by P. R. Adams
But they were alive. It was more than Benson had expected when she’d fallen.
Was it more than they deserved?
At least no one was talking about a court-martial. Not yet.
When they came out of the tube, Halliwell pointed the way they needed to take. This level was in better condition—not even a scuff mark in sight. And it was warmer.
He checked his communicator. “One minute, five seconds. Could these guys possibly get one thing right?”
She traced the chevrons on his sleeve. “You look good as a staff sergeant.”
“Sure. And you look great with those commander epaulets, but they’re the wrong ranks.”
“I’ll talk to Colonel McLeod. He’ll get it fixed.”
“See if you can get us the pay, at least. Everything they owe me…”
How likely was it they were going to allow Halliwell to proceed with his separation request given everything that had happened in the last handful of weeks? Benson didn’t hold out much hope, and a selfish part of her hoped he’d change his mind and stay with her—with the Pandora—until everything was sorted out. That seemed to be the expectation, otherwise he wouldn’t have been invited to whatever the meeting was.
They found the conference room with seconds to spare and plopped into seats closest to the hatch while the others stared. There were only five: Colonel McLeod, Lieutenant Stiles, a dark-skinned man in urban camouflage that showed no rank, a female Marine major, and an older man dressed in a long-out-of-fashion suit.
McLeod relaxed when he saw Benson. The hatch slid shut, and he cleared his throat. “Thank you all for taking the time out of your busy schedules for this meeting. There’s a lot to do, so I’ll keep it brief.”
The older civilian in the out-of-fashion outfit bowed his head. He seemed relatively fit, yet the bronze flesh of his face had started to sag into jowls. “One second, Colonel.”
“Go ahead, Jared.”
“I’d rather we not just speed through this. I have questions.”
“And we’ll address them.”
Jared glared at the man in the urban camouflage uniform. “To begin with, the idea that the SAID has any authority here at—”
“Mr. Klees.” Without the slightest move, the man in the urban camouflage uniform had cut the older man off.
Benson had no idea what SAID was doing on the station, especially a station as far out on the edge as Tamos. Her initial reaction was the same as this Jared Klees person’s—the intelligence organization had no business on a military installation, especially not one run by civilians and reserve units.
But after all she’d seen in the DMZ, Benson knew better than to believe SAID didn’t belong anywhere.
This mess the Kedraalian Republic was in had the SAID’s fingerprints all over it.
Would Halliwell accept that, though?
His jaw was clenched, and his eyes were locked on the dark-skinned man.
The SAID agent leaned forward slowly. “We operate under a very different model than what you’re used to, Mr. Klees. As Colonel McLeod can tell you, the particulars of my license are for me to decide at present.”
Klees’s jowls shook. “Agent Patel, the structure of command doesn’t dissolve simply because you say so.”
“I’m afraid it does. And if you’re uncomfortable with such a structure—”
“Uncomfortable? You’re undermining established authority—”
“—then you’re free to designate someone to fulfill your obligations—”
“—to further your illicit scheming—”
Patel slammed a hand down on the table. “That is enough, Mr. Klees.”
The older man rocked back in his seat, clearly unprepared for such a response. “I’ve been in charge of Tamos Shipyards for forty-two years!”
“If you wish to reach your forty-third year, do yourself a favor and be quiet. Or designate someone else to perform your duties. Your choice.”
The old man seemed to be seriously considering leaving.
Rather than let things calm down, the SAID agent leaned forward. “Which will it be, Mr. Klees?”
Klees curled his hands in front of him. “Go on.” It came out ice cold.
Did the old man have something on Patel? On SAID?
Patel didn’t seem concerned. He nodded at McLeod, who seemed to need a second to center himself.
Stiles’s eyes darted from her own clasped hands to the colonel’s closed eyes.
GSA. SAID. The civilian folks running the shipyard. The Marine reservists.
How were they all going to fit in with whatever the colonel had in mind?
McLeod opened his eyes. “Several days ago, the Pandora contacted the Clarion, which passed the ship along to Tamos control. You’ve all been briefed about what transpired, and I’m sure you’ve heard about some of the incidents that are being reported from ships monitoring the DMZ.”
Major Fero held up one of her pudgy, shiny hands. “Colonel, just how close is the situation between the Azoren and Gulmar to escalating into a hot war?”
“We probably won’t know until it happens.”
That drew a dissatisfied grunt from the old woman.
McLeod put a smile on display—chipper, unflappable. “What you probably haven’t heard is that shortly before the Pandora arrived, the Clarion lost contact with a sensitive listening post inside Azoren space.”
Klees’s bright eyes flew wide. “A Kedraalian post? Inside enemy space?”
“Yes.”
“Are we trying to provoke war, Colonel?”
“Quite the opposite, I can assure you. But avoiding war requires that we project strength, and since we aren’t going to see budgeting for the military to expand, projecting strength means intelligent allocation of resources.”
While the colonel spoke, the SAID agent glared at the civilian leader.
Benson caught the disgust and disbelief in Halliwell’s eyes. She had some explaining to do for dragging him into this.
Patel tapped the table with a finger. “Mr. Klees, this listening post was inserted with the greatest care. And thanks to its position on a moon that also has a very small military installation, it provides intelligence we could not possibly gain otherwise, intelligence on Azoren and Gulmar operations, planning, and even their own intelligence.”
The old civilian shrugged. “Some intelligence isn’t worth the cost.”
“It is worth any cost! We’ve struggled for years to operate out of sight, to—”
“Yes, yes. I know about your little war in shadow, but it’s about to be exposed to the light, Agent Patel, and we’re all going to pay the price.”
Little war in shadow.
From what Benson had seen, the effort would hardly qualify as “little.”
McLeod flashed polished teeth. “Perhaps if I continued?”
Patel leaned back in his seat, cool and distant again.
“At first, we hoped the listening post might have suffered a mechanical failure and would return to service. The moon they’re on has significant atmospheric anomalies, and they’ve gone silent for days at a time.”
Benson leaned in; she could hear the big “but” in the colonel’s voice.
“Four hours ago, the Clarion received another message from the listening post. Most of it was garbage—corrupted. But analysts were able to pull out one vital piece that survived: an SOS.”
The Marine major’s brow wrinkled. “How many people are assigned, Colonel?”
“Twenty-one.”
It was a strange number, but the intelligence groups all had their own operational requirements. Was it enough to justify expending resources and risking war?
Klees sighed. “It’s unfortunate to lose even a single life, of course—”
Patel drummed his fingers on the tabletop. “Don’t even begin, Mr. Klees.”
“Begin? I was simply going to point out that twenty-one lives—”
“Mean more to us than this entire shipyard.” Patel jabbed
a finger at the old man. “But it’s not the lives we’re concerned with. It’s the intelligence. It’s the risk of the Azoren knowing what we know.”
The intent behind the discussion seemed to finally sink in for Fero, whose jaw dropped. “You’re planning to enter Azoren space?”
“There is no alternative.”
“I don’t mean to sound heartless, Agent Patel, but don’t these facilities have explosives to destroy their gear?”
“And their personnel. They wouldn’t have sent an SOS if they’d succeeded.”
Silence settled over the room.
Major Fero winced. “I’m really sorry, Agent Patel, but I just can’t see how you’re going to get the resources you need to pull off some sort of rescue. Central Command hasn’t responded to any request from Tamos, no matter the urgency, not since the last major cutbacks, what, fifteen years ago?”
McLeod cleared his throat. “We have a few ships already in the area that will join us, but you’re correct, Major: We don’t have sufficient resources for an operation like this.”
“Which I’m assuming means we turn to diplomatic measures immediately.”
“That won’t be possible.”
“Then…?”
“We turn to the only reasonable alternative.”
Klees buried his face in his hands. “Dear God. That’s why you asked for the inventory report.”
“Yes. And it’s why I’m going to ask you to cancel all time off and to increase hours for your staff for the next five days, until we can get the Marie Belle, the Pulsar, and some select support pieces operational again.”
“Five days? We couldn’t do what you’re talking about in five months! Just getting approval from Central Command logistics would take six months. And—”
The colonel’s smile didn’t budge. “Mr. Klees, we have five days. We have sufficient personnel to re-install engines, upgrade systems, and launch the ships into orbit.”
Klees gasped. “That’s impossible! Don’t you think I would know—”
“I’ve run the numbers. Reallocating every asset to this process, doubling shifts, canceling vacations—”
“Every single one of the things you’re asking for requires approval from at least one level higher in the command structure.”
“Not with the powers Agent Patel is invoking. He’s authorized everything we’re talking about right here. You’ll have formal documentation filed by the end of the day.”
The administrator seemed ready to protest more but couldn’t seem to get words out.
Major Fero patted Klees’s hand. “Colonel, meaning no offense, but even if you get those ships running again, you won’t have the crew to staff them.”
McLeod and Patel exchanged a glance.
It was the SAID agent who spoke next. “Nearly four hundred personnel working on Mr. Klees’s staff are former Kedraalian Navy personnel. They will be reactivated for the duration of this operation.”
Klees made a couple sounds. Fine threads of spittle dropped from his mouth. “The authority—”
“All covered by the Wartime Emergency Measures Act, Mr. Klees.”
“Not…” The old man gulped for air. “We’re not at war.”
“If we don’t act now, we will be.”
The old administrator pushed away from the table. “I…”
He got to his feet uncertainly and stumbled around the table, back stiffening when he reached the hatch. Instead of making some sort of fiery speech, he staggered into the passageway.
The Marine major got to her feet. “I’ll make sure he’s okay.”
McLeod waited until she was at the hatch, then stood as well. “Major?”
She turned. “Yes?”
“Your Marines will be part of this as well.”
“I…understand.” She didn’t seem much better before the hatch hid her from view.
Patel turned his dark eyes on Benson at that point. “As you can see, Commander, there will be a serious shortage of competent officers to run this operation. As a result, you will be appointed the head of the task force.”
Throughout the meeting, Benson had felt outside the effect of the crushing sense of madness. She’d never seen such an impossible presumption, the assertion of so much authority on such flimsy rationale and reasoning. While Klees came across as ridiculously out of touch and precious, his disbelief at the unilateral assumption of control was understandable.
The Wartime Emergency Measures Act? Authority for that only came down to actual emergency measures during an actual war. What Patel was describing was a crisis, an embarrassment and…not much else. Not yet.
And now he was foisting his insane plan onto her? Command of the task force that would consist of…what? The Pandora? Whatever ships they had called in?
What were the odds of getting even one of the mothballed ships running?
The SAID agent didn’t wait for her to reply, instead turning to McLeod. “We’ll talk again over breakfast, Colonel.”
Then the man strutted to the hatch, as if he thought he were in an honor guard parading before all the citizens of Kedraal.
When the hatch closed, McLeod wagged a finger. “Don’t say it, Commander.”
“Say what?” She stared at the hatch, still unable to believe what had just happened. “You’re enabling a despotic lunatic—”
“Agent Patel is operating within the boundaries of his license.”
“Colonel, you can’t invoke the Wartime Emergency Measures Act without two things: a war and an emergency.”
McLeod licked his lips. “Lieutenant Stiles?”
The young woman had spent the meeting staring straight ahead, similar to how she had behaved when the privateers had been ready to slaughter the Pandora crew or when Gabriel had been ready to…
Abruptly, Stiles blinked. She looked around. “Agent Patel can invoke the act, Commander.”
Heat flashed through Benson’s cheeks. “I know the act, Lieutenant.”
“Then you know that there are provisions for crisis aversion.”
“Yes. For weather and other catastrophic events that we clearly see—”
“There are elements in Parliament who argue that the provisions extend beyond those limited interpretations.”
“Radical elements, yes. Definitely. No one sane, though.”
McLeod patted Stiles on the shoulder, as if she were a pet he had great pride in. “Elements with a great deal of support, Commander. They’re the elements that will argue that war between the Azoren and the Union is spinning up, that it’s inevitable.”
Benson couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “It is inevitable. You told us that was the intent of the SAID operation that got us killed!”
“Yes, but when it happens, the Republic must be in position to capitalize. That means striking the Azoren where they’re most vulnerable, and that’s information this listening post has. It’s information we must recover or, if necessary, destroy.”
“Colonel, we don’t even know what happened to that station. It might already be in Azoren hands.”
“Then we’ll have to retake it, Commander.”
“This is suicide. It’s murder. You’re going to assign hundreds of people who probably haven’t been aboard a ship in a decade to vessels you’re pulling out of mothball, and you’re asking them to go into Azoren space?”
“We’ll sneak in using the Pandora’s sensor-avoidance systems.”
“That didn’t stop the Hammer of Heaven from spotting us.”
“Its full capabilities weren’t used. It can get us through the DMZ.”
It was too much for Halliwell. “You’re sending all these people to their deaths, Colonel.”
McLeod sat on the table, still smiling. “Fewer will die with a competent commander at the helm. A commander who has experience commanding a ship in a combat situation.”
Benson looked at her epaulet. “This rank…?”
“Official notification of your promotion had been on hold until the Pando
ra situation was resolved. We had to keep you aboard.”
How? It was all she could think to herself: How?
How far back had all of this been planned?
How could such deception and manipulation be acceptable?
The colonel twisted around. “Lieutenant Stiles, I have a feeling I’ll need to chat with Mr. Klees. If you could answer any other questions Commander Benson might have, I’d appreciate it.”
He exited then, leaving the three Pandora crewmembers alone.
Halliwell groaned. He looked ready to put a fist through the table. “They’re breaking the law. This sort of secret war isn’t legal!”
Benson grabbed his forearm. “Lieutenant, can this Colonel McLeod be trusted?”
Stiles seemed to look far away for a moment. “He’s a very senior GSA officer.”
“That’s not a resounding endorsement.”
“I understand. But he’s going to run this mission. That’s his assignment.”
“Run? He’s been trained to command?”
“He’ll be delegating, ma’am, but he has to be there. Commander, you have a choice to make. You can trust us or not. This war, however it shapes up, it was coming with or without the GSA. All we’ve been trying to do is make the outcome as good as it can be.”
Benson swallowed. “All right. If you don’t mind, Sergeant Halliwell—Staff Sergeant Halliwell?”
Stiles smiled. “His promotion was also delayed.”
At least there was that. “We’d like to discuss what comes next.”
“You can reach me at any time using your tablet, ma’am.”
The lieutenant exited without another word, her brisk steps silenced by the hatch closing.
Halliwell snorted. “Unbelievable.”
“I was going to ask you if you thought Brianna could be trusted, but now…”
He took the hand Benson had grabbed him with and kissed it. “I thought we were dead. Then I thought we were court-martialed. Now?”
“I know.”
A part of her felt invulnerable. She’d survived pirates and an Azoren boarding party. But another part of her realized she had done no such thing. She’d barely avoided rape and death thanks to the manipulations of rogue intelligence agencies.