Chiral Justice: A Hard Science Fiction Technothriller (The Biogenesis War Book 3)
Page 1
— BOOK 3 —
THE BIOGENESIS WAR
CHIRAL JUSTICE
LL RICHMAN
CHIRAL JUSTICE
Copyright © 2020 by L.L. Richman
The Biogenesis War™ is a registered trademark of L.L. Richman
All rights reserved. This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. No part of this eBook may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles, reviews, or promotions.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Published by Delta V Press
Cover Copyright © 2020 L.L. Richman
Editing by Jen McDonnell, Bird’s Eye Books
ISBN-13:
0 9 8 7 5 4 3 2 1
Produced in the United States of America
ALSO BY LL RICHMAN
You can always find the most up to date listing of book titles on LL Richman’s Amazon Author Page.
The Biogenesis War
– The Chiral Agent, June 2020
– The Chiral Protocol, September 2020
– Chiral Justice, February 2021
The Biogenesis War Files: The Early Years
– Operation Cobalt, December 2020
– The Chiral Conspiracy, June 2020
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CONTENTS
ALSO BY LL RICHMAN
CONTENTS
EPIGRAPH
PART ONE: DISCOVERY
TURNING THE ASSET
A STRANGER’S PLEA
OBELUS
DEBRIEF
THEFT
NARROW MISS
INTERCEPTION
CABINET APPOINTMENTS
CELLMATES
HURRY UP AND WAIT
POOR CHOICES
SCIF
TEAM ERIDU BRIEFING
TEAM FOUNDER’S CUP
PART TWO: DEPLOYED
FAIRGROUNDS
DEPARTURE
SIMULATOR RIDE
FERRETS
GATE TRANSIT
REGATTA
KATIE’S WAR
SOS
GESTALT
THE DAGGER
MERCHANT SHIP
THE DINNER
MORRISON
CARROT AND STICK
MONSOON
PART THREE: DECEIVED
INTELLIGENCE BRIEFING
RECON
DAGGER’S DOZEN
PROPOSAL
COMMITMENT
SURPRISE INSPECTION
INSERTION
CONFIRMATION
TRAITORS NAMED
TRIGGERED
TELOMERES
CAPTURED
PRISON INSPECTION
DECISION TIME
PART FOUR: DEPOSED
EXHIBITION RACE
DROPSHIP
PAPERWORK
SHAR-KALI INITIATIVE
SHIT SHOW
SACRIFICES
JOINT OPERATIONS
SHELL GAME
OOBLECK
CHECK
CHECKMATE
A FOND GOODBYE
PREVIEW: OPERATION COBALT
EPIGRAPH
ONE
TWO
AFTERWORD
TERMINOLOGY
PRINCIPAL CHARACTERS
WEAPONRY & ARMOR
About the Biogenesis War™ Universe
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ALSO BY LL RICHMAN
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
EPIGRAPH
Power works by division, influence by multiplication.
Power, in other words, is a zero-sum game:
the more you share, the less you have.
Influence is a non-zero-sum game:
the more you share, the more you have.
~Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks
PART ONE: DISCOVERY
One week earlier….
TURNING THE ASSET
Premier’s Briefing, State Assembly House
Central Prefecture, Eridu
Akkadian Empire (Alpha Centauri A)
The prisoner’s head hung forward, his restraints the only thing keeping him from collapsing into the slick of bodily fluids pooling at his feet. The lone patch of illumination was centered on the chair, yet something about the recording suggested a cavernous space extending into the darkness beyond.
Che Josza wasn’t watching the holographically projected image; he was watching the man riveted to the frozen scene before him. Asher Dent, the new Akkadian premier.
“This is the Alliance’s vice chief of Joint Operations?” asked Dent.
Che nodded. “Yes. Harris Carlisle.”
The premier flashed him an approving look. “Excellent.”
Asher Dent had made good use of the political fallout from a failed bioterror attack on the Coalition of Worlds’ Defense Summit eighteen months earlier. Having been one of its targeted victims, he was the only Akkadian that the settled worlds knew was uninvolved with the attempt to decimate the intelligence community.
Dent had used that political currency to trade his seat as the Coalition’s Minority Leader for the reins of the Akkadian Empire. The botched operation by the previous administration had provided the leverage needed to ‘retire’ the aging premier and lay the blame at his heir-apparent’s feet.
It hadn’t mattered that the premier’s daughter had no prior knowledge of the failed attack. Asher Dent had an ironclad alibi; he would have died with all the rest had the viral agent not been neutralized in time.
With Dent at the helm, Akkadia enjoyed an unexpected leniency within the Coalition. Sanctions held against the Empire by other star nations were relaxed, tariffs lowered.
If they only knew, Che thought. They have exchanged a sleeping fox for a ravenous wolf.
Che’s own appointment to the ministry had been whirlwind—and utterly undeserved. Had Asher Dent known the truth behind Che’s own involvement in the bioterror attack, Che was certain he’d be resting with his ancestors now, instead of serving as Minister of State Security.
The previous minister—his superior, Rin Zhou Enlai—had been convicted of crimes against the state, and subsequently been made to disappear. She yet lived, but Che wondered if she wouldn’t rather have been gifted an honorable death.
“How long before he breaks?”
The premier’s question pulled Che back to the present. He glanced over to see if Dent had noticed his wandering attention, but the man’s focus was entirely on the prisoner that Che’s senior interrogator had recently acquired.
“I was told a single session secured his cooperation,” Che replied.
Dent frowned at him. “Truly? That is… a surprise. Although…” The premier’s fingers drummed a soft pattern on the table’s surface as his attention returned to the man on the screen, “I would expect no less from the Tèzhǒng.”
The Tèzhǒng was the elite intelligence branch of Akkadia’s state army. It had been Che’s responsibility once upon a time to train these warriors,
to forge them into the ultimate weapons of the State. Part of him wished for those days, simpler times with a singular goal, when the weight of duty was a much easier burden to bear.
But his words betrayed none of these thoughts, his voice calm and measured as he spoke. “You’ll soon see why. It’s evident the man never had any form of resistance training.”
Dent’s lip curled in a sneer of distaste. “Yet another reason our citizen soldiers are superior. The militaries of other star nations cannot compare.”
“I’m not certain we should judge all of the Geminate Navy by this measuring stick,” Che cautioned, thinking of the men and women they had encountered eighteen months ago inside the Hawking Habitat.
He inclined his head toward the holoscreen. “Carlisle may have served in their military, but he is no warrior. It is to our benefit that he managed to rise to the rank of general, but he is clearly a career bureaucrat, not a soldier. He cares more for recognition than respect. These political ambitions were what led us to choose him over other targets.”
Dent shot him a look. “That just serves to prove our military superiority. He never would have made it to that position here on Eridu. Resistance training is mandatory for our soldiers. We both know this. You were the leader of the Junxun; I was one of your students.”
Che lifted his coffee in wordless acknowledgment. “One of the best.”
The recording began to play, though it was difficult to tell. The man being turned into an Akkadian agent remained slumped in his chair, pasty skin glowing in the harsh light. Carlisle was in his mid-fifties, with the telltale softening of a man who’d spent recent years behind a desk.
Footsteps sounded over the feed, echoing off the bare metal walls of the empty warehouse. A pair of boots stopped short of visual range, their toes just touching the pool of light surrounding the subject.
The man didn’t stir.
“You know, I’ve always thought it strange how something as basic as clothing can so easily be used against a prisoner,” Dent mused as he continued to watch the screen with rapt absorption. “Yet, time and again, I’ve seen how the simple act of stripping someone naked ends up being the chink in their armor.”
“That’s a fitting metaphor,” Che agreed. “That thin layer of fabric is a sort of emotional shield. Removing it renders the subject bare in more ways than the obvious.”
A sharp slapping sound broke through the conversation. Che saw a short leather crop in the hand of the agent in charge, and watched the restrained man flinch when it met her bare palm.
“So, General Carlisle.” The woman addressed the man, her face hidden from the holorecorder’s field of view. “Are you ready to cooperate now?”
The prisoner lifted his head, and Che saw blood dripping from the man’s nose. He worked his mouth, and Che knew the man was gently probing his broken front teeth with his tongue.
He winced, then nodded once.
Che saw the agent lean forward, light haloing the back of her head.
“I can’t hear you, sir. Will you cooperate?”
“Yessss.” The word was hissed, pain-filled, as cold air slid over the tooth’s jagged remains, firing the exposed nerves.
The woman gestured one of her men forward. The soldier crouched beside Carlisle and attached electrodes to the man. The prisoner jerked in his restraints, panicking. Promises of fealty quickly devolved to epithets, and then pleas for clemency.
Che looked away. He knew what would come next; he’d performed the same interrogation himself countless times as he’d risen through the ranks. Agents like these did the work for him now, removing him from the process and providing a thin film of deniability on the off chance they were discovered.
He used to find satisfaction in the hands-on brutality of the work. There was a gritty immediacy to it all that he could still vividly recall. The blood dripping from the man’s face, mixed with the piss that he’d just voided, would give the air in the room a sour, slightly metallic smell, Che knew.
Now… it sickened him.
This next phase wasn’t calculated to break the man; that had already been accomplished. It would serve to guarantee his compliance. The psychological effects of this particular brand of torture, targeting his most vulnerable core, would sear an important lesson into the man’s brain. Memory of this event would serve as a reminder of the consequences he could expect, should he ever entertain the thought of refusing his handlers.
Actions like this were necessary, for once an asset was restored to his position behind enemy lines, the individual invariably fell into a false sense of security. The man would receive one final round of torture, conducted in his own office one week from now, specifically to disabuse him of that falsehood.
The interrogation team cleared the pool of light, and a stream of water hit the prisoner, hosing him down. In the next moment, Carlisle’s body arched as an electrical stimulus poured into it. The military-grade carbyne nanofloss augmentation that ran through his skeleton served as an excellent conductor; the man’s face twisted in a rictus of pain.
Blood foamed at Carlisle’s mouth as he began to seize. From the corner of his eye, Che saw Dent lean forward, despite the fact that the drama playing out before them had occurred several hours earlier.
“Don’t lose him,” the premier growled, and Che heard Dent’s words echoed by the agent on the other end.
Once released from the current, Carlisle slumped forward. The feed ended as operatives cut him loose and then dragged his unconscious form away.
“That session ended an hour ago. Carlisle has already been treated by medical,” said Che as he shut off the recording and turned to face his premier. “He’ll be returned from his ‘vacation’ this evening, and will resume his duties with the Geminate Alliance tomorrow.”
“Very good. How long after that before we enact Obelus?” the premier asked. He stood, signaling to Che that his time was up.
Che followed the man’s lead. “It shouldn’t be long. Our people are moving into position now.”
Dent nodded and started for the door, but then came to a stop at the minister’s next words.
“Carlisle isn’t the holdup. It’s Clint Janus.”
The premier turned, his expression icy with displeasure. “I understood he’d successfully cloned a working proof of concept. I was told that our assets inside the Alliance made the swap a few days ago, and that the clone is already in position.”
“He is—or rather, he was.” Che worked hard to keep his expression blank. “Janus has allowed the pawn to slip its leash.”
A STRANGER’S PLEA
The Hill – Fine Dining District
Downtown Montpelier, Ceriba
Micah Case paused in the middle of the crowded Montpelier district known as The Hill and inhaled deeply as a savory smell teased at his nose. The dark-haired Shadow Recon pilot looked around, but pinpointing the origin of the mouth-watering aroma was an impossible feat. He was literally surrounded by bistros and curry houses, marisquerías and trattorias.
The dining district, located in a town just south of the capital city of St. Clair Township, was a popular destination, as evidenced by the crush of people flowing past him.
He inhaled once more, and his stomach growled. That earned him a light elbow jab from his companion.
“Don’t they feed you up on that base, Captain?”
The warmth in her voice danced through his mind, a bright glow dispelling the darkness that had sunk its claws into his soul at the end of his last mission.
The sight of two bodybags carried by the remaining four members of the special forces team was seared into his brain. They’d come in hot, both Nina and Will, Wraith’s gunner and flight engineer, had stood at the end of the Helios’s ramp, laying covering fire inside the cargo bay of the derelict space station as the men and women of SRU Team Six raced toward them.
Micah had had his own troubles, fending off two technicals—improvised fighting vessels the smugglers had launched against them.
Still, he’d kept one eye on the team’s approach, saw the frag grenade the enemy had fired, watched Tank launch himself toward it to shield the others.
Six inserted. Three retrieved.
Unacceptable.
A hand tapped him on the sleeve. He looked down, his blue eyes meeting laughing green ones.
“Don’t they feed you up there?” Samantha Travis repeated. She tugged lightly on his arm, silently encouraging him to resume their stroll.
Micah took the hint and began maneuvering them once more through the dinnertime crowd. He made an effort to shake his morbid thoughts, to stay in the present with the woman who held his heart.
“There’s food and then there’s culinary artistry.” He strove to inject a lightheartedness he didn’t yet feel into his tone as he spun his finger around to indicate the various eateries. “Trust me. What the Navy serves and what I’m smelling here? Not even close.”
“Well, we are surrounded by the best that Montpelier has to offer. I wonder…” Her brows arched in playful challenge. “You think that might be why this area’s also known as Restaurant Row?”
“Watch it, wiseass.”
Sam bumped her hip against his as he snaked a hand around her waist.
“That’s Doctor Wiseass to you.”
Micah grinned, and he felt the last of the chill in his soul retreat under the shine of Sam’s exuberant spirit.
It felt good to be planetside for a change, with Sam by his side.
The light from the white dwarf above Ceriba kissed Sam’s hair, the strands glinting gold in the waning light. His fingers twitched, and he resisted the urge to tuck an errant strand behind her ear.
Instead, he tugged her closer, and she settled comfortably against him as he let the murmur of voices from the crowded street wash over him. The sounds mingled with the chirping of the birds flitting through the trees at a nearby park as they meandered through the small borough.