Rath's Rebellion (The Janus Group Book 5)

by Piers Platt

  Beyond the bar, an impressively wide viewport afforded her a near-panoramic view of Jokuan’s orbital transfer station – she silently thanked whichever architect had opted to position the station’s executive lounge to so perfectly match her needs. She watched as a cargo ship approached the station, thrusters firing, slowing as it neared its docking bay. Then, out past the station, she noted movement in Jokuan’s upper atmosphere: a pair of military transports were entering low orbit, having blasted off from the planet’s surface.

  Numbers two-hundred-and-nine and two-hundred-and-ten, she noted, making a brief note on her datascroll. Something is definitely up.

  The transports slid past the station, navigation lights blinking, and half a minute later, both shuddered, and with a flash of their FTL engines and a curious flicker that gave the illusion of stretching, they disappeared into the depths of space. Vence turned back to her book.

  A few minutes later, a man sat down at the stool next to Vence, and caught her eye, smiling. “Hi. Can I buy you a drink?” he asked.

  Vence didn’t recognize him. But she checked her watch, and saw that her shift was indeed over. “Ah, no … thanks,” she told him. “I have a flight to catch.”

  “Maybe I’ll see you some other time,” Wick said.

  “Maybe,” Vence agreed, smiling faintly. Because I’ll be back in two hours to replace you, wearing a different cover identity. She slid her datascroll into a pocket on her Forge, swiped her holophone against the bar’s payment scanner, and strode out.

  She walked briskly through the station, making her way to the terminal wing reserved for smaller, non-commercial spacecraft. She found the docking gate she was looking for, keyed in a code on the entry pad, and then walked down the short boarding ramp to the private shuttle Paisen had rented, which now served as the team’s temporary safe house.

  Paisen, seated at the craft’s navigation table, looked up as Vence entered.

  “Thirty-two more in the last two hours,” she reported. “All of them went directly to FTL.”

  Paisen raised an eyebrow. “That’s over a third of their fleet deployed now. All headed out on the same flight path?”

  “Best I could tell, yeah,” Vence said. She took a seat at the chart table, whose surface displayed a map of the galaxy, centered on Jokuan. “What’s along their path?”

  Paisen shook her head. “I don’t know. Plenty of possible targets, hard to say which one.”

  Vence studied the digital chart, tracing along the line Paisen had drawn to mark the ships’ departure vectors. “You think someone’s under attack right now?”

  “No,” Paisen said. “There’s nothing on the news. And fleets usually mass before a big attack – they don’t arrive in groups of two or three ships at a time, over the space of several days. That’d make for a pretty shitty attack plan.”

  “So why the hell are they all leaving?” Vence asked.

  “I don’t know,” Paisen said. “But on his last shift at the bar, Wick chatted up a local who said the planet’s turning into a ghost town. No one’s saying anything, especially not the press, but everyone’s noticed that there are suddenly a whole lot less soldiers around. They’ve got a skeleton crew running presence patrols on the streets, and that’s it.”

  “Are you thinking of reporting in to the Senate?” Vence asked.

  “Maybe,” Paisen mused. “You up for another Anchorpoint trip?”

  “Sure,” the younger woman shrugged.

  Paisen rubbed at her temple. “I just don’t know if we can trust the Intel Committee anymore.”

  She stood up and crossed the cabin, palming open a door that led into the ship’s lounge. Vence followed, taking a seat next to Huawo on one of the couches.

  “Team meeting,” Paisen announced. She waited while several contractors filed in from the sleeping area, and the rest of the team quieted down. “Wick, I’m streaming my audio-visual feed to you, so you can listen in while you’re on sentry duty.”

  >>>Good connection, the message came back from Wick. I’m listening.

  “Here’s where we’re at,” Paisen said, addressing the ten of them. “The Jokuans appear to be fully deploying their forces. Whatever’s going down, it’s going to start soon. A couple weeks at most, more likely days.”

  “If we get down to the surface again, we could slow them down,” Jacque said. The team had been devastated at the news of Tepper’s death, but Jacque had taken it hardest of all. “Hit them back, just like we planned. Viruses, sabotage … let’s drop a pack of Prowlers in their assembly areas and just let them go to town.”

  “You know I would like nothing more,” Paisen told him.

  “So what’s stopping us?” Jacque asked.

  “Duty,” Paisen said. “I gave my word that we wouldn’t attack the Jokuans without permission from the Intel Committee.”

  “The guys that betrayed us?” Jacque pointed out.

  “We don’t know that,” Vence argued.

  “Well, who then?” Jacque shot back. “They’re the only other ones that knew. They decided we were a liability, and they cut us loose.”

  “Someone did,” Paisen agreed, stepping in before the argument got out of hand again. “But I’ve met with those men in person. I’ve seen how badly they need us. I’m having a hard time believing that all of them would have agreed to turn us in.”

  “Shit leaks out of Anchorpoint all the time,” Vence told Jacque. “It could have just been a leak.”

  “It could have,” Paisen said. “Or it could be that one of them betrayed us, without the others’ consent. Either way, we need to find out.”

  “How?” Huawo asked.

  “By going to Anchorpoint,” Paisen said. “Vence and I will go. We’ll confront the committee members, one at a time, and see what they know.”

  “If one of them betrayed us, they’ll try to have you captured,” Huawo said. “Or killed.”

  “Yes,” Paisen agreed.

  “You won’t know until you talk to them. It’s a huge risk,” he continued.

  “I agree,” Paisen said. “We’re basically dangling ourselves as bait, and hoping we can ID the traitor before they get to us. I don’t see any other way to do it, though.”

  “Why don’t we all go?” Rika asked, leaning against one of the lounge’s cabinets.

  “That just increases the chances we all get caught,” Paisen told her. “And I need you guys to stay here and keep an eye on things. See if you can figure out where the Jokuans are going to strike.”

  “Are you going to tell the senators about the threat?” Jacque asked.

  “I think we have a responsibility to tell someone,” Paisen said, turning back to face him. “It might not be the Intel Committee, if we discover we can’t trust them. But if Yo-Tsai’s target is a Federacy planet, we owe the people on that planet as much advance warning as we can give them. I’ll find someone to tell. I’ll take it to the media if I have to.”

  Jacque sighed. “I still say we cut all ties with the Senate. Ignore them, and take the fight to the Jokuans, on our terms.”

  “If that’s what the team decides, we’ll do it,” Paisen said. “But if we do that, we lose all semblance of legitimacy, and any hope of getting paid. We’re back to being common mercenaries, looking for a job.”

  The team considered that in silence for several seconds.

  >>>I vote no, Wick sent them. I want to pay them back for Tepper, too. But I like being part of something that has a chance to do some good.

  “No for me, too,” Vence echoed. “The money’s good. And if the Jokuans attack somewhere, the Senate may authorize us to use force. We’ll get our chance to settle the score.”

  Jacque looked around the room, where the other team members were nodding in agreement. “Okay,” he said, exhaling loudly. “Let’s give the senators one last shot.”

  He turned and pointed at Paisen and Vence. “But if they try to fuck with you guys, they’re going to answer to me. This whole team is coming after them
.”

  “I would expect nothing less,” Paisen told him.

  30

  General Yo-Tsai waited with arms crossed as he watched his team of engineers finish inspecting the drone. The remains of the drone’s shipping crate lay to one side of his flagship’s cargo bay, where the engineers had discarded it. Out in the depot beyond the ship’s cavernous loading hatch, he saw a forklift appear with another crated drone, and drive up the ramp into the ship. A loadmaster crewman directed it toward an open space in the ship’s hold.

  “Well?” Yo-Tsai asked impatiently, turning back to the drone.

  The senior engineer walked over and saluted, holding a datascroll in his other hand. Yo-Tsai returned the salute.

  “What have you found?”

  “The drone is a standard model, sir – it’s in a surface attack configuration, loaded with several hundred depleted uranium darts, General.”

  “Kinetic weapons?” Yo-Tsai asked.

  “Correct, sir. No warheads.”

  “I’m familiar with the concept of kinetic rounds,” Yo-Tsai said, testily. “That’s it?”

  “No, sir,” the engineer answered. “The drone’s been modified. It has an exceptionally large bank of batteries, far too many for a device of this size.”

  “What are they for?”

  “Powering something,” the engineer said, shrugging. “We’re not quite sure. Most drones have very minimal energy needs, all they really have are some internal chips and control circuits, plus communications and sensor gear. They’re designed to largely operate using the power generated by their solar panels.”

  “It’s just a standard-issue attack drone, that they’ve slapped extra batteries on?” Yo-Tsai asked.

  “I wouldn’t call it standard, sir. We think the batteries may have something to do with another modification,” the engineer replied. He held up the datascroll, and pointed to an image on the screen, which had a section of the drone highlighted. “The batteries are linked to this component, sir, which is attached via an additional housing above the main drone body. We took the access panels off, but I still don’t know what this device is. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “Can you figure it out?” Yo-Tsai asked.

  The engineer considered this. “If you’ll let me take it apart, sir, absolutely.”

  “Do it,” the general ordered. “I want an answer before the fleet has completed loading the rest of the drones.”

  31

  In the hospital on Sipadan, the surgeon pushed through the swinging doors of the intensive care unit and peeled off his surgical mask. Hawken stood up from the waiting area couch, and Dasi followed suit. The doctor caught sight of them and sighed.

  “You’re waiting on the guys from that van that exploded?” he asked.

  Hawken nodded. “What’s the word? Did any of them survive?”

  “The ambulance brought in two passengers and a driver. I understand there was a fourth victim, but he was dead at the scene. Apparently it was a bit messy.”

  Dasi winced. “He must have been the one holding the rocket launcher.”

  The doctor raised his eyebrows. “Rocket launcher? Jesus, is there a war going on that I don’t know about?”

  Dasi and Hawken shared a look, but neither answered the surgeon.

  “Well, that explains the shrapnel, at least.” He stripped off his gloves and threw them into a nearby trash can. “Driver’s in a bad way, but he may pull through. He’ll be in a coma for several weeks, if he makes it at all. We couldn’t save the other passenger – he was basically dead on arrival, though we tried. The third passenger is stabilized – got beat up in the crash and burned a bit, but he was in the front passenger seat, and his seat shielded him from the brunt of the blast.”

  “Can we talk to him?” Hawken asked.

  “They’re dialing back his pain meds now, so he should be waking up soon. He’s gonna be in a lot of pain still, but you can try.”

  They followed the doctor down one level and through a bustling ward, until they arrived at a private room. A uniformed Interstellar Police officer stood guard at the door – he nodded at Dasi and Hawken as they entered.

  The man in the bed was heavily bandaged, with most of his upper body in a cast, and white gauze covering part of his face. His eyes were still closed, his breathing slow and even. Dasi could see burn blisters on the exposed portion of his face – she felt her stomach turn, forced to face the wounds she had caused.

  “I’ll give you ten or fifteen minutes, max,” the surgeon told them, speaking softly. “Then he needs rest.”

  “Thanks,” Hawken said. The surgeon nodded and let himself out. Hawken lifted the man’s chart from the end of the bed and scanned it, then handed it to Dasi.

  “Do you think he’s a guildsman?” Hawken asked Dasi.

  “No,” she said.

  “Why not?”

  “No implants,” she said, holding up the chart. “We studied the Guild a bit … back at the Academy. All of them had special cybernetic implants.”

  “Huh,” Hawken said.

  “And he’s the Head of Security for Shibuden-Klein,” Dasi pointed out.

  “That’s on his chart?” Hawken asked.

  Dasi tapped a finger to her forehead. “I looked up his social media profile. He’s also a member of the NeoPuritan Church.”

  Hawken shot her a lopsided grin. “That computer of yours is quite handy.”

  “You have no idea,” Dasi told him.

  Hawken turned to face the bed. “Mr. Mourua? Can you hear me?”

  After a moment, the man’s eyelids flickered open. “Yes,” he said. His voice was hoarse. “Water.”

  Dasi poured him a cup of water, and held it to his lips as he sipped.

  “Thanks.”

  “Mr. Mourua, do you know who I am?” Hawken asked.

  Mourua nodded slowly. “Jace Hawken.”

  “You’re facing some serious charges, sir,” Hawken told him. “You and your men.”

  “Not my men,” Mourua said. “Mercs from off-world. They sent them here a few weeks ago.”

  “Who’s ‘they?’ ” Hawken asked.

  Mourua stayed quiet.

  “Regardless of who sent them, you still chose to associate with them,” Hawken said. “You chose to attack us. That’s attempted murder.”

  The man closed his eyes again. “Never had a choice,” he said. “The Church … I couldn’t say no. You don’t know what they’d do to me. To my family.”

  “I think I have a pretty good idea,” Hawken said, his tone softening. “If you’re willing to talk to us about what you know, I can get those charges reduced.”

  “Too late for that,” Mourua said “They’ll find out that we failed. And they’ll be even more angry if they find out I talked to you.”

  “You’d go to jail for the Church?” Dasi asked.

  “For the Church? No. Fuck the Church. The Church ruined my life, with their goddamn recruiting quotas and fees. But I’d go to jail to protect my family.”

  “So help us bring the Church to justice,” Dasi urged him.

  “If I make a deal, that’s signing my death warrant, and my family’s, too.”

  Hawken leaned against the bed and crossed his arms. “What if you died here in the hospital?” he asked.

  Mourua frowned.

  “I’m not threatening you,” the district attorney explained. “I’m merely suggesting a potential solution. As of this moment, there are only a handful of people that know you are alive. And they’re all here in this hospital. Officially, I can make it so that you died in surgery. We can quietly relocate your family, too – get them out of the Church. You’d join them on a new planet, with no NeoPuritans.”

  Mourua bit his lip, and Dasi saw a flicker of hope in his eyes.

  “Can you guarantee their safety?” he asked.

  “Absolutely,” Hawken said. “Mr. Mourua, the witness relocation program has a spotless record of protecting the people in its care. And the Chu
rch is about to be dealing with a slew of criminal charges from my office, with all the negative publicity that comes along with it. You and your family will be the least of their concerns.”

  “This is your chance to get out for good,” Dasi told him. “If not for yourself, do it for your family.”

  Mourua looked at each of them in turn, and then inclined his head slightly. “What do you want to know?”

  “Who ordered the hit on us?” Hawken asked, standing and pulling a stool closer to the bed.

  “A guy called Shofel,” Mourua said.

  “Arnhem Shofel?” Dasi asked. “That’s Senator Foss’ chief of staff,” she told Hawken.

  “He arranged for the mercs, too,” Mourua said. “He sent me a memo telling me to set them up with quarters at the factory, and to keep an eye open for any investigators – had names and photos. You two were both on the list. I called him this morning when we spotted you in the car. He called back about ten minutes later and told me to make sure you didn’t get off the planet alive.”

  “Shofel,” Hawken mused. “He must be playing go-between for his boss. Did he mention anyone else in your conversations? A senator, or another Church leader?”

  “No,” Mourua said.

  “Did you record the call?” Hawken asked.

  “No.”

  “There will be phone logs,” Dasi pointed out. “They’ll corroborate his statement. And there’s the memo.”

  The surgeon knocked on the door, and Hawken stood up, waving to the doctor. “Looks like our time’s up.”

  “You’ll see about my family?” Mourua asked.

  Hawken pointed at him. “You work on getting better, let me worry about your family. I’m going to have you transferred to a different location, and then a colleague of mine will be dropping by to get a full statement from you. Your family will be on a flight out of here in the next six hours. You’re with the good guys now – and we take care of our own.”

  * * *

  >>>We have begun the deceleration process. Arrival at Anchorpoint in twenty-one minutes, Six told Dasi.

  She nudged Jace, who was sitting next to her in the lounge area of the spaceliner’s cabin, reading news articles on his datascroll. “We arrive in twenty,” she told him, without thinking.