Duty, Honor, Planet: The Complete Trilogy

by Rick Partlow

  Tom Crossman stepped up to the cockpit and McKay twisted around in his seat to face him. Tom had to steady himself as the shuttle began to slow and descend, the engines cycling down with a noticeable change in pitch.

  “Good luck, sir,” he said, shaking McKay’s hand.

  “You, too,” McKay replied. He grinned crookedly. “Don’t be late.”

  “Depressurizing,” the pilot announced.

  The belly hatch opened with a rush of outgoing air that Tom could have heard even without his helmet’s external audio pickups. He shot Andersen a thumbs-up and together they headed for the opening, following the subtle tug of the outrushing cabin pressure as it led them to the chill darkness outside the shuttle.

  “Tom,” Vinnie transmitted on a private channel as Crossman passed by his seat. “Tell Esme I’m sorry.”

  Tom glanced at Vinnie, but the officer was just staring forward, not looking up at him.

  “I will, Vinnie,” he answered.

  He followed Andersen out the door and fell into the cold embrace of the night.

  * * *

  “Dammit, Captain O’Neal,” Amanda Sanchez snapped, losing her patience, “what the hell do you mean there’s no update from the task force? Everyone knows it’s back! I’ve seen the footage from the jumpgate myself! The Farragut’s been insystem for days!”

  “We are aware of that, Ms. Sanchez,” the Fleet Public Affairs officer responded calmly into her ear bud. She was on an audio-only line over her ‘link, but she knew if she could see the woman, she would be smiling blandly the way all Public Affairs officers did when they lied to you. “However, I am not as yet authorized by command to release any statement regarding the events that occurred on the task force’s mission.”

  “So,” she said sweetly, changing tacks as she leaned forward in her office chair as if he could see her, “you’d rather I just run the rumors I’ve been hearing that President Jameson is having General McKay arrested?”

  “The Republic and the United States both have a free press, ma’am,” O’Neal responded. “You can report whatever you like, as long as you’re not worried about how bad you’ll look if you’re wrong.”

  “I’ve looked bad before, Captain,” Amanda assured her, trying to sound confident. “I’m not afraid to take a risk and neither is my network.”

  “Your newsnet is a publically held corporation, isn’t it?” O’Neal reminded her. “Under the umbrella of the Communications Multicorp? I wonder what the Communications Board of Directors would think if you aired such a slanderous accusation against a decorated war hero like General McKay and were proven wrong.”

  “I’ll worry about that, Captain,” Amanda told her. “You should worry about what your superiors will think when this blows up in their face…when this blows up in the President’s face for ordering the arrest of a decorated war hero like General McKay, who the public seems to trust more than him.”

  Annoyed, she cut the call and slapped a palm on her desk angrily. “Threaten me, will you, you annoying little bitch?” she growled. She touched a control on her desk and pulled up a list of virtual anchors, considering which one she would use for this story. Cindy was usually good for serious news…the virtual avatar had the sort of gravitas that made viewers trust her.

  Her ‘link chimed for attention and she checked the display, thinking perhaps she’d spooked Captain O’Neal into calling her back. Instead, the screen showed an image of her assistant editor, a worthless airhead named Julian Ingersoll. She sighed and touched her ear bud.

  “What is it, Julian?” she demanded impatiently. “I’m working.”

  “Amanda,” he said breathlessly, “check the indie net! You won’t believe this! It just started streaming a couple minutes ago!”

  She cut him off and brushed the virtual anchor list aside to bring up the desk’s entertainment console, choosing the indie net and looking for the most recently trending videos. It was hard to miss: according to the stats, almost everyone on the planet with net access was watching it.

  The video began with the 2-D image of a very familiar face. When last she had seen it, she remembered it looking younger and happier. Now, with a stubble of hair instead of the red-blond she recalled and a hint of lines around the eyes and mouth, it seemed much older and wearier.

  “My name is Captain Andrew Franks.” He spoke clearly and confidently, as if he’d rehearsed this a few times. “Most of you already know who I am, and you know what I’ve done. You know what my superiors, Colonel Stark and General McKay have done to protect the Republic and her citizens. You know where our loyalties lie, and you know the sacrifices we’ve made. We didn’t do this for the glory of a politician or the advancement of any political faction, we did it because we swore an oath to protect the Republic from all enemies, foreign and domestic.

  “We have fought our wars against foreign enemies, against the Protectorate and their threat from without,” he went on. “But our most recent battles have taken place at home, against the criminals and terrorists of the bratva. We thought that the bratva were being supplied by the remnants of the Protectorate, and General McKay led a task force to finish off the Protectorate for good. What we found was much, much more complicated…”

  Amanda Sanchez’ mouth fell open as video recorded by helmet cameras showed their encounter with Misha, the alien sentient computer. She felt a fog of unreality settle over her, as if she were trapped in some chaotic dream, the kind you could never make sense of when you woke up. That feeling intensified when she saw General Kage try to take over the task force, watched the fight between McKay and Kage; then she jumped as if she’d been shocked when Kage shot Colonel Podbyrin. Colonel Mahoney killing Kage almost seemed an afterthought. The video segment closed with mushroom clouds rising high above the surface of Novoye Rodina and then Franks’ image returned.

  “But as unexpected as those events were hundreds of light years from Earth,” he continued, “the truly shocking revelations were the ones we were uncovering right here at home. It all started when CIS Agent Caitlyn Carr, who later gave her life in an attempt to save innocent children during the terrorist attack on Trans Angeles,” Amanda noted a catch in the man’s voice, “investigated a government program called Project Asatru…”

  * * *

  Roza Kovach-Shamir brushed dark, coarse hair out of her eyes as she leaned over the crib to lift her son from his bed. He was barely two months old and had woken from his afternoon nap crying fitfully. She’d been napping herself---little David wasn’t sleeping through the night yet, which meant neither were his parents---and had roused herself groggily to shamble into his room, feeling like a half-dead zombie.

  Her crabby mood eased as she felt his little arms go to her neck and his cries ceased. David was a beautiful child, and if motherhood wasn’t an easy job, well…no one had said it would be. It certainly wasn’t as difficult as her last job, in that no one was trying to kill her. She was still in the reserves of the Republic Guard Corps and she imagined she’d return to duty once David was old enough; but for the time being, this was her assignment and it was one she carried out happily.

  Singing an old Hungarian lullaby that her grandmother had taught her, Roza walked David over to the window and touched a control to decrease the polarization and let in the light of the Sao Paulo afternoon sun. Sao Paulo was a fairly open city, not an enclosed megalopolis like Capital City or Trans Angeles, and their apartment actually had a decent view of the sprawling cityscape. The rent was high, but between her salary and her husband’s, and the money her parents had left in trust for her, they managed.

  She gave David a breast and heard him cooing in satisfaction as he fed, while she gazed out at the city. The buildings here had an artistic quality to them, their gently curved spires gleaming in a rainbow of reflections. Here and there the impression was spoiled by the holographic advertising on the side of an airship, but even that was part of the city’s charm. It was about as different from her home in Eastern Europe as it was fro
m Ari’s in Tel Aviv…which might have been what attracted both of them to the place.

  She heard a musical note from the ‘link in the pocket of her robe, a tone that told her there was a story online that her previous preferences indicated she would find interesting. She ignored it for a moment, but then it was followed by the tone that indicated Ari was calling.

  Major Ari Shamir was at work in Nuevo Rio, overseeing the creation of the training schedule for Fleet Intelligence’s Field Operations School. It was a new position, created only two years before and they were just about to graduate their first class. The commute took nearly an hour each way, but they both hated Nuevo Rio…it was an impersonal, generic megacity with no soul.

  She frowned, feeling a sense of foreboding, and touched the control on the side of her ear bud.

  “Yes, kedves,” she answered, using the Hungarian word for “darling.”

  “Roza,” he said, his voice sounding oddly choked. “Have you seen?”

  “Seen what?” she asked, feeling a tingle along her spine at the somber tone.

  “Check your news feed,” he told her. “The independent nets.”

  Not wanting to try working the ‘link’s display while holding David, she paced into the living room and switched on the tank of their entertainment center, calling up the latest story posted. Her eyebrows rose when she saw Drew Franks’ image…and stayed that way as she heard what he had to say.

  “Szar,” she muttered, absent-mindedly rocking David in her arms and pulling her robe back into place. “Shit.”

  Less than 500 kilometers away, her husband was cursing in three different languages as he watched the same video play out on the smaller display of his office desk. He’d stayed out of the operations against Yuri because of Roza and David, insulating himself from the details for fear he would run off and volunteer to be a field agent again. He felt all of the weight of that inattention crashing down around him as he watched Franks describe Project Asatru and the links between Brendan Riordan and the Russian bratva.

  “The fucking President,” he hissed, slamming his palm down on the desktop hard enough to make the hologram shimmer for a moment.

  “Colonel Stark made the decision to confront President Jameson with this evidence at the Executive Offices,” Franks narrated stolidly. “She knew that with the corruption running so deep into the government, there was no legal recourse she could take, but she hoped that she could force the President to resign via the looming possibility of a mutiny among the Republic military, hoping he’d choose to avoid a possible civil war.” The young man snorted humorlessly. “The only thing was, the President didn’t know what the hell she was talking about.”

  Ari leaned in towards the projection as the stream played Shannon’s transmission to the Farragut, which McKay had sent to one of the anonymized accounts known only to Franks. His teeth clenched in rage as he listened to her words.

  “Fucking Ayrock…”

  * * *

  “Ayrock is willing to let you send in one assault shuttle, unopposed, as long as it heads straight for the Cosmodrome and doesn’t deviate from that course. That’s it. No guarantees after that, whether you succeed or fail.”

  Esmeralda Villanueva felt a tightness in her chest as she listened to Shannon Stark’s words cut off. One assault shuttle, she thought bitterly. And three guesses as to who would be on it. She paced back and forth in the cramped space of her Fleet Headquarters apartment, keeping her eyes on the video as she did.

  “General McKay and a small raiding force are striking the Cosmodrome as you hear this,” Franks continued. “That’s why we’ve waited till now to release this information: to make sure that Director Ayrock didn’t go back on his word to allow them to fly in unmolested.”

  His face hardened. “They’re willing to give up their lives, willing to take the chance that they’ll be arrested or simply killed by Ayrock’s forces, to ensure the safety of the citizens of the Republic. They were willing to do this even knowing that Ayrock might wind up in control of the government. Colonel Stark was willing to enter the lion’s den to try to avoid a civil war, knowing she might never walk out. I am not willing to let them do this for nothing. A civil war would be a horrible thing…tens of thousands might die, maybe hundreds of thousands. But innocent people have already died by the thousands while the man responsible has sat safe behind a shield of anonymity. Not anymore.

  “You will all have to search your consciences and act as you think best. As for me and those who stand with me, we’re going to do our best to protect the citizens of the Republic and to restore the rule of law.” He grinned, his face turning boyish for just a moment. “Or die trying.”

  * * *

  “This was the video stream uploaded to the indie nets just minutes ago,” the Republic HoloNet news anchor reported gravely. “It arrived on the heels of strong rumors that the Jameson administration had issued an arrest warrant for Fleet Intelligence commander, General Jason McKay, for disobeying orders, treason and murder. There has, as of yet, been no official response from the administration to the charges levelled by Medal of Honor winner Captain Andrew Franks.” The well-groomed, multiethnic woman’s face seemed to ooze smugness as she paused dramatically.

  “There has been comment by Senator Valerie O’Keefe, however.”

  The projection changed to a recorded image of the Senator sitting on the edge of her desk, dressed in casual, practical clothes, her hair up and her hands clenched into fists. Her face was grim, her eyes hard and cold.

  “I knew about the evidence that supports these charges days ago,” she said. “Captain Franks brought it to me and asked me what I wanted him to do. As a loyal officer in the Republic military, he understood that he took orders from the civilian government…and given what we knew about Philip Ayrock’s influence on President Jameson and the hooks that Brendan Riordan has into members of the Republic Senate, I was the only civilian authority he could trust.”

  She took a breath, pain tugging at the corner of an eye. “I told him not to release this evidence because more than corruption and greed, I feared the destruction and death that might be brought about were we to fall into civil war. It wasn’t long after I made that decision that myself, my pilot Tony Bonham, Captain Franks and Sgt. Tanya Manning were attacked without warning or provocation by a squad of corporate mercenaries. Tony was killed and the three of us barely escaped with our lives.”

  Her mouth twisted into a sneer that seemed out of place on a face usually described as nearly angelic. “It was then that I realized how naïve I’d been. We weren’t in danger of falling into civil war…we were already engaged in one. And only one side was fighting it.”

  Her expression changed from one of cynicism and betrayal to one of steadfastness.

  “If there are any military men and women, any police officers, any CIS agents, any security personnel who are still loyal to the Republic, we must act. By the oaths you swore, I call on you to take back our government from the traitors who have seized it for their own profit. Gather with us at the eastern side of the Old City as soon as you can get there and bring with you what weapons and equipment you can.”

  She smiled frostily. “As for me, I will be right here, in my chambers at the Senate office building. If Philip Ayrock wants his goons to arrest me the way they arrested Colonel Stark, I’ll be proud to share a cell with her. So come get me, Ayrock…if you have the balls.”

  CIS Director Philip Ayrock lowered the compact pistol, surprised his hand wasn’t shaking. President Gregory Jameson lay at his feet on the floor of the private office, blood soaking the floor beneath him as he shuddered in the last few breaths of his life. Neither of the two Security agents in the room made a move, though they seemed a bit shocked. Ayrock had recruited them for loyalty to him and held evidence that would have had them both in prison for the rest of their lives if they turned against him

  Jameson had come back to himself in the middle of watching the news broadcast and had made a lunge for
Ayrock with murder in his eyes. Ayrock supposed he could have had the man stunned or restrained…but that would have just been postponing the inevitable.

  He set the handgun down on the President’s desk, then touched a control on his ‘link.

  “Adams,” he called. “Get in here.”

  There was a few moments’ hesitation before the door to the quiet little room opened and Giovanna Adams entered. The spare, slight woman was Jameson’s new Chief of Staff. Marquesa Fiorentino had become too inquisitive as of late and had been asked to step down by a very regretful but very firm and very brainwashed Greg Jameson. Adams gasped at the sight of the President’s body.

  “It’s time,” Ayrock told her. “Send word to the agents with Vice President Shang to take him out of the picture.” He smiled thinly. “Then get word to Senate Majority Leader Cumberland that he’s about to be the new President and that he should remember exactly what that means.” He was about to send her out when he remembered something. “And get me someone we can trust to clean this up and make it look plausible that it was an assassination by a rogue Security agent swayed by Valerie O’Keefe’s treasonous rabble-rousing.” He nodded to one of the agents in the room. “Pick a likely suspect and bring him up here to be killed in the act.”

  “Yes, sir,” the older of the two men said, nodding slowly.

  “Go, Adams,” he shooed the woman out of the room.

  Still staring at Jameson’s body, he shook his head, sitting on the edge of the desk with a sigh. “I’ll miss you, Greg,” he said quietly. This sucked. He had been hoping to have Jameson as a figurehead to keep the opposition from getting the loyalty of the Fleet.

  Then he hit a control on the desk, connecting him directly to General Kage’s office at the Republic Guard Corps headquarters---audio only. He didn’t want to alarm anyone.

  “This is Colonel Tran,” came the immediate response from Kage’s second in command, left in charge of all the Homeworld Guard troops. “What can I do for you, President Jameson?”