“I extend my thanks to you,” he began, adjusting his uniform as he sat bolt-upright. “I've looked at Captain Sole's report on the encounter with those pirate scum. Looks like you showed up in the nick of time.”
“You're welcome,” I replied. “He's a good man and a fine host.”
“Ah, so you've had the pleasure of his table, eh?” he grinned, slightly lopsided and the empty socket of his right eye seemed to glare at me. “I do enjoy it when we Captains dine on the Pearl, I'll fair admit that.”
Turning to an aide standing at the back of the room, he gestured for him to come forward. His head bore a bandage across one eye and his left arm was in a sling.
“I cannot match Sole's hospitality but I can at least offer you something to drink.” Then, to the aide, “Bring in the refreshments.”
The aide vanished through a door and Argo, looking slightly embarrassed by this, shuffled uncomfortably in his seat until he returned.
“Here we are!” he cried and got up to pour us all a triple measure of vodka. There was no ice. When this was done, he toasted the Navy and the Lord Admiral and we drank. “To business then,” he said. “What brings you here, Carter? Had we not concluded our 'arrangement' by the time you returned to Titan 5?”
“We did but this is of a different nature,” I explained. “It concerns one of my team.”
“Ah,” he said and relaxed a little. “The woman with the purple hair.”
I could have happily stood up and punched him then but that wouldn't have been in Angel's best interests. Instead, I ground my teeth together and pressed on.
“Her name is Angel,” I said.
“That's one of her names, yes.”
If a cat who grew up on water all its life was suddenly whisked off the streets, given the rank of Captain in Earth Gov. Navy and handed a bowl of the finest fresh cream, it wouldn't have looked half as smug as Argo did at that moment. With steepled fingers resting on the table beside his glass and the book-end lieutenants as stony-faced as ever, the urge to kill was foremost in my mind.
“Is there any chance we can bypass the bullshit and skip to the part where you explain to me exactly how this happened?” I asked through gritted teeth.
“Certainly,” he replied. “But I'm not sure you'll like the truth.”
“Try us.”
Argo adjusted his posture and emptied his glass, pouring himself another. Then he passed the bottle to me. I did the same.
“The battle at Noctis Labyrinthus. I've no doubt that you're both aware of it.” We nodded. “On the surface, it was a tragic defeat. All the pieces were in place, all the hard intelligence work done, it was a perfect mission which came on the heels of the fall of Mars Prime. Then Chief of Staff, Robert Wash, was the first to propose the full-scale attack on the mines to the President at the time.
“History has always laid the blame for the loss at Wash's feet despite all the evidence in favour of it being a sound tactical move. I saw the intelligence reports myself first hand, read the same graphs, the same spectroanalysis and heard the testimony of our own agents in Martian Command. No one could say that they would have acted differently.”
“You sound invested,” I pointed out. Argo smirked and took a sip of his drink.
“You could say that I am. Robert is a good friend of my family, particularly my Father. His sudden and very public shaming after the defeat was a heavy blow to us and, until recently, a cause for argument at the family table.”
I looked at Mason who was thinking the same thing – what did the Argo family table look like? Was Admiral Argo seated at the head or his wife?
“But it failed miserably because the Intel was wrong,” said Mason. “Are you going to tell us differently?”
“Yes, though I admit that I felt the same way until I received a visit from Wash before leaving to engage the enemy fleet. He seemed excited, happier than he had been in decades. He couldn't speak fast enough to tell me that he'd come across some new information that would, in his own words, 'shake the very foundations of Earth Gov.' Then he handed me a data cube before leaving, saying that it would explain everything.”
“And did it?” I asked.
“Not really, I admit. Upon returning into Earth Gov. space we received our normal coded message packet which always includes the news feeds. When I heard of several arrests from the admiralty made by JAG officials and saw the suspects, I was able to fill in the gaps. No doubt Robert had come upon evidence of collusion with the enemy, the kinds of which named names. Big names and little names – of which Angel was one and, unfortunately for you, the most important one to Wash.”
“Why?” asked Mason.
“The Martians knew we were coming,” said Argo. “Someone told them. In order to have told them, the informant needed to have been flown in – our signal jammers were in operation for the entire war. That requires a pilot of skill and silence. Only one was recommended to anyone of significance around that time and that was Angel.”
“And who was the person of significance?”
“One General Alexander Bourmont who we cannot hope to implicate without proof and, preferably, an eyewitness. Say, a pilot who flew him and his bodyguard into those mines. We can build a case against him but without Angel's confession, we don't have much else to nail him on. You see our dilemma?”
“Again, why are you taking such an interest? Why did Wash come to you in the first place? Because you had Sunday dinner together?”
Argo waved an arm about him, gesturing to the heavily damaged ship all about us.
“This is why. This is just a taste of what's to come. There are a people out there who've managed to slide into a dark corner of the galaxy and be forgotten. Out of sight of Earth Government, they've built a fleet crewed by experienced and skilled sailors. They have questionable degrees of advanced technology. And we know nothing about them, perhaps only that they're coming and that they aren't friendly.
“Earth Government, and more acutely, the Navy, isn't ready. Cutbacks by peacetime cowards who've never fired a shot in anger have weakened Earth's defenses. Liberals have robbed fighting men and women of their pride and their desire to protect the weak. Right now, our people back home are probably celebrating the winner of some TV game show instead of remembering real heroes who fought and died in the voids of deep space, defending their homes. Bottom line – our leaders aren't who Earth Government need and we and a few others have a very limited window of opportunity to change that.”
“You're talking about a coup,” said Mason. Argo shook his head.
“No. I love our way of life too much to take such drastic action. To so dramatically overthrow our own government would be a wound so grievous that Earth would take a long time to recover from it. But I'm willing to use the system to help rid us of the corrupt and the traitorous and help those who have earned the right to defend Earth and her interests.”
“And you believe Wash is just such a person?”
“With him in line for Presidency, we'll have a trustworthy combat veteran at the helm with the moral fiber to boot. It'll be the first step in preparing us for the war that's coming. Don't misunderstand me, gentleman – you've seen the evidence for yourself. We've taken a damn good thrashing off what I believe was only ever an advanced scouting party, not even a full-strength fleet. What horrors are lying in wait for us when the time comes? Should I stand back and let weak men and women lead us to our doom?”
“Even if it means offering our friend on the altar?” I asked. Argo stared at me and held my gaze. It was as if he was weighing up two equally dangerous options and, after his impressive speech, deciding upon which course of action would further his cause. He made his decision because he broke away first and looked down at his hands.
“I sent a coded message to Robert last night. I wanted to know where he'd gotten this new evidence from and if it could be trusted. He seemed hurt by my question but eventually, he did reveal its source. Suffice it to say I wasn't much comforted.
“He claims that Aaron Hurt was one of the bodyguards who flew in with Bourmont on the day he handed over the battle plans to the Martians. In exchange for something he wouldn't reveal, Robert was given most of what he needed to start proceedings and begin a thorough investigation. Since then Hurt has vanished, according to Robert, and he can no longer get in touch with him.”
“And?” said Mason.
“And I looked into it with far more vigor and resources that even the former Chief of Staff has access to and learned that no such man ever existed.”
“Officially?” I asked.
“Both officially and unofficially. Which means that this man is either hiding his identity or working on behalf of some other party.”
“So, it's a dead end?”
“Not necessarily. He knew too much, according to what Robert told me and a little more digging revealed to me the actual names of his entire personal security team, all of whom are currently on the planet Sargon in the Solaria system, maybe two days from here.”
“Why are you telling us this?” asked Mason, clearly frustrated.
“Because one of them, alive, would have more to say than a stone-faced pilot who might just slip from the eyes of JAG with a bigger prize in sight.”
He let this sink in and I finished my drink, pouring a third. Here we were again, having our strings pulled by the same man who'd been pulling them since Golan IV. Maybe he did have a valid point about Earth's weakened Navy, but did we really want to help put his Cadre into power? Alice had always warned me about getting involved in politics, in planetary disputes, but this was an entire galaxy and the stakes had never been higher. And for what? Angel? One person? How would history tell this story when it all boiled down to it?
I looked at Mason who, in turn, looked at me. His expression said it all – what choice did we have? It was one of our own and what was history if not a tale of many, many individual lives?
“Okay,” I said. “Tell us what we need to know.”
I was dead on my feet by the time I reached my room. The revelations from Captain Argo had been too much to take in all at once and I was glad that Mason had shown the proper initiative and recorded the whole thing using the new suits.
Other than what was said, it was also strange to notice that Argo made no attempt at secrecy and that the eerie looking Intelligence officer I remembered from our last encounter was nowhere to be seen. I had no question about his lieutenants; apart from being carved out of granite I had little doubt about their unwavering loyalty and to even be in those positions aboard the Agamemnon told me a great deal about their worth and their character.
But Argo, rather than appear clandestine, was wide open about his involvement in Wash's plans to climb to the seat of Earth Government's power. Did he really believe that the enemy fleet, now having suffered a major blow at his own hand, posed the greatest threat to a galactic superpower such as Earth Gov.? So much so that he was willing and able to supplant democracy in order to install his own people in the key positions of power in order to safeguard it?
My head swam. I was tired and I needed to sleep. At the end of the day, I was a soldier and soldiers didn't involve themselves in the machinations of their superiors. But I had involved myself, that was undeniable. First, by accepting the D122 and not safeguarding myself and the others against the very manipulation we'd suffered both at the hands of Earth Gov. and Captain Argo. Then, by taking up the cause of Angel's innocence I'd dragged us all back in again only to bind ourselves to this Captain's crusade. How much blood might be spilled because of these actions? But on the flip side, how much might be saved?
I didn't think any more about it. Instead, I threw off my clothes and crawled under the covers, leaving the thinking to Mason. The Solaria system was a full 32 hours away which gave me plenty of time to dream of something other than work.
11
Whatever I'd been dreaming of didn't get chance to linger once the comms unit began wailing at me to get up. With a dry mouth and a numb arm, I dragged myself out, padding over to the bathroom half-dazed. The lights came on and as I leaned over the sink to spit out a mouthful of cleanser, I caught a glimpse of something in the mirror behind me. I spun around like a fountain, spraying the walls with blue liquid.
“JIMMY!” I cried, sending flecks straight at the bot. “What the hell?”
There, his little hands neatly folded in front of him, was the bot. He was still wearing the flat cap but his eyes wouldn't look directly at me.
“I'm sorry, sir,” he whispered. “I didn't mean to frighten you.”
“Well you did, Jimmy,” I said, trying to calm my erratic heartbeat. “How did you get in?”
“The door wasn't locked, sir.”
Of course. Why would I lock the door on my own ship?
“Well, you should know that we... people normally press the button on the outside of the door to let the person inside know you're there, right? Does that make sense?”
“Yes, sir. I fink me old man said somfink about that.”
“Okay. Remember that for next time.”
“I will, sir.”
Then we both stood there, looking at each other in silence. Jimmy shifted weight from foot to foot, still avoiding direct eye contact.
“Well?” I asked. “What can I do for you?”
“Oh!” he cried. “Yes, I remember now. Miss Jo asks for you to visit her in the engine room, like. When you're ready.”
“Okay, I'll do that.” Another moment of silence. Then, “You can go now, Jimmy. I'll be down shortly. Thanks for the message.”
“Aye, sir. I'll be running along then.”
The bot turned, waved goodbye and left through the door. Just as I was about to let out a long-held breath, the door chimed. I went and opened it.
“Like that, sir?” said Jimmy, pressing the button again for good measure.
“Yeah, exactly like that.”
“Gotcha!” He beamed and then began to whistle as he walked down the corridor. I closed and locked the door behind him. Then, getting changed while the coffee machine in my room did its thing, I took the drink and myself down to engineering.
“Something wrong with the comms?” I asked as Jo appeared from under a length of ducting with a wrench in her hands.
“No. I was starting the... work you gave me to do,” she replied. “That for me?” She pointed at my cup. “Milk with no sugar?”
“It isn't and yes, it is,” I laughed. “I'll grab you one though.”
While she gathered up her tools I went and got her a drink and together we headed beyond the thrumming engine cores and into a separate workshop that was already looking like her own spot on the Helios. She walked over to the bench and moved some pieces away from a part that looked like it should be inside the ship and doing something, not sitting there.
“Well?” I asked.
“It's the nebulus buffer,” she said. “Look familiar?”
“No.”
“It shouldn't – this is the nebulus buffer from a P675 control unit, most often seen on those junkers they use to ferry scrap metal to and from the forge moons. Basically, ships that don't leave the safe network of orbital platforms.”
“And you're going to tell me that it doesn't belong on this very expensive yacht we're sailing in, right?” She nodded. “He screwed us over, didn't he?” Another nod. “Okay. We're still alive and the ship is moving. Would it be a stretch to say that we don't need the buffer?”
“Yes, it would; we need the buffer. Period.”
“Okay. That one doesn't look healthy, Jo.”
“It's dead.”
“Options?”
“We're heading for Sargon, yes?”
“That's the plan.”
“There's bound to be a maintenance platform. We need to dock there so I can make repairs without the dock officials getting involved. If they saw us flying around without a nebulus buffer we'd be impounded on the spot.”
“Can you repair it?” She snorted her d
erision. Clearly, I'd said the wrong thing.
“It's not a case of 'can I' it's a case of having something to repair. This thing is beyond the grave and even if it was working, I would never install it into a ship of this size. It'd be suicide.”
“Tell me what you need.”
“A new one,” she said. “We'd better hope they sell one where we're going or we can't leave Sargon for the foreseeable.”
“I think I'm actually happy about this.”
“Happy?”
“Yeah. It's the first thing to go wrong and I'm still alive. I was wondering when things were going to go south and now it's begun. Thanks, Jo.”
“Don't mention it.”
“You'd better do a full system sweep too, just to make sure there aren't any other gremlins standing by to pounce.”
“It's already being done.”
I made my way to the bridge, carrying the dead component in one hand and a second coffee in the other. When I entered, Baz was in the command chair, snoring.
“Didn't you get some sleep?” I asked, setting the nebulus buffer on an empty console. He jolted awake.
“Kind of. Then Mason came and woke me up for my shift. What time is it?”
“Not a clue,” I said. “How far from Sargon are we?”
“Another 22 hours maybe.”
“Okay, go and get your head down. No point us both being up here while the ship does its thing.”
“Nice one.”
He vanished through the door and I took his place, checking the log for the previous 8 hours. Nothing much had happened. All the readouts were in the green despite running without the buffer, and the scanners hadn't detected anything more than the usual traffic on the space lanes heading in the same direction as us. All we had to do now was wait.
An hour or so later and Mason, dressed in his gym gear, appeared on the bridge. I was reading a book with my feet up when he arrived, finishing a third coffee.
Raw Justice Page 9