by Dani Kollin
“Assault miners.”
“But there were no assault miners used.” Even as she said it, Suchitra realized her mistake. “By Vishnu, I’m the most dung-headed fool there ever was. I may as well be a Tully. I had a huge advantage in assault miners. I should have used them, if only—”
“—if only to distract me and possibly cost me a ship or two,” agreed J.D. “You would’ve lost a lot of ’em, but you had a lot to lose.”
Suchitra nodded. “J.D., are you sure I’m the spacer you need?”
“Positive,” J.D. answered without the slightest hesitation, “especially after today.”
“Today you kicked my ass.” It was said loudly enough for the other spacers to hear. Polite chuckles arose from those close by.
“So what? I’m better at this than you are—for now. But it’s not that you lost; it’s how you dealt with it. You were commanding your forces till the end. No matter how I surprised you, you always remained in command, always attempting to strike at me any chance you got. And though a bit roughshod, it worked: you eventually wiped out everything I had. I’m guessing the next time we battle, I’m not gonna have it so easy.”
Suchitra bowed respectfully. “I will earn my victory over you.”
“I don’t doubt it, but there’s only one victory that will matter, Suchitra.”
“Trang.”
“Trang,” agreed J.D. as both raised their drinks in a toast to their enemy.
“Excuse me,” J.D. said, pulling a DijAssist from her pocket. A dullish yellow glow pulsed from the unit until she spoke. “What is it, Jasper?” J.D. nodded as her eyes fixed on Suchitra. “Yes, I understand.” She then slipped the DijAssist back into her pocket.
“Admiral, you are to head back to the Otter immediately. I’ll fill you in on the way.”
Both admirals rose to their feet, and as they did, the din of the officers’ club came to a halt.
Soon both Suchitra and J.D., followed by their entourages, filed out of the officers’ club, celebration over. The two admirals, walking shoulder to shoulder, finally split off—one turning left at the hatch while the other turned right.
* * *
In perfect synchronization, Jasper Lee got out of the command chair as J.D. slid in. The fleet, per her orders, had been put on standby alert. J.D. scanned the sensor reports on the approaching ship. It was a standard UHF military shuttle built for a max complement of eight, though for an extended trip, only four could really use it comfortably. What a short-range shuttle was doing this far away from a UHF base or capital ship was a real mystery, and J.D. was ruthlessly suspicious of mysteries—especially those arriving out of nowhere and at the doorstep of an Outer Alliance fleet on its way to the enemy’s capital.
Marilynn Nitelowsen looked up from her display console. “Admiral, I have some information that may have bearing on this.”
J.D. nodded and beckoned the fleet’s newest intelligence officer over. She was aware that Marilynn’s loyalties had been divided, and suspected that if push came to shove, the President would probably win out. Sandra O’Toole demanded loyalty, and now J.D. understood not only why but also how she got it. It helped that the scales had finally started to tip in the Alliance’s favor—due in no small part to the President’s machinations. There was simply no way in hell that the UHF had 0.003 variance in accuracy, no matter how much it seemed like a programming glitch—Sandra. No way Kirk Olmstead wouldn’t have tried to unseat the President, but now he was gone—Sandra. No way J.D. should be heading toward Mars, even—Sandra. When J.D. had confronted the President about it Sandra promised with the assuredness of a prophet that when J.D. needed to know, Marilynn was under full orders to tell her. J.D. didn’t press it. The logic was sound, and the results, readily apparent. She’d agreed—even if somewhat begrudgingly—to trust her and therefore put her life as well as the lives of her spacers into the hands of not only a veritable stranger but also that stranger’s emissary.
Marilynn stood respectfully next to J.D.’s command chair, awaiting orders.
J.D. activated a privacy field. “Okay, what’ve we got?”
“Have you received the intelligence briefing on Neela Cord?” Marilynn’s face was unusually somber.
“Yes,” answered J.D. with equal solemnity.
“I don’t think it’s a coincidence that Porfirio Baldwin is dead and Angela Wong is missing, Admiral.”
“No, it’s not. But neither of them were the intended targets, so it also means Neela must have missed.”
“Agreed.”
“What does any of this have to do with—” J.D. turned her head to stare at the incoming shuttle on her sensor array. “—that?”
“It could be the sleeper.”
J.D. nodded for Marilynn to continue.
“The timing is right from when Porfirio Baldwin was killed. If the sleeper fled that night and had a shuttle modified for long-term operations, this is about how far they would’ve gotten going slow enough to play it safe.”
“A lone shuttle this far from anything is not exactly what I’d call, ‘playing it safe.’”
“True, but keep in mind we’re taking this route for a reason.”
“It’s the quickest path to Mars.”
“And the reverse is also true. This is the quickest path from Mars into Alliance Space. A shuttle moving too fast is an obvious target, slow enough and it’s just another dawdler straying too close to the border.”
“And the fact that their escape path perfectly intersects with ours?”
“Not perfectly, Admiral.” Marilynn’s finger drew a line across the array. “The shuttle had been following this path—the most logical for escape—until it became aware of us. It then altered course to intercept.”
J.D. listened attentively, silently considering. “So, no concerns, whatsoever?” she finally asked Marilynn.
“Actually, many. I only point out another possible variable.”
“If it is the sleeper,” asked J.D., her curiosity finally getting the better of her, “any ideas as to who it might be?”
“I wasn’t told, sir. I’m not even a hundred percent certain the UHF knows.”
“But you do have a suspicion.”
Marilynn nodded. “I find it interesting that Angela Wong disappeared at the same time as the attempt on Hektor’s life.”
“The brain drainer?” J.D.’s voice betrayed her skepticism.
“I admit it’s rather far-fetched, but talk about above suspicion.”
J.D. sighed heavily. “I really hope you’re wrong, Marilynn.”
“So do I, Admiral.”
J.D. ran her hand over another part of her console. “Get me Lopez of the Claim Jumper.”
The captain’s hologram suddenly appeared. “Lopez here, Admiral.”
“Hektor,” J.D. began.
“Please, sir. If you don’t mind, I prefer to be called by my last name.”
J.D. had forgotten the captain’s odd predicament; Hektor Sambianco Lopez had grown to hate his first and middle names but refused to change them out of pride. That didn’t mean, though, that he enjoyed hearing them spoken.
“My apologies, Captain Lopez. Please have the Claim Jumper intercept that shuttle. I want it scanned and boarded by your best insertion team. Till you know otherwise, assume it’s packed full of nukes and gray bombs. If it can be done safely, bring the shuttle into your landing bay. When you get an ID on the occupants, assuming there are any, let us know at once.”
For the next twenty minutes, J.D., along with the crew of the command sphere, watched in morbid fascination as the shuttle was boarded, a job made easier by its hatch opening at the exact moment of the insertion team’s arrival. There was one occupant, female. But the woman’s visor was shielded. In short order, the insertion team determined that both the shuttle and her occupant were of no danger to any Alliance ship and as such it was brought into the Claim Jumper’s cargo hold. The hatch opened, the four assault miners from the insertion team poured out and took
up positions waiting patiently for the shuttle’s sole occupant to emerge. Three minutes later she did, pausing momentarily before removing her helmet. As she lifted it up, a thick fold of long, vibrant white hair fell down onto her shoulders—Amanda Snow had arrived.
Her keen, cerulean eyes canvassed the bay, looking right past the insertion team and then past the even larger contingent of assault miners—all of whom had their fingers hovering near the triggers of their ARGs—as if the lot of them were bellhops at a swank hotel and she was an invited guest looking for a concierge. When a young lieutenant approached and had the apparent temerity to demand identification, Amanda glared at him with such assumed authority that the poor lieutenant momentarily forgot his station and tripped over his own words. As the lieutenant collected himself, Amanda slowly and quite methodically began stripping out of her space suit. J.D. and Marilynn watched in amusement as the lieutenant was made practically apoplectic by Amanda’s purposeful and very public striptease act. She soon emerged wearing, presumably, what she’d had on at the time of her escape—a stylish black mini cocktail dress, none the worse for the wear, accompanied by a pair of light gray suede ankle boots with taper pointed toes and three large decorative matching leather buttons down the outer sides. Once she was clear of her space suit, four-inch matching leather-covered stiletto heels emerged from the bottoms of the shoes, adding a few extra inches to her already leggy frame. Satisfied, she ordered the baffled lieutenant to take her luggage from the ship and bring her to, “whoever’s in charge around here.” The poor man, clearly out of his depth, actually took a half step up the ramp before remembering to call in the situation to his commanding officer.
* * *
J.D. had seen enough. “Not Angela Wong after all,” she said humorously. “Still, I think it would be best if she were transferred over to the Warprize II.”
Marilynn’s mouth formed a dry smile. “I’ll take a shuttle over and bring Ms. Snow back personally. I should get started on the debriefing.” When J.D. nodded her assent, Marilynn saluted and strode off.
Amanda Snow, J.D. said to herself, having the strangest feeling that this voyage to battle the enemy at their well-defended capital had just gotten a little more dangerous.
UHF Fleet HQ
Low orbit of Mars
Timian Ross, newly promoted to admiral, was not pleased by what he saw. He knew that something was wrong by the Alliance fleet’s lack of movement. They were not attacking or even getting in position to attack. They should at least have tried to destroy the facilities of the Martian Shipyards that had been sacrificially moved to the highest—and therefore most vulnerable—orbits. Those facilities were technically in the protection of the Martian orbat field as well as the fleet detachment still left at Mars, but they wouldn’t really be defended; everyone knew J.D.’s capabilities. As such the facilities could’ve been taken with minimal risk, but for some strange reason they hadn’t been. The Alliance fleet just stood there, waiting, driving the defenders into fits of anxious wonder. Timian had three hundred brand-new ships of all classes in orbit, but he knew that was as much of a problem as an asset. Brand-new ships and brand-new crews were practically useless in combat because it took time to get the ships properly fitted out and even more time to mesh that ship’s hardware, software, and crew. But the newly promoted admiral had just come to an awful conclusion—he was pretty sure that time had just run out.
General conference area
AWS Warprize II
Alliance fleet
Near Mars
“Thank you for coming,” J.D. said to her five commodores and single admiral. “I know this space is larger than we require, but the conference room in my quarters has been—how shall I put this?—repurposed by necessity.”
The group of commodores snickered. “I hear she really likes her new room,” said Commodore Paladin, taking out a little colorfully wrapped box. “This should go nicely in it.”
“You created gift paper?” said Commodore Cortez as she took out a small plain box without any wrapping whatsoever.
“At least you two put it in something,” said Commodore Cho, taking out a 1/64-size scale model of her ship, the AWS Busted Hole. She placed it firmly on the table.
J.D. gave a half smile. “Did all my commodores get my daughter presents when they should’ve been concentrating on attacking a location where this fleet once suffered its worst defeat of the war?”
Although J.D.’s tone was light, the room suddenly grew chill. Guiltily, Commodore Waterman and Commodore Lee Park put their models on the table as well, with Park having wrapped his ship in pretty red ribbon.
From her ever growing scowl, it soon became obvious that J.D. was not amused. She appeared about to rip into the group when Suchitra spoke up. “That was my responsibility, Admiral. I told the commodores about the models that Chief Engineer Hamdi had made for Katy and in a fit of pride insinuated that they should do likewise. They were simply following my lead.”
As J.D. considered Suchitra’s words, her face became austere. “Did you tell them to bring these presents to a combat briefing as well?”
“I might have done exactly that, Admiral. Again, my apologies.”
J.D.’s eyes narrowed. “This is not over.”
Suchitra bowed her head.
Inwardly J.D. was pleased. Her second-in-command had taken a hit for the team, and they all knew it.
“My concern for my daughter,” continued J.D. “is my concern, but this fawning over a six-year-old, especially on the eve of battle, must stop. I bear part of the blame and will talk with certain individuals of my own crew to see that this spoiling to the point of distraction stops. You will all pass my wishes on to your subordinates as well.”
The commodores all nodded. Not one of them looked down to the gifts that now sat in quiet accusation before them.
J.D. set the holo-display above the table to show the area of potential battle. There was a dense cloud of orbats circling the planet as well as a large UHF fleet circling below them. The upper orbits were filled with stations and hastily positioned asteroids to protect those stations.
The enemy is at the gate, thought J.D.
“It bears repeating, but the last time we came here we got our asses kicked. I want them to think that this”—J.D. now ran her fingers down the grooves of her face—“will make me overly cautious. This fleet will be cautious. As of now, I can’t tell you what our real plan is. You’re going into battle half blind, but if you follow the plan at its beginning, you will quickly understand what’s happening and why. Many of you are used to sharing battle plans with subordinates, but this time, I must ask you not to.”
“Better to be blind and led by a visionary,” offered Park.
“Than be sighted but led by the blind,” finished Suchitra, quoting an old Alhambra saying.
J.D. nodded, stood up, and without saying another word exited the room.
UHF Capitol
Burroughs
Mars
“Mr. President,” implored his security head, “you must evacuate to a secure, nontraceable location.”
“I’m under the protection of a large fleet and the densest orbat field in human history.”
“Mr. President, my review of the recent effectiveness of our orbat fields has not filled me with the greatest confidence. Further, you just so happen to be sitting smack-dab in the middle of a target that has maps detailing its very location on hundreds of Neuro sites—and with an enemy fleet less than three million kilometers away.”
“The orbats were quite effective once the glitch was fixed,” answered Hektor, quietly working away in the womb of his console. “I will trust them, but more important, the people of Mars and the UHF will see me trusting them—from this office.”
“Mr. President, I must insist—”
“Yes, it’s dangerous, Gretchen. Don’t you think I know that?” Hektor’s back was to her as he inserted some data crystals into a large computer. “But if I run and hide while we still ha
ve two impressive defensive arrays above our heads, the people will lose heart—and justifiably so.”
“When the situation changes—,” began the security chief.
“If the situation changes,” corrected Hektor, swinging his chair around and finally deigning to make eye contact, “I’ll consider your contingency plan.”
The security chief shot him a dubious look.
“Really, I will. But until then, I’m staying put and so is the entire government.”
Munitions Bay 3
AWS Warprize II
From the security of a sealed loft, the chief officer peered out the window to the cavernous bay below. It was filled to the brim with rocks of all shapes and sizes. Some were the size of softballs while others were the size of escape pods. In a ship known for its immaculateness, the small-sized asteroids had been dumped into the center of the bay, piled up like the detritus found at a Terran construction site.
“I still don’t know why she had us schlep a bay full of rocks.”
“Not just us, I’ve heard,” answered one of the techies.
“Yeah,” confirmed the chief, “all the heavy cruisers got at least one bay full.”
“Then my guess is to fling ’em at the orbats.”
The chief’s brow furrowed. “But that makes no sense.”
“Why not? Didn’t we throw asteroids at ’em in the Second Battle of the Martian Gates?”
“Yeah, but we picked them up locally.”
“Hmm,” grunted the techie as he sidled up to the chief and stared down into the bay. “My guess is they’re not ordinary rocks.”
“How so?”
“Haven’t you noticed? They haven’t moved a centimeter since we broke orbit.”
The chief grabbed his chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Huh.”
“I think they’ve been magnetized.”
The chief officer studied the rubble. He would’ve liked to go down and kick a few just to test out his subordinate’s theory, but he and the entire bay crew had been given strict orders not to enter the space for any reason whatsoever. “To what end?” he finally asked.
