by Daniel Gibbs
They’d need it as they navigated into a set of broad, winding canyons, cut long ago by the now narrow, muddy rivers trickling through the bottoms.
Gina wove the skimmer around rock outcroppings ten meters tall, some as big as barges. Spiky plants clung to their undersides. A hazy-blue phosphorescence cast an eerie glow throughout the canyon as the night grew darker.
Her wrist unit pulsed. The hovercraft had stopped.
“The canyon you’re in widens into a broad plain three klicks across. Kind of a giant sinkhole. I’ve got a couple outbuildings on the drone’s sensors but not much else.”
Gina found Brant’s reassurance soothing but knew she’d feel better once the situation’s variables presented themselves up close. She cut the skimmer’s speed, letting it drift on hover nodules behind a clump of the mushroom-shaped outcroppings. Gina dismounted and lay flat on the ground. She set her goggles’ magnification high.
The three men were talking. Brant’s drone couldn’t be seen—she’d be severely disappointed in him if it could. The bearded one, Arvid, kept looking up.
“They’re waiting,” she murmured.
“Roger that. I don’t—wait a second. Where’d the freighter come from?”
Gina could already hear the low rumble of engines in the atmosphere. Sure enough, the freighter Jack had seen at the other secret landing field crested the canyon rim. It spun in midair, aiming the way it had come, then settled to the ground, jets kicking up a dust storm.
It settled far too quickly for a vessel of its supposed provenance.
If that’s an actual freighter, Gina thought, then Sev is the galaxy’s most talkative human. “It moves like a gunboat.”
“Sure does. The drone’s not happy about whatever it’s got on its hull—a stealth coating, probably, not as robust as what our boats use but enough to throw off typical readings.” Brant sounded peeved, as if the vessel’s existence annoyed him.
“With as much dust as they’re throwing up, I’m amazed you can get any reading.” Gina pinched a fingerful. Her goggles, equipped with basic scanners, told her the glitter was more than just pretty. “The metallic composition’s not friendly.”
“I can tell. Update from Echo Three—he’s fifty klicks out and closing.”
In the TCFE shuttle. Gina frowned. “Negative, Echo Home. Wave them off. If the ship has stealth tech, it’ll have upgraded sensors, won’t it? It’ll spot the shuttle long before it gets here.”
“It’s possible, but Echo One’s standing orders are to get this ship tracked. Echo Three knows the drill—pretend to be a standard Border craft harassing it into orbit so they can outrun it, but at least we’ll get better telemetry.”
All well and good. But Gina was there, and as she watched, a glowing rectangle appeared under the freighter. The trio headed for a ramp extending below it.
The freighter engines never fully shut off and wound back up the moment the men were inside. Dust swirled, turning everything into a blur.
“Let’s see if I can’t lend a hand.” Gina took off running.
“Echo Two! Maintain your position! Do not—”
She slapped the comm into silence. The wind whipped around her, obscuring her vision so much the freighter was a huge grainy shadow. The hovercraft? To her left, twenty meters.
Gina pulled the tracker from her pocket. It wasn’t a powerful beacon—meant for following ground craft over distances much shorter than one dealt with in space. But it was so small it was difficult to detect. She was counting on it to remain hidden and on Brant to work his magic.
The engine pitch rose again. So did the freighter.
Gina flung herself at a landing strut. Finding purchase in the upper portion, her boots scrabbled for grip on the smooth metal surface. Where do I put it?
The strut lurched. It began to fold into its compartment.
The best spot for the tracking beacon was wedged into a crevasse between pistons. Two seconds later, the yellow glow of the magnetic lock appeared. Then Gina flung herself from the strut before it could fold shut.
The ground was unyielding, as her body discovered. Gina managed to roll half the distance to the hovercraft then dove the rest of the way underneath before squirming around to check on her handiwork.
The freighter’s lifting jets receded, and so did the dust. But if the shuttle’s still inbound… She checked her wrist unit and exhaled. Brant must have had them hold position because the shuttle’s marker on her map was low to the terrain, twenty kilometers away.
Gina rested her head and regained her breath. Fingers crossed.
Kiel strode the length of the work bay, admiring the gleam of the Bulwark-class corvette. Errant panels had been welded down. The weapons emplacements were hidden. Aside from a handful of workmen and bots still floating about, the cavern was devoid of personnel. He’d sent the bulk inside, where they could complete the wiring for command and control linkages.
Soon she would fly.
Corriveau dogged his steps. The man whistled as he flicked through his tablet’s endless array of reports, each one bearing large schematics pertaining to one part of the refit process or another. “All is well, Vasiliy. Those parts Wraith brought in were just the thing. I’m surprised even she was able to sneak past the CDF vessel once you’d engaged it.”
“Such a trick won’t work again,” Kiel mused. “Coalition stealth boats are dangerous. Have you ever heard of a barracuda?”
Corriveau frowned. “A new weapons system?”
“No. It is an Earth fish. Fast, silent, deadly… engaging a Growler-class stealth boat is tantamount to suicide. Misdirection is our aid. Thus how I lead our CDF friends to the waypoint. A couple of right moves, and they believed it to be our primary base.”
“I still couldn’t believe it! Coalition special forces, here?” For a technical savant, Corriveau could be exceedingly dull.
“You thought the Terrans would stand by while we made merry havoc of a refugee crisis we created? Not President Spencer. The man bent many a rule during the war, aided and abetted by his favorite general, Cohen.”
Corriveau spat on the deck. He muttered a long string of French curses.
“My sentiments also. No, their response here has been as subtle as ours. The raids on Demir and Red Ring continue, exacerbating their tensions.”
“Are you planning to help them? I should say, the Orbita—”
Kiel glared at him. Corriveau’s face blanched. He was the only one who kept mentioning the drug.
“Gone. No matter. We’ve moved into the final phase of this operation. All that remains is to tidy up our messes before we light the final spark. Here.” He gestured for Corriveau’s tablet. With a few quick swipes, he brought up two windows—one of a Terran news post, the other of a long stream of social media invective railing against the foul League refugees. Kiel smirked. He was rather proud of the most recent batch. “You see? The more military-minded among the Coalition government have prevailed. General Milliken’s Fifteenth Space Action Group is on its way, fourteen CDF warships.”
Such a pronouncement was cause for fear among even the most stouthearted League soldier, but Corriveau clapped his hands and beamed at Kiel. “Bravo!”
“Yes, indeed. I’ve made sure General Milliken sees these posts. He’s a stalwart warrior, but even the most dedicated can be prone to distraction when he shares the same opinions as others upset by the refugee presence—especially when there’s a concerted effort to inflame his already-tense position.”
A klaxon sounded from the auxiliary hangar. “Ah, good,” Kiel said. “Ferenc should be back. Come with me.”
They passed a pair of armed men in the passage leading off the main cavern. The smaller hangar could accommodate barges and shuttles, so the freighter had to squeeze in. The pilot did the job admirably. Kiel nodded. As well he should. Their lives depended upon his skill.
Ferenc came down the catwalk first, as bland as ever, which made the bluster exhibited by Arvid and Haakon all the more amu
sing.
“When are you going to stop Red Ring?” Arvid snapped. “We have lost fifteen people! Do you have any idea how many hundreds of thousands we owe? And every time we strike back, they or their Terran friends deal a more devastating blow!”
“Have you tried discussing the matter with your rivals?” Kiel asked. “Pointing out you are just as much victims as they?”
“They won’t listen! They refuse to even come to the bargaining table.”
“Possibly your prior interactions didn’t inspire confidence in your truthfulness.”
“Listen,” Haakon grumbled. “We did everything you asked. The Orbita got delivered. We made the sales and split the money, as instructed. You have to do something to stop this! You can’t pick up and leave without taking care of the situation.”
Kiel crossed his hands behind his back. “I concur.”
Ferenc drew his plasma pistol and shot Haakon through the head. Arvid whirled, reaching for his weapon. Ferenc’s second shot punched through the bridge of his nose. The brothers lay slumped over each other on the catwalk.
Ferenc stepped over the bodies and holstered his pistol. “Their leadership is effectively decapitated, sir.”
Kiel glanced at him. A joke? Not like Ferenc at all. “Very good. Dispose of these. Inform our people on the surface to cut all ties with Demir, no explanation, no communications—just vanish.”
“Yes, sir.” Ferenc walked past, issuing orders into his comm.
The sound of Corriveau being violently ill made Kiel turn around. The poor man wasn’t cut out for this aspect, but he needed to see there were real consequences, actual prices to be paid.
“This operation is not all about schematics and technical data, Corriveau. When we are finished, we will all have blood on our hands, whether literally or figuratively. I wanted to make sure you saw this.”
“I—I understand.” Corriveau wiped the corners of his mouth with the back of his hand. He stood straighter, pretending he hadn’t vomited on the deck. “We do what we must for the good of the League and its society.”
“As always. Report back to the ship. Advise me when we are ready to launch.”
“Not long, Vasiliy. Within a few hours.” Corriveau risked one last glance at the bodies before scurrying off.
Ah, yes. Fear. Whatever its faults—though Kiel would never utter such a thing aloud—the League knew how to elicit fear. Fear meant obedience. Obedience meant a smoothly running society.
Kiel looked at the dead brothers. “Too bad you were individualists,” he murmured. “You could have learned the same lesson.”
22
Kolossi
Aphendrika—Terran Coalition
1 August 2464
Brant stormed around the room like an irate drill sergeant about to give recruits the dressing-down he thought they so justly deserved. Jackson was content to let him get his gripes off his chest.
“You jeopardized the entire mission!” Brant glared at Gina. “Running into the freighter’s wash like some secret agent from the holovids.”
“We’d already established the dirt’s metallic content in the region could conceal me, Brant.” Gina flicked through the surveillance imagery on her tablet, scrolling past picture after picture she’d recorded from her apartment window and the pursuit. “It was a calculated risk. Our priority at the moment was to track the stealth-modified freighter, wasn’t it?”
“It was, but not by taking a chance that could tip them off even more about our presence!”
Gina smiled. She turned her tablet, allowing everyone to see the archived footage of the melted Orbita from the League consulate. “I’m pretty sure this did the trick.”
Brant muttered Tagalog expletives and walked back to the window. They’d gathered in another of his safehouse locations, the basement of a seedy nightclub in the city’s east quarter. It had taken two hours, given the precautions of arriving one or two at a time and sneaking in through the back-alley gate. The bribe was worth the privacy. They were seated around a dingy storage space, using wobbly chairs leftover from the last time the club had purchased furniture.
“LT’s right, Gina,” Dwyer said. “Our plan was solid. You put us all in danger—they could have spotted Sev and me and burned us out of the sky.”
Sev grunted.
Gina set the tablet aside. “Boys, I’m sorry if you’re offended and hurt because I broke protocol, but let’s all remember that’s why our dear captain signed me up for this venture in the first place. It’s what I do. If you wanted someone who follows the letter of every order, you should have grabbed a uniform from CDF Intelligence.”
“That’s not the point,” Brant said. “The risk—”
“The risk was justified.” Jackson stood from his chair, wincing as his muscles seized up. He waved off Dwyer’s hand. “She’s right to an extent. Her ability to react with a moment’s notice and not wait around for orders is part of why I brought her aboard—why she’s been with us on prior ops too. Any of our actions can potentially put somebody else at risk.”
Gina sighed. “Frankly, I was getting desperate. It feels like we’re no closer to nailing the Leaguers, and meanwhile, they’re pitting their stealth tech against ours.”
“I agree with the latter but not the former. The raid might have been a bust, however, there’s good news alongside the disappointment. MacDonald’s team wasted no time scrubbing the fake cavern for traces of League involvement. We’ve got parts with serial numbers, so there’s a start. The signal repeater isn’t League design, but given time, we can trace it to the point of sale via the manufacturer.”
“Then there’s the social media.” Brant’s tablet lit up. “Have you guys been checking the posts I forwarded?”
“Sure thing, LT.” Dwyer grinned. “Though I bet Sev’s as sick of reading politics as I am. Course he won’t say much about it.”
“Dumb,” Sev grumbled.
“I won’t argue it.” Jackson joined Brant and indicated several posts. “Brant’s analysis has helped Warrant Eldred, and the techs aboard Oxford swept the region for an origin by accessing the media networks on and around Aphendrika. They’ve traced it here.”
Brant triggered the holographic projector. The star system’s orbits appeared then faded from view as the image zoomed into a patch of the inner asteroid belt. Green dots outlined a swath.
Dwyer whistled. “I get that the LT figures all the junk’s been written by one fella, but I got news for y’all—that’s at least a couple trillion cubic klicks. ‘Narrow’ compared to an entire solar system but gonna take time to sweep, especially with all the debris providing hundreds of hiding places like the one the captain found.”
“Correct. Which is why Oxford’s already sent probes into the vicinity.” It was Jackson’s turn to smile. “And this is where Gina’s risk pays off.”
Hazy red blotches, much smaller than the green zone, appeared inside it. Brant looked suddenly sheepish.
Gina’s legs dropped off the couch as she stared. She’d gone from lounging like she was reading the morning news to perched on her seat, ready to spring into action. “It worked? You knew it worked, and you were sitting there, whining at me about—”
“Enough.” Jackson closed the image. “He was right about risking their safety. If there’d been time, you should have run it by me. Brant’s my XO—which means he commands in my stead when I’m out of comms. I need you to back him up on that, Gina, even if it means we lose an opportunity. I’m not taking uncalculated risks.”
“Yes, sir, Captain.” The smirk softened the irritated tone.
“And, Brant—” Jackson glanced at his fellow officer. “Hear Gina out. She can be a good judge of these situations, especially regarding thinking outside the box.”
Brant sighed. “Roger that. It was a good idea.”
“Hold on now.” Dwyer slugged coffee from an insulated container. “You’re telling me that short-range tracker is pinging back at us? And we can get a reading even if it’s diff
used? How in blazes are we even picking it up that far out?”
“The signal repeater,” Brant explained. “Every six hours or so, the trackers like Gina planted tap into a local network to verify global positioning. I had a program designed to talk to trackers—well, to make them do whatever we need them to do within the confines of their basic software—which in this case, meant pinging off the signal repeater the League left behind in the asteroids in order to verify its location.”
“Nice,” Gina said. “But the League will still be monitoring the transmissions to and from the repeater, won’t they? They’ll catch on if they haven’t already peeled the tracker off their hull.”
“Even if they do, we’ve got enough hits compiled to know where they’re likely hiding.”
Dwyer slapped Sev on the shoulder. “I don’t know about you all, but that sounds great to me. What’s our next play?”
“We monitor and standby until we find out exactly where the Leaguers are hiding their project. Then we flush them out. Tuscon is already watching the same tracker. When they get a clear fix on the stealth freighter…” Jackson shrugged. “It’s all theirs. Sparks, return to our shuttle and get her prepped. Make sure TCFE gets their ride back, with our thanks.”
“Can do, Captain.” Dwyer chugged the rest of his coffee. He stretched his arms. “I have to say, I’m not looking forward to clunker birds like that one once this is all said and done. I’d like to resubmit my request for us to keep our shuttle—you know, sir, especially if we win.”
“I’ll pass it up the chain of command.”
Sev shouldered his bag. “Demir?”
Jackson shook his head. “Don’t bother. They’ve been scattered the past few days. Wherever Arvid and Haakon went with their League chauffeur, they haven’t returned, and no one seems to be able to raise them. That’s the RUMINT from Carlos.”