by Daniel Gibbs
“We have the situation well in hand, General,” Sinclair said. “Our goal now is to prevent them from causing any loss of life, because were I in the shoes of our adversary, I would recognize the situation is lost. And thus, I would be desperate to do what damage I could.”
Zhou cursed as the tactical display filled with the active scanning from the entire Fifteenth Group. It was bad enough the Terran stealth boat was burning straight for them. His options were limited. If he maintained his present course and speed, either that vessel or one of the frigates would get near enough for sensors to reveal the peculiar nature of his freighter. And the League’s latest tech project would fall into Terran hands, positive proof it was a League-sanctioned and ESS-run operation.
If he ran, his ship’s full capabilities would be on display—and recorded by every tactical system and navigation console on hundreds of vessels.
Kiel’s order burned on Zhou’s screen: attack as many civilian vessels and TCFE vessels as possible to mimic the very gunfight they’d been trying to provoke. Easy for him to say, as he scuttles under a rock while I maneuver with a stealth boat in my wake.
“Tactical report, sir—stealth ship on fast approach. They have locked onto us. Outer doors open. They have Hunter missiles armed in the tubes.”
Zhou glared at the main screen. The broad hull of a repurposed ore hauler slipped away. The bigger vessel was five hundred meters long. Plenty of cover. “Match vectors, Tactical, and fire tubes one through four.”
Missiles lanced out into the darkness, curving around the ore hauler. They streaked into the stealth boat’s face.
“Point defense, watch for incoming fire,” Zhou said. “I don’t want a missile slipping into our engine nozzle.”
“Aye, sir, point defense active.”
Their pursuer swatted down the missiles one by one. Zhou nodded. Their captain was skilled—he had no doubt. Tactical and Sensor posts muttered their difficulty at tracking the boat, even as Zhou ordered a second flight of missiles fired.
“Time to wormhole drive readiness?”
“One minute twenty-eight seconds, sir.”
Close. They were edging nearer the drive limits, where they overlapped between Aphendrika and its moon. Once there, he could engage the wormhole drive and jump to safety light-years away.
“Missile launch! Two marks, incoming! Xaser point defense is tracking.”
“Dammit. Keep the civilian craft between us and them.” Why is the stealth boat insisting on chasing us down, when the freighter’s destruction would only serve the League’s goal—Terran military destroying a civilian ship?
The realization hit him. All but the more advanced sensors would not see the stealth boat for what it was, supposing it was an opportunistic pirate battling a rival. And his opponent knew it.
“Clever,” Zhou mused.
Mancini held onto his chair as the debris from the last missile battered Tuscon’s shields. “Damage report.”
“Minimal, Skipper,” Godat said. “Shields are holding. Point defense almost missed the final one.”
“I noticed. TAO, status on our shots.”
“Approaching Master One’s point-defense range. They’re engaging.”
“Match bearings and shoot, tubes five through eight.”
“Aye, sir.”
Four more missiles raced after Master One. The first two vanished from the tactical board, picked off by defensive fire from the freighter.
“Blast it all,” Olesen muttered. “Chewing our Hunters to bits, sir. Not supposed to happen.”
“Remind us to file a report with the fleet yards when we get back,” Mancini said dryly.
“Lost the lock.” Olesen tapped new commands into his console. “Missiles reacquiring.”
“Too much traffic out there,” Mancini muttered. “XO, time to Lawrence limit?”
“Fifty-seven seconds.” Godat started a timer on an overhead screen.
“Retask those missiles. Shut them down if you can’t. We’re not going to be responsible for civilian casualties, no matter what it looks like to people out there.”
“Aye, sir.”
One of the missiles sputtered and winked out. Another banked onto a twisted course, coming back for Master One. Two more raced in behind it. Olesen had used the first to get the others back on their original trajectory.
“Time to intercept?”
“Missiles will reach target in nineteen seconds.”
Mancini held onto the arms of his chair. He didn’t like cutting it close. Not with so many other ships filling the sky. Under normal circumstances, he would call on Marcus Aurelius and Fifteenth Group to interdict, but with everyone so anxious about even appearing to trade shots with civilians—well, he and Tuscon were on their own.
“Missile impact imminent.”
The first of the three missiles nearing the target vanished, victim to xaser PD again. The other two struck home.
Zhou clung to his console as the freighter bucked with the impact of twin missile strikes.
“Direct hit amidships. Shields failing!” his tactical officer called.
“Engines?”
“Operational but thrust is falling off. Acceleration reduced.”
Zhou glanced at the timer. Thirty seconds to jump. “Constant fire targeting Victor One, all tubes. Arrowheads only. Give them enough to cover our exit.”
As the timer spun down, and his ship shuddered under the repeated launch of its remaining missiles, Zhou began to see why the Terrans liked to pray.
“Heaven help them,” Mancini murmured as the tactical board came alive with missiles. “Pilot, accelerate us into the midst—draw as many of those missiles as you can. Comms, signal Fifteenth Group—any vessel near enough—to deploy whatever countermeasures they can.”
Tuscon rolled onto a new vector and blasted toward the missiles, her hull trembling as the engines maxed out their thrust. CIWS fire added a different vibration to everything else Mancini could feel through the deck plates. Missile after missile blinked off the board as Tuscon swept toward them, clearing them away from civilian ships.
TCFE corvettes hurried in, too, not firing their own weapons but filling space with countermeasures designed to draw off and disable missiles, even with simple tricks like casting a spray of metal spheres into their paths. Any missile hitting the inert balls shredded like tissue paper.
“Master One is coming up to the Lawrence limit, Skipper,” Godat said.
“As soon as you can get a clean shot, hit them again. It’s our last chance to stop them from leaving. Sensor, Conn. Tell me you’ve got all the data we need on Master One.”
“Affirmative, sir. Between the engine signature and the emissions tampering, it’s plenty to show the ship’s been heavily modified and is not a civilian vessel.”
“Nice work. One way or another, we’re going to need everything you’ve picked up.”
“Major! The lane is clear.”
“Shoot,” Mancini said.
“Limit reached, Captain.”
Zhou dropped into his seat. “Charge the drive.”
“Aye, sir, charging.”
The wormhole drive drained power off the main reactor until it had reached critical mass, breaching space and forming a connection between two points separated by light-years. The swirling mass of color and energy lifted Zhou’s spirits more than any sight he’d seen in years.
“Sir! Victor One has closed range and is firing!”
No. Not now.
The blasts ripped into the freighter, sending the shields into the red zone before they flickered and died. The next shots sent thunderous ringing throughout the hull. Alarms clamored for attention where the compartments vented to space and plating peeled off.
Inertial forces threw Zhou to the deck. He struck his head on a console post. His vision went blurry, and his hearing became a muddle as alarms and shouts vied for priority.
Bad timing, it was all wrong for the middle of a jump.
When his s
enses cleared, the only sounds he could hear were the klaxons. He dragged himself upright. The tactical officer was down, groaning. Two more crew were dead. Sparks rained down in a half dozen gaps in the ceiling and bulkheads.
First. Check coordinates. It took Zhou four attempts to tap the right panel on his display. The screen hiccupped before showing the ship’s current location.
It was not their intended destination but a dead star system, just an M-type dwarf surrounded by the crumbling remains of whatever dirtballs had been winging around it. Uncharted. Unsurveyed.
Zhou rested his forehead against the display. So, not dead, not all the way. He still had a chance of survival. It wouldn’t be the first time. Eventually, he would get back to where he needed to be. And if Kiel had a problem with that, well, let him come calling.
Kiel and Ferenc were squeezed into a shuttle, cruising slowly through the asteroids. Ferenc handled the controls, monitoring their flight path as if he were taking Kiel on an inspection tour—not unlike when they’d first arrived in the damned Aphendrika star system.
“The freighter is away, but she’s left debris,” Ferenc said. “The information packets are ready to be transmitted.”
“Send them. Make sure it’s sloppy enough for CDF to pick up so they can feel like they intercepted it. I want fingers pointing in the right direction, which is to say, not at us.”
Ferenc nodded. He sent out the transmission.
Kiel willed himself to relax. They’d failed. The Terrans had seen through enough of the ruse to prevent the outcry he’d hoped for. But his part in it was done. Others would take the blame, shielding the League. All the ends would be tied up—only one left.
“She’s armed and ready, sir.”
Kiel reached for the panel pulsing red on the shuttle console. He tapped it.
It was three seconds before Asteroid APH-122704 exploded into a spray of debris and dozens of huge chunks because of signal delay.
“Sift through that,” Kiel said.
27
Oval Office, the White House
Canaan—Terran Coalition
2 August 2464
Justin Spencer flicked through the last of the lengthy report from Colonel Sinclair aboard CSV Oxford. “I have to say, I’m pleased to hear we all came out of this relatively unscathed. Peace Union isn’t calling for my removal, so there’s a good start to the week already.”
“Yes, Mr. President, though I would have preferred more concrete evidence tying the whole affair to the League of Sol.” Secretary Snow sat poised on the edge of the couch, looking like she could up and pace at any second. “There’s simply not enough for anything definitive.”
“There should be, based on Captain Adams’s intel,” General MacIntosh said. “We have the proof of Orbita stockpiles inside the League consulate, for pity’s sake!”
“They’ve accounted for it on page forty-three.” Eduardo Fuentes let out a long sigh. “The fragmented data recovered by Oxford after the asteroid’s explosion explains it neatly, doesn’t it?”
“Too neatly.” Spencer skimmed back to the summary. “The consul general has been removed by security staff and returned to the nearest League world, where he awaits diplomatic censure, according to this.”
“Translation? Execution.” MacIntosh shook his head. “Fine way to prevent leaks.”
“It is, if you’re the kind of government that routinely kills its people to maintain control. In effect, they’re pinning the Orbita sales and human trafficking on the consul general, saying it was conducted in tandem with Demir cartel, which matches what our people uncovered on that latter aspect.”
“This engineer Captain Adams mentions, the one shot by the cartel members aboard the corvette…” Fuentes consulted his own copy of the report. “He was League too?”
“Rogue and dissident, dismissed from their technical research divisions at the end of the war. They have the files and everything to prove it,” Spencer noted. “Convenient.”
MacIntosh pushed out of his chair. “All too convenient, Mr. President. So much for the spooks ferreting their way to the enemy’s side. If it weren’t for Major Mancini and the exceptional performance of CSV Tuscon, we would have one devil of an incident to manage.”
“I don’t think that’s a fair assessment, General,” Snow countered. “Covert Action Unit 171 fulfilled its mandate to the letter. Tuscon would not have known where to look for the other stealth craft if 171 hadn’t uncovered and broken the encoded transmissions used by the League operatives.”
“We still don’t know who they were, do we?” Fuentes asked. “Or even if they were truly involved. I consider the report from Captain Adams, Major Mancini, and Colonel Sinclair thorough but recognize they may have made false assumptions. How much does coincidence play into the events that took place? And can we really say it was the League masterminding all of it? Couldn’t it have been rogue elements coordinating with the Demir cartel?”
Snow shook her head. “Very unlikely, Mr. Vice President. This has all the hallmarks of a League operation, though it was more complex than usual and lacking in the overt presence they favor. Look at how it was set up—nothing can be traced back to them. Even the so-called ‘captain’ of the corvette TFC 9091 was nothing more than a Demir lackey, albeit one with the relevant experience. Intelligence has identified all personnel aboard the corvette as either cartel or local hires brought in for their technical expertise. No one who we’ve been able to question can even name their boss, as they refer to him. All we have is a reference to a Vasiliy by the engineer Corriveau’s messages.”
“That doesn’t exactly narrow it down to the League of Sol, Celinda,” Fuentes said. “I’m not discounting their involvement altogether, but we have to be careful to avoid jumping to the wrong conclusion.”
“Sorry, Mr. Vice President, but the secretary’s right—this is ESS at its finest, or worst, I should probably say.” MacIntosh paused by the mounted display screen showing the current status of vessels in and around Aphendrika’s star system. “The corvette, for instance—we’re unraveling the false paperwork used to sneak it out of the depot where it was supposed to be undergoing repairs or headed to the scrapyard. Masterful stuff.”
Spencer set down his tablet. “Folks, I think we have to admit we’re seeing a new approach to how the League is conducting the war—and make no mistake, that’s what it is, an extension of the last conflict. They may have accepted the treaty from a military standpoint because they lacked an alternative after we eliminated most of their home defense fleet, but it’s obvious they’re not content with the status quo. This is the reason I greenlighted the team on your recommendations. We need to put out these fires as soon as the League’s intelligence apparatus tries to spark them, before they grow into uncontrolled blazes. As far as I’m concerned, the initial operation was a success.”
“I agree, Justin, but I want to go on record as saying I’m not pleased with all the methods employed.” Fuentes raised a finger, his expression pinching. “Most especially, the instigation of a gang war between two powerful criminal enterprises, which may have, for all we know, resulted in civilian casualties. Never mind the known injuries and deaths surrounding the bombing.”
“No argument there, Ed, though for clear reasons, we’re not keeping a record of this meeting.” Spencer glanced at Snow. “I want it to be known, Celinda, Andrew, that I concur with the vice president. We have to ensure our methods don’t rise to those of our enemies. The whole idea of invasive surveillance, even in the cause of what’s right, makes my skin crawl when I think of the civil liberties we violated.”
“I understand, sirs, but keep in mind, things are not as black-and-white as you’d like when it comes to the world of intelligence, especially as it concerns actions our operatives take in the field.” Snow indicated the Oval Office. “This space is supposed to be where we share the truth. Our people are out there trying to find the same thing, but they must engage in subterfuge and outright lies to do so. We have to be
comfortable with the notion on some level, or our efforts are doomed to fail.”
Spencer nodded. “Which I understand, even if I can’t entirely condone the worldview behind it. In any case, I trust General Milliken can keep a handle on things as we take care of the rest of the Aphendrika situation.”
MacIntosh chuckled. “Oh, he can and is, though he’s still miffed at Sinclair for smooth-talking him and at me for backing up Sinclair. We came too close to a shooting match with unarmed civilians, Leaguers or not, and I think the realization shook him. He’s applied stricter discipline to TCFE as his ships ride herd in orbit.”
“Which brings us to the second order of business.” Spencer transferred the proposal from his tablet to the main screen, pushing the Aphendrika graphic aside.
A simulation ran, showing the gradual movement of transports from the planet’s orbit to a star system seventy light-years away.
“My proposal, as I’ve constructed it with Ed’s input and modification, is to have the Fifteenth Group and a detachment of TCFE corvettes escort the refugee fleet in four flotillas from Aphendrika to the Dulanto system. It’s just beyond our border, but not claimed as part of neutral space. There’s a handful of small mining concerns exploiting the iceballs in the outer system, where there’s a massive gas giant, but inward to the F-type star is a single world capable of supporting life.”
“It’s not ideal for settlement,” Fuentes said. “The weather’s unsettled. Colonists would have to live inside a narrow habitable band around the northern magnetic pole, where it’s more temperate, but we’re still talking about fishable seas and a few thousand square kilometers of landmass.”
“The refugees can start anew on Dulanto, as a territory of the Terran Coalition. They can build whatever they like on land that belongs to them, with some oversight, but not formal membership in the Coalition. Consider it a middle ground. Now, this isn’t to say we’ll be dropping them off on a wild planet with only the shirts on their backs and whatever meager supplies they’ve brought from home. That’s where Ed’s legwork comes in.”