by Jay Allan
She was still unconscious, and Stu Weldon had been very cautious and guarded in his assessments. Dauntless’s chief surgeon had told Barron in no uncertain terms that there were no assurances that Travis would regain consciousness, even if her bodily functions continued to strengthen. But Barron had sensed the hope in Weldon’s voice as well, despite the doctor’s cautious words.
“Any change, Doc?” Barron walked up behind Weldon, who was leaning over a workstation, tapping away on a keyboard.
“Admiral…” The doctor turned around and straightened up to face Dauntless’s acting commander. “There’s been some continued improvement, sir…but no signs of any imminent recovery from the coma. Her brain scans remain active, but…” Weldon hesitated for a few seconds. “I just don’t know what’s kept her alive, Admiral. She was so weak…she should have died. I can’t explain it, but at least now, she seems to be out of danger. Based on her recovery to this moment, I have to believe she’ll regain consciousness…” The doctor paused again, an uncomfortable look coming onto his face. “…but I’m afraid we can’t be sure if there will be any permanent damage. Her brain function looks good, but there are any number of possible problems that could appear.”
“I wouldn’t bet against her, Doc. She’s tough…and stubborn. I’d wager the missing element in your analysis is pure, unadulterated pigheadedness. She just wouldn’t give up…and I wouldn’t bet on her doing it now, or at any point until she is back at one hundred percent.” As difficult as it was to watch his friend lying in that medpod, Barron realized he had become convinced Atara Travis would recover.
Completely.
Chapter Five
Troyus City
Planet Megara, Olyus III
Year 316 AC
“You’ve waited for this for a long time, Alex. Your rivals have cheated you, kept from you what should have been yours, but now it is your moment.” Marieles was lying on her side on the bed, a thin white sheet draped strategically over her. She was looking across at the man she’d chosen to play a key role in her unfolding plan.
And also in her bed.
Admiral Torrance Whitten had come from a navy family as old, and nearly as prestigious, as the Barrons. He had famous ancestors dating back even farther than Barron’s…men and women who’d helped to build the Confederation, and to hold it against a century of Union aggression. He might have become the hero of the past war, taken Tyler Barron’s place as the navy’s rising star, save for one problem.
He was more or less incompetent.
Marieles had come to understand early on that the schemes and plots Whitten resented so much, and about which he whined almost incessantly, were really little more than the manifestation of his lack of talent. She’d also decided that it didn’t matter, not enough for her to switch gears at this late stage. She needed a vain man, one easily manipulated, and Whitten scored well on both of those counts. That was more important to her than actual martial or operational ability. And while he wasn’t going to win any aptitude contests, he was a hell of a good looking man, and that offered its own advantages, both in terms of presenting him as a charismatic figure…and in terms of softening the drudgery of her own job of manipulating him.
“That’s all true, Desiree…but…” She could hear the doubt in his voice, and she knew his confidence needed another boost. He wasn’t just a fool. Fundamentally, he was a coward as well. He could talk for hours about grievances and plans to redress them, but he invariably lost his drive when action was imminent.
“There are no ‘buts,’ Alex, my sweet. You’re ready for this, more ready than I’ve ever seen any man, to meet your destiny.” She’d used every trick at her disposal to control Whitten…flattery, sex, planting unexpected supporters to fawn over him and offer their loyalty. She’d even taken to calling him by his middle name to create a sort of bond between the two of them, a level of personal connection he’d bought into hook, line, and sinker.
As far as she knew, she was the only person who’d ever called him “Alex,” and she only did it when they were alone. Intimacy was an extremely useful tool, one she employed with ruthless efficiency. She was far from certain Whitten would hold it together and follow through on what the two had planned, but she didn’t have the slightest doubt he was loyal to her.
“Yes, I’m ready…but must we go so far so quickly? This is…could be viewed as…treason.”
“Treason? To save the Confederation from the profiteers? From the gangsters who control it now? How many spacers died in the war? Trillions of credits that should have bought them better weapons and equipment were stolen…with the help of the very same men who took your birthright from you. What would you do? Continue to reside in comfortable obscurity, cast aside by Striker and Barron and the others? A man of your ability, treated like a fool by officers not fit to polish your boots?”
For an instant, she was afraid she’d poured it on a little too thick…but then she saw the expression on his face.
“You’re right, of course, Desiree. It’s my duty to rid the Confederation of the traitors, to restore it to the people, as it always should have remained. The nation my grandfather served, that my great-grandfather helped to found.”
“Yes,” she said, surprised yet again at how effectively ego could be utilized as a tool to control people. “It’s not only your destiny…it is your obligation. You owe it to the generations of Whittens who have come before, to the billions of people in the Confederation. They cannot stand against the forces of corruption themselves…but you can. Legions of officers will follow your flag. Men and women who now chafe helplessly under the control of the criminals.”
Marieles was far from sure about that last part. She’d done everything possible to line up support for Whitten’s coup, and she was confident that some of it, at least, would materialize. The Whitten name was still powerful, and in the cliquish universe of the Confederation navy, there was considerable loyalty to it. But she was far from sure the officer could manage to take control and hold on to what his birthright gave him.
That didn’t matter, though. She wasn’t trying to take and hold control of the Confederation. That was a goal beyond her resources and the time she had available. No, her purpose was to plunge the Union’s main enemy into a whirlwind of chaos and turmoil. If her plan worked, she would see Confederation military forces choosing sides, perhaps even clashing with each other. Riots in the streets, the breakdown of normal services. And an economic collapse of immense proportions.
The Confeds would get through it, no doubt, and they would restore some rational successor to their current government…but they would be weakened, perhaps greatly weakened, and the Union would have time to restore its strength, to prepare for the next conflict. And I will be back at the side of a grateful Gaston Villieneuve, at the very seat of power.
She looked across the bed at Whitten. There was almost no projected conclusion to her plan that didn’t see the fool of an admiral dead in battle or mounting a scaffold, branded a traitor. That was a shame. She wasn’t going to miss him for his ability, certainly, but he was charming in his way, at least when he wasn’t bragging incessantly or complaining about how he’d been mistreated. He was about as attractive a pawn as she’d ever played in any of her spy games and, while she’d sacrifice him when she needed to, she almost wished she could keep him. Like a pet of sorts.
She reached over and put her hand on his shoulder, smiling sweetly as she did. She might as well get the most of out him while she still had him.
* * *
“Dammit.” It was the third time Striker had said it…and from the growing heat of the anger inside him, it didn’t seem likely to be the last. Jon Peterson was sitting across from the desk, silent, clearly giving the admiral the time to fully absorb what he had told him.
“I felt the same way, Admiral Striker.” Peterson stared right back at Striker as he finally spoke. He looked around, what seemed like an instinctive glance, though he had to realize the two men were alone
. Then he said, “To be honest, I was ready to have my Marines arrest the Lictors right then and there.”
Striker could hear the anger in Peterson’s voice, despite the officer’s clear attempt to suppress it. He might have done the same if he’d been there with a group of naval troopers, but he doubted that would have done much good. He’d seen the naked pomposity of Senators before, and for all he had a profound distaste for most of them, he had no illusions about just how powerful members of the Confederation Senate were.
“Better that you didn’t, Jon…and, by the way, I’m Van. Let’s cut the ‘Admiral Striker’ stuff right now, especially if we’re going to work together to get to the bottom of all this.” Striker paused for a few seconds. “At least we know where Gary went. If a whole group of Lictors came for him, that means the Senate is investigating something. Which fits with the fact that the whole body has been in secret session for weeks now.”
“Investigating? Gary pushes things to the edge sometimes, but I can’t believe he’s done something to justify arresting him and dragging him halfway across the Confederation in secrecy…or even if he did, left a trail anyone could find. Especially two years after the war ended.”
Striker nodded. He knew of one or two things Holsten had done that might create an uproar if the wrong people found out about them, but he had to agree. The timing seemed strange…and Holsten was too careful to get caught, even when he strayed.
“There’s something else going on here, Jon. Gary’s arrest is only part of it. There’s a lot of unrest. I hadn’t pieced it all together, not until now, but I’m wondering if there’s something bigger at work.” A pause. “What if someone needed to get Gary out of the way? To disrupt Confederation Intelligence and its operations?”
“You think we’re dealing with some kind of subversion? Something in the government?”
“Maybe.” Striker tried to control the wild directions into which his thoughts were racing. “More likely, some Senator or group of Senators is taking the chance to get revenge on Gary.” Striker hesitated, but then he continued. “He’s got some pretty extensive files on some of them, and he’s used his influence to keep them…let’s just say, on the line.” Striker knew those words could be taken in several ways, but he was pretty sure Peterson would see them the same way he did, and Holsten always had.
“Whatever it is…you mentioned unrest, and other problems. Do you think there’s a link?”
“I just don’t know.” Striker was frustrated. He couldn’t quite separate the various things in his mind…but he couldn’t bring himself to imagine some kind of grand conspiracy was going on either. For all the dishonesty and foulness in the Confederation’s government, he wasn’t sure he believed there was enough raw competence to pull off any kind of significant plot.
Still, the fact that Holsten had clearly been targeted was unsettling. There were few people in a better position to thwart any kind of nefarious activity.
“We have to do something, Van. I owe Gary Holsten…for more than I can quickly recount. I came here all the way from Dannith to see what happened to him, and I’m not about to go back without finding out…and helping him any way I can.”
“I’m with you, Jon…but we have to be careful. If there really is some kind of plot underway, we have to be very cautious who we involve. Who we even talk to.” Striker still found it difficult to believe some kind of coup or other activity of the sort was really underway…but he was too concerned to ignore the possibility. As much as he hated doubting any of his people, if there was some kind of power grab brewing, those involved would almost certainly have supporters in the navy.
Striker leaned back and put his hand to his face. “We’ve got to make a list of people we’re sure can’t be involved in whatever is happening. I’ll vouch for Kate Britten.” He paused, feeling a wave of discomfort at how few names were coming to his mind as being beyond question. He had many loyal officers, he was sure of that, but most of the ones he knew best had been sent out on various missions, not assigned to headquarters on Megara…and now, he wondered if some of that hadn’t even been the result of someone’s planning. Had he been unknowingly manipulated?
You’re getting paranoid, Van…
“I might be able to help, Van…with a few bodies at the right place and time.”
Striker stared across the desk, a questioning look on his face.
“Well, you see, when I decided to come to Megara and see what was happening to Gary, I brought my second in command, Hank Bellingham, with me…” Peterson paused, looking uncharacteristically hesitant. Then, he continued, “…and my whole first company.”
“You brought a company of Marines to Megara?”
“On leave, Admiral.” Peterson looked a bit edgy and defensive. “None of the Marines had ever been to the capital…and I heard the museums are a real sight.”
Striker almost laughed. Bringing a force of Marines to Megara without orders could be viewed as treason.
But bringing a pack of veteran warriors to the capital on a cultural excursion to tour the museums…no one could argue with that.
* * *
“Desiree…it has been some time. It’s good to see you.” Ricard Lille gestured toward the two stewards gathering his bags—they were agents, actually, but Sector Nine personnel didn’t exactly stroll around Megara out in the open, and the covers he’d purchased for his group had been expensive ones indeed. “Gaston tells me you’ve made commendable progress.” Actually, the brief message he’d received from Villieneuve had been sketchy, and it had relied heavily upon his ability to read between the lines. Communication was always a danger point on operations of this sort, and there was little to be gained by risking too much back and forth chatter.
“Agent Lille, welcome to Megara.” Marieles stepped forward, leaning close to Lille’s ear. “This room is secure, but once we leave, we will need to maintain our covers at all times.”
“Of course, Desiree. Why don’t we keep things simple, and you call me Ricard? I am, after all, here to help you any way I can.”
Marieles flashed a smile, but Lille had a pretty good idea of her real thoughts and feelings. The two had never worked together, not on anything significant, and Villieneuve had send her to Megara to lead the Confederation destabilization operation. By all accounts, she’d done a masterful job, and she had no reason to fear for her position, not from him. The last thing Lille wanted was the burden of controlling hundreds of operative, dupes, and purchased traitors…he was happy to leave it all to her. But he was Gaston Villieneuve’s closest confidante, so it was only natural for Marieles to see him as a superior come to take control.
“Things are about to come to a head. The Senate is currently conducting a trial against Gary Holsten…using the considerable evidence I have supplied. Through various channels, of course. And the news operation is…”
“Truly, Desiree, I am not here to usurp your position, nor to micromanage your operation. You are to continue as you have been. I do not need—nor, frankly, want—to be apprised of every detail. Such elaborate missions are not in my chosen milieu, shall we say. I am truly here simply to assist with any…shall we say, particularly troublesome elements that may threaten your success.” That was true, for the most part. Lille’s specialty was problem removal. He was there to keep an eye on Marieles too, of course, but more because Villieneuve didn’t trust anyone than any real suspicion the agent had strayed from her directives.
Marieles stood for a moment, silent, clearly thinking. Then she looked over at Lille. “Well, Ricard…I believe I have most factors in hand, but if there is one person who worries me, it has to be Admiral Striker. He’s just too powerful, too connected…and I know he and Holsten are close friends. I’ve put a plan to discredit him into place…but I’m concerned how he will respond, and what support he will be able to gather.”
Lille stood still for a moment, and then he nodded his head. “You’re right, Desiree…Van Striker is a dangerous man, and a smart one. He
has harmed our plans many times. If he gets an idea what you’re up to…” He was silent again for a moment. “You see to your final arrangements…and I will make certain Admiral Striker does not interfere.”
Chapter Six
Interplanetary Space
Unknown System 20
40,000,000 from Primary
Year 316 AC
Stockton put both hands on the throttle, struggling to keep steady as he directed his ship back across the emptiness of the system. He’d been relieved when the repair bot had managed to seal the breach in the hull before the last of his air escaped into the void, but the life support system wasn’t working after all, not completely.
He was weak, and it took most of the effort he could muster just to raise his arms. His vision was blurry, too, and he could feel himself getting more and more lightheaded. He had oxygen…he’d be dead by now if he didn’t. But there was something wrong with the air, some kind of contaminant seeping into it, probably from a coolant leak or some kind of engine malfunction.
It would kill him, he was sure of that. What he didn’t know was if he’d make it back to Repulse before it did.
At least these bastards don’t have any fighters…
He’d be long dead by now if there had been any effective pursuit. But he was way out in front of the Hegemony fleet now, far beyond the range of any of their weapons. He knew the enemy ships had enough acceleration to catch him…and the fleet, for that matter. But he was just a lone fighter, and he doubted they were even paying any attention to his battered craft’s fight to get back to base.
He knew they had no intention of catching the rest of the fleet yet either, not until they saw where the Confederation ships were going. There wasn’t a doubt in Stockton’s mind the Hegemony was looking for the path back to Rim nations…or that they could have closed and destroyed the fleet by now if they’d wanted to, despite his constant fighter strikes and the disorder they had caused.