CHILDERS_Absurd Proposals

by Richard F. Weyand

  "OK. Thanks, doc."

  The surgeon got up and went to the door. He left with a little wave over his shoulder.

  Lucky, lucky, lucky, Bill thought. Luck was better than smarts. After all, there were limits to intelligence. They had known this was one possibility. Bill and Durand had argued for more security, staying out of public venues, even on base. Jan had refused. She wouldn't live her life in a box, she had said. But she had started wearing body armor, the best the CSF had, as had her security team.

  And she had lucked out.

  It also gave them an opportunity.

  Jan came to in a hospital room, in a bed under warm covers. She recognized the aftereffects of general sedation from her implant surgery years before. Bill was standing by the bed.

  "The kids?" Jan asked.

  "They're fine. They were pulled out of school and are at the house. You were apparently the only target," Bill said.

  "Who's running the NOC?"

  "They say you're not supposed to do any work."

  "Don't give me that shit. Who's. Running. The NOC?"

  She tried to get out of the bed. She soon realized that was a very bad idea. She settled back with a grimace, and Bill acquiesced to the inevitable.

  "Jessen. Your orders held, and Wong confirmed them," Bill said.

  "Thank God."

  "And Jessen sent the war warning."

  "Excellent. Excellent."

  Jan fiddled with the covers, tried to get her brain running.

  "How bad am I?" she asked.

  "Not bad, actually. Five hits, four of them to your body armor. That was smart."

  "It was one possible scenario. We talked about it. And the other?"

  "Clean through the thigh. Missed the bone, missed the artery, but it went the long way, once you were down. It's gonna take a while," Bill said.

  "And my detail?"

  Bill looked down, looked back up into her eyes.

  "All gone. They were wearing body armor, but two were down on top of you, so the angle was bad. The two that returned fire had three active shooters to deal with. They each got hit multiple times, and body armor just doesn't cover everything. They couldn't save them. Five other spacers died of the overshoot. Over a dozen injured."

  Jan closed her eyes. That hurt. She was the target, not them. She looked back at Bill.

  "How many shooters? Jan asked.

  "Three. Two survived. They're being wrung out in Intelligence right now. They may ultimately die of their injuries. Or a bullet to the head."

  "Do we know who?"

  "The naval attaché for Brunswick tried to leave the planet," Bill said.

  "Tried?"

  "We were watching for it. Computer picked him out with a face matching algorithm. He was traveling under an alias. We picked him up. He's being wrung out in Intelligence, too. When we're done with him, we'll shoot him as well."

  Jan raised an eyebrow at that.

  "Out of uniform, with a false ID, he's a spy," Bill said. He shrugged.

  Jan's mind started to clear. She went back over their plans in her head. Hers and Jessen's.

  "What's my health status?"

  "Good. Couple days. You're going to have a limp for a while, though. They say you should be able to work that out. Couple years. And you have a minor concussion from hitting the ground so hard."

  "And my official health status?

  "Critical. In a coma. It's not known if you're going to live."

  Jan looked around the room.

  "Is this the secure wing of the hospital?"

  "Yes. Nobody here but us intelligence types. Doctors, nurses, janitors. Everybody."

  "Good."

  Jan lay back in the bed and sighed. So it had begun. What they could do, they had done. What they could anticipate – like this attack, for example – they had prepared against.

  Jessen was in charge. Those were her contingency orders, but the question had been would her orders hold when she was dead or out of commission? Apparently so. Wong, and likely Desai, had taken her advice.

  And Tien Jessen was the only one who was fully in her confidence for their war plans. He could run the show just fine without her for the moment.

  "OK, I'm done in. I'm going to sleep. Go take care of the kids. And thanks for being here," Jan said, and she squeezed his hand.

  "Always."

  News Bubble

  Thirty-one of the new courier probes screamed out of Jablonka space, to every corner of the Commonwealth, carrying the news.

  First, it was a war warning. Planetary commanders should be prepared for invasion or incursions on an unprecedented scale, by ships of the Outer Colonies. The Outer Colony navies were now to be presumed to be using the inner and outer system envelopes, per Commonwealth practice. They were referred again to the chapters in the current Fleet Book of Maneuvers detailing maneuvers against ships using the inner and outer system envelopes.

  Second, orders went out not to engage enemy forces except in defense of themselves. Commonwealth forces were to keep their distance from the Outer Colony ships, and avoid losses.

  These orders were issued by the Acting Chief of Naval Operations, Vice Admiral Tien Jessen.

  Finally, since there was no censorship absent war in the Commonwealth, the other thing that went out were news reports of the assassination attempt on the Chief of Naval Operations, Admiral Jan Childers, by parties unknown. Her current health condition was critical, she was in a coma, and it was not known whether she would survive her injuries.

  The shock ran through the CSF.

  In various Commonwealth systems, foreign-flag tramp freighters spaced, as always, for their next port of call.

  Some of those, though, were not tramp freighters, but fast courier ships, who had been waiting for news. They maintained their disguises in normal space, but, after transition to hyperspace, piled on the g's.

  "You call this job finished, Erskine?"

  "Yes, Senior Chief."

  "You do, eh? You think our standards are gonna go downhill because she's layin' inna hospital dyin'?"

  "No, Senior Chief."

  "Well, that's what it looks like to me, Erskine. I wouldn't want to show this to her and call it done. Would you?"

  "No, Senior Chief."

  "Then do it again, and do it right. She may not be around, but that don't mean we can't do things right. For her. Like she'd want it."

  "Yes, Senior Chief."

  The Senior Chief turned away and wiped tears from his eyes.

  "What are we gonna do now, Ashok?" Chief Charlie Gunderson asked.

  "Whaddya mean, Charlie?" Senior Chief Ashok Gonzalez asked.

  They were sitting in the Chief's Mess aboard the CSS Great Plains, in orbit around Waldheim.

  "I mean, with her gone, and a war comin'. What are we gonna do?"

  "I dunno, Charlie."

  "You don't know what we're gonna do?" Gunderson asked.

  "Huh? No, that's not what I mean. We're the CSF. We'll do what we do. I just dunno about this whole thing."

  "I don't get it, Ashok. What are you talkin' about?"

  "One thing you learn from the stories about Admiral Childers, Charlie, is the enemy can never be sure about what he's seein'. She suckers 'em in every time. Maybe I'm dreamin', but – I don't know. I'm probably wrong this time."

  The news also reached Earth on the same fast courier drones.

  "What do you think is going to happen to our deal with the Commonwealth now, Mr. President?" Secretary of State Malcolm Aubrey asked.

  "Nothing, Malcolm. It's going to go ahead just as before," President Jacob Turner said.

  "How can you be so sure?"

  "Jorge and I know her successor, Vice Admiral Tien Jessen. He was the planner for their response to our attack in the War That Didn't Happen. Her goals, her help, sure, but his plan. And he's neck deep in carrying out this deal. No change."

  "You're sure?"

  "I'm sure. Just carry on."

  Turner was aided in
his assurance by a single encrypted message he'd received earlier on his private mail, within hours of the initial terrible news.

  FROM: WC

  TO: TURNER

  SUBJECT: (none)

  JC OK. SHH.

  Turner had chuckled at that when he decrypted it. Up to her old tricks, he'd thought. He'd secure-erased the message, and told no one. Not even Fred Murphy.

  Durand and Jessen were visiting Jan in the secure wing of the hospital. She had been up and around for weeks while the news of her incapacitation spread through the Commonwealth and beyond. She was working out, doing the physical therapy for her leg.

  And she was climbing the walls.

  She hadn't seen her kids. There was no way for them to keep secure the news she was OK. And it was killing her. It hadn't seemed like it would be this hard when they had planned it. But, oh, was it ever.

  "The whole thing is a matter of timing," Jessen said.

  "Well, we haven't yet heard back from our spies they've heard the news. But that's a round trip," Durand said.

  "There's a three-week deep bubble of my incapacitation spreading now. It will take just as long for the news I've recovered. Is three weeks enough, do you think? I'm not the person to make this decision. I have too many personal issues, like terminal boredom and wanting to see my kids so bad I can taste it, for me to make a good decision," Jan said.

  "I think one more week, Ma'am. That should be enough. We want to make sure the news of your recovery gets out to our people before the attacks begin as well," Jessen said.

  "OK, one more week. Then I go home."

  "I'm home."

  "Mommy!" Two squealing voices and four thumping feet came rushing out of the kitchen to the front entry. The combined impact of Peggy and Max, now eight and six, almost knocked her over.

  "Careful, careful. Mommy's just out of hospital. But they couldn't keep me away from my Dearies."

  The word Jan Childers had survived the assassination attempt, been released from the hospital, and returned to duty spread out through the Commonwealth on the rotation of the new courier drones.

  The news was on a one-hour delay programmed into the drone, because the drone also carried priority orders for the planetary commanders. Foreign-flag freighters were not to be allowed to leave any system for two weeks. Foreign-flag ships that refused to obey the orders and attempted to leave were to be either incapacitated or destroyed.

  The Brunswick-flagged tramp freighter BMS Wanderer was in orbit around Valore.

  "Captain, we have a message. It's from the Port Authority to all foreign-flag vessels in the Valore system," Comm Specialist David Thorne said.

  "What's it say?" asked Brunswick Navy Lieutenant Commander Basil Mansell. Of course, neither of them were dressed in uniform. There were no BSN uniforms anywhere aboard Wanderer.

  "All foreign-flag vessels are to remain in the Valore system for a period of two weeks. No leaving the system."

  "I wonder what that's about. Not sure how they can enforce it anyway."

  "Sir, it says any vessel not complying will be disabled or destroyed."

  "Try to see what's going on. Don't ask anybody. Just listen in on the news channels and such."

  "Yes, Sir."

  A few minutes passed. Mansell had never heard of the Commonwealth doing such a thing. He doubted they could keep him in the system if he made a run for it, but no need to tempt fate yet.

  "I have it, Sir. It's just now coming over the news nets. The Commonwealth's Admiral Childers has been released from the hospital and reported back to work. Apparently she's fine, Sir."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Yes, Sir. There's video of her back at work, greeting people as she walked through the lobby. The video is crypto-timestamped."

  "Shit. That's what they don't want getting out. They've been saying she's at death's door. But she's back at the helm. And I have an emergency priority to report any changes in her status immediately."

  "Do you think it was all a ruse, Sir? Her being so sick and all?"

  That's when it hit Mansell. From death's door to just fine, thanks for asking. Of course, it had been a ruse. And if Childers was playing hide the ball, if she felt it necessary, it was going to turn out badly for somebody. Since the Commonwealth was now friends with Earth, there weren't a lot of choices left.

  "We need to get out of here. Marcy, fold us up and head out on our normal pattern. Nothing unusual, ho-hum, right?"

  "Yes, Sir. Should I ask for clearance first?" Lieutenant Marcy Stillwagon asked.

  "No, they won't give us one anyway. We'll just pretend we forgot."

  "Yes, Sir."

  "Ma'am, I have a freighter stopping spin and folding up. Looks like they're about to get under way. Foreign flag. Brunswick."

  "Idiots. Can't read, huh? Warn them to stay in orbit. Tell them we'll fire on them if we have to," Rear Admiral Virginia Rajan said.

  "Yes, Ma'am."

  "And my compliments to Captain Giannopoulos. Let's detach the Caribbean to intercept."

  "Yes, Ma'am."

  "They're warning us to stay in orbit, Sir."

  "Get us under way. Maximum acceleration."

  "Yes, Sir."

  "They've left orbit, Ma'am. Showing 2.2 gravities."

  "My, they're in a hurry, aren't they? I thought that was a little tramp freighter. You mean it's really a spy ship? What a surprise," Rajan said.

  Her flag bridge crew chuckled at her sarcasm.

  The high-g warning sounded, and Caribbean went to her maximum acceleration of 1.7 gravities.

  "Is Admiral Lester's picket in place?"

  "Yes, Ma'am."

  "Ask them to have a destroyer standing by."

  "Yes, Ma'am."

  "They're after us, Sir. From their patrol position. One ship, light cruiser. Making 1.7 gravities."

  "Can they catch us?"

  "No, Sir. They have velocity and angle on us, but at our acceleration the gap will start opening again before they can range us. We're pretty much pointed at empty space at the moment."

  "Well, keep an eye out. Make sure it stays that way."

  "Yes, Sir."

  "I want to transition to hyperspace just as soon as we hit the outer system envelope."

  "Yes, Sir. Will they really fire on us if they catch us?"

  "I doubt it. We're an unarmed ship, and the Commonwealth likes to maintain their goody-two-shoes image."

  During the hours of the chase, the Caribbean had reached its closest approach and then begun to fall behind. The Wanderer continued to run at 2.2 gravities, and the Caribbean continued to chase her at 1.7 gravities.

  "Wanderer is half an hour from the outer envelope, Ma'am."

  "All right. Signal the Middlebury. Send them our plotting."

  "Yes, Ma'am."

  The CSS Middlebury was a destroyer on picket duty. Well away from the chase, she was only a couple minutes away at light speed.

  "Middlebury hypering out, Ma'am."

  The CSF task force protecting the Valore system had gone onto a war footing when the war warning came with the news of the attempted assassination of Admiral Childers. Part of the maneuvers in the new Fleet Book of Maneuvers, for engaging enemy forces who could also hyperspace transition at the edge of the inner system envelope, was the patrol of the system right at that boundary. The book also called for the strategic deployment of some major resources to patrol in hyperspace, to hide the total CSF strength in the system.

  "Hyperspace transition. It's the Georgy Zhukov, Ma'am. She's firing on Wanderer.

  "Target destroyed."

  "My compliments to Captain Pederson. Anybody else decide to fly the coup while we've been chasing this guy?"

  "No, Ma'am."

  "All right. Let's get us turned around and back to our patrol area."

  "Yes, Ma'am."

  In the Goat Locker aboard the CSS Great Plains, Senior Chief Gonzalez elbowed Chief Gunderson after the news came in.

  "See, Charlie? Told ya. She done
it to 'em again. Now watch what happens when they think she ain't around to kick their asses."

  Musterings

  Admiral Ronald Dorn, Tenerife Navy, looked at his display with satisfaction. Ninety-six warships – twelve squadrons! – and over a dozen freighters. He couldn't believe it. Couldn't believe the Outer Colonies, always suspicious of each other, had finally concentrated on who the real enemy was. He had ships from Coronet, Epsley, Lautada, Mon Mari, Oerwoud, and of course Tenerife, all unified under his command. They were finally going to do something about the Commonwealth and its dominance of commerce and shipping.

  Parchman lay only fifteen light-years away from this uninhabited star system. Two weeks spacing. Once he got the word, he would be only two weeks from finally giving the Commonwealth a piece of his mind. And much, much more.

  This was only one of three such fleets to space against the Commonwealth in a trio of near-simultaneous attacks. With spacing times between planets measured in weeks, a few days one way or another wouldn't matter. They wouldn't be able to respond in time to save Dorn and his fleet giving them a message they would never forget.

  The Commonwealth had no idea it was coming. They wouldn't know what hit them.

  Admiral Harold Anderson, Paradiso Space Navy, surveyed the ships under his command as well. They were orbiting a gas giant in an uninhabited star system twelve light-years from Kodu. Fourteen squadrons, totaling one hundred and twelve warships, from Alpen, Arramond, Ferrano, New Carolina, Refugio, Samara, and his own Paradiso, as well as fifteen freighters.

  "Pretty impressive, isn't it, Sir?" asked Rear Admiral Jane Gunther, his chief of staff.

  "Don't forget the Commonwealth fielded a fleet ten times this size against Earth only a few years back," Anderson said.

  "Yes, but that was everything they had, Sir, and they have to cover thirty-two planets."