The Feeding of Sorrows

by Rob Howell

  “So, the fuzzy spot is artificial?”

  “Yes, sir. And this emissions profile proves it.” He pointed at the primary source.

  “You think you know who it is? How?”

  “It starts with the duration of the emissions. Remember how it was only emitting for an odd length of time? Wainwright leaned forward. “Williams figured it out.”

  “He did?” Gonzalez looked at the sensor tech with a raised eyebrow.

  “Yes, sir. It matched a Zuul unit of time.”

  “The Zuul, again,” Gonzalez said with a growl.

  “Yes, sir,” agreed Wainwright. “I had the same initial thought, and it bothered me. We’ve seen the Zuul too much lately, and a beacon emitting for that precise length of time points to them. It seemed too easy.” He nodded at the sensor tech. “But Williams has, I think, confirmed it.”

  “You’re on a roll today, Williams.”

  “Thank you, sir. But it really wasn’t much.” He pulled up a different screen. “I ran the signal through our complete database of emissions.”

  Gonzalez tilted his head. “That emissions database is too large for a quick response, but you filtered it down to just the Zuul, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, sir.” He clicked on a window. “The emissions match a Zuul Type Two Corvette running a full-blast maintenance run on their fusion plant. They emitted in the other frequencies to balance out the signature and make it seem like an even burst.”

  “So they did ‘turn it on like a light.’”

  “Exactly, sir.”

  “Could it be anyone else, XO?”

  “Sure, but they’d have to have a plant built for Type Twos. The Zuul aren’t overfond of selling their tech to other races.”

  “They’re not overfond of talking to other races.”

  Wainwright chuckled. “That, too.”

  “There’s another thing, sir.”

  “Yes, Williams?”

  “We’d only see this if their fusion torch is pointed at us. If they had been off sixty degrees or so, we wouldn’t have seen it at all. At thirty degrees, I might not have noticed it among the background stars.”

  “What do you conclude?”

  “They could’ve pointed it at any spot in space if they were really doing maintenance. They pointed it at the re-entry point and, as soon as they saw us arrive, ran that run and tried to conceal it in the noise of the signal. I bet most merchies don’t have good enough sensors to pick through that noise. I doubt any of the others who arrived during the time it was active would’ve seen it as anything but an anomaly.”

  “They were sending a message to us and only us.”

  “Yes, sir,” replied Wainwright. “And they made sure that no one around Maquon could see it.”

  Gonzalez pondered this for a long moment. “Okay, you sold me. Hollywood showers for the next week for Mr. Williams. All the water he wants.” Gonzalez looked down at the spacer. “Don’t thank me, Williams. We’ll be working your ass off for the next month, so that might be the closest thing to sleep you get.”

  The sensor tech chuckled. “I can sleep later, sir.”

  “That you can. Any hint about where that Type Two is now?”

  “No, sir. I don’t think she’s gated out of the system, because we can watch that traffic, though on a slight delay, and we haven’t seen her leave.”

  “So, it’s cat and mouse.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Find that cat, Mr. Williams.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.”

  The captain returned to his chair and looked at the helmsman. “What’s the bearing for Maquon?”

  “Sir, it’s 083 by 105.”

  “Range?”

  “Approximately four light minutes.”

  He looked at Wainwright. “Endurance on the decoy?”

  “Still have several days.”

  “And as far as it could tell, we haven’t emitted anything?”

  “No emissions to speak of, sir.”

  Gonzalez thought for a moment. “Helm, plot a course to pass no closer than twenty light-seconds from Maquon. Keep us out of normal transit routes as we cross the ecliptic. Also, I don’t want to accelerate any more than we need to, so find the turn that lets us keep as much velocity as we can. Figure out our approach vector, and I’ll make a decision later on acceleration.”

  “Aye, aye sir.”

  He looked at the tactical officer. “Guns, you have the conn. I don’t have to tell you to keep an eye on our little patch of Maquonese space and to be on the lookout for the location of that Type Two.”

  “No, sir.” Smythe chuckled.

  Gonzalez clicked the comm. “Captain Pedersen to my ready room.” He gestured to Wainwright, and they left the bridge.

  After a few minutes, Pedersen showed up. He wore grease-stained coveralls.

  “Making the drop pods ready?”

  “Yes, Captain.” He smiled. “The el-tees are doing the hard part, and I got nothing better to do.”

  “No, you probably don’t.” Gonzalez explained what Williams had found.

  “Won’t be the first time we’ve had to kick the shit out of the doggies.”

  “No, it won’t. Why did whoever is in charge of that Type Two warn us?”

  “I’ve been wondering that too, Captain.” Wainwright tapped a finger on the table. “If someone is going to all the trouble of setting a trap for us, why didn’t they let us walk right into it?”

  “Maybe they want to help us?” Pedersen shrugged. “It doesn’t make sense, given all the times we’ve fought Zuul lately, but maybe this group wants to talk before firing.”

  “Could be.” Gonzalez held up a hand. “What we know, gentlemen, is that there is probably a Type Two corvette in Maquon space. She may or may not be hostile, and we have no idea where she is.”

  Wainwright tapped his pad and displayed the specs on the Tri-V. “Here are the specs on the Type Two. She’s much smaller than we are at only about a quarter our tonnage. Even so, she’ll be tough for us to handle. The base configuration has two wing-mounted racks with five missiles each. We don’t know how many missiles her magazines hold. Also, she carries a twenty megawatt dorsal-mounted anti-ship laser.”

  Gonzalez nodded. “Any point defense lasers?”

  “Nothing dedicated, though they could use the big laser to some effect.”

  “Yes.” He drummed his fingers on the table. “She outguns us. Our best chance will be to sneak into her blind spot, but she probably has a better EW suite than we do, so it won’t be easy.”

  “It’s possible they think the same thing, sir.” Wainwright shrugged. “We’re a Fletcher-class destroyer. It’s an ancient design, but we originally had two racks and decent-sized magazines, not to mention four point defense lasers. We were designed to fight missile fights. They’ll want to get in close to use their anti-ship laser and avoid a missile duel or they’ll want to launch their missiles close in to minimize our point defense.”

  “Too bad we have to ferry these grunts around,” Gonzalez said with a smile at Pedersen.

  Pedersen grinned back. “If it’s any consolation, sir, I wish we had the larger magazines and two more point defense lasers myself.”

  Gonzalez chuckled. “It would be nice to have more than one reload of the missile racks.” He tapped his fingers on the table for a moment. “XO, you make some good points, but we can’t assume they don’t know exactly what we’ve got. They’ve had good intel about the Foresters for some time. We’ve had these ships for fifteen years, and it’s not a huge secret that we use them as troop transports.”

  Wainwright nodded.

  “You might be right about their tactics, though. They’re definitely better off getting in close.” The captain glanced around. “What else do we know?”

  Pedersen grimaced. “The Foresters live in ‘interesting’ times.”

  “That we do, Captain. We should remain constructively paranoid. Wainwright, I want to keep our shields ready to activate at a moment’s not
ice. I don’t want them active until we need them, but when we need them, we’ll need them quickly.”

  “That’ll be tough on the emitters. With all the spacers you’ve detailed to sensor work, we’re going to be short on people to stay on top of maintenance.”

  “Got a better suggestion, XO?”

  “Our forward sensors are better. We could focus on making sure we can pop up the rear shields immediately. That would cut the maintenance requirements in half.”

  Gonzalez pondered that. “Good thought. It’s not ideal, but we’ve only got so many men.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “We’ll be focusing most of our attention forward. The helm is plotting a course to bring us in to Maquon slowly. Even if I hadn’t ordered it, every sensor from the Mark I eyeball on up will be looking at the planet, wondering what’s waiting for us.”

  “That’ll be our goal, sir. What if the Type Two is lying in wait for us?”

  “Another good question, XO, but truth is they could’ve been lying in wait all along. We need more intel, and that means getting closer to the planet.”

  “Agreed. Just pointing it out.”

  “As you should.” Gonzalez turned to Pedersen. “I know you’ve only been working with the troopers for a short while, but do you have anything to report?”

  “It’s going to be an odd mix. We’ve essentially got two full recruit platoons fresh out of West Rocks. We’ve got sixteen veterans switching duties or coming back from leave.” He grimaced. “We have about a dozen admin personnel we can press back into shape. And we’ve got the Cochkala.”

  “How can you use him? Can he fight?”

  “Fortunately, we have a CASPer for him. There’s a story there, apparently. It’s not ideal, especially since he has less CASPer time than any other Foresters’ recruit. In fact, we’ve got CASPers for everyone, as we were carrying some spares. The REMFs…errr…admin guys are getting refresher training, too.”

  “A bit of a hodge-podge, then.” Gonzalez shook his head. “We may have to rethink this. CASPers are good, but the troopers don’t have much experience with them, and they haven’t worked as a team.”

  “Yes, sir. And there’s another issue.”

  “What is it?”

  “We’ve got CASPers, but we don’t have a ton of ammo. We can scrounge a full unit of 12.7mm HEAT, but probably not two. And we’ve only got about two fuel cells per CASPer. We can recharge them, but it takes time, and we’ll only have one in reserve during the initial attack.”

  “You’re saying, if we don’t take the base on the first try, we can’t resupply?”

  “Yes.”

  Gonzalez grimaced. “I’m not sure I’m ready to do that. These troopers don’t have enough experience.”

  “I have an idea.”

  “What is it?”

  “I’ve already set it up. We’re creating a Delta Company. Recruit Platoon Alfa-29 forms the bulk of First Platoon. Alfa-24 is Second. We figured it was best to keep those troopers together because they have some familiarity with each other. The REMFs and the vets form Third Platoon. They’re all a bit light, but they’re functional. I assigned First to Huddleson, Second to Martin, and Third to Aguilar. They’re already running teamwork drills based on Huddleson’s suggestions.” He glanced at Wainwright. “The lieutenant has been very helpful in arranging a sim schedule.

  “Good.” Gonzalez leaned back. “Delta Company, eh? Sure you want to go messing with the regiment like that?”

  “It’s the best way to get them to work together.”

  The captain snorted. “You get to explain that to the colonel.”

  “I hope I get that chance, sir.”

  “So do I, Captain.”

  “But I’ll need at least a month, sir.”

  Gonzalez nodded. “I’m not going to charge in just yet. I really want to know what’s going on first.”

  “That’d be a nice change, sir.”

  * * * * *

  Part V

  Leave Death to the Professionals

  —The Third Man

  Chapter 27 – Col. Roosevelt Edmonds

  Foresters’ Headquarters,

  Billy Bishop Airport, Owen Sound

  “Sir, Lieutenant Fournette is on the comm.”

  Edmonds pinched the bridge of his nose. The gray, cloudy day had seeped into his soul, and he had plodded through the day’s paperwork with grim determination.

  “Put him through.” After a moment, the lieutenant’s face appeared on the monitor. His eyes were tight, and his face was pinched. “Good morning, Lieutenant. I’m busy, make it quick.”

  “Absolutely, sir.” Fournette tapped his keyboard. “I think we have a problem. I just forwarded the raw data to your console. I’m worried.”

  Edmonds noted the incoming message icon. “Okay, el-tee. What do you have?”

  “The regular report from Maquon should’ve been here yesterday. They’ve been late before, so I wasn’t really worried.”

  “That could just be transit delays. It could be riding in a packet on a slow merchie.”

  “That’s usually the issue, so I merely noted it. Then we got this message from Tlanit. It’s a Biffer that refers to Maquon.”

  Edmonds opened the message. “It’s hardly conclusive. ‘Something’ happened in the Maquon system.”

  “There’s more.”

  “What?”

  “The Algonquin hasn’t reported back from its last trip to the Maquon system.”

  “How long is she overdue?”

  “Only a day, sir. Not enough to worry about normally, but—”

  “But, you’ve got a feeling.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Let’s assume you’re right. What do you think?”

  “I think that ‘something’ is an attack on the Maquon Base.”

  “Someone attacked our base?” Edmonds’ eyes widened. “That’s—”

  “Ridiculous, sir. Yes, I know. There’s no real reason to attack the base unless someone wants to attack the Foresters or wants to take Peninnah. However, we know the Zuparti want the second, and it sure seems like someone wants the first.”

  “You’re right, though it’s hardly conclusive. We’re putting most of our faith in a Peacemaker who is playing his own game, and even then, all we know is a Peacemaker informant passed on that intel.”

  “I know, sir. With Private Kiial here, I’m not too worried about Tlanit betraying us, but I still can’t discount the possibility of other layers of deception.”

  “You never can. Welcome to the world of intel.”

  “Thanks very much, sir,” said Fournette with a wry smile.

  Edmonds drummed his fingers for a moment. “What do you suggest, Lieutenant?”

  “I suggest we take out a contract with the Hussars or some other unit to have a ship unaffiliated with us pass through the system.”

  “Do you want them to contact the base?”

  “No, sir. I’d just send them through and have them report back to us.”

  “Why not send the Huron?”

  “If I’m right, it’s better that no one knows we’re checking.”

  “If you’re wrong, it’ll cost the Foresters a lot of money simply because McChesney or one of his people got lazy. Or because there was a hang-up at the stargate.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Edmonds considered. “Are you willing to bet your salary on this hunch?”

  Now it was Fournette’s turn to hesitate. “Uh…” He squared his shoulders. “Sir, I am. It’d be a fair piece of money, but if I’m right, and we don’t do anything, I might be out a lot more.”

  “Very well. I’ll look into it. If you’re willing to risk your salary, you definitely think you have something. I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Edmonds, out.”

  Edmonds leaned back. Another thing. How many is that? Makes it all the more likely Fournette’s right. And if so, what do I do? He glanced at his status monitor. Good,
the Huron hasn’t departed yet.

  He swiveled his chair and stared out the window. There wasn’t much to see. This part of Owen Sound was flat farmland with a couple of well-managed sections of trees. There was a light drizzle from the heavy, gray clouds. It was one of those weeks when people wondered if they would ever see the sun again.

  He swiveled back. For five long minutes, Edmonds sat in his chair and stared at the pictures on the wall. A line of Edmonds in uniforms and CASPers. In peace and war.

  They were all there. The first George Edmonds shaking hands with the Prime Minister of Canada when he purchased the rights to take over a decommissioning reserve unit. Then a line of Canadian soldiers who wanted to soldier, who wanted to punch the aliens in the mouth for the Alpha Contracts. They’d been the foundation of the company.

  Past that, was a picture of Everett Edmonds climbing into an ancient dropship, the first aerospace vehicles of their very own. Then there was him signing the first Peninnah contract.

  The largest picture showed Irene in a warehouse full of high-end electronics. That loot gave the Foresters enough money to step up to the next level. Her daughter, Susan, wearing the unit’s first CASPer Mk 6. Then a picture of Edward accepting the surrender of the Zuul on Maquon. There were even some pictures of himself, though none of them noteworthy.

  I can’t let this end. I owe it to all of them.

  Edmonds jabbed a button. “Lieutenant, could you come in here please?”

  After a moment, a lieutenant with the same light brown hair as Edmonds’ entered and stood at attention.

  “Thank you, son. Please have a seat.”

  The lieutenant cocked his head but did as the colonel asked. “Sir?”

  Edmonds looked out the window again. “I’m initiating Contingency Plan Mount Pleasant.”

  “What? What the hell happened? Is it that bad?”

  “Yes, it is. We’ve had crosshairs on us since before Cimaron 283133-6A. Now, Fournette thinks someone has taken the Maquon Base. His evidence isn’t conclusive, but with all that’s happened, I must assume he’s correct.”

  The lieutenant started to rise. “I’ll start making preparations.”