Rath's Trial (The Janus Group Book 4)

by Piers Platt

  She shook it. “Suli Potfin. It’s nice to see you again, Senator.”

  “Mm,” he said, chuckling. “Hopefully I won’t embarrass myself again. And this is …?”

  “Vivien Aikens,” Vence told him.

  “Thank you for coming,” Lask replied. He turned to the four other senators. “Gentlemen, these are the … freelancers: Vivien Aikens, and Suli Potfin, our team leader. You’ll recall we asked them to look into the situation on Jokuan for us.”

  The other senators nodded, taking their seats. Behind them, Paisen saw the four Senate Guards sit in chairs lining the back wall of the room. Lask gestured at the viewscreen. “We’re all ears, Miss Potfin.”

  “Thank you, Senator.” She eyed the Senate Guards meaningfully. “Are they staying?” she asked.

  “I’ve asked them to, yes,” Lask answered. “For our protection.” He gestured at his fellow senators, and smiled uncomfortably.

  “How much do they know?” Paisen asked. Two of the Senate Guards traded a look.

  “They know you’re freelance workers that we’ve hired to collect intelligence for us. That’s it.”

  Paisen nodded. “If you insist ….”

  “I do,” Lask said.

  “Then they can stay. But keep in mind, Senator, that I don’t go anywhere without having a detailed exit plan. In this case, that plan would include a great deal of publicity for you and the members of this committee.” She cleared her throat. “That’s publicity that none of us want.”

  “Point taken,” Lask said. “I appreciate you’re in an awkward situation, and the risks you’ve taken to come here. Please proceed.”

  Vence plugged a data drive into the table’s computer jack, and Paisen walked toward the viewscreen at the front of the room. The lights dimmed automatically as the screen came on, showing a hierarchical diagram of a military organizational structure.

  “Gentlemen, Jokuan’s ground-based military is composed of fourteen infantry divisions, four armored divisions, and assorted logistical support elements. The majority of these troops are conscripts, but they are veterans of the Jokuan civil war. Their morale is relatively high, coming off their recent victorious campaigns, despite rather strict disciplinary protocols within the ranks. Their training and leadership are average, at best – non-commissioned officers are decent, but any leaders above the company level live in fear that they’ll be executed for being too ambitious, so that limits their willingness to take risks. On the whole, their weapons and equipment are old and of inferior quality, and they lack standardization across units, so supply and maintenance is a bit of a nightmare. This means that any long-term campaign they launch may run into issues.”

  She changed the slide, and a graphic showing drones and spacecraft appeared.

  “From the aerospace perspective, they have upwards of six hundred fighter-bomber drones from various sources – enough to provide decent air support for their forces on the ground, but they’ll be spread thin if they fight on more than one geographic front. Their space fleet is a very mixed bag, but they do have enough deep space vessels to airlift the entire ground force, if they choose to do so. Only a handful of their spacecraft are armed and capable of defending themselves – the rest are transports only.”

  Paisen cued a video that Tepper had shot, showing four large transports dropping from high altitude and then disgorging their troops across several landing zones. “By far the most concerning news is that they’ve spent the last few weeks rehearsing spaceborne invasions. They’re gearing up for war again, and it’s not going to be a war on Jokuan.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Senator Herek said.

  “How … how many divisions did you say?” Lask asked.

  “Eighteen total,” Paisen told him.

  “How many soldiers is that?” he asked.

  “About a hundred and fifty thousand combat troops, sir. More if you count the support elements.”

  “Good god,” Tsokel said. “Were you able to determine their target? Where they plan to invade?”

  Paisen shook her head. “We’ve developed several sources, but none of them have that information. It could be that they don’t have access to it, but our sources are fairly highly placed. My estimate is that the target hasn’t been decided yet.”

  “Wherever it is,” Vence added, “it’s a habitable world: breathable atmosphere, standard gravity, minimal radiation. They’re not training using any special life support equipment.”

  Paisen pulled up another slide, which showed a star map of the galaxy, with a blinking dot at the center.

  “There’s Jokuan, highlighted.” A red circle appeared around the blinking dot. “This first radius is everywhere their shortest-range vessels could reach without refueling. That includes twelve Territories and four Federacy planets. Here are their potential invasion sites if you add in a deep-space refuel en route.” Another circle appeared, larger this time. “… the list basically triples,” Paisen concluded.

  “They must be targeting another Territory,” Herek noted. “It’s just unthinkable that they would challenge the Federacy.”

  Lask frowned. “The key to understanding where they will attack lies in understanding why they are starting this war. What’s their motivation? What’s their president’s name, again?”

  Paisen moved forward several slides, to a photo of a stern-looking older man in uniform. “President Mori is a sock-puppet. He’s a figurehead. This is General Yo-Tsai – he’s the real decision-maker.”

  “And what does General Yo-Tsai want?” Lask asked.

  “He wants what all men in power want: to stay in power,” Paisen said, smiling at the senators. “Yo-Tsai’s military spending has put the planet deep into debt. Their economy is heavily dependent on continued purchases by the government, so it’s become a self-fulfilling prophecy: if he doesn’t want the government to collapse, he needs war.”

  “To distract his population from the crumbling economy?” Senator Campos guessed.

  “Partly,” Paisen said. “But mainly just to seize another planet’s assets. He needs to refill his coffers, and he’s gotta do it the old-fashioned way: plunder.”

  “Rape, pillage, steal,” Lask mused. “How soon could they be ready to launch an invasion?”

  “A few weeks … a month, at the outside,” Paisen said. “I’ve redistributed my team so they’re concentrated on the troop encampments. We’re keeping a close eye on them, so we’ll be able to give you as much advance warning as we can.”

  Tsokel shook his head. “It’s not enough time. The Fleet Reaction Force would need at least two months to come online.”

  “Best case scenario,” Campos told him. “The last time they ran a practice activation, it took nearly twice as long. And that was just a portion of the fleet.”

  “And years ago,” Tsokel said.

  Paisen narrowed her eyes. “Senators, there’s another option. My team could take a more active role.”

  “You want to fight the whole Jokuan army?” Herek asked.

  “No, sir,” Paisen said. “But we’re fully capable of sabotaging it.”

  “How?” Lask asked.

  “The most effective attacks hit the enemy on multiple fronts,” Paisen said. “My team would infiltrate their transports and damage critical components, effectively grounding their fleet. At the same time, we would introduce a virus into their military network that would limit communications and scramble files and documents, operational plans. We’d follow that by spreading a real virus amongst their personnel, a dysentery hybrid, something of that nature. Nothing lethal, just debilitating. None of the attacks would cause permanent damage, but they would delay them for months.”

  “No,” Tsokel said. “No overt actions. We simply can’t afford to have this project exposed.”

  “I have to reluctantly agree,” Lask said. “This news is troubling – it confirms our worst fears. But we’re treading on thin ice.”

  “If we discover that their target is a Federacy planet, and
we see evidence that they are preparing to launch their campaign, would you want us to initiate action at that point?” Paisen asked.

  “Potentially,” Tsokel said, reluctantly. “But it would have to be very convincing evidence. And we would need to authorize any actions in advance.”

  “Understood,” Paisen said. “Gentlemen, there’s one more item I wanted to show you.” She cued up the video Tepper had shot of the labor camp. “I’ll warn you: these images are disturbing.”

  The senators watched in silence as footage from a micro-drone rolled, showing an aerial view of the camp Tepper had discovered.

  “We discovered this several days ago,” Paisen narrated, her voice muted. “The people you see in the camp are members of the ethnic majority that rose up against Jokuan’s government during the civil war. They’ve been collected in this internment camp, and you can see that the conditions are … inhumane. It’s a death camp, essentially.”

  She changed to another clip, in which a procession of exhausted prisoners carried bodies out of the camp and dumped them into the moat, before picking up their shovels to bury them.

  Lask shuddered. “My god.”

  “What are you suggesting that we do about this, Miss Potfin?” Tsokel asked.

  “I don’t know,” Paisen admitted. “The camp’s too large for my team to handle – we could kill some of the guards, try to cover the prisoners while they escaped … but there are too many of them, and they’re in bad shape. They’d need medical attention. We wouldn’t be able to protect them, much less transport them …,” she trailed off. “Objectively, I don’t think there’s anything we can do for them right now. But I wanted to make you aware of the situation.”

  Lask rubbed his chin. “If we leaked this footage to the press, it might create a public outcry. We could use it to build support for getting the FRF activated, and then the FRF would be able to free the prisoners as part of a preemptive strike.”

  Tsokel shook his head sadly. “I don’t see that happening,” he said. “And the Jokuans would undoubtedly make the camp disappear the minute this video went public. While the FRF was activating, they’d kill everyone in the camp, and deny it ever existed. We’d just be signing their death warrants. It pains me to say it, but I don’t think there’s anything we can do for those people at this time.” He closed his datascroll, and stood up. “Thank you, Miss Potfin. Keep up the surveillance on Jokuan, and let us know of any new developments as soon as they happen.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The Senate Guards escorted Paisen and Vence back through the winding corridors, to the building’s main entrance. Vence hailed a cab on her holophone, and the two climbed aboard when it arrived.

  “Spaceport,” Paisen said. The vehicle pulled into the flow of traffic, weaving along the interior bays of the massive battleship that held the Federacy’s government headquarters.

  I wonder if we’re going to drive past the spot where I crashed a car through a viewport a couple months back, Paisen wondered.

  “Tepper sent us a message while we were in there,” Vence noted, interrupting Paisen’s reverie.

  “Something new to report on Jokuan?” Paisen asked.

  “No,” Vence said. “Scapa. They’re starting jury deliberations. All the experts are saying it’s going to be a guilty verdict.”

  “Shit,” Paisen observed, chewing her lip in thought.

  “If the jury moves fast, they could be executing him in a week,” Vence said.

  “Hmm,” Paisen said. “He sent me a message while we were on Jokuan, but with everything going on, I didn’t get a chance to reply. He asked for my help. And I owe him a lot.”

  “I thought you said he was a clumsy pain in the ass,” Vence noted.

  “He is. But he’s a smart son-of-a-bitch, too … and he’s my friend.”

  Vence checked her holophone, scrolling through several screens. “The flights would be tight, but we could be on Scapa in a week.” She cocked an eyebrow at Paisen.

  Paisen studied the younger woman. “Yeah? Are you up for a detour on the way back to Jokuan?”

  32

  A notification window appeared on Senator Foss’ desktop computer screen. He glanced at it, and set his datascroll down on the desk, which held a framed photo of Simi Quorn, the NeoPuritan Church’s founding father.

  “Enter,” Foss called.

  The door to his office slid open, and his chief of staff passed through. The young man set a data drive on Foss’ desk, and sat down in one of Foss’ chairs. Foss frowned at the data drive, then plugged it into his desktop computer.

  “What is this, Shofel?” Foss asked.

  The young man glanced behind him to ensure the office door had closed. “It’s the matter you asked me to look into. Regarding Senator Lask, and his seat on the Intelligence Committee.”

  “Ah.” Foss opened a folder of files from the drive, and flipped through them quickly. “This looks like a budget request … maps, surveillance photos … no photos of Lask, though.”

  “No,” Shofel shook his head. “Lask is clean as a whistle, if you can believe it.”

  “I don’t,” Foss replied.

  “Well, if he’s dirty, he’s kept it a secret from his closest staff. Or they’re extremely loyal to him. But either way, I couldn’t find anything on him. His campaign finances are in order, his staff love him, he’s never handed out a backroom favor that I can find, and he has a strong relationship with his husband, with no signs of unfaithfulness.”

  Foss made a sour face. “I had forgotten about his sexual preferences.”

  “Yes. Well, as much as the Church might not approve, he’s quite open about his homosexuality. So there’s no real opportunity for blackmail there.”

  “No,” Foss agreed. “Okay, Lask is clean, or at least appears to be so. Then what am I looking at on this disk?”

  “Highly sensitive material that only the Intelligence Committee is privy to,” Shofel told him. “Those are from a project called ‘Arclight,’ they’re reports compiled for the Intel Committee on the relative threat levels of several Territorial militaries.”

  Foss lifted an eyebrow. “‘Arclight?’ Interesting. Where did you get them?”

  “Lask’s foreign relations adviser,” Shofel said, crossing his legs. “She has several family members in the Church. I indicated that we might release them from their remaining obligations if she were able to help us. Lask shared this information with her in confidence, but apparently it was quite difficult for her to obtain digital copies.”

  “I still don’t see how these reports help us,” Foss pointed out.

  “It’s not the reports, but who generated them,” Shofel replied. “Lask recruited a team of former guildsmen to serve as his spies. The galaxy thinks the Guild has been dissolved, but it hasn’t – Lask has resurrected it, he’s continuing the work of Lizelle and the others, just under a new name. The Guild is still very much alive and functioning.”

  “Really?” Foss sat back in his chair, thinking. “And with Senate funding, no less. ‘The audacity of the corrupt knows no bounds,’ as Simi Quorn decreed. Does the rest of the Intel Committee know?”

  “Of course; they signed off on it. But Lask spearheaded the whole thing. Those files include several memos from Lask to the Intel Committee. One outlines his proposal for using this team, another sets the budget … and his signature is on each of them.”

  “How many contractors? Have they killed anyone?”

  “Twelve, it’s just a small team – it’s not the full Guild, not really. And the memos make it clear that the spies are not allowed to kill anyone. But none of that matters. If you broke this story to the press, they’d skim right over that. They’d just see the Senate funding the Guild again.”

  “Undoubtedly,” Foss agreed. “Thank you, Shofel. Arclight is precisely what I needed.”

  “Would you like me to schedule a press conference?”

  “No,” Foss said. “Set up a meeting with Senator Lask.”


  * * *

  “So what’s this ‘urgent matter,’ Gaspar?” Senator Lask inquired, taking a seat across from Foss in the empty Senate conference room. “I’m afraid I have some urgent business of my own to deal with in a few minutes.”

  Foss shot the other man a tight smile. “There’s going to be a vacancy on the Intelligence Committee,” he said.

  “Is there really? I’m surprised to hear it. Who’s stepping down?” Lask asked.

  “You are,” Foss said.

  Lask’s eyes narrowed. “Well, that is a surprise.”

  Foss set two printed sheets of paper on the table and slid them over to Lask. The other senator kept his face expressionless while he scanned them, then pushed them away. “Improper acquisition and distribution of classified materials is a major offense, Senator. Where did you get these memos?”

  Foss ignored him. “What do you think your constituents would say if they heard about Project Arclight? If they learned their beloved senator was in the midst of restoring the Guild?”

  Lask’s nostrils flared. “That’s not what Arclight is, and you know it,” Lask replied.

  “It doesn’t matter what it is, or what I know,” Foss said calmly. “What matters is how it will be perceived.”

  Lask took a deep breath, and Foss could see him grinding his teeth. “So it’s blackmail, then? I step down from the committee, or you go public about Arclight?”

  Foss inclined his head slightly. “And you nominate me to be your replacement. Make it a convincing nomination. Stepping down isn’t enough, though it’s certainly precisely what you deserve after humiliating me and belittling my church. But if I don’t successfully take your place on Intelligence, all of the evidence goes to the press. So you’ll need to ensure that Tsokel approves the nomination, too.”

  “You hypocritical bastard. Fuck you and your Neanderthal church, too,” Lask swore, slamming his fist on the table.

  Foss raised an eyebrow. “Are you refusing my terms?”

  “No,” Lask said. “Unlike you, I’m not here for self-aggrandizement, or to advance my party’s medieval agenda. I serve the greater good. And the Federacy sorely needs that team of guildsmen, so if I need to step down to protect them … I will. Though I wonder if your presence on the committee isn’t a greater threat to our government’s security than anything else.” He stood up and strode quickly to the door, then turned and glared at Foss. “It’s men like you who are undermining this Federacy as fast as we can rebuild it.”