Hero of the Republic: (The Parasite Initiative, Book 1)

by Britt Ringel

  For once, Soto was paying strict attention. “What’s that?”

  Danzy answered for Wills. “We’re not completely sure but Seshafi believes Malatech is working on a method to create man-made tunnel points.”

  “Oh wow,” Soto replied with an astonished expression. “That would change… everything.”

  Wills nodded enthusiastically. “Just imagine if you wanted to travel to Nessus and could open up a tunnel point leading to it right here from Seshafi.”

  “That’s impossible,” Joab snarled.

  “So far it is,” Wills agreed. “However, there’ve been theories about this type of stuff for decades now.”

  “Is Malatech’s work still theoretical or have they moved to actual application?” Soto asked.

  “All theoretical,” Danzy answered.

  “Good,” Soto and Joab said in unison.

  Covington noticed Danzy looking expectantly at her. She nodded and then offered, “Because it’s theoretical, only rules one through twelve apply in the espionage section of the Articles of Corporate Independence.”

  Danzy smiled his approval. “Precisely, which means we have a lot more options open to us to steal this research.”

  Wills looked between Danzy and Covington. “It also means they can’t seek execution in any trial if we’re caught.”

  “I’d never let myself be captured alive anyway,” Joab snorted derisively. “They can do a lot worse than execute you.”

  “Like fry my brain with wickedware,” Soto mumbled.

  Covington looked to her. “I thought counteragents like wickedware could only hurt hackers who were physically plugged in.”

  “That’s true,” Soto answered. “But, if you want to defeat a corp’s electronic security, you have to plug in. Otherwise, you’re just too damned slow and the Elec-Sec runs circles around you.” She turned to show the shaved portion of her head and tapped a slender finger to her skull. Carefully concealed inside the complex wire-diagram tattoo was a tiny data port embedded into her skin.

  “But that’s moot, you see,” Wills said. “Malatech uses a very strong signal barrier around its primary research building. Nothing gets in or out.”

  “And I don’t have anything remotely strong enough to punch through the barrier without a twerp,” Soto added.

  “What’s a twerp?” Covington asked.

  Wills brought a hand up as a professor might while lecturing. “Tele—”

  Joab twitched with frustration. “It’s a small box,” he snarled through gritted teeth before looking at Covington. “And one of us is going to have to somehow get into that building and put that box next to a communications hub.”

  Soto’s head bobbed. “Once you do that, the twerp will piggyback off the hub and I can pierce the barrier. Once I pierce the barrier, I can search for the research and then steal it.” She wiggled her eyebrows up and down.

  “So how do we break in?” Covington asked.

  “We don’t,” Danzy answered. “They’ve already invited us.”

  Wills chuckled at Covington’s confused expression. “Malatech is hosting an exposition in ten days for its VASIMD and High Yield Zeta-Pinch drive technologies. Both of the drives are primarily used for in-system freighters… I happen to think that variable specific impulse magneto-plasma drives are getting a little long in the tooth but the zeta-pinch stuff offers an engine efficiency that’s hard to match.” He wavered his hand as he equivocated, “Now VASIMD is cheaper but—”

  Joab’s teeth ground together. “Dammit, Alden, can you ever stay on one target?”

  Wills gestured questioningly at Joab with a coy smile. “Why do you have to shut down the education process?” He brought the hand to his chest. “I’m a generalist, you see. I learn about the entire universe because I am a modern day renaissance man. I believe a good briefing not only informs but opens your mind.”

  “I’ll open your head.”

  “The expo, Alden,” Danzy said over the banter.

  Wills raised his hands and exhaled dramatically as if calming himself. “The Malatech Expo is a yearly event used to attract new customers and to renew existing contracts. I had Inn claim the best three shell companies available on Seshafi’s list and send requests to attend.”

  Wills paused and Danzy interjected, “In compliance with the AmyraCorp memorandum relating to corporate espionage, I’m supposed to remind everyone about the substantial resources it takes to create even one of these shell companies. Please, do your best not to blow their covers.”

  Joab leaned close to Covington and advised quietly, “If it comes to either you or your shell company’s cover being exposed, burn your company.”

  Danzy nodded his approval but continued. “Aoife, Alden and I will enter the Expo under the cover of the three different shell companies. That way, if one of us gets exposed, the other two remain hidden.”

  “Joab isn’t coming with us?” Covington asked nervously.

  Joab placed his human, right hand on her forearm. “I don’t exactly fit the profile for a corporate sales event.” He winked and promised, “But just say my name and watch how fast I come tearing through that building for you.”

  Danzy continued, “Inn will, likewise, be outside of the facility waiting for the twerp to help her punch through the computer security field.” He looked around the table. “It will take four dives to travel to Ardea but no tunnel is longer than two days. We’re leaving tomorrow and we’ll work through the mission sequence as we travel. Any questions?”

  Covington raised her hand timidly. “What shell company is my cover? I don’t speak French.”

  “You won’t have to,” Danzy told her. “You’re a representative of a small transport company from the Niven system and its primary language is English. Even though Ardea is mostly a French-speaking system, English is largely the language of business so you won’t stand out conspicuously.” The corner of his mouth twisted upward. “However, you need to take a crash course in high yield zeta-pinch drives in order to be convincing. I’ll have Wills send you half a dozen technical manuals that you’ll know by heart before showtime.”

  Covington groaned.

  “Another reason I look like I do,” Joab muttered, clearly amused.

  * * *

  THE REPUBLIC IS BEING MISLED.

  Faith Lawson looked again at the simple, mysterious message on her datapad. The only other information attached to the one-sentence warning was a street corner and a time. She looked around suspiciously at the throngs of people carrying on with their everyday lives. Despite the crowds, she felt extremely vulnerable standing at one of New London’s busiest intersections.

  As she stood still in a mass of movement, Lawson saw a dirty man in tattered clothing approaching her. The vagabond’s hair was long and unkempt and when he spoke, his sour breath threatened to push Lawson back several steps.

  “Lady, I’m supposed to give you this.” The vagrant shoved a card into her hand.

  “Who gave you this?” she asked.

  The man turned and pointed. “That guy over… Well, there was a guy there.” He scratched his filthy beard and began to wander off.

  Lawson read the card: Lose your datapad and come to the Old Hat Pub. Sit at the bar. Make sure the seat next to you is empty.

  Fifteen minutes later, she was drinking ice water and wondering if she had been set up. Daniel Collins’ warning had placed her suspicion into overdrive and her mind turned every coincidence during the last several weeks into a grand conspiracy.

  “Madam Assistant Secretary, thank you for coming.”

  The words made Lawson jump. A middle-aged man climbed onto the seat next to her. He was slim with thinning hair. He looked more like an accountant to Lawson than a spy.

  “I threw my datapad in the trash,” she said. “I hope this is worth it.”

  The man brought his hands up to the bar and reached for a napkin. Lawson noticed the cuticles of his fingers had been chewed in many places until they were an angry red. Start
ing at one corner, he began to tear the napkin into tiny pieces.

  “It was a necessary precaution,” he explained. “I don’t know if she’s tracking you.”

  “Who?”

  “Someone who wouldn’t want you to be asking the questions you’re asking.” The man looked anxiously at the pub’s front door.

  Lawson’s eyes narrowed. “And who are you?”

  The man’s shaking hands made no effort at introduction. His voice quivered nearly as much as his hands. “My name is Wright and I don’t know who I am anymore. A long time ago, I was an auditor. I was asked to contact you.”

  “By whom?”

  “He forbid me from answering that question, Ms. Lawson, but suffice it to say we have a mutual friend.” Wright continued to glance toward the entrance.

  Lawson looked around the pub warily. The man’s paranoia was heightening her own. “So why have you contacted me?”

  “Because you’re on the verge of uncovering one of the Republic’s worst secrets.”

  Lawson’s eyebrows arched upward. “The accounting errors within the star system maintenance budgets?”

  “They aren’t errors,” the man whispered. “They’re the result of a cleverly designed algorithm that siphons off vast amounts of money for the Republic’s dirty work.”

  “How do you know this?”

  The napkin was a shredded mess on the bar top. “Because I’m one of the people who created that algorithm. Let me tell you about something called Pied Piper.”

  * * *

  Adira Fane turned her attention to Neal. “What have you obtained for me this quarter, Mr. Neal?”

  Assistant Secretary Jackson Neal rapidly flashed his briefing slides to the enormous wall screen in Minister Fane’s office. The opening slide was from The Seshafian Courant. The news article in question bore the title, “Legendary Achievements.” The picture underneath the caption was a wide shot of a military parade ground. Dozens of neatly arranged military formations of all different uniforms stood at ridged attention as tens of thousands of spectators watched.

  “As anticipated,” Neal started without formality while advancing the slide, “Admiral Garrett Heskan has officially retired from Seshafian service.” He had learned long ago that the minister did not like to waste time with pleasantries.

  The next image was a close-up of Garrett Heskan. He wore a blue and gold uniform more akin to the Terran Age of Sail than any modern, navy uniform. The blue top coat with decadent, gold braid and tall, stiff standing collar ensured the uniform would serve in purely formal functions. A younger man, dressed in expensive corporate attire was handing Heskan a neatly folded Seshafian flag encased in a large steel and glass case. Various medals, patches and a dedication rested along the perimeter of the flag.

  “I have a holo-log of his retirement speech if you are interested,” Neal noted.

  “Only if he mentioned the Republic,” Fane answered coldly while seemingly transfixed by the picture.

  “He did not.” The next slide was a satellite shot of a large beach house. “His residence continues to be forty-three kilometers outside of Port Crown. He has repeatedly affirmed his plans to remain on Seshafi Major and, as of ten days ago, his private residence remains off the seller’s market.”

  “Could this be a ruse? To lull our informants into a false sense of security?”

  “There is always that possibility, Madam Minister,” Neal admitted. “However, the vast majority of the evidence suggests that, after a distinguished career defending Seshafi and rebuilding its navy, Garrett Heskan is retiring to a private life inside the Seshafi star system. He married several years ago—”

  “To a Republic citizen,” Fane interjected.

  Neal waited patiently for more, careful to avoid stepping on any of the minister’s words. He nodded. “Yes, to Seshafian Captain Stacy Vernay, formerly a lieutenant from the Republic. She, along with several other Republic sailors, fled Brevic space with Heskan after the Phoenix incident.”

  Fane moved her head fractionally to turn her jade gaze to Neal. “What is Internal Security’s final conclusion?”

  “Garrett Heskan’s retirement represents no significant change to the threat level he poses to the Republic. He remains halfway across the galaxy, content to live his life without interfering with the Republic.”

  “Is he still unaware how our government is using him?”

  “We believe so,” Neal said while raising a hand in a cautionary gesture. “Of course, neither of our informants can read the man’s mind. If he is aware that PR&I occasionally disburses propaganda under his name and likeness, he’s done nothing to stop it.”

  “Have you established a failsafe yet?”

  Neal cringed before answering. “Unfortunately, our attempts to recruit a suitable candidate continue to meet resistance. The last attempt using a Republic agent failed miserably. Our more circumspect efforts have neither failed nor been successful.”

  “Then they’ve failed,” Fane hissed.

  “Yes,” Neal confessed. “By not succeeding, they’ve been failures. However, we haven’t compromised the meager assets we have in Seshafi so that is, in itself, a small success.” Neal looked for compassion while explaining, “Please, Madam Minister, you must understand that Seshafi is far from our influence. We have no leverage, no clout and Garrett Heskan is enormously popular there. We’re endeavoring to sow seeds of discontent in a barren field. It might be easier if I had the full resources of I.S. available to me….” He smiled weakly but shivered at the emotionless figure staring coldly back at him.

  “Continue your efforts, Mr. Assistant Secretary,” Fane ordered. “This project remains compartmentalized inside your niche in Internal Security and no one will know of it outside this room.” Her eyes flickered toward her door, an obvious sign of dismissal.

  Neal began to rise but froze midway as Fane offered parting words.

  “This is your first, major operation without Secretary Brewer’s support. His position inside Internal Security is not an eternal one and, if you cannot offer me the results I expect, neither is yours.”

  * * *

  “Bienvenue à Ardea, Mlle Thompson.” The blue-eyed beauty smiled invitingly at Aoife Covington despite being flanked by two, bulky security guards. The guards wore black suits with hints of blue in the cufflinks and handkerchiefs jutting from their coats.

  “Bonjour,” Covington replied as casually as she could. Her heart was racing as she stepped through the security arch. Even though she was unarmed and not carrying any of the equipment her team required for the night, adrenalin coursing through her body made her tremble. She tried to direct the nervous energy through a shrug. “I’m afraid that’s all my French.”

  Malatech’s hostess made a polite nod and her eyes twinkled. “That won’t be a problem, Miss Thompson. All of our sales representatives can answer your questions in English.” She inspected her datapad while casually pulling her long, dark hair over her shoulder. “Please dock your datapad at the station after the arch.”

  Covington was complying with the directive when Alden Wills stepped through the arch behind her.

  “Bienvenue à Ardea, Monsieur Horton.”

  “Bonjour, Madame,” Wills’ dulcet voice answered before he flipped open a small, clear container and popped a breath mint into his mouth. He walked through the arch with a confident smile while shaking the container playfully. The noise created a rattling sound recognizable for the last millennia. “Quand sont les hors d'oeuvre servi?” Covington heard him ask.

  The security attendant at the docking station inspected Covington’s screen. “Miss Thompson, we’re merely embedding your company’s credentials for the Expo into your datapad so our sales representatives can best meet your needs. We’re also scanning your datapad to create a baseline accounting of its contents to ensure that there are no malicious programs on it. It’s a regrettable but necessary routine security precaution taken at all Expos.” He looked up from his screen with emotionless
professionalism. “You may undock now, ma’am. Enjoy the show.”

  Covington fought the urge to exhale and quietly undocked her electronics before walking away. Not too quickly, she reminded herself. You don’t want to appear to be running from the scene of a crime.

  During the transit to Ardea, Covington had privately lamented that the mission had been carefully crafted to require as little from her as possible. Her first task, infiltrating the Expo, was as simple as walking through the entrance without spontaneously confessing that she was a Seshafian spy. She had been disappointed by just how little she was risking while Wills, Danzy and Soto risked considerably more. However, now that she was here, Covington was grateful that her initial objective required little more than putting one foot in front of the other, because in her current, anxious state, the humble task demanded a ridiculous amount of her concentration.

  She neared the grand entrance to Malatech’s showroom and turned back toward the front door. Already, Wills was retrieving his datapad at the screening station. Behind him, a security official was submitting Kyle Danzy to a more thorough body scan with a handheld instrument. A second guard was examining “Mr. Nelson’s” hearing amplification device.

  The guard completed his scan and Covington heard him mutter, “Please walk through the arch again, Mister Nelson.”

  Danzy remained motionless.

  The guard noted the lack of movement and then gestured through the security arch, prompting Danzy to loop through the electronic interrogator again. Once through, he was handed back his earpiece.

  Covington knew she should not be staring but could not tear her eyes away. As Miss Darcy Thompson from the Niven system, she should be perfectly ambivalent to a stranger’s toil through Malatech’s security line.

  Wills walked past Covington without so much as a glance.

  Get moving, Aoife, she commanded herself. She turned again toward the grand entrance. Past the double doors, the expo floor of Toland Malatech stretched long and wide. The showroom was larger than many transport hangars she had seen. Inside the cavern, half a dozen propulsion models were strategically positioned with dozens of sales personnel assigned to each display. Holographic imagery extoled the virtues of each design, including testimonials from major freighter and commercial space lines that employed Malatech drive systems. Embedded throughout the crowd were more Malatech security guards, both in uniform and undercover.