by Rick Partlow
“I don’t envy you, Jason,” Admiral Minishimi said honestly, despair heavy in her voice. “I wish you hadn’t even told me.”
“I don’t know what I expected to find here, Joyce, but it sure as hell wasn’t this.” He paused and Podbyrin looked around with curiosity he wasn’t aware he still had. McKay was holding his head in his hands.
“We came here to find the truth,” Minishimi said. Her image in the holographic projection looked older than the last time Podbyrin had seen her. “No one said we’d like it.”
“Yeah. I’ll contact you in a few hours.”
McKay reached out and shut off the connection, then took a deep breath before he turned back to where Podbyrin sat.
“Do you believe him?” Podbyrin asked simply.
McKay seemed to consider it, staring at the deck for a long moment before looking back up to the Russian.
“I don’t know if he…it is telling us the whole truth,” he finally replied, “but what he told us makes sense. A lot of things that happened finally make sense, too. Remember when we were talking about how capturing the Bradley, brainwashing the crew but then letting the ship go was so unlike Antonov? How he’d never give up an asset like that if he got his hands on it? We were both convinced someone else was involved.” He shrugged. “We thought it had to have been someone on Earth, but the timing on that would have been problematic. Now we know. Antonov was just a puppet.”
“As was I,” Podbyrin hissed, more anger in his voice than he’d thought himself capable of mustering. “That thing stole my life from me, my memories. It built an army of murderers from my fears and suspicions. And now, what do I have left?” He held his hands palm up, empty. “I have nothing. I am nothing.”
McKay reached out and slipped his right hand over Podbyrin’s upturned palm, turning it sideways and gripping it tightly.
“You’re my friend, D’mitry,” he said. “And you can be and do whatever you want now. You’re free. It’s this place,” he waved a hand outward, “that’s the lie. It’s this place that turned you into a tool, a puppet, and this place is dead.” He put his other hand over the hand he was gripping and squeezed. “I don’t have so many friends that I can afford to lose one.”
Podbyrin hesitated for a moment. It would be so easy to give into the emotional inertia that was dragging him down…he was so damn tired. But instead he shook McKay’s hand and smiled slightly.
“Besides,” McKay went on, letting Podbyrin’s hand drop, “we have another mystery to solve.” At Podbyrin’s questioning look, he went on. “According to Misha, there hasn’t been a Protectorate or a Protectorate fleet for the last four years, right?”
Podbyrin nodded. “So?”
“So, who’s been providing the raiders with their Eysselink drives and high-yield fusion missiles?” McKay shook his head, eyes narrowing. “Maybe Shannon’s right and I am turning into Captain Ahab. I was so sure it was Antonov that I didn’t consider the alternatives.”
“There used to be a saying back in my day, Jason,” Podbyrin told him. “It was ‘follow the money.’ Who benefits from the attacks? Who benefits from all of the things that have happened these last four years?”
“Yeah,” McKay acknowledged. “I’ve heard the saying. I just don’t know if I’m going to like where it leads.”
“As your Admiral Minishimi said,” Podbyrin reminded him, “we came here to find the truth. No one said we’d like it.”
* * *
General Hikaru Kage would have stalked through the corridors of the Bradley had it been possible to do so in zero gravity. Instead, he pushed himself along with reckless speed, practically daring anyone else to get in his way. He was an ill-tempered shark in grey utility fatigues, swimming through a school of blue-suited reef fish; and they were eager to get out of the way of his fierce expression.
Finally, he arrived at his destination, braking himself against the roughened section of wall provided for just that reason, and slapped his hand against the door plate with more energy than was necessary.
“Come,” a woman’s voice invited and the door slid aside.
Captain Tandy Lee was seated behind her desk, strapped into the chair as she reviewed a video report. She paused the playback with a swipe of her hand as Kage floated inside, braking himself against the side of her desk.
“Captain Lee, what the hell is going on?” Kage’s voice was not exactly a bellow, but close enough for government work…and he truly didn’t give a damn. He knew he outranked Lee both in actual rank and in position on the mission chain of command, and he was well and completely pissed off.
Captain Lee’s already sharp face sharpened and he could tell she was working hard to control her temper. She reached out and hit the control to close the door behind Kage before she replied.
“What the hell is going on, sir,” she said, her contralto as harsh and unpleasant as a ball peen hammer striking glass, “is that I have received orders from General McKay, through Admiral Minishimi, to take the remainder of the fleet and return to Earth. According to her communication, the Protectorate has abandoned Novoye Rodina and there is no need for an overwhelming military force to conduct a simple investigation of the site.”
“He does not have the authority to send us back!” Kage insisted, only the lack of gravity keeping him from slamming his palm against her desk. “The President’s orders were for the entire fleet to take part in this invasion.”
“General Kage,” Lee said coldly, “I am not privy to what orders the President gave, and it is not my job to interpret them. I simply follow the orders of my commanding officer.”
Kage’s eyes narrowed as he recalled the file he’d examined about Captain Lee. She’d been the XO on the Bradley during the second Protectorate invasion and had taken over when the Captain had been killed during a field intersect with a Protectorate ramship. She’d performed well, although the credit for that had mostly been given to that smartass punk Franks, but she’d been replaced later in the battle by then-Captain Minishimi after she’d abandoned the Decatur and been picked up by the Brad. She’d been replaced at the insistence of Jason McKay, who’d trusted his old friend Joyce Minishimi more than some young Commander he’d never met.
Lee had been the Captain of the Bradley for nearly three years, but he wondered if she still held the situation during the invasion against Minishimi and McKay?
“Captain Lee,” he said, trying to make his tone more civil and respectful, “I appreciate your situation, but I, too, have my orders; and these orders come directly from President Jameson and are not open to interpretation. The President wanted me to personally inspect the alien technology that is said to be on Novoye Rodina. He wanted my opinion to figure into the final decision as to whether it would be safe to transport this technology back with us.”
“If the President didn’t trust General McKay to make that decision on his own,” Lee countered, doubt in her tone and on her dark-complexioned face, “then why did he set him up as the mission’s commander?”
“General McKay is a natural leader,” Kage acknowledged. “He has marvelous judgment and instincts during a battle. But we faced the possibility from the beginning that there might not be a battle…and what General McKay is surely not is a politician. He’s a hammer who sees every problem as a nail.” Kage shrugged. “If Colonel Stark were along, she might be able to reason with him on these things, but she is not. Which is why the President wanted me there, so that political considerations could be given weight.”
Lee’s face pinched as she considered his words and he could sense that he was winning her over.
“I am going to need some confirmation of the existence of these orders, sir,” she finally declared.
“Orders this delicate aren’t recorded where they could be used against a sitting President,” Kage pointed out smoothly---he knew he could be smooth and subtle, although most people wouldn’t have believed it of him. He had used that underestimation to his advantage many times. “President Jame
son could hardly come right out and say, ‘I don’t trust General McKay’s judgment but I’m putting him in charge of the largest military force in the history of the Republic,’ could he? But he did give me this, just in case.”
Kage pulled a tablet from his pocket, unfolded it and tapped a control, then another, then handed it to Captain Lee. She cocked an eyebrow as she read it.
“It’s a Presidential Authorization,” she admitted. “It gives you the clearance to examine any alien technology.” She looked up at him shrewdly. “It doesn’t say that General McKay has to let you examine it, however.”
“That’s true, Captain,” Kage said, struggling to hold onto his patience. “But this may be a case where you are forced to read between the lines.”
Lee closed her eyes for a moment, pursing her lips. When she opened them, she let out a breath. “Very well, General. I will arrange for one of the cutters to take you on through the jumpgates to Novoye Rodina so that you may carry out the President’s wishes.”
“I’m afraid I will require the presence of my troops as well,” Kage insisted. “They are necessary to help me arrange for the possible transport of the alien technology.”
“You want me to take the Bradley to Novoye Rodina,” Lee stated, eyeing him sideways, “against direct orders from both Admiral Minishimi and General McKay. Not even discussing the questions of duty and morality that spring up, General Kage, I would be effectively ending my military career.”
“Your duty as a Republic Space Fleet officer,” Kage reminded her, “is to serve the Republic’s elected leaders. The President is your Commander-in-Chief.” His eyes went cold, his voice hard. “And I can assure you, Captain Lee, that if you do not comply with the President’s wishes in this matter, not only will your career be over, but you will also spend the next several years in a military detention facility.”
Lee started to answer, her eyes flaring with anger, but Kage held up a hand to forestall her reply. “One more thing, before your decision. Consider this, Captain Lee: my troops far outnumber your crew on this vessel. All my officers are armed, and it would be the work of minutes to arm the enlisted as well.” He leaned forward, close enough to make most people uncomfortable, he knew. “This ship is going to Novoye Rodina, Captain. The only question is whether you will be in command or in the brig.”
Lee glared daggers at him for a moment, but then looked down, and he knew he’d won. She touched a control on her desk that brought up a communications icon to the bridge.
“Commander Preston,” she said.
“Yes, ma’am?” The ship’s Helm officer replied.
“Set a course through the next jumpgate. We’re going to Novoye Rodina.”
Chapter Thirty One
Brendan Riordan was sweating, despite the best efforts of the cabin’s climate control. It was unseasonably warm in Swan Valley, Idaho this fall, but that wasn’t the cause of his perspiration. He was a very big man, in every sense of the word, and when you added anxiety, recent physical exertion and the heat outside to 130 kilos of mostly muscle, you got sweat.
He was taking a chance being here, even this far away from the prying eyes of the press. He’d bought the well-furnished, antique, wood-frame cabin to replace the truly breathtaking place in the Tetons that Greg Jameson had basically stolen from him and he was fairly sure that no one outside his circle of trust even knew it existed. But you could never be sure of something like that.
Would it have been safer to do this electronically? He kept asking himself that question as he paced the length of the living room, his seldom-worn hiking boots clomping clumsily on the old hardwood. No, he finally decided. It was too easy to trace even the most secure electronic communication and, once you sent it, it potentially existed forever. Much better to do things face-to-face. Here, he could control electronic eavesdropping to some extent with the jammers he’d built into the place when he’d bought it.
He’d gone to fairly ludicrous lengths to avoid anyone even knowing he was here today. He’d left his private and business ‘links back in Houston; and had left his offices in the back of a delivery truck that had taken him to a private airfield where he’d piloted a flitter owned by a company unconnected to him via manual flight to a cattle ranch also owned by that company in Wyoming. From there, he’d ridden in the back of yet another cargo truck that had dropped him off at the edge of a forest over two kilometers from the cabin and then he’d walked in under the cover of the tree canopy. If someone were really looking at the cabin, they could still tell he was there, but there was no reason anyone should be.
He could only hope that the man who was supposed to meet him there was just as cautious. He glanced out the one-way glass of the big front windows and saw that the sun was setting, throwing a beautiful golden light over the trees. It wouldn’t be long now...
He’d barely had time to process the thought when a knock came at the back door and Riordan nearly jumped out of his skin. He stumbled in mid-pace, a hand going to his chest as his heart pounded out of rhythm. Jesus Christ!
Taking a deep breath and trying to get himself under control, the big man wiped sweating palms on the front of his jeans and lurched towards the back door. He had to go through the kitchen, with its modern appliances shoehorned into a space built for the 20th Century equivalents, then into a small mud room before he reached the rear door. A palm to the door plate disabled the security and he used an old-fashioned knob to open the wooden door.
Standing on the back step was the scowling, none-too-pleased Director of the Criminal Investigative Service, Philip Ayrock, his dark suit rumpled and his doughy face showing rivulets of sweat that indicated he’d walked for some distance. Ayrock stepped into the mud room and shoved the door shut behind him, then pushed past Riordan and stamped impatiently into the living room.
“All right, Brendan, I’m here,” Ayrock snapped impatiently. “Now why the hell did you drag me all the way out to fucking Idaho?”
“Sorry, Philip,” Brendan said with humility he wouldn’t have even bothered to feign four years ago. Then he’d been one of the most important people in the Republic. Now he was just a pawn, inferior in standing even to a lackey like Ayrock. “I didn’t request you personally, I just left a message in the dead drop account for Greg that said I needed a face to face.”
“And how many people do you think are in the know about all this that the President could trust to have this sort of meeting?” Ayrock pointed out. He dropped tiredly onto a couch in the living room and stared up at the Corporate Council Chief Executive. “Now out with it: why am I here?”
“It’s the expedition to Novoye Rodina,” Riordan explained, trying to keep it from sounding like a whine. “You know what they’re going to find there, Philip. When they report back that the Protectorate is gone, that they’ve been gone for the last four years, where does that leave us? We need the threat of the Protectorate backing the raiders to push that package of bills through the Senate. If we don’t get those restrictions on space travel in place, the Council is going to lose control of interstellar colonization…”
“Spare me the sales pitch, Brendan,” Ayrock held up a hand. “I’m not a politician, so don’t be a lobbyist at me.”
“Fine,” Riordan snapped, his patience fraying. “But if this thing blows up, don’t think I’m going to be the fall guy. I know what’s going on: I’m being cut out of the loop! Greg hasn’t so much as talked to me in person in three fucking years!”
“Oh stop the melodrama!” Ayrock shouted, standing up to face the man. “Things are not blowing up! I know you haven’t been filled in on some of these details, but it just hasn’t been safe to do it yet. We’ve had to make some adjustments along the way, but the end game is still very much intact. What we needed then and what we still need now is a threat, something to rein in the independents and hotheads and bring the situation with the new colonies under control before we face a total unravelling of our government and economic systems.”
“Yes, but
now the threat is gone!” Riordan insisted.
“A threat is gone, Brendan,” Ayrock corrected him, smiling knowingly. “But trust me, we have a whole new threat warming up in the bullpen…one that makes the Protectorate look like a bunch of amateurs.”
* * *
Jason McKay walked slowly through the maze of curving architecture, his helmet slung back, breathing in the cold, dank air and trying not to let the eerie claustrophobia of the place get to him. He was alone; he hadn’t allowed anyone else to go into the chamber without him present. He really didn’t want to be there himself, but there were decisions that had to be made. Despite what the sentient computer had done to them, it was his duty to figure out if the technological advantages the thing could offer them made it worthwhile to exploit this place.
Then there was the whole business of the Destroyers…was it real? Something had killed this place, but it could just as easily have been a more conventional enemy, or even themselves. Was this notional future enemy something worth taking into account? After all, they hadn’t attacked the Builders until they’d been travelling across the stars for hundreds or even thousands of years. As head of Intelligence, he was responsible for the long view, but that was a bit long even for him.
Misha was already visible when he entered the Duplicator chamber (he’d begun thinking of it by that name, complete with the capital letter), waiting for him near the machine, looking out of place in his Protectorate uniform. McKay wondered if, given enough time, the avatar wouldn’t soon be wearing a set of blue Fleet utilities and calling himself Joe…
“Good evening, General McKay,” Misha said agreeably.
“Evening looks a lot like morning here,” McKay commented dryly. “And I’m not sure it’s ever a good anything on a planet where the radiation can kill you in a couple weeks. That’s one thing I wanted to ask you about…would it be practical to remove the devices from this facility and take them someplace safer?”
