Resolve of Steel (Halloran's War Book 2)

by J. R. Geoghan

  Being the leader of an underground colony in a remote star system wasn’t all that glamorous.

  He reached out and grasped the steaming mug on the railing in front of him. The coffee was too hot to drink, so he sipped at it and inhaled the aroma. He remembered the stories of the beverage’s origin on Earth and wondered idly if they still made it there, in the green forests on tall hills below a blue sky. He wondered what was left of the planet their race had originated from.

  At length he tried a deeper sip but was rewarded with a burn on his tongue. Grimacing, he gave in to the need to get the impatient Captain on his way back to his ship and out of the colony, and turned to the open door behind him.

  The control level was where the main colonial security facility was housed. As the Governor, Jackson had direct access to the Chief of Security and his staff. It was here that the Fleet representatives liked to meet—they didn’t feel safe down in the bowels of the facility. Jackson didn’t blame them. Fleet wasn’t all that revered by the masses here.

  Captain Orris was standing at the far end of the battered conference table along with two of his lackeys—officers by the look of them. In their formal gray uniforms. Sitting at the table and clearly ignoring the Fleet people was a large, sloppily dressed man with unkempt hair and a worker’s hat set at a deliberately rakish angle. Jackson smothered a smirk as he slid in next to the man and sat intentionally erect. “Gentlemen.”

  Orris was annoyed. “Governor Jackson. Did we spoil your morning coffee?”

  Jackson waved at the seats standing vacant across from him. “Hardly. It was too hot. Burned my tongue.”

  “You have my sympathies.” The Captain’s dry tone indicated his lack of compassion, but he grabbed the back of a chair and glanced down to check its cleanliness. Satisfied, he slid into it and shot a pointed look at his subordinates. One of them, a young woman, looked about to let a grin loose but Jackson watched her sublimate it under the senior officer’s glare. She and the other one took their own seats facing Jackson.

  “Let’s get right to it, Governor. Your last shipment was delayed by six days, and the one before that five. I fail to see why the Fleet should wait even a day beyond the agreed-upon interval for finished, rolled product.”

  Jackson was impassive. “We’re aware of the concerns. However, my office has assured me that the delays will be dealt with by the next shipment.”

  Orris didn’t look placated. “I’ll pass your assurances on to Fleet command. In the meantime, I want to discuss the laxes in security that have come to my attention.”

  Jackson blinked at the sudden shift of topic. He wasn’t aware of any such concerns. “And you have this on what authority?”

  Orris had the look of a predator who’d cornered his prey. “The Fleet has its sources. So you don’t deny the loss of a security team of two officers last week?”

  Jackson heard the man next to him sit up straight and clear his throat. “Those ‘sources’ of yours, Orris—they turncoats on my security team? If so…” The man slammed a palm on the thick wood tabletop. “I’ll find ‘em.”

  Orris hadn’t flinched. “Ah, the vaunted Chief of Security has a voice.” The officer’s words dripped with sarcasm.

  Jackson leaned in. “Captain, we’re supposed to be on the same side.”

  Orris leaned in himself, matching Jackson’s posture. “If we were on the same side, you’d be sharing your security concerns with the flotilla assigned to protect this rock from the Prax.”

  Jackson held the man’s gaze. “This is first I am hearing of a security failing in my colony.”

  Finally, he’d made an impression. Orris’ eyes faltered. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  Jackson sat back, nodding. “Apparently, someone isn’t sharing everything with the proper authorities. Max?”

  The Security Chief fidgeted under the two leader’s glares. “It was last week. The roving patrol found the signs of a struggle in a lower passage. The two missing men are suspected to have ties to smuggling operations within the colony.”

  Orris’ look hardened. “My understanding was that that was dealt with a year ago.”

  Jackson intervened. “Captain, I appreciate your concern, but the governance—including security—of this colony is my administration’s responsibility. We’ll conduct the necessary investigations and be sure to include your staff in the conclusions.” He didn’t need the Fleet crawling up his backside at this point.

  After a few moments of resolute silence, Orris placed his hands on the table and slowly stood. His eyes met Jackson’s. He exhaled slowly. “The two of you think this is a game. That you can play the Fleet and collect your payments for this super-steel.”

  Jackson wanted to burst to his own feet, but made himself sit still. The goal was to let the Captain go.

  Orris stood completely and looked down at him. “There’s a shooting war going on out there. Our forces are taking a pounding in several systems, most notably the Sol system. People are dying, Governor. And my ships are stuck in orbit watching over your frozen rock. Most days, I don’t think you appreciate my restraint as much as you should.”

  Jackson nodded. “Your concerns are noted, Captain. The people of Tavar do appreciate the protection your ships afford us.”

  Orris regarded the two Tavarrans for another few seconds before pushing the chair aside and stepping for the door. His two juniors leapt up and followed him. The door was opened smoothly for him by Jackson’s aide; he’d been waiting in the hall.

  When the door closed Jackson got to his feet and paced across the room.

  “Go ahead. Say it,” prompted Max.

  Jackson turned on him. “What do you think you’re doing? And in front of Fleet?”

  Max raised both hands in supplication. “Wait, wait, Governor. The men in question are almost guaranteed to turn up in a back-alley den any day now. You know how those off-worlder grunts are.”

  “But you need to bring me in on these situations. All of them.” Jackson smacked his hand on the back of a nearby chair. “Max, you may be my cousin, but I can remove you at any moment.”

  “Your uncle may see it differently.”

  Jackson closed both eyes and rubbed his hands across his bare head, massaging it. “Tell me what you do have.”

  “The two men were part of the Delta Level team.”

  Jackson stopped and looked at him. “Now you mention this?” The Delta Level team had been detailed to monitor a remote level in the lower mountain range after the science team felt more strongly that the disruptions were emanating from that area of the colony. Those sections were notoriously dangerous and virtually all citizens shunned them. Someone could legitimately get lost down there and not turn up for months. When their body was found.

  Max drummed his fingers on the table. “The rest of the team has been combing the lower levels, but nothing. The log in Egress 256 shows the passcode for one of the missing men, Mladin, was used to open it right around the time he should’ve checked it on patrol. After that, nothing.”

  “The other guard?”

  “Anders. He was slated to relieve Mladin. When neither checked in the team went on alert.”

  “Did either have any family in the colony?”

  Max shook his head. “Don’t think so. Both were part of the Delta Level team for a reason.”

  Jackson dropped in a seat. “No chance they skipped up to the port for a girlfriend visit?” He asked hopefully. The spaceport above their heads in orbit was technically a fleet facility but a thousand more adventurous citizens had set up living quarters among the ship docks. The port was the one place at Tavar where citizens could interact—nominally—with the outside world.

  “Don’t think so.”

  “We have to assume that this is connected with the disruptions.”

  Max’s gaze sharpened. “You think we should send a team down in force? Dig the whole region up?”

  “It’s something to think about.” He waved in the direction of the
door. “The Fleet is getting more and more insistent about the delays. We can’t keep pretending that the issue will resolve itself.” For almost a year now, the planet had seemed to be fighting them at every turn. The electronics would fry in odd places, often deep in the bowels of the mining levels. Ore lifts would fail for no reason, causing days of diagnostic and repair delays. And yes, several workers had gone missing or been found dead beneath cave-ins. After years of steady progress, the mining ops seemed cursed. Despite the frustrations, everyone carried on.

  Max shifted. “Those lower levels scare even me, frankly. And I don’t scare easy.”

  Jackson nodded. That was an understatement. As they were growing up together in and around the mines, he would watch his cousin do incredibly stupid things almost every day. The fact that he was alive today itself was a minor miracle. “Start putting a force together. Include some guys from the ops, I want miners with them. Plus some old-timers who remember more about the lower level construction.”

  “I know a few,” Max offered.

  “Good.” Jackson got up. “And please, stop trying so hard to antagonize the Fleet people with your attire at these meetings.”

  Max stood as well. “A Tavarran’s got to have a little fun, Governor,” he teased.

  “That’s what you’ve always said, as long as I can remember.”

  Max followed him to the door. “Yep.”

  Jackson watched his cousin’s back as he receded down the long hall outside. He’s actually a good security boss, despite his non-existent political skills, he thought.

  His aide was at his side. “Sir, your next meeting is here.”

  “Lead the way.”

  He had his hand on the hand on the entry lever to the other conference room when he heard a commotion and looked. Max was running back up the corridor toward him, now with another security officer behind him.

  Jackson and the aide exchanged alarmed looks. The other’s eyes were wide.

  “I’ve never seen him run like that,” Jackson admitted.

  Part Three - Citizens

  Chapter 15

  Tavar, Struve System

  Cold.

  Halloran felt consciousness returning, and with it an intense sensation of numbness combined with pain. It was several long minutes before he felt gathered enough to pull himself into a seated position. He felt his hands raw with the temperature and realized that his gloves were off. An exhalation came out as a cloud of semi-frozen droplets.

  He was not outside, that much was obvious at first glance. And not alone, either; men were piled in heaps around him. Light was in short supply, but the lumps of gray were clearly familiar.

  Halloran tried to stretch, feeling the lethargy in his bones and muscles. A supreme effort of will and he found himself on his feet.

  “Captain.”

  He bent at the waist, trying to stretch his midriff, and looked for the voice in the gloomy space. “Here.” His back ached, too.

  “Wilson over here, sir. Thought it looked like you.”

  “Any idea where we are?” Halloran tried to remember the chain of events; the cold wind, the aches, the door opening. Other men. Guns. “I thought we got shot.”

  “I think we did, sir. But not bullets or those plasma weapons.”

  Halloran stood straight and rubbed his temples. That hurt. “What hit us?”

  Wilson was up now, moving through the inert forms and placing his hands on shoulders, shoving and tugging.

  “Ugh,” said a voice from the pile.

  “Here now, Frank. On your feet. The Skipper’s waiting,” encouraged Wilson.

  Halloran stepped over the nearest body toward the shaft of light emanating from the wall. His outstretched hand met cold stone and, several inches to the left, metal. They were dumped in a storage room or something similar. “Wilson see if you can get everyone up.”

  “Workin’ on it, sir. Do you see any of our packs or weapons?”

  Halloran moved around the perimeter of the space, searching with his eyes and toe tips for anything solid. “Nothing.”

  “Figures, sir.”

  “Keep at it.” He saw Chief Reyes staring up at him with sightless eyes. Stooping, he slapped the man on the cheek with some force.

  That worked; Abran blinked and groaned. “Ouch…sir? What hit me? Gawd, I think I’m drooling!” He swiped the back of a meaty hand across his cheek.

  Halloran shook his shoulder. “Welcome back to the land of the living, Chief. And yes, you were.” He stood back up and extended a hand to the Cuban, whose eyes locked on and a hand reached up in a viselike grasp.

  When they were standing together, Reyes looked around. “We need to get these boys up from their naps. My head is killing me, sir. You?”

  “Same, Chief.” Halloran had a thought. “Seems like we were tasered or something.”

  “Makes sense, sir. Let me do some rousting while you get a lay of the land.”

  Halloran went back to the door and a crack of light that shone through the gap. His side ached from the fall out on the surface. Finding no evidence of a handle, he pried his fingers into the space as best as he could and gave an experimental tug. Nothing. So they were definitely locked up. He wanted to rap on the door and demand that they be released, but decided to wait until his people were back at their best strength.

  “Sir,” Reyes called softly. “No sign of Captain Kendra.”

  “Thanks, Chief.”

  Several minutes later everyone was up and, other than splitting headaches and limbs numbed by the pervasive cold, no injuries were reported by Corpsman Whitney. Not that he could have done much for a wound; his med bag was missing as well. Parker was cursing a blue streak under his breath about his missing tool bag, leading Halloran to deduce that even he was better following his fall.

  They gathered by the door. “Any luck with this, sir?” asked DeBartelo.

  “It’s not a tight fit, as you can see from the light getting in. But the frame is solid and in the rock. See what you can do, Frank.”

  The burly sailor tested the metal, flexing his muscles against the unyielding door. “Oomph. Pretty secure, sir.”

  Halloran crossed his arms. “So we wait.”

  Turned out that the wait wasn’t all that long. Everyone had just settled into positions sitting or squatting when the light flashed briefly and the sound of the door latch being operated brought everyone to their feet.

  “Stay sharp, everyone,” warned Halloran. “If we see a chance to make a break for it, follow either my or Chief Reyes’ lead and don’t hesitate.”

  A chorus of “ayes” sounded as the door clanked and began to grind outward. Light now blinded them and filled the room. Halloran held his arm up to shield his eyes and acquire a better view of the forms standing in the entrance.

  Halloran wanted to assert his authority before anything else happened. “Everyone, show them your hands.”

  A looming shadow was in his face, now shoving him back a step.

  “Get ‘em up!” said a gruff voice from the entrance. “Let us see them clearly, or we’ll knock you all down again and start over.”

  So these are humans at least.

  The form in front of Halloran grabbed him by the collar, lifting him to his toe-tips.

  “Bring him,” ordered the gruff voice. “The rest of you, hold where you are!”

  “You can’t take the skipper,” someone said from his group. There was a cold fury in the voice and booted feet shuffled on the stone floor.

  “We’ll take who we please. You keep still or it’ll cost all of you.”

  Halloran, trying to limit his struggle against his oversized captor, intervened before anyone did something stupid. “Belay that. I’ll be fine.”

  The gruff voice had stepped back from the opening. “Yeah, he’ll be fine. So sit down.”

  Halloran was dragged by his toes through the doorway and he blinked in the bright light of the corridor. The door closed behind him as he was shoved against another wall of st
one, lightly smacking the back of his head against it with a wince.

  The monster of a man held him pinioned against the rock, regarding him with an expression that bordered on boredom. The eyes were cold. He wore a thick parka with a blaze of orange down both sleeves. On his massive head sat a too-small helmet that looked a lot like the old kevlar lids. The man’s cheeks were thick and droopy, as if he was ill-nourished. But his grip and arm strength certainly wasn’t lacking.

  “So you’re the officer, eh?” Said Gruff Voice from behind the monster.

  “Captain Thomas Halloran, USN, at your service. We’re here to meet with your senior officer. To discuss—.”

  “Grillo, shut him up.”

  Grillo reached out with his other paw and placed it across Halloran’s mouth, adjusting his fingers as an afterthought to clear Halloran’s nose opening so he could breathe.

  “That’s better. Let me get a look at him.”

  A much-shorter man moved around Grillo and leaned in. He was a good foot shorter than Halloran and was a fraction of the size of his hired monster. He had his helmet off and his seriously matted brown hair was clearly going gray. The jaw was scarred and looked like it had taken a large number of beatings over a lifetime. The eyes were dark and hard, matching his deep gravelly voice.

  “You’re a tall one for a human,” Gruff Voice said. “Lucky I’ve got Grillo along.” He frowned at Halloran. “You’re coming with us. Grillo, bring the ‘officer’. The rest can wait.”

  Grillo released his planted hand and wadded the fingers into a pointed fist gesture as if to say “no talking,” in conjunction with a scrunching up of his rumpled face. After a moment, he used his other hand to grab Halloran by the upper arm and propel him forward on the heels of Gruff.

  Fifty paces up and they turned left into another stone-cut corridor, then down a short ramp and right into an open door. They passed several men who stopped to watch them pass; all wore similar shabby uniforms to Gruff and Grillo. So it was a military facility.

  The march ended in a room that was clear of furniture except for a solitary table and several chairs. When Grillo shoved him in the direction of one, Halloran discovered that they were screwed into the floor. The fresh pain in his side reminded him of his losing battle with the wind outside, and the shuttle and ship in orbit. He needed to regain control of this shore party…soon.