Wing Commander #07 False Color

by William R. Forstchen

  She suspected that Captain Galbraith was behind the extra attention she was receiving. He hadn't been at all happy with the scout ship's performance on the way home. Springweather couldn't help it if her jump coils had worn through coming out of hyperspace at Oecumene, and the cycle time for an interstellar hop was running anywhere up to five times as long as it should. If Galbraith had sent over the parts and technical experts she'd asked for when the problem first developed she could have put the problem to rest then and there, but Galbraith wasn't the sort of Navy man who'd extend a helping hand to a frontier scout.

  So Vision Quest had slowed Independence down, and now it seemed Galbraith was exacting his revenge by inflicting petty bureaucracy on her. At this point a visitor would be a welcome relief . . . unless he turned out to be another bureaucrat.

  "I'm sorry, skipper, but he wouldn't give a name. Looks like a merchant skipper . . . a prosperous one, by the cut of his clothes. Said he had a business proposal for you."

  She grinned. "When have you ever known me to turn away the chance to make a credit or two, Frank? Send the gentleman up, by all means."

  Springweather managed to finish going over the Customs Manifest, appending her retinal print to the computer file just as the visitor arrived at her door.

  He was a tall, gaunt man with dark hair and a down-turning mustache that made him look like a pirate right out of a historical holo-vid romance. His eyes, studying her, burned with the intensity of a man with a mission.

  She stood and rounded the desk, extending a hand. "I'm Wenona Springweather. Captain, for what it's worth, of the Vision Quest. My Mate tells me you've some business for us. How can I be of service?"

  "My name is Zachary Banfeld," he said, taking the hand.

  Springweather's eyes narrowed. That was a name she'd heard before. But she had never expected to meet one of the most notorious men on the frontier.

  Banfeld was the organizer and leader of a group that called itself "The Guild," a loose association of ship-captains and businessmen from a dozen worlds along the frontier, and not just within the Landreich's sphere of influence. Ostensibly they were civilians who had banded together for mutual protection and support during the war, but in fact rumor had it that they were much more than harmless merchants. Pooling their funds, they had bought weapons to arm their merchant ships, and even managed to acquire a small, antiquated escort carrier and some Confederation fighters. All this was supposed to be used to convoy merchant traffic along the dangerous frontier trade routes, but there were stories that suggested Banfeld's Guild operated as privateers—some said outright pirates—raiding shipping and remote planetary outposts and selling the proceeds at a substantial profit.

  He seemed to sense her reaction to his name, and gave her a thin-lipped smile. "My reputation no doubt precedes me, Captain, but I assure you I'm not at all the way I'm portrayed on the holo-casts. Neither Robin Hood nor Blackbeard . . . just Zack Banfeld, trying to do my job."

  "And that job is?" She let a hint of ice creep into her tone. Wenona Springweather was as mercenary as an frontier scout, but her motto had always been to steer clear of the war and everything it represented. Banfeld on the other hand, took entirely too much interest in conflict.

  His smile turned wolfish. "Why, simply turning a profit Captain," he said. "And, if I can, helping out the small ship-owner from time to time."

  "Such as now?" she asked. 'What sort of help did you have in mind for me?"

  "Just a chance to make a large sum of money in return for a few small bits of information," he said blandly. "About the work you've been doing the past several weeks."

  "My last two trips have been classified by the Landreich government," she told him. "They've been employing me as a consultant, and you must understand that I couldn't go around selling secrets."

  He shrugged. "It's fairly well known by now that you found a Kilrathi derelict. That news has been circulating around the bars for weeks. I'm . . . interested in learning the details, though. If the government is no longer interested in this ship, it might be an excellent source for parts, equipment, that sort of thing."

  "And if the government is still interested?"

  "Then I may still be able to turn a profit. Providing supply transport, for example, to and from the hulk. That sort of thing. I can't really say how The Guild might get involved until I know more details. But if I could obtain a little inside information, I'd not only know what to offer, but maybe I could get an inside track on the bidding."

  "As far as I know, the government's not using civilian contractors out there," she said. "I was there because I found the thing in the first place. But the rest seems to be entirely a Navy operation. I'm sorry, but I don't really think I can help." His eyes flashed for an instant. Then the smile was back. "Come, come, Captain. You haven't even heard my offer. Fifty thousand for your information, and a ten percent share of any profits I might turn from it." "Fifty thousand . . ." That was substantially more than Max Kruger had paid her for the original information about the Karga. Tempted, she turned and walked to the far side of the office, gazing out the small transplast porthole over her desk at the busy starport outside. Finally she turned back, shaking her head. "I'm sorry. I can't help you." "You're afraid I might misuse the information?" He was frowning now. "Look, from what you say the government is already there, and from the size of the battle group that went out and didn't come back with you and Independence I'd say they were protecting this derelict pretty damned well. What am I going to do? Sell the story to the Cats? Even if they were interested, they couldn't do much without mounting a damned big raid, and by the time they did anything the Navy would be ready for them. Anyway, dealing with Cats is hardly ever profitable. And I swear all I'm trying to do is make a good business move ahead of the pack."

  She studied him for a long moment, her thoughts prey to conflicting emotions. Despite his reputation Banfeld had generally played the part of a patriot during the war, though he'd also turned a handsome profit at the same time. She didn't really think he'd betray anything she told him to the Kilrathi. And fifty thousand credits . . .

  Her eyes came to rest on the computer terminal where she'd been poring over the Landreich's forms and endless bureaucratic garbage. What did she really owe the government now, anyway? She'd done the job they'd hired her to do, led Richards and his men to the Karga and then wasted months hanging around waiting for them to decide to pay what they owed her. And Galbraith had treated her ship and crew like so much debris the whole trip back. If she chose to make some extra money off her find at Vaku, how would that hurt Max Kruger or his lackeys?

  Fifty thousand credits . . .

  "I'd want a contract, Mr. Banfeld," she said at last. "Not that I don't trust you, but . . ."

  He smiled again, his eyes burning hotter. "I anticipated the need, Captain. Shall we go over it now?"

  Terran Confederation Embassy Compound,

  Newburg Landreich, Landreich System

  1315 hours (CST)

  "We have them, Commissioner. We have Richards,

  Tolwyn, and Kruger! All we have to do is decide how to deal with them."

  Clark Williams regarded Colonel Mancini with a sour look. "Not more of your rumors," he said. "More barroom gossip about Kilrathi ships abandoned in the sector. I've had just about enough of hearing all the drunken speculations of the bums who hang out at those places down in Startown."

  "Not a rumor this time, sir," Mancini said. "This time we have the information straight from the source. Vision Quest landed this morning."

  "What?" He sat upright, his chair creaking under him. "Got the Springweather woman in here as soon as possible! We'll squeeze everything she knows out of her . . ."

  "That won't be necessary," Mancini said. "Fact is, one of our agents spotted her arrival and moved on his own initiative. Tied her up aboard ship by persuading the authorities to give her more than the usual share of Inward Clearance nonsense, and then moved in for the kill." He smiled. "It's amaz
ing how much you can get when you combine greed and frustration in one package."

  "Well? What did your agent get?"

  "I'll let him tell you himself." Mancini touched a stud on his shirt sleeve, activating a tiny communications device. "Send him in."

  The door opened a moment later to admit Zachary Banfeld. "Ah, Commissioner," the newcomer said pleasantly. "Good to see you again."

  Williams nodded. "And you, Mr. Banfeld. It's been . . what? Two years now?"

  "Since that little situation on Freya. Yeah." Banfeld smiled as he took a seat beside the CSB colonel. "That was quite a nice little operation, as I recall."

  Williams studied the man assessingly. Here on the frontier Zachary Banfeld was regarded as something between a romantic highwayman and a black-hearted pirate, depending on who you asked, but no one suspected that he was also a freelance agent of the Confederation government. The Guild really did do legitimate business, organizing merchant convoys and taking on contracts to ship needed materials through spacelanes no other civilian trader would willingly travel. And it sponsored privateering raids, hitting vulnerable targets and looting them for resale later. Banfeld's people also dabbled in black market deals, arms smuggling, mercenary operations, and training local militias to handle combat situations.

  Behind all these dealings, though, Banfeld also took on odd jobs for the Confederation from time to time, especially in the last few years. He had been recruited, not only by Mancini's CSB, but by the other, more shadowy organization that Williams and Mancini both belonged to—the Belisarius Group. And he had been a useful tool on several occasions of late, when Belisarius needed to flex its muscles out here on the frontier without any direct Confederation involvement in frontier affairs. Guild ships had staged a few raids on Landreich outposts to confuse the issue after Kruger had started complaining of Kilrathi incursions, for instance, leaving clear-cut evidence of human pirates at work And they had raided into Kilrathi space as well, to keep the pot boiling and to make it look as if Ragark was being provoked into action by Kruger and his "irresponsible warmongers."

  Zachary Banfeld was a man with a mission. He had grown rich and powerful along the frontier by exploiting the war between humans and Kilrathi. With the end of the war his shadow empire was threatened, and he wanted nothing more than to see the fighting start again so he and his could get back to their business of profiteering, privateering, and pirating. Fortunately, that goal was perfectly in accord with the needs of the Belisarius Group.

  "All right, Mr. Banfeld, the Colonel tells me you have information we can use." Williams smiled coldly. "What have you found out?"

  "The stories about the government finding a Kilrathi derelict were true, after all," Banfeld said. "A supercarrier that was caught in a battle but not quite destroyed, out in the Vaku system. Kruger's expeditionary force went there with the idea of re-commissioning the ship and adding it to his fleet. Apparently the job is well in hand." He went on to describe the situation as Springweather had explained it to him.

  When he was done, Mancini summed it up. "So what we have here is a supercarrier that could alter the entire balance of forces in the region if it completes repairs and joins the FRLN. But for the moment she's still weak. Her combat shields still aren't operating, and she only has half of a flight wing for protection until their pilots train on the Kilrathi planes they're salvaging."

  Williams frowned. "That ship could ruin everything we've been working for," he said. "The only alternative I can see is to take it out of the picture now, before it becomes operational."

  "My thoughts exactly," Mancini said. "Mr. Banfeld, I think your strike force might be of use to us once again. Do you have enough information to do the job, or should we arrange for a more . . . thorough talk with the good Captain Springweather? I could have Y-12 pick her up and interrogate her further, if you wish." Y-12 was the designation of the Belisarius Group's covert operations unit. Mancini held the rank of colonel in that organization, as well as the Confederation Security Bureau.

  "She gave me everything I need," Banfeld said. "Even to the fact that they're having trouble with their sensors in the ring system around the gas giant. And more than that. They're still getting the bulk of their shielding from the tender. Take that out and Karga has no shields. That's how her first crew was killed, stuck in orbit with no screens against the radiation and no engines to pull them clear in time. All I have to do is hit that tender, and we've solved the problem."

  Mancini smiled thoughtfully. "And if you can minimize the damage to the rest of the ship, we might put a crew of our own aboard her. Think what a nice job a Kilrathi supercarrier raiding a few outlying colonies could do to turn up the war fever a few more degrees."

  Williams shrugged. "That's a nice thought, but I'd rather be sure the carrier's out of action. If it comes to a choice, don't hesitate to blow it out of space."

  "I'll be sure to stick to the appropriate priorities, Commissioner," Mancini said. "Count on it."

  "You've never let us down yet," Williams said. "All right, you've both done an excellent job. Especially you, Mr. Banfeld." He paused. "You said Springweather reported some Kilrathi were working with the Landreichers?"

  "That's what she said. Rescued from a habitable moon in the system, apparently." Banfeld made a dismissive gesture. "She didn't know much about them. She wasn't at too many of the briefings, and Richards and Tolwyn mostly kept her in the dark about the details of what was going on. But apparently they were survivors from the fighting who escaped before the end of the battle, and they were grateful enough to the Landreichers to help them with the repair job."

  "I don't like it," Williams said. "A kil doesn't work with a human without a damned good reason, and they wouldn't think gratitude was reason enough to show a bunch of humans how one of their carriers was put together. Something's rotten here. I'd like to know what."

  Mancini shrugged. "If our friend Zachary is successful, it will be a moot point," he said. "The Cats will be as dead as Richards, Tolwyn, and Bondarevsky. That's all that really matters."

  "I suppose you're right." Williams sighed. "But it would have been interesting to know what could make a kid cooperate with a human. It would be useful if we could recruit a few agents on the other side of the border."

  "We're doing fine as we are, Commissioner," Mancini avowed. "The Cats are easy to manipulate without having to get them as buddies. Or at least the ambitious ones like Ragark are. Everything's falling into place. All we have to do is make sure that this carrier doesn't disrupt the plan."

  Williams nodded. The Belisarius Group was dedicated to rekindling the war between the Confederation and the Empire, and so far the plan to make it happen out here in the Landreich was going smoothly. In the two months since Richards and his expedition had been gone the raids had increased in frequency and scope, sometimes helped along by Banfeld's pirates. Kruger was facing a political crisis at home, too, brought on by Councilman Galbraith's faction and their demands for a larger say in government affairs. They were hamstringing Kruger's at attempts to increase his defense budget, insisting on pouring more money into domestic programs instead. And Kruger, being Kruger, was only making the situation worse by his stubborn attempts to prove he could run the Landreich without the support of his own Council. With luck the internal problems would be coming to a head just about the time Ragark finally moved in force. The Landreich would be overrun, and the Confederation would have to step in to stabilize the threatened frontier.

  Yes, it was coming together nicely, the whole Belisarius operation. They'd named their group for the famous Roman general who had fought brilliantly for an emperor who had no military talent of his own, only to be betrayed by the suspicious ruler when it seemed likely the legions would offer him the Imperial purple. Belisarius had been a fool not to take his army and march on Constantinople to seize the throne for himself. The Belisarius group was determined that they would not allow the same kind of betrayal by civilian authorities at home to ever take pl
ace. They would do what Belisarius should have done—strike first, take power, and ensure the future of human civilization. If they had to sacrifice Max Kruger's Landreich along the way . . . well, that was a small enough cost to pay.

  Banfeld broke in to his reverie. "When do you want us to hit them?" he asked.

  "I want you to move as quickly as you can," Williams told him. "We want to nail Tolwyn and Richards before they have a chance to get the carrier in any better shape than it already is. And we want to make sure we hit them hard."

  CHAPTER 13

  "Among the pillars of victory, the first and greatest is the art of the unexpected, for it is by surprise that the Warrior achieves domination on the field of battle."

  from the Second Codex

  04:18:21

  Combat Information Center, FRLS Karga

  Orbiting Vaku VII, Vaku System

  1447 hours (CST), 2671.011

  Admiral Geoff Tolwyn settled into his captain's chair and thought once again how good it felt to be in command of a ship again.

  The thought had occurred to him more than once since the beginning of the Goliath Project, but it still hit him every so often that he was fortunate to have a second chance like this one. For all of his reputation as a strategist and a brilliant fleet commander, Tolwyn had always secretly felt that it had been a mistake to give up his first and greatest love, ship command, in favor of the wider responsibilities of a ConFleet admiral. People often talked about the "loneliness of command," but the fact was that a captain knew his ship, officers, and crew far better than a flag officer could ever know his battle group or fleet. The decisions you made sitting in the captain's chair were translated into instant action, for good or ill; an admiral's orders filtered through layers of subordinates and were never so immediate or so personal.