by Daniel Gibbs
“What is the Spencer administration going to do about it?” Sinclair read from the text streamer underneath a talking head’s hologram. He made a face as soon as the words left his mouth, as if he’d found them distasteful. “Bloody useless question if you ask me. Half the politicians want every refugee resettled inside our borders, while the other half want the transports crowding the sector turned right back from whence they came.”
“All due respect, Colonel, it’s a question that needs to be answered.” Jackson indicated the hologram. “But it’s not one we need to worry about.”
“Exactly so. The League is our focus. What do you think of the situation?”
“Honestly, sir? It’s a mess. They got weapons in there somehow. So, what option does TCFE have? Call in CDF to storm the camp, or do it themselves. It’s going to lead to more deaths next time. It’s bad enough TCFE lost one of their own. Her death won’t inspire restraint.”
“True. Then, of course, there’s the Orbita matter.”
“You think it’s the cause of the unrest?”
“One of the instruments, yes. I don’t have concrete evidence, but intercepts Captain Tamir has pulled indicate an uptick in shipments throughout the border systems, including Aphendrika. With so many refugee ships crowding the lanes to and from the planet, smuggling unfortunately gets a pass.”
Adams ticked off points on his fingers. “Human trafficking, Orbita, sowing unrest. Are we suspecting League involvement? If so they’re not very original, are they?”
“Not in the slightest. But they are effective, which is, of course, why we cannot leave this up to local law enforcement—or even the good chaps at CIS, no offense to your former associates.”
“None taken. They’re good, but I left their service for the same reason, Colonel. They just don’t have the leeway Intelligence affords its operatives.”
“Fine point. I trust, then, your people are prepared for this.”
“Yes, sir. I have our preliminary plan sketched out for the briefing this morning. Infiltration of the camp and the city of Kolossi shouldn’t be difficult. It’s the transports I’m worried about. Local intel is they do get supplies now and then, from relief agencies, so I’ll have to put a team member on one of those ships. Lieutenant Guinto is working on legends for us.”
“I don’t envy you, Captain, having to put on a new skin every time you do this work. I must say, it’s easier in that respect to remain in the operations center and parse signals from afar.” Sinclair’s smile seemed wistful. “Though I am not above engaging in fieldwork when the time comes.”
“RUMINT has it you engaged just before the war’s end, Colonel, with General Cohen himself.”
“He fancied himself more a rabbi at the time, but he was cured of the flirtation.” The comm unit on the table buzzed. “Go ahead, Ops.”
“Colonel, we’ve IDed CSV Tuscon on approach. Major Mancini’s requesting permission to dock.”
“Put us on intercept, and line him up for External Airlock One. Captain Adams and I will greet him. Remind staff our briefing is in half an hour.”
“Yes, sir.”
Sinclair killed the link. “Come along, then, Captain. We shan’t keep our missing wheel waiting.”
Jackson couldn’t help but admire Tuscon on the External Lock One’s display screen as the black-hulled vessel sidled up to the much larger Oxford. The raider reminded him of a missile, only sharply angled and covered with ridged panels, all part of a design meant to lessen its sensor profile and make it near invisible against the stellar background. If it had come near any vessel other than the technical research ship, no one would have spotted it until Marines had cut a boarding hatch through the hull.
Major Nathan Mancini joined them through the airlock and braced to attention. “Colonel Sinclair. Permission to come aboard.”
“Granted and welcome, Major. Delighted to have you. I don’t believe you’ve met Captain Jackson Adams, last of an undesignated Intelligence team and most recently appointed to Covert Action Unit 171.”
“Sir.” Jackson held his salute. “It’s an honor to meet you, Major.”
“Likewise, Captain. I had the chance to review your work on our way to the rendezvous. I’m impressed. The only question left is how well we can make this jury-rigged unit stick together when it’s been slapped into place at the last minute by the politicians back home.”
“I suppose we do need a cynic in our midst,” Sinclair said.
“Begging the colonel’s pardon, but I thought Intelligence ran on cynicism like our new warships run on antimatter.” Mancini gave them a sly smile.
“Perhaps so. Nevertheless, it’s good to have your lot thrown in with ours, even if the brass did the throwing.”
By the time they got Mancini back to the wardroom, a small crowd had gathered. Captain Tamir was there, along with Chief Warrant Officer Eldred. They clustered behind holos at the far end of the table, flanking Sinclair’s seat. Brant and the rest of the team were on the opposite end, spanning the left side. Dwyer sat to Brant’s left. A chair sat open between Brant and Gina, the cushion of which she patted when she saw him enter. Sev leaned against the bulkhead in the corner farthest from the door.
The man on the other side of the table had seen combat, years of it. Jackson knew immediately by the way he carried himself, the way he watched everyone and everything in the room. Like Sev but with less suspicion. He was assessing targets.
“Good morning, all. I trust Captain Tamir has made the appropriate introductions,” Sinclair said to start the meeting.
“All but the strange one in the corner,” the towering officer replied. “The most obvious target.”
“Sevastopol Rast.” Jackson narrowed his eyes. “Independent civilian contractor—destabilization. He doesn’t say much. I’m Captain Jackson Adams.”
“Master Chief Petty Officer Gordan MacDonald, sir. Commanding Alpha team, Space Special Warfare Unit Nineteen.”
“Master Chief MacDonald will provide the hammer to your scalpel, Captain,” Sinclair said. “He and his men have a penchant for getting into and out of dire situations with nary a scratch. Isn’t that right, Master Chief?”
“We’ve spilled our fair share of our own blood, sir.” MacDonald answered the question with the stern tone of a teacher correcting his student, though if a high-ranking officer like Sinclair took offense, the latter didn’t show it. “I can confirm the enemy pays a higher price than we do, on the regular.”
“I don’t think he’s grasped the subtlety of our work,” Gina whispered to Jackson as he sat next to her. By her volume, he knew she’d intended to be overheard.
“Ladies and gentlemen, your presence here is emblematic of the new era the Coalition has entered,” Sinclair continued, ignoring the way MacDonald glowered at Gina.
If the master chief isn’t impressed with spooks like me, Jackson thought, good luck getting him to appreciate our civilian contractors.
“Since the war’s end, the League has taken few steps to rebuild the fleet we and our allies thrashed above Canaan’s skies. They have, however, opted for a more invasive yet quieter path of disruption.”
Sinclair nodded at Eldred. She tapped a control. The wardroom lights dimmed, and a massive hologram portraying a star system expanded to fill the space above the table.
“Aphendrika, one of our younger settled worlds on the border of the demilitarized zone between Coalition and League space. Three days’ transit by standard Lawrence drive from the nearest neutral planets. K-type primary star, with a distant companion—red dwarf, 300 AU away, a small, rocky first planet, with Aphendrika itself next, plus three gas giants and tens of thousands of planetoids filling the third and sixth orbital slots in unusually dense fields of debris.”
Mancini let out a soft grunt. “Lots of places to hide.”
“Indeed, Captain. You see the difficulty in locating League units.”
“Yes, sir, but I wasn’t complaining. Makes it a lot easier for us to sneak up on who
ever we’re targeting too.”
“That’s the spirit. Zoom in please, CWO Eldred.”
The image spun closer to the Earth-type planet in the second orbit—Aphendrika itself—and two moons, each a tiny gray sphere.
“Mary, mother of God,” Brant muttered.
Jackson assumed his XO was more concerned about the orbital tracks than the tiny satellites, because hundreds of them laced a spiderweb through the hologram. He couldn’t believe his own eyes. “When was this last updated?”
“Six hours ago.” Captain Tamir was young, about Jackson’s age, he figured, but with no inkling of inexperience. He addressed the room with the same confidence Sinclair exhibited. “The tracks are accurate to within a kilometer. As you can see, there’s no exaggeration of the refugee problem. The most recent census local authorities can manage is six and a half million with tens of thousands on the surface. You saw evidence of those at Kolossi Field.”
“Doesn’t look like something you need spooks for, sir,” MacDonald said. “Or a handful of spec ops. You need the fleet to sweep those rust buckets right back across the borders they crossed.”
“Hear, hear,” Eldred murmured.
“That’s not why we’re here.” Jackson’s comment caught everyone’s attention. He was fully aware he was outgunned by the combined experience of the two senior officers and senior enlisted man in the room, but he pushed ahead full thrust. “The League’s using the refugees as a front in their efforts to destabilize the border. Whether or not most of the people on those ships are really seeking a new life is irrelevant. That’s a job for the politicians. What we need to do is flush the League snakes out of the grass and cut off their heads.”
Sinclair raised an eyebrow. “A rather colorful comparison, Captain.”
“It’s how we dealt with spike vipers on the ranch, Colonel. I figured it applied.”
Dwyer chuckled softly.
“And who’s this guy? There’s an old maxim about too many chiefs,” MacDonald said.
Dwyer leaned forward, mouth curling into a sneer, which Jackson knew would unleash a snide rejoinder.
Jackson held up his hand, cutting Dwyer off. Best to preserve the peace—and he didn’t want his ace shuttle pilot getting stomped by MacDonald. “Warrant Dwyer is our team’s pilot and demolitions expert. Lieutenant Guinto handles communications, legend building, and personal alteration.”
“Alteration?”
“Disguise.” Jackson smiled. “Mostly mine.”
“And the civvies…?”
“Specialist Gina Wilkes handles infiltration, with Lieutenant Guinto handling the electronic aspects.”
“I handle the physical ones,” Gina said coolly.
“Got it. Plus Rast the creeper in the corner.” MacDonald snorted. “Where’d you dig him up?”
“Earth,” Rast said.
His terse reply shut down all sound in the room except the hum of the holographic projector and the whoosh of the air circulators.
MacDonald’s face could have been laser-cut from the bulkhead. “He’s serious? We get a Leaguer on this so-called team?”
“Sev fled here when he was young, just like the people on those ships.” Jackson stood and swept his hand through the orbital tracks. “Don’t make them all your enemy, Master Chief. I’ve spent enough time undercover among all kinds in the Coalition and over the borders. Everyone’s got their own motivations. Most don’t have anything to do with politics or patriotism.”
“Spooks. You guys make everything gray when it’s a simple black-and-white.”
“I’ll thank you two to relegate philosophical differences to the mess hall,” Sinclair said firmly. “Or the gym at the worst. Do I make myself clear?”
“Sure.” MacDonald snorted. “I’ve got a set of pugil sticks to share, Captain Adams.”
“Wouldn’t mind the chance to exercise, Master Chief.” Adams offered a tight smile.
“Do I make myself clear?” Sinclair repeated, the words sharper that time.
Jackson matched MacDonald’s “Yes, sir” with his own.
Mancini watched the confrontation with an amused expression while Jackson felt Brant’s sidelong glance and read the silent, Take it easy, implied.
“The first phase of this mission is simple,” Sinclair said. “Oxford will take up station above the third orbit, near a twenty-kilometer rock designated Base One for purposes of this operation. Major Mancini will deploy in Tuscon above the ecliptic plane on a patrol route, allowing him swift vectors into the system. He will be our interceptor, to project ship-to-ship power when needed.”
“Oxford’s armament has been upgraded to better defend herself and take the offensive if we have to, but we’d just as soon keep that secret,” Tamir said.
“Where do the spooks factor in?” MacDonald asked. “Because I’d better know where I have to look for them when they screw up and Alpha team has to blow the doors off to rescue their sorry butts.”
“Our role is to infiltrate the trafficking ring, get as close as we can to League assets, and expose them.” Jackson kept his tone level so he didn’t betray his rising frustration. Teamwork, indeed. “If we can find the right people, leverage certain informants, then we can pinpoint which ships are involved in the trafficking, and Tuscon can shut them down. I also want to take their money.”
“Right,” Eldred piped up. “If you can put a crimp in their cash flow, you can slow their operation and find out what other things they’re up to.”
“We’re already aware Orbita plays a role,” Jackson said. “How the League’s running it to the refugees, well, that’s also on our to-do list. Specialist Wilkes will be my groundside partner in this, undercover, though our contacts will be intermittent. Specialist Rast will remain deep shadow, running his own destabilization efforts on whatever criminal elements we uncover. Lieutenant Guinto will coordinate groundside via uplink to Captain Tamir and CWO Eldred aboard Oxford. Warrant Dwyer has overflight on standby to retrieve and relocate.”
“Don’t forget the occasional fireworks, Cap’n,” Dwyer drawled.
“Wouldn’t dream of it, Warrant.”
Sinclair nodded. “Very good. Submit your briefs by seventeen hundred hours. We should reach Aphendrika early tomorrow morning, shipboard time. It’ll be midday by Kolossi’s clock. I suggest you all take time to prepare yourselves for deployment. Dismissed.”
MacDonald was first out the door, Mancini following. Sinclair excused himself to review the hologram of the Aphendrika system with Tamir and Eldred.
“Okay, folks,” Jackson said to his team. “Get geared up. Gina, Brant will get you your legend—”
“I already have it.” She held up a slim data card. “I was bored for much of the presentation.”
Brant patted down his uniform, a disgusted look on his face. “Of all—lifted it right out of my pocket.”
“From the other side of me no less.” Jackson smiled.
“See you in the mess hall, boys.” Gina winked as she left.
Sev followed her as Dwyer joined Jackson and Brant at the end of the table.
“Might want to keep an eye on her,” Dwyer muttered. “She’s got the knack for takin’ what isn’t hers.”
Jackson shook his head, a rueful grin on his face. “Which is why, Sparks, she’s going to be the one helping me steal from the enemy.”
Sinclair had assigned Jackson’s team vacant quarters on the starboard side, Deck Nine. Dwyer hustled off to the nearby cargo bay. Jackson entered his compact cabin with barely room for a bunk, shower, folding desk with a chair, and storage lockers.
“Cozy.” Brant leaned in the open hatchway. “I see you’re already making it home.”
Jackson had set up a row of memorabilia including two gemstones, a crumpled pay chit, a porcelain mug with a broken handle, three leaves of varying shapes and sizes pressed between plastic blocks, and a burnt metal shard. He fingered the last one. “From the bottom of Vic’s hovercraft after Sparks blew the undercarriage open on Hebrid
es Major.”
“It’s a weird little hobby, Captain.”
“Says the guy with two Bibles and a rosary.”
“To be fair, one’s a concordance.”
Jackson sat at the desk and ran his hand through his hair. “What do you make of all this?”
“Speaking freely?”
“Always, Brant.”
“I’m not worried about the various elements meshing. Tamir and Eldred are good people. I think I’ll get along just fine with them. MacDonald’s gruff, but he’s a grunt—I wouldn’t want anyone else at our back when the shooting starts. And Mancini soaked up the data in there like a sponge. He didn’t say much, but I could practically see him plotting course vectors. He probably does it in his sleep.”
“That’s good. I was hoping for the same thing.”
“What’s holding you back? If you don’t mind my asking.”
Jackson took the metal shard down and turned it over and over in his hand. “The three of us—you, Sparks, and I—we’ve got our mode. Gina and Sev? They fit well enough, but they’re wild enough cards we’ll have to watch them closely as we sniff out the League. The big problem is, if we screw this up, a lot more is at stake than a couple of arms dealers or a handful of corrupt clerks.”
Brant nodded. “We’re talking about whole families, including children.”
“Not to mention the security of the Coalition’s very shaky front door. I’m glad you’re so calm about it.”
“It’s not my calm. It’s whatever God gives me through his grace. I highly recommend it.” Brant rapped his knuckles on the frame. “Speaking of which, I’m going to hunt down the chapel then some chow. Coming?”
“I’ll meet you in the mess but pass on the preaching.”
“Suit yourself. God’s a lot more patient than any of us.”
After Brant was gone, Jackson spent a long time staring at his mementos, the reminders of successful missions. It was superstition, he supposed—gather enough, and he wouldn’t fail. If he did fail, the agony of letting the Coalition down—and getting his people killed—would be far worse than not proving his worth to his family.