longer have such easy access to the Merchant Princes’ quadrant. If they still have the Viper class ships we paid for, then it is harder for us to get our hands on them. The risk to their main battle fleet was very low. They seem to have had no damage or losses at all from intercepted reports.”
I was about to mention the mayhem I had caused by my unexpected appearance amongst t
he Imperium fleet, but thought better of it.
“If that’s how Starker operates, then there is a fear that he could be trying the same tactic with us. That he has a Sector Commander in his sights who will not resist an attack.”
“Seems a bit unlikely to me. Is that a guess, or do you know something?” I asked, turning my attention to the pudding provided with the meal. I prodded it with my fork: it resisted. I pushed it again. This time the pudding pushed back and I abandoned any idea of eating it.
Rosto looked around the room. No one was nearby, or in earshot. “We have heard a whisper. A rumour. Gossip.”
I looked unimpressed. Rosto pushed out plates aside and bent across the table to get close to me.
“The gossip comes from inside Starker’s organisation.”
Now I was impressed. Listening into Colonel Starker’s Black-Ops operation was quite an achievement, and collecting the gossip even more so.
“There is someone who is prepared to talk to us. Well, in this case, it will be to you.”
“Me?” I had a horrible dread of the next line.
“So, your immediate mission will be to meet this individual. He is going to give you a name, maybe more. But just a name will be enough.”
“Who would be so insane as to rat on Starker?”
“Someone who is brave enough to penetrate his Black-Ops team for us.”
I was amazed. Anyone who was caught spying on the dreaded Colonel Starker was likely to have a limit on his lifespan. And be terribly grateful when that limit arrived, as the time just before it would have been filled with interest.
“Your mission, Captain Russell, will be to proceed to the co-ordinates you will be given and there meet with this person. You will be passed some intelligence, which you will not record in any way; you will return here and report only to me.”
I gazed at him with horror.
“Come on Frank, you’ve experience in this type of mission. All you have to do is to fly in, get the word, and fly out again.”
“Yeah, right.”
Rosto bent forward again. “And if it looks like you aren’t going to get back, send me the name. In code if you can, in plain speech if you can’t.”
“It matters that much?”
“It matters that much, Frank.”
“Then why me?” I was aware that a slight whine was present in my tone. “I don’t want to get myself killed!”
“Because, Frank, you are the most skilled pilot that I know.”
I did preen myself a little at that.
“At running away,” added Rosto. This rather took the shine off the compliment. “And someone who is the best at running away is what I need for this mission. Frank, this could be vital for the survival of The Free Union.”
So, no pressure, then.
“If you succeed with this mission, I can almost guarantee that you will be back in a StarDestroyer as captain, probably in charge of your own flotilla. All sins, errors and transgressions forgiven and forgotten. Tempting?”
I was tempted. We men are so easily tempted, aren’t we? And like most tempted men, I fell. “Okay Rosto, I’m in.”
“As you are going outside the Free Union boundaries, you are technically a volunteer for this mission. We cannot give you the security of formal orders.”
I thought about that. Then I decided that I didn’t want to think about it. If I fell into the hands of Colonel Starker, it wouldn’t matter if I had orders or not. He would enjoy my company for as long as I could remain alive; I’d rather not be taken alive than that.
“Your Speedbird is being serviced ready for the mission. You can go direct to the maintenance dock. Your mission codes will be in a sealed envelope of the flight console when you arrive, together with the co-ordinates to use.” Rosto stood up, pushing his chair back out of the way. “Good luck, Frank. The hopes of The Free Union fly with you. The Free Union!” He saluted formally.
I rose and copied the gesture. “F U to you, too.” I sat and toyed with the food a little more, not hungry but not in a hurry to move. Eventually I realised that I was being loomed over by two uniformed enforcers.
“We will escort you to the dock, sir,” one said.
“That’s fine, I know the way.”
“We will escort you to the dock, sir.”
“Really, it’s fine.”
“We will escort you to the dock, sir.”
Clearly the gorillas had been programmed with only one speaking line and were happy to repeat it as often as possible. With a big sigh, I went with them.
“We have escorted you to the maintenance dock, sir,” said one gorilla in a break from his script. As this was self evident, I didn’t bother to reply. The enforcers shoved me through the door into the maintenance dock and marched off into the bowels of the base. I was out of options, so I thrust my hands into my pockets and mooched off across the floor of the maintenance dock towards my Speedbird.
The Scoutship was surrounded by an energetic team of one mechanic. Mike, the Chief Mechanic of Star Fleet Base was leaning on the hull next to the entry hatch, whistling some rude song beloved of mechanics.
“All done, Frank,” he said as I reached him. “There was nothing to do really, except refill the defence pods with mines. How did you use so many?”
I shrugged. “They were chasing me.”
“Next time, try paying your bar bill?”
I laughed, dutifully.
“They are keeping you busy, Frank. What’s that about?”
“I’m not keen on hanging about round here. I always seem to get into trouble.”
“As opposed to being out in space, where you get into trouble?”
“There’s more room to run away out there, Mike.”
Mike sighed. “Look after yourself, Frank. And for heaven’s sake look after this bird. There’s only a few of them flying now, and Star Fleet have started using Frigates and StarDestroyers instead in Reconnaisance.”
“That bad?”
“Yes. The border patrols are a bit thin on the ground now. It’s worrying.”
I opened the entry hatch and climbed onboard.
“Good luck, Frank.” Mike shook my hand, a formality he usually disregarded.
I grimaced, and closed the hatch. I watched Mike stride away from the Speedbird, and with a sinking feeling climbed the spiral staircase into the living area. The door to the flight deck was open: I went in and sat in the pilot’s seat. Taped to the screen immediately in front of me was an envelope. I tore it open, and there inside were the mission codes and clearances, and another envelope. I looked inside that. It contained four closely handwritten sheets of paper, giving me the mission parameters and instructions. Clearly these were too sensitive even to have been entrusted to a typist of a word processor. There is nothing like old fashioned handwriting for keeping things secret these days, is there? When every computer can be watched and every terminal monitored, secrets can still be kept the old-fashioned way.
I mused a little: then started the engines and called Star Fleet Base Flight Control.
“Star Fleet Control, Speedbird Six Sixty-Six. Mission code AX Fifteen Delta. Operational flight clearance Zulu One One One. At maintenance dock, request departure.”
The reply came quite quickly. “Speedbird Six Sixty-Six, Mission codes and clearance accepted. You are clear to depart at your convenience.”
I opened up the power: the Speedbird trembled then lifted easily from the maintenance dock. Shortly afterwards we headed out of the last main airlock, and started negotiating the busy traffic around Star Fleet Base. Shuttles, StarDestroyers, Star Cruisers and all manner of smaller support craft flitted about in profusion and wild abandon. It felt less like an orderly departure on a vital secret mission and more like an arcade game, but eventually I cleared the throng and set course for an uninhabited star system a short distance away. Once there, I flew the Speedbird into an orbit around an inner planet, and sat back with a large coffee to think.
This mission was peril
ous. It was clear that if I got into trouble there was no help coming for me from The Free Union. I wasn’t even sure that the man I was going to meet would be there, that if he was there it was not – for some strange reason – a trap for an unwary Captain Russell, and that if all else was in order that I would not in some way be betrayed by a renegade or simply corrupt official in The Free Union.
Oh joy, oh joy, oh joy. For a moment, I thought quite seriously about deserting. Just taking off and, well, taking off. The Speedbird had fuel, food for a decent length of time, and the defence pods were full of assorted nasty surprises to spring on any ill-intentioned people I might come across. Who would miss me?
Too many people, I realised. Colonel Rosto, my boss at the Reconnaisance Unit, the admiral, and probably others. Plus, the career I had enjoyed, more or less, since joining the Space Corps in my late teens would be over. Better to give this mission a go first. I typed the co-ordinates into the navcomm and hauled the Speedbird out of orbit.
Chapter six
We’re all going to the zoo
Seeing a new planet from space for the first time is a thrill, there is no denying it. However, it should be pointed out that the elderly Speedbird Class scout ship has no facility for washing or cleaning clothes so when the new planet is also unexpectedly home to what appears to be the better half of the enemy’s Counter Insurgent Fleet, it is also vitally important for the visiting pilot to avoid emptying his bowels at the sight.
Luckily for me I hadn’t eaten for a few hours, and I had planned to approach the star system on a trajectory that would offer me some cover. I tucked the Speedbird behind a convenient moon and wondered how on any earth I was going to get through the sort of security cordon that Starker’s Black Ops fleet could create.
The mission plan was simple. I had the co-ordinates of a landing place that was deemed accessible and unobtrusive. Then I had to make my way to a nearby location as the contact had a very narrow window for contact, if you follow me. Surely, I thought, even official mission briefings could use some variety in expression? Apparently not. That was a penalty for working for Colonel Starker, I presumed. I fed the landing co-ordinates into the navcomm and made an executive decision – I would have more coffee.
Infinity Is For Losers Page 9
