Duty, Honor, Planet: The Complete Trilogy

by Rick Partlow

  “Yes, sir,” McKay admitted, looking him in the eye. “I want to go out there. I need to supervise this personally.”

  “McKay, in case you hadn’t noticed, you’re the head of the Fleet Intelligence Service,” O’Keefe couldn’t help but smile. “You have people to do this sort of thing for you now.”

  “I do, sir, and I trust them, but this isn’t a question of proper training or judgment…this is a question of experience. I know Antonov better than anyone else in the Republic military…I’ve looked in his eye, and I have a feel for him that no one that works for me does. I could get a sense for the data from reports, but that runs up against the time lag. If there is something further I think needs investigating based on findings from a report, it will take months to get that new investigation on the ground. I have a sense that we don’t have that kind of time.”

  “Yes,” O’Keefe admitted, nodding slowly. “I see where you’re coming from. Very well, it will raise some eyebrows, but the hell with them. You’ll be on a cruiser to the frontier as soon as you’re prepped. Is there anything else?”

  “Yes, sir,” he said. “I want to take Colonel Podbyrin with me.”

  O’Keefe raised an eyebrow. “The Protectorate officer you captured during the war?”

  “Yes, sir…we captured his ship in the Belt and used it to board Antonov’s flagship. He knows exactly how Antonov thinks. I believe he could help us.”

  “Where the hell is he, anyway?” O’Keefe blurted. “In prison?”

  “No, President Jameson was lenient with him because he cooperated with us. He was under supervised house arrest for a year for evaluation, then he was given some land and a start-up grant on Loki. He has a cattle ranch there, selling beef to the multicorps’ cafeterias and company markets.” McKay shrugged. “From reports, he’s pretty content there.”

  “You’re going to be burning a lot of antimatter on that trip,” the President mused. “But I don’t think anyone will praise my frugality if we wind up being invaded by Antonov’s things again. Our economy barely recovered from the first time and it wound up costing Greg Jameson his job.” He glanced up at McKay. “I know it’s not your area of expertise, but I’m not sure our economy has actually recovered…or that it will. It was the right thing to do to end the forced exiles, but combined with the war, it’s left us with inflation that might prove to be runaway unless we do something about it.”

  “Do something like what, sir?” McKay asked cautiously.

  “Have you heard of a bill in the Republic Senate to allow the use of biomech technology in private industry?”

  “Christ no!” McKay blurted. “Are they serious? Sir.”

  “That was my reaction as well, though as a politician, I had to be a bit more diplomatic about it,” O’Keefe said, chuckling softly. “The thing is, though…I may not have a choice in this. If things get much worse, it will get passed and if I veto it, it will be overridden. There are things I can do to try to derail it…but if I fail, I will have used up one hell of a lot of political capital for nothing and possibly made myself the first Republic president to be a lame duck for over half of his term.”

  “So, what can you do, sir?”

  “To stop the bill? Perhaps appeal to the people. There’s enough residual fear from the invasion that they might pressure the Senate to vote it down. About the economy?” He shook his head. “I wish I knew. But that’s my problem. Yours is Antonov. You solve yours and I’ll try to solve mine while you’re gone.”

  “Maybe you should talk to Valerie and Glen sir,” McKay suggested.

  “That’s not a bad idea at all,” O’Keefe admitted. “Have a safe voyage, Colonel,” the President offered his hand and McKay shook it…but O’Keefe held onto the hand for a moment, looking him in the eye. “Find Antonov, Jason…find him and kill that son of a bitch.”

  “I’ll do my best, sir,” McKay told him, then he left the office.

  Was it his imagination, McKay wondered, or did O’Keefe look older?

  Chapter Three

  McKay stared at the empty duffle bag sitting on the bedroom chair and wondered what he was going to pack. It had been five years since he’d left on an interstellar voyage and the last time had been as a Captain in charge of a grand total of five people, including himself. Now he was a Colonel, probably due to be promoted to General soon, the head of the whole damned Intelligence Service, and he was about to go gallivanting off to the edge of explored space.

  “What the hell are you thinking, McKay?” He muttered to himself.

  “You’re thinking, ‘I hate being behind a desk and thank God for this excuse to get out in the field again,’ that’s what you’re thinking,” Shannon’s voice whispered in his ear as her arms slipped around his waist. He could feel the tickle of her fire-colored hair against his face, the warmth of her bare skin against his back and he smiled with satisfaction.

  He turned, putting his arms around her and pulling her into a kiss.

  “We start doing this again and you’ll never get packed,” she teased him.

  “Well, I am going to be gone for several months,” he raised an eyebrow. “Gotta leave you something to remember me by…”

  “How did I get stuck manning your desk while you have all the fun?” She beat a fist against his chest playfully. “You’re supposed to delegate this sort of thing to me.”

  “I wanted to take you along,” he confessed. “But with Kage stirring up so much trouble, I thought I should leave someone with some sense of diplomacy here to deal with him.”

  “Ha!” Shannon barked. “Me? Diplomatic? I’ve always thought of knocking people’s heads together as the best sort of diplomacy.”

  “Hey,” McKay protested, “back during the war, you had to deal with a colonial governor, a senator and a president! And that turned out okay.” He sighed as he let her slip out of his arms. “You’re right though, I have to pack. The shuttle for the Decatur leaves in two hours.”

  “The Decatur? Isn’t that Captain Minishimi’s new cruiser?” Joyce Minishimi had been one of the Fleet captains who had launched the final attack on the Russian Protectorate ships during the war, and with Arvid Patel, one of the two Captains to promote McKay to the overall commander of the assault, despite his then-inferior rank.

  “Yeah, it was in port and between patrols, so I requested her. Haven’t seen much of her since the war.”

  “Come on,” Shannon said, grabbing a robe from the bed and slipping it on. “Let me help you pack.”

  * * *

  Joyce Minishimi’s breath chuffed with effort as she kicked into a sprint, legs pumping, each stride landing perfectly as she came down the last quarter mile of the course. The beautiful Japanese red spruce, yew, gingko, and Yezo wild cherry trees passed by her faster and faster as she raced through Nakajima Park. She vaguely registered the other runners but didn’t bring them into focus; her focus was on the finish line. She felt as if she didn’t have even a hint of energy left, her legs felt as if they were on fire and she was fairly certain she’d developed a blister on her left big toe, but she gritted her teeth and kept her legs moving via force of will.

  Then it was there, the finish line…with just one other female in front of her, only twenty yards ahead. Screaming hoarsely, Joyce threw herself forward, pushing past the other woman and crossing the finish line, then stumbling and nearly collapsing, limping painfully towards a table with water bottles, trying to catch her breath. She opened one and downed it in one gulp, then threw it down and snagged another before sinking to the grass.

  “Did you really,” a voice asked from behind her, “run the whole Hokkaido marathon?”

  She turned and saw a man in a black uniform walking towards her, seemingly out of nowhere. He was a young man, but with the look of experience, his brown hair cut short, grey eyes framed by a lean, strong-jawed face.

  “I run it before every long patrol, McKay,” she nodded. “Hard to find time for this when we’re under way.” She looked up and spoke loudly
and clearly. “Authorization Minishimi, simulator off.”

  The image of the Hokkaido morning vanished, replaced by the bare walls of the RFS Decatur’s simulator bay and the shifting treadmill that made up its floor. The only adornment in the room was the small plastic tray with water bottles and a few towels.

  “You know,” she said, wiping the sweat from her neck and toweling down her short, dark hair, “when they started building this ship three years ago, I thought it was ridiculous to install a rotational drum just for recreational and medical use. After all, we spend most of the trip in the g-tanks anyway. But I have to admit, it’s handy having someplace to get a good workout at one gravity when we’re not using the drive.”

  “You’re looking good, Joyce,” he told her, squatting down on the floor beside her. He smiled as she started. She hadn’t seen him in years and it took her a moment to remember that they were of equal rank: a Fleet Captain was equivalent to an Intelligence Service or Marine Colonel. “I thought I’d call you that while I still could,” he explained with a chuckle. “You’ll be an Admiral soon enough.”

  “Knock on wood,” she banged her knuckles against the side of her head. “So, you’ve shanghaied my ship for a trip to the frontier…Jason. Care to tell me why?”

  “That’s why I’m here,” he nodded, waving around him. “Here and not on the bridge, I mean. This is for your ears only, for the moment.”

  “Oh you spooks and your secrets,” she laughed, a surprisingly girly sound from someone he knew to be tough as nails. “You’ve changed since the war,” she estimated, looking at him sideways. “You seem less…naïve, somehow.”

  “Five years dealing with politicians will do that to you,” he allowed. “But let’s cut to the chase. Antonov’s back.”

  Her eyes widened and he saw her glance around instinctively to make sure no one had come into the room. “You’re sure?”

  “An observation post was destroyed on the frontier. Looted, even the bodies stolen. They cleaned up after themselves but we found some brass cartridge casings. I don’t know who or what else it could be.”

  “Well, you always thought it would happen eventually,” she reminded him, arms resting on her knees. “So, you’re going out there in person then? Isn’t that a bit risky?”

  “Not as risky as missing something because I’m months away. I’m bringing Vinnie and his best Alpha Team with me, along with two platoons of Marines and half a dozen assault shuttles. Hell, if I could get approval, I’d take a couple more cruisers along. I don’t want to do this by half-measures.”

  “Yeah, that was never one of your failings,” she snorted. “Jesus, Jason…I need to get my people ready. How long do you need a lid kept on this?”

  “Till we’re out of the Solar system,” he told her. “I don’t want this news spreading to the general population until we know more. We have enough problems right now without adding a panic to them.”

  “I can live with that.” She checked her watch. “We leave orbit in three hours and I need a shower. I’ll see you on the bridge…how about you come brief my officers just before we hit the g-tanks?”

  “Works for me,” he nodded, standing and offering her a hand up. “See you on the bridge, Captain.”

  * * *

  Shannon was silent as she watched the mountain of nickel iron that was the RFS Decatur leave orbit. Reality warped away from the ship in shimmering waves of disrupted space-time and the grey monolith began to move, slowly at first, almost imperceptibly…but then with increasing acceleration and within minutes it was little more than another star in the projection in the viewport on the wall of Jason’s office.

  “Damn,” she muttered to herself. Then louder, “Dammit!” She thumped a fist against the wall. It wasn’t just that he was going to be gone for months and that she was going to miss him…and it wasn’t just that he was flying blind into what could be an incredibly dangerous situation. There was just a feeling in her gut that she couldn’t shake that there was something wrong about this. It felt like a trap.

  The problem was, they couldn’t not investigate it…and if it was a trap, there was no one better than Jason to sniff it out. But she wished she could have been there.

  “Major Stark?” A voice came over the room’s intercom.

  “Yes, Lt. Franks?” she said, looking up instinctively.

  “You have a call from Senator O’Keefe-Mulrooney.”

  “Put her on,” Shannon said, raising an eyebrow in surprise. “Colonel McKay’s desk display.”

  The holographic projector in McKay’s desk lit up and an image of Valerie O’Keefe-Mulrooney sprang to life. She looked good, Shannon reflected inwardly. Her brown hair was shorter than Shannon remembered, and there was a glow to her heart-shaped face. The last few years had added a look of maturity and responsibility to her green eyes.

  “Hello, Senator,” she nodded.

  “Good morning, Shannon,” Valerie said. Shannon supposed it must be morning wherever she was, because the phrase had little meaning on a space station like Fleet HQ. “How’ve you been?”

  “Good,” Shannon said, trying to hide the loathing she had for meaningless pleasantries. What the hell had Jason been thinking leaving her in charge of dealing with people? “I can see motherhood agrees with you. I hope Glen and your daughter are doing well.”

  “Natalia is great,” Valerie smiled warmly. “She’ll be two years old next week. Glen is doing fine, but…well, first of all, I need to know, is this a secure line?”

  Shannon blinked, then reached out to the desktop and hit a control. “It is now, ma’am. What’s wrong?”

  “Shannon, as father’s chief of staff, Glen, well...” She hesitated, for the first time in the conversation seeming nervous. “He hears things in that position…rumors. Many of them turn out to be nothing, and this one might too, but…”

  “…but it’s something you thought we should check out,” Shannon finished for her. “What’s going on, Valerie?”

  “Glen has been trying to mediate some of the disagreements between Daddy’s administration and the Southbloc,” Valerie explained. “The end of forced emigration has handed some of their nations a lot of political problems…and the inflation and unemployment increases haven’t done anything to help the situation. He was consulting with a friend of my father’s, Senator Friere of Brazil, and Friere mentioned hearing rumbles from Brazilian officers high in the Colonial Guard about a possible mutiny.”

  Shannon blinked. It wasn’t entirely shocking…there was a lot of dissatisfaction in the Colonial Guard, after all. But if it was gaining enough momentum that the Senator from Brazil had heard of it, it could be serious. “Did he have any details?” she asked.

  “Just one…that’s the reason I’m calling you and not my father. He said that the mutiny was designed to coincide with an attempt on the President’s life.”

  “What?” Shannon exclaimed. “But why? It’s not as if the Vice President will reverse the policies just because the president is killed. That makes no sense.”

  “I don’t know anything more.” Valerie shook her head. “It might all be just ridiculous rumor---I know that’s what Daddy would say if I brought it to him. That’s why I’m bringing it to you.”

  “I understand, Senator,” Shannon said. “I’ll look into it. If there’s anything to it, I’ll let you know…and I’ll see it gets dealt with.”

  “I knew I could count on you, Shannon,” Valerie said, smiling. “I hope you find that it’s just barracks rumor.”

  “Me too.” Shannon whispered as the transmission cut off. She ran her fingers through her hair tiredly. “As if there wasn’t enough going on already…” She hit the intercom control. “Franks.”

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  “Contact Captain Shamir. Tell him I need to meet him in Colonel McKay’s office as soon as he can get a shuttle up here.” She didn’t even register Frank’s reply…her thoughts were wrapped around what Valerie had told her. There had never been an attempt on
a president in the history of the Republic…and now she was finding out about one just after learning that Antonov was back. She wasn’t sure she believed that heavily in coincidences.

  Something, she reflected again, was wrong about all this. Time to get to work and find out what.

  Chapter Four

  Jason McKay sat back in his chair and waited for the last of the group to file into the conference room. He was enjoying the Earth-normal gravity while he could. In just hours they would be immersed in the g-tanks, hibernating in the cushioning, aerated fluid while the ship accelerated at a warp-analog of hundreds of gravities for weeks, and when they arrived at their first stop, he’d be back in zero-g until planetfall.

  Vinnie and Jock were in the room already, along with the other men and women of their Alpha Team, all looking quite relaxed and deadly in their black combat utility uniforms. Also present, though making a point of sitting apart from the special operations squad, were the platoon leaders and platoon sergeants of the Fleet Marine Reaction Force units on board. Even though Vinnie, Jock and McKay himself were all former Marines, the Fleet Marines had developed a resentment of the new Special Operations units.

  They were still waiting for the Fleet personnel---the only one present was the flight commander of the assault shuttles, a tall, slender woman with high cheekbones and a face that hinted at Asian ancestry. She was typing something into a small notepad, her expression all business, ignoring the others around her.

  Finally, after another ten minutes of waiting, Captain Minishimi strode into the room with her executive officer in tow.

  “Captain on deck!” McKay barked, bringing everyone to their feet.

  “As you were,” Minishimi waved a hand, leaning against a table near the center of the room. “We don’t have a lot of time, so I’ll get right to the point. We are heading to Loki to pick up a passenger, then we’re going straight for the inner frontier. There was an observation post there until a few months ago. It was destroyed and looted, the troops manning it either taken or killed and their bodies taken. Evidence found on the scene suggests that the culprits are our old friends, the remnants of the Russian Protectorate.” A chorus of murmurs went through the assembled officers and NCOs, some of them glancing at McKay.