Hard Strike

by Eric Thomson

  “Please do,” the general responded.

  When Decker fell silent half an hour later, he saw nothing but grim faces around the table.

  “I will admit,” Dubnikov said in a tight voice, “the idea this Democratic Stars Alliance still holds several hundred kilograms of that diabolical mixture fills me with a dread I’ve never experienced before. Is there no easy way to detect it from a distance? We can pick up conventional plastic explosives from a kilometer or more so long as they’re in contact with the ambient atmosphere.”

  Decker grimaced.

  “Using the latest military-grade battlefield sensors programmed to recognize the stuff, perhaps from a few hundred meters, if the bastards aren’t careful to keep it in hermetically sealed containers, sir.”

  “Could we borrow such sensors from the Cimmeria Regiment, Major?”

  “They’d surely be delighted to help, however, that still leaves us without the right programming, and I don’t know enough to tell a sensor what the explosive’s chemical composition looks or smells like. We asked Fleet HQ to send us the technical specs, but it’ll be a few days before we hear back.”

  “Meaning that in the meantime, we’re entirely at the DSA’s mercy.”

  “I’m afraid so, sir. If I could make a single recommendation at this point, it’s to stall for time. Along with the technical specs, we also asked for a SOCOM anti-terrorism unit, and HQ has assured me help is on the way.”

  “Your recommendation is noted, Major. I shall pass it to the prime minister,” Dubnikov glanced down, “who expects me at New Government House shortly. Thank you. Please continue with the question-and-answer session in my absence.”

  Everyone in the room stood along with him and came to attention. They stayed that way until Dubnikov and his aide left the room.

  A round-faced, red-haired woman with three stars on her collar made a downward motion with her hand, and the assembled officers sat. She gave Decker a searching look.

  “Since the director general did not have time to ask every question he wanted, let me do it in his stead.”

  “I’m at your disposal, General.”

  “Could you do me the favor of explaining why in any sane universe the Armed Services kept such a vile explosive in its inventory, let alone demonstrated security so lax that several hundred kilos went walkabout?”

  “I’m sorry, but I cannot answer those questions to your satisfaction, sir. As a Master Gunner trained Marine, I’m aware of Mayhem’s characteristics, but the reasoning that led to it being stockpiled in our ammunition depots is well beyond my pay grade. As to security, I can only surmise the moment our report reached Caledonia, every single ammunition depot in the Commonwealth found itself under physical scrutiny by the military police.”

  “Closing the proverbial gates after someone stole the Mayhem.”

  “Yes, sir.” Several pungent responses rolled over Decker’s tongue, but he mercifully kept his mouth shut. Seeing the dangerous glint in her partner’s eyes, Talyn rose and faced the three-star.

  “Sir, if your government wishes to express its opinions on any alleged Armed Services shortcomings, may I suggest it addresses them to the relevant authorities at Fleet HQ on Caledonia. Major Decker has no more control over the stockpiling and securing of MHX-19 than you exercise over the deployment of Marine Corps Special Forces. He and I are technical experts in violent radical movements, not policymakers.”

  The three-star’s face reddened, but agreeable nods from her peers around the table deflated the self-important display of outrage. After chewing on a few choice words, she said, “Fair enough, Commander. You and the major have our thanks. If there are no further questions, you’re dismissed.”

  — Twenty-Nine —

  “Who was that hostile lieutenant general?” Talyn asked the moment their car’s doors closed.

  Morrow gave her a pained look.

  “Gytha Goresson. She’s the Gendarmerie’s chief of operations and de facto second in command. Not only is she no fan of federal authorities, but when you think of Cimmerian plutocrats, to use the DSA’s outdated terminology, the Goresson family is near the top of the list.”

  “Why lay into a mere major?” Talyn ignored Decker’s mock-outraged snort. “Can’t she differentiate between policymakers and technical experts? The rest of the assembly seems to have managed, which surely didn’t do her any favors in the eyes of her peers and subordinates.”

  “I don’t know what goes on in Goresson’s mind. She might be the number two gendarme in this system, but I can’t find anyone in blue with a good word about her.”

  “Nepotism,” Bonta said without turning. “The Gorresons spend the cocktail hour with their Valerian friends at least once a week.”

  Decker thought for a moment, then asked, “Valerians as in Hector Valerian, Governor General of Cimmeria?”

  “That family, yes. Hector is the current head though not the first to achieve high office because of good looks and an impressive family fortune.”

  “And Hector Valerian’s spouse, Sonja Akiro is a childhood friend of Hannah Sorne as well as being on the Deep Space Foundation’s advisory board.”

  “Oh dear,” Talyn turned a disbelieving look on Morrow. “How delightfully incestuous.”

  “Tell me about it. Though I have no evidence, I’m sure the friendship helped that evil bastard Louis avoid hard time and spend his incarceration lording it over the other well-connected inmates at the Mill Haven Minimum Security Village. It’s known as the Gilded Cage for a good reason.”

  Decker glanced over his shoulder at Morrow.

  “How is someone like Valerian appointed as governor general anyway? I thought it took a two-thirds majority vote in parliament.”

  She gave him a weary shrug.

  “The usual. Campaign contributions. Favors for family members. The promise of New Year’s honors or a reserve commission in the National Guard for an imbecile nephew. You name it, Valerian has promised to dispense it at one time or another should he find himself the tenant of Cimmeria Hall.”

  “And I thought the politics around here were among the cleanest in the Rim Sector.”

  “Trust me on this, Major,” Bonta said, “Cimmerians are as human as anyone else. The reputation for cleanliness is nothing more than fiction for the gullible, an aspiration for the painfully naïve, and a cynical fabrication by the corrupt. This star system’s government has plenty of all three, never mind the electorate. Social values around here never quite recovered from the Shrehari occupation and its web of collaboration and treachery.”

  “You’re a Cimmerian, Sergeant?”

  “Mercy, no. I was born on Santa Theresa. But I’ve been stationed here for almost twelve years.”

  “Sergeant Bonta has a keen instinct for the darker foibles of human nature, Zack,” Morrow said from the back seat. “That’s why she’s such a good professional compliance investigator.”

  “What the chief means is I can detect corruption from a parsec away. That’s how I ended up in the PCB.”

  “And what does General Goresson smell like?” Talyn asked.

  “Wealth and privilege, sir. She may be many things, but her family is comfortable enough that they need not soil their hands with grubby things like influence peddling.”

  A grin spread across Decker’s face.

  “Meaning they’re members of the illegitimate plutocracy oppressing Cimmeria.”

  “Pretty much.” The hint of a smile relaxed Bonta’s tight expression. “According to the DSA, that is. God forbid we feds ever say a bad word about this system’s elite.”

  Their car re-entered the Howard’s Landing downtown core, and a frown replace Decker’s earlier hilarity.

  “Uh-oh.”

  “What?” Talyn leaned over to stick her head between Bonta and the Marine.

  “Look at the long faces out there.” He waved at the window. “Either Prime Minister Calvo called havoc and let slip the dogs of journalism, or someone sprang a leak.”

>   “Or the DSA bypassed every single information gatekeeper when they saw their message wasn’t going out to the unwashed masses,” Morrow said in a resigned voice. “Either way, we can expect to see a growing sense of panic among the civilian population now they know Silfax wasn’t destroyed by something accidental like a freak reactor failure.”

  “It’ll be interesting to see how the various influencers’ opinions shake out. Folks who shout the loudest for compliance with the DSA’s demands or believe any attempt at negotiating a peaceful solution is treason could be in league with the terrorists’ backers.”

  “I can understand how those advocating surrender might be on the side of darkness, but those publicly taking a hard line against negotiations?” Morrow sounded skeptical.

  “Nothing destroys confidence in a government like added mass casualties and devastation because of an unyielding stance. It can be just as hard on morale for the average citizen as abject surrender.”

  “Heads I win, tails you lose,” Bonta said.

  “Something like that. If the goal is to destabilize Cimmeria by destroying the people’s confidence in their leaders, thereby paving the way for a savior controlled by offworld powers, there’s no way out except by annihilating the Democratic Stars Alliance.”

  Morrow grimaced.

  “For that, we need to find them. Fast. Before Prime Minister Calvo is gored by the horns of an existential dilemma with incalculable repercussions for this star system and the entire sector.”

  “Which means back to the data analysis while we wait for the information on Malter. So far, it’s our only avenue.”

  “Easy for you to say. But some of us aren’t analysts. We’re people of action, trained to terminate villains.”

  “Sorry. Once we’re back in Caelin’s tenth-floor dungeon, your job is to go through the Gendarmerie’s data package for a second time, man of action.”

  **

  Arno Galdi stuck his head into the corridor the moment they entered the PCB offices.

  “Our unfriendly terrorists’ love note escaped containment while you were making friends with the Gendarmerie, Chief.”

  “We figured as much,” Morrow replied. “There are a lot of unhappy people walking around downtown.”

  “How did it go?”

  “Major Decker scared the living daylights out of them, Inspector,” Bonta replied. “I never saw so many appalled flag officers in a single room before today.”

  “In fairness, Mayhem is an appalling product.” Galdi’s eyes shifted to Decker and Talyn. “I heard back from my friend about Alasdair Malter, Alek Mannsbach, and Magda Annear. I’m afraid I owe him a big favor for doing this outside regular channels, which means you owe me one now.”

  “And we always pay our debts. What did he say?”

  Before Galdi could answer, Morrow raised a restraining hand and checked her communicator.

  “Hold that thought. Colonel Joubert wants to speak with us urgently.”

  “We left him less than thirty minutes ago.”

  “Nevertheless. Let’s use the conference room this time.” She pointed toward an open door at the far end of the corridor. “I’ll link us.”

  The Gendarmerie officer’s somber face materialized on the conference room’s large main display as they entered and took seats around an oval table.

  “The DSA sent Prime Minister Calvo a second message while General Dubnikov was with him, expressing annoyance at our attempt to quarantine their first one. It was the same deal as before — multiple bounces around the satellite constellation to mask the origin. They intend to set off another bomb within the hour as a sign of their displeasure and a warning to let the newscasts make DSA communiqués public with no restrictions. I sent you a copy of that message as well as the original one.” Joubert’s eyes turned toward Decker and Talyn, seated to Morrow’s left. “Is there anything you can recommend we do to deal with this newest threat?”

  Decker’s face twisted into an apologetic grimace.

  “Sorry, no. The only thing I can say is if it’s planned as a rap on the knuckles, it won’t be a repeat of Silfax in terms of magnitude.”

  “Why?”

  “Because nudging a government in the direction you want depends on inflicting graduated doses of pain, Colonel. Death by a thousand pinpricks. Silfax was the big bang to get everyone’s attention. They won’t try another large-scale attack until it becomes clear your prime minister refuses to budge.”

  “Still...”

  “I know, Colonel.” Decker sighed. “We’ll do our best.”

  Joubert’s index finger shot up, stilling the Marine. “Hang on.”

  The sound abruptly cut out though they could see Joubert staring at someone off-screen and listing. After more than a minute, he turned back toward them.

  “Surveillance satellites picked up an explosion on the Borrachas Sea approximately three hundred kilometers north of Archeron. It gave off the same visual signature as the Silfax detonation. I’ll send the video for your confirmation, but what else could it be? Who sets off bombs in the middle of the ocean? At the time of the explosion, surface traffic control lost contact with an automated cargo ship, the Valerian Theta, bound for Howard’s Landing. It left the port of Archeron four hours ago. Fortunately, there should be no casualties, since it was entirely AI-controlled with remote oversight from the Valerian Shipping Company’s shore office in Howard’s Landing.”

  Decker rubbed his chin, eyes narrowed in thought.

  “If it was the promised rap on Prime Minister Calvo’s knuckles, you know what that means, right, Colonel?”

  “The second bomb was ready to go before even knowing about you embargoing news of their first message. The Valerian Theta would have finished loading cargo at the time it landed on the prime minister’s desk.”

  “Exactly. I’ll let you and your team ruminate on possible reasons why the DSA was a few steps ahead of us with this second attack. We can compare notes later. The other thing that strikes me is they likely used a standard transport container again. If you’ll recall, I mentioned the strong possibility the Silfax bomb traveled in a similar casing via the monorail from Archeron.”

  “Meaning Archeron could be their base of operations.”

  “Perhaps, but I’m thinking more of a pattern in the way they deliver their devices. There’s no better way to hide them than inside hermetically sealed shipping containers. Sensors set to detect airborne particles wouldn’t find any traces, and you can shield the inside of a container without it being visible to the naked eye.”

  “Would they dare use the same protocol again?”

  “If it worked twice? Why not? How many standard cubic containers are there on Cimmeria? Hundreds of thousands? How many gendarmes equipped with battlefield sensors can you field? A few hundred? Luck doesn’t begin to cover what you’d need to find hidden bombs without the ability to narrow down your search. By the way, is the Valerian Shipping Company named after the current governor general’s family? Or are there several rich Valerian families in this star system?”

  “There’s only one. Governor General Hector Valerian’s brother Anson runs the dynasty’s business, Valerian Industries, which includes several transportation subsidiaries. Under applicable legislation, there’s a hermetic firewall isolating the GG from the company. Hector put his shares in trust, and has no standing in dealings between Valerian Industries Incorporated and any branch of the Cimmerian government, including regulatory agencies.”

  “I’m beginning to understand the DSA’s problem with plutocrats running things around here, Colonel.”

  “Please, Major, not even in jest, though you’ll find some who agree.”

  “Like the all talk, no action malcontent groups absorbed by a more militant DSA?”

  “Among others.”

  Decker saw Morrow’s signal from the corner of his eyes and said, “Pardon me for a moment. Yes, Chief Superintendent?”

  “We received the satellite feed from the Borrachas Sea ev
ent. I’ll play it on the secondary screen to your left.”

  “Thanks. Let’s see if your folks made the right assessment, Colonel.”

  A few minutes later, the Marine turned his head back to the main video pickup.

  “The substance used was MHX-19. No doubt about it. But only a small amount. Maybe two or three hundred grams. It wouldn’t take much to vaporize a surface ship in mid-ocean.”

  “Meaning they could have spread small amounts all over the planet, in anonymous containers, just waiting for a detonation signal.”

  “Could, Colonel? I think it’s safe to say they did. That little demonstration was prepared ahead of time, perhaps on spec, perhaps because they anticipated the prime minister’s order to hold back the release of the ultimatum or perhaps for reasons we don’t yet know. But I think it’s a given they prepared more.”

  — Thirty —

  “You just love cheering people up, don’t you, Major?” Master Sergeant Bonta asked after Joubert ended the call.

  “Reality doesn’t care about anyone’s moods,” an unrepentant Decker replied. “The fact they placed a bomb aboard this AI-controlled cargo ship is a pretty good hint the DSA spread devices, if not all over Cimmeria, then certainly along both shores of the Borrachas Sea. Prime Minister Calvo holding back their first communiqué was merely a pretext. It’s about creating uncertainty, making everyone scared of their shadows, and pushing the government into a state of paralysis. We might well see a few more minor attacks with little or no loss of life over the next few days to keep pushing Calvo and his cabinet into the desired direction.”

  The Marine fell silent as a thought struck him.

  “Who is Silfax’s ultimate owner anyway? The records show it as a publicly traded company whose majority shareholders are other publicly traded companies. They, in turn, are owned by more companies and so on, but someone’s bound to hold a controlling interest behind the scenes.”