Flashpoint (Hellgate)

by Mel Keegan

  If they returned, Marin thought grimly as he made his way back to the medlab. He was sure of nothing. For himself, the two bags of possessions he cared to keep and Neil Travers beside him were his only needs, and he could lose the bags without much grief. Travers owned even less.

  It sometimes seemed to Marin, the only roots they had were in each other, and the only moments of reality were the quiet times when he and Neil refused to even speak of the wars – colonial or Zunshu. Lovemaking was a refuge, and they knew it. They used sex as a means to snatch an hour of peace. Marin might have fretted about it, if they had not come to share the same dream of freedom. A region called Three Rivers, in a place so far from Hellgate, the Zunshu could not touch it.

  A rumble from the lifts twenty meters short of the medlab announced Travers, and Marin waited there for him. Over the comm, the AI was announcing the departure of a drone lifter from the Fleet compound, and he recognized its codename. It was coming up from Shapiro’s office on the top of the Fleet building. Everything that had been packed for weeks now was in transit. Very soon the AI would lock down the office and route all comm traffic to the Mercury.

  “You listening to the loop?” Travers gestured at his combug as the lift closed behind him. “Shapiro’s not even going down.”

  “Wise,” Marin said darkly. “I’ve also been listening to Liang and Madam Deuel.”

  “They’re getting settled in for the duration?” Travers fell into step beside him.

  “Like Jon Kim.” Marin mocked himself with a grimace. “Like us.”

  “Don’t get too comfortable,” Travers warned.

  The medlab door was open. Inside, Carson Hume’s hoverchair was tethered to the end of a bench, and a Mercury staff technician was fiddling with a full suite of scanners. A dozen fine probes were aimed like rifles at Hume’s buzz cut head and his barrel chest. He was still in a hospital gown and robe, with his right leg absent from a point just above the knee. The stump was protected by a soft foam sheath.

  Beside the bed, Jon Kim had just finished setting up the data recorders, and he had rolled a comfortable chair into place for Shapiro. The air cast was off now; the wound had been deep-healed, and whatever pain Shapiro continued to feel was dulled by patches on the shoulder. He still carried his right arm close to his chest, but he looked otherwise none the worse for wear. He was tough, Marin thought. And this morning there was a definite sparkle in his eyes, a touch of color in his cheeks. Marin angled a glance at Jon Kim, and saw the same signs of vitality.

  The machines were in good order. Satisfied, Kim stepped back from the bench. “We’re clear to start, any time, and Doctor Drury has certified the subject fit for the session.”

  “All right. Let’s begin.” Shapiro leaned forward, elbows on his knees, fingers laced, regarding Hume with interest. “You were carrying no ID, but you were easy enough to trace through the Fleet register. You came around a couple of times while you were being treated. I heard your voice, your accent. I knew you were out from Earth, on assignment. And only Earthers bother to have themselves DNA-printed.” His brows quirked at Travers and Marin. “The genetic vanity will be their undoing. You’re Douglas Carson Hume, born in the city of Marseilles, educated at Wade Rouse College in Edinburgh, where you excelled in languages, chess and athletics, which brought you to the attention of Fleet … and yes, Captain Hume, I know I shouldn’t be able to access any of these files. You’ll have guessed by now, I’m several jumps ahead of anything Fleet knows about encryption.”

  “Well … shit,” Hume sighed with a deep pragmatism.

  “You’re 28 years old,” Kim continued, “you have a brother in the office of General Schroeder at Fleet Lithgow – which, incidentally, is the ass-end of space, which makes one wonder what he did to draw the assignment. You work in association with Colonel Andrew Grimes, aboard the super-carrier London, which is at this moment still in the Middle Heavens, between seven and fourteen days behind the Chicago battle group. And Colonel Grimes,” he finished, “is one of the chief movers and shakers of DeepSky Fleet Security, with a finger up everything.”

  Hume blinked owlishly at them. “I thought you wanted to interrogate me, not read me the report.”

  “Half the report,” Shapiro said lightly, as if it amused him. “We can surmise from the fact you work under the auspices of Grimes that either I or Robert Chandra Liang was your assignment. Fleet Security hasn’t – yet – been tasked with terminating civilians on their own home soil! But these are strange times, Captain. We’re all being asked to do the unusual. Now, I can put a viral AI spy into Grimes’s database, and in three or four weeks I can be looking at the documentation which put you on Velcastra with orders to do the job. At that point, I’ll know if your target was myself, or Mister Chandra Liang. The data lag is damned inconvenient. However, it works both ways.” His brows rose, creasing his forehead as he studied Hume. “I wonder how much you know about the politics of the situation … or if you’re just a drone. Wind him up, put the gun in his hand and tell him which way to shoot.”

  The question seemed to take Hume off guard. “I work for Fleet, not some senator. I have no interest in politics.”

  ”He’s a drone,” Travers said quietly. “He could have been given orders to terminate Chandra Liang. He wouldn’t know why, but he’d sure as hell pull the trigger.”

  “Which makes our job a little easier.” Shapiro sat back, crossed one knee over the other and began to massage his shoulder. “As I said a moment ago, the data lag works both ways, and it’s very much to our advantage. You missed, Captain. Your target could have been myself or Chandra Liang, but the fact you missed won’t filter back to Colonel Grimes on the London for a couple of weeks. Now, we know – fact – the Chicago and the London are on their way out here to put down the colonial insurrection.” He chuckled at the surprise in Hume’s dark blue eyes. “Don’t be so shocked. You think Fleet security is watertight?”

  “I … might have wanted to believe so,” Hume admitted.

  “Then this is the first of several rude awakenings,” Shapiro said levelly. “The next is when I tell you any information you offer only affords us a modest advantage – the advantage of time. Because anything you know, we can get from Grimes’s database shortly after the London drops out of e-space to take a crack at Jagreth or Borushek. Not Omaru, Captain, because it’s under the guns of the Kiev. And not Velcastra, because the battle for Velcastra will be over in the hours immediately after the Chicago arrives in the Deep Sky. My sources inform me, she shipped out of the Middle Heavens thirty days ago, which means we can expect the battle group at Velcastra in twelve or fourteen days.”

  The agent’s eyes narrowed. He was dying to ask, Marin knew, how Shapiro could be so sure the battlefield would be Velcastra, but the question would only expose his own ignorance. Shapiro took pity on him.

  “We decide where the battles will be fought, and when, Captain. Don’t concern yourself with the mechanics of how; just be sure, we do. And all I need from you is a confirmation of who was the target … you’re only a drone. I don’t expect you to know why. However, knowing who was the target will alert me to potential security hazards on Borushek and Velcastra. Knowing this several weeks ahead of time will save lives.”

  “Ah.” Hume looked away. “Here’s the sticky part, General. Because you’re sounding like a republican and a traitor to the Confederacy, and I’m an Earther, as you somewhat crudely put it. I’ll be loyal to my last breath.”

  “Bravo,” Shapiro approved. “This last breath of yours can come fairly soon. In return for your cooperation, I can offer you a biocyber limb and confinement to reasonably comfortable quarters for the duration of hostilities, after which Fleet or your family can negotiate your repatriation. Or you can opt for euthanasia, if you choose not to cooperate.” He gave a left-shouldered shrug. “I don’t have the resources or inclination to hold you indefinitely. War has its casualties, Captain Hume. I’m sure you’ll be remembered as a hero, for safeguarding a small secre
t for a few extra weeks, at the expense of a handful of colonial lives. You’ll be responsible for those deaths, so you could regard your euthanasia as their price, perhaps a minor victory reckoned by this modest body count.”

  For some moments Hume looked at him, not even blinking. “Then you’d better terminate me, because I’m not a traitor.”

  “Very well.” Shapiro turned toward the audio pickup. “For the record, let it be stated that Captain Douglas Carson Hume elected, personally and with complete free will when given options, to be euthanized at this time index. Ingrid, standby to execute.”

  The AI’s voice was soft, deep, resonant. “Standing by.”

  And Hume was showing the whites of his eyes. “What – now?”

  “Right now,” Shapiro affirmed. “I’ve told you, Captain, the information isn’t terribly critical. You were foolish enough, arrogant enough, to be DNA-printed for the Fleet register, which made you easy to identify. You showed up on Velcastra at a time when it was well known that both Chandra Liang and I would be present at Michael Vidal’s memorial. We were both in the car and the only question is, which of us was the target? You had no means of knowing I can access any layer of any Fleet database, but you know now … you also know we have sources deep inside Fleet, which have already informed me about the Chicago and the London. The secrets you’re dying to protect will only make my job, and Chandra Liang’s job, a little harder over the next few weeks. They’re small potatoes, Captain. But if they’re worth your life – so be it. Ingrid, standby to terminate the subject on my mark.”

  “Wait – for godsakes wait,” Hume rasped. “Let me think.”

  “You’re a drone,” Travers said acidly.” Drones don’t think.”

  The blue eyes glared up at him. “This drone does, Major. And shut up, let me do it.”

  Shapiro stood, and gestured to the open door. “By all means, let’s give the young man a few minutes.” He was a step outside when he turned back toward Hume, who remained cuffed to the hoverchair, which in turn was cuffed to the bench, still surrounded by a battery of probes. “Don’t waste my time, Captain. Five minutes.” He glanced at his wrist chrono, and then turned his back on Hume and said softly to Kim, “There’s no chrono in the room?”

  “Nope.” Kim’s brows had arched and his eyes were wide on Shapiro. “His mind is going to play every trick in the book. Five minutes is going to be five hours.”

  “Or thirty seconds,” Marin added. He gave Shapiro a wry look. “You’re good at this game.”

  “Would you really execute him?” Kim whispered.

  “Probably not,” Shapiro admitted, “but Hume doesn’t know it. I told Ingrid before we began, by execute, I mean give him a jolt through the chip, put his brain into a medically induced coma. He can lie in the Infirmary on an IV for a couple of weeks, by which time we’ll have the resources to put him through a VR simulation, like the Frank Berglun interrogation. We’ll get what we need then.”

  “A couple of weeks.” Travers sounded doubtful. “If Chandra Liang was the target, Fleet could know about every member of the republican shadow governments on Velcastra, Borushek, Jagreth.”

  “Which is why Robert mobilized his people on Velcastra to vanish, as soon as he got his wits together and we were safely away,” Shapiro said cynically. “He’s spent several hours doing the same thing here on Borushek. Even I don’t know the individuals comprising the shadow government here, Neil. This is a military town, as Elstrom never was. The Daku don’t show themselves, and the republicans are buried deep. But Robert knows a number of key figures, and he’s already made the calls. They’re dispersing as we speak.”

  “So, even if Hume wants to be a complete bastard,” Marin said slowly, “it’s no tragedy.”

  “No tragedy,” Shapiro agreed, “but I’ve been hoping for his cooperation, because he could tell me a lot more.”

  “For instance?” Kim was hanging on every word.

  “For instance,” Shapiro said in bleak tones, “who Colonel Grimes takes his orders from. If Chandra Liang was the target, Grimes could easily be under the orders of a civilian body – as are we all, in fact. Climb high enough through the ranks, and you’ll find the military answers to civilian oversight.”

  “Which takes you right back to Earth,” Marin observed. “The seat of the Grand Senate, in Chicago. Fleet Command itself.” He looked from Travers to Shapiro and back. “The office of Senator Charleston Aimes Rutherford.”

  Shapiro gave him a wry little smile. “You’re getting good at this game yourself, Curtis.”

  “That,” Travers said, reluctantly amused, “is an insult.”

  Marin made quiet sounds of humor. “It’s all academic. Rutherford is sitting under house arrest somewhere in Marak City, the first battleground has already been decided, and the Chicago is flying into a Zunshu minefield.”

  For the third time, Shapiro looked at his chrono. “The Velcastran republicans were going to ground before the Mercury broke orbit, but they’ll announce their government with twenty-four hours to spare before the Chicago group can reach them … twelve days from now, gentlemen. Which gives us all the time we need to pay the asking price for Senator Rutherford himself.”

  By Marin’s calculations, it was just under six minutes since Hume had begged for time. He glanced carefully into the medlab, and the man had not budged a muscle. He was hunched into his hoverchair, both hands tight clenched in the lap of the hospital robe.

  “The asking price?” Travers was asking.

  “Ulrand put a price of twenty-five million credits on him,” Kim said quietly. “You don’t want to know what that is, in Ulrish dollars.”

  “Cheap at twice the price – but don’t tell them that!” Shapiro shared a smile with Kim. “We’re going there directly, as soon as we’ve taken on cargo. The contents of my office, and anything Curtis and Neil might want to salvage from their apartment. If there’s anything you’d like to do or see on Borushek, Jon, here’s your chance.” He gave Marin and Travers a bleak look. “The next time we see the fair city of Sark, if we see it at all, there’ll be Nine Worlds Commonwealth flags flying above the residence of the republican president, which used to be the home of the colonial governor.”

  “There’s nothing, Harry,” Kim said thoughtfully. “It’ll keep. Anything I wanted to do on Borushek, I imaged myself doing with you. There’s not much attraction to doing it alone.”

  “All right. Then in a month, two, however long it takes, we’ll return and tackle your itinerary.” Shapiro straightened his back with a slight effort and a faint grimace. “If the Zunshu leave anything for us to play at being tourists on, and in. And speaking of the Zunshu,” he mused with a frown at Travers, “what’s the word from your people?”

  “Bravo were done grilling me for data,” Travers told him honestly, “and just starting to hash it out between them. Give them a chance, General. They’re soldiers, and they believe they’re trained to take on any enemy, including the Zunshu. They also believe they’re owed a crack at them.”

  “Owed?” Marin echoed.

  Travers’s dark head nodded thoughtfully. “I told them this is another war, and Gill Perlman said, and I quote, ‘bullshit.’ To them, it’s all about the survival of their home, and it doesn’t matter much to them if the kill shot would be made by a super-carrier or a Zunshu vessel. At the same time I didn’t lie to them. The chances of any of us coming back are estimated at less than forty percent, so Jazinsky told me. Those are her calculations, and when it comes to numbers, I trust her.”

  “I’ve gambled a great deal of money on longer odds, and won,” Shapiro said thoughtfully. “Keep me informed, Neil. I want them aboard when Lai’a ships out into Hellgate, but I’m not conscripting. Not this time. I’m not about to issue orders.” He tapped his chrono and lifted a brow at Travers and Marin. “Seven minutes?”

  “Closer to nine,” Marin judged.

  “Good enough.” Shapiro turned back into the medlab, and fixed Carson Hume with a chill
y look. “So, Captain?”

  The man was a peculiar shade of gray, tinged with yellow around the eyes and mouth and with two angry spots of red in the cheeks. “You were the target, General. Not Liang. Liang is well known as a Daku crackpot. He has a reputation for talking to pixies, reading tea leaves, dealing fortune cards, all that spiritual crapola. Daku gibberish. But you?” Hume’s shorn head shook slowly. “Fleet’s been listening in on your personal comm bands for months now.”

  “He’s lying,” Marin said sharply. “All our comm is encrypted far past any level they can read.”

  “No shit,” Hume scoffed. “That’s what they heard, Major – white noise and gibberish. So they asked the Borushek base AI for access, and they were told to bugger off … in polite cybernetic terms, of course.” He glared up at Shapiro. “So you’ve been under surveillance, about the last five months or so. What, you didn’t know?”

  “Of course I knew.” Shapiro gave him a reproachful look. “What do you take me for? And what were Fleet’s conclusions, which made them issue an order to terminate, when they had insufficient evidence for an arrest warrant?”

  Here, Hume shrugged. “I’m a drone, like the Major says. It’s mostly all politics to me, and I have no interest. But from what I heard, they suspect you of corrupt activities, probably embezzlement. Billions of credits have been vanishing out of the Fleet appropriation. The money has to be going somewhere, but those credits never show up as ships, munitions, troops. There’s no hard evidence to put you in the responsibility seat, nothing Fleet could go into court with, so any kind of tribunal would be a waste of taxpayer funds. But there’s also your comm encryption, so they know it’s you, General. They know you’ve been creaming billions out of Fleet funds for your own ends. They just can’t prove it.”