by Jay Allan
He wasn’t naïve enough to believe that would prevent the leakage of information from his report, of course, but with any luck it would delay it, at least for long enough. Under normal circumstances, he would have proceeded without Presidium approval, but that wasn’t an option now. He needed resources that could only be committed by the Union’s full ruling body.
“Please, Gaston, proceed. I believe I can speak for all present that the security of the information you provide will be duly preserved by everyone present.” The First’s voice was heavy with arrogance, but Villieneuve’s trained ear heard something more telling. He wouldn’t say the First was incompetent, exactly, but he was no genius either.
Villieneuve looked around the room. The Presidium Chambers were plush, elegant, the walls clad in the rarest dark walnut paneling, wood from trees long extinct. The lighting fixtures hanging from the ceiling were intricate designs, works of art handcrafted by the best artists in the Union. The very essence of the room spoke of power and luxury, and the twelve men and women seated there ruled over two hundred worlds and billions of citizens with an iron fist. It was all utterly at odds with the egalitarian pretensions of the Union, but Villieneuve knew even more than most of those present such philosophies were an utter farce, at best fodder to keep the masses under control.
There were always true believers, of course, and no doubt some of those had been among the Union’s founders two centuries before. They had been useful, he was sure, to the more power-focused of the Presidium’s predecessors, their earnest passion almost certainly beyond value in gaining the support of the people. Villieneuve had no doubts about where those who’d truly strived to create a workers’ paradise had ended up. Face down in the dirt, bled out and forgotten. Or deep in the sea, where impenetrable depths and carnivorous creatures had eliminated any trace of their murders.
“Thank you, Honorable First. Your assurances are reassuring.” They were not. The Union First was a powerful man, of course, but he was largely a figurehead whose strings were pulled by others, Villieneuve himself not least among them.
The power struggles—even outright civil war—that had followed the death of the previous First had instilled in everyone present a true appreciation for stability. Those who had made their bids for power and ushered in that dangerous period of strife had all been killed in the struggle they’d begun, leaving those who remained, men and women more deliberative by nature, to make the peace…and learn the lesson of caution.
The current First held his position because he was the one choice the others would all support, and his…pliability…had played a large role in that. He seemed happy enough enjoying the pomp and luxury of the top position, without undue resentment of the manipulations from those around him.
That satisfied Villieneuve. As the head of Sector Nine, the Union’s dreaded intelligence agency, he had enough dirt on his fellow Presidium members to compel compliance from most of them when he needed it. He was perfectly happy to exercise the considerable level of control he did while maintaining a lower profile.
“As all of you know, our grand plan for defeating the Confederation did not live up to expectations. Our position became untenable when a still inadequately-explained enemy incursion was able to reach and destroy the Supply One station.”
At least, it hadn’t been adequately explained to Villieneuve’s satisfaction. It all came back to Tyler Barron. The same Confederation captain who had foiled Sector Nine’s plan to bring the Alliance into the war. It seemed improbable, almost inconceivable, that the same man had returned from his unlikely victory on the Rim to almost single-handedly destroy the Union’s irresistible onslaught. And yet the intelligence reports left little doubt. Barron’s ship, Dauntless, and one other Confederation battleship, had somehow gotten behind the Union lines and defeated every vessel they had encountered. The damage Barron’s actions had caused the Union’s war effort were almost incalculable. There would be a reckoning, Villieneuve had promised himself, but first he had to win the war. And, at last, he had a way.
“We must consider our next course of action. Though our forces on the front lines remain strong, unless we are able to inject a new stimulus into our war effort, I am afraid we face a steadily deteriorating strategic situation as the Confederation’s industrial capacity ramps up to full production. We simply can’t match their ability to build new ships, fighters, weapons.”
Villieneuve looked around the table again, his eagle-like eyes noting all that could be read from each face. “However,” he continued, “I have not come here to speak only of dangers. When this body voted to commence hostilities against the Confederation, we relied heavily on Supply One and on the blitzkrieg campaign we expected that construction to facilitate. Nevertheless, even before that initiative failed, Sector Nine was pursuing other alternatives.” The overture to the Alliance had been one of those, of course, but Villieneuve wasn’t in the habit of telling the Presidium about his failures, at least not the ones he could cover up.
“May we presume that one of these alternative efforts has borne fruit of some sort?”
“Indeed, Honorable First.” Villieneuve looked back at the head of the table for a few seconds before turning back toward the assembled leaders. “You are all acquainted, of course, with the area of space known as the Badlands.”
There was no direct response, but Villieneuve could hear a murmur of hushed comments. That was not what they expected to hear…
“Sector Nine has long been interested in that area of space, fellow Ministers, and we have sent multiple expeditions to explore those ancient and abandoned worlds. The applicable treaties have prevented us from sending more than small scouting craft, but we have pursued other methods of seeking knowledge on ancient technology. Our intelligence operations have been active for many years in the Confederation ports along the border, and that effort has at last scored a great success.”
The room remained silent for several seconds, and then the First spoke. “May we assume you have found something significant in that haunted sector of space?”
“Yes, Honorable First. As we know, all manner of smugglers and adventurers prowl around the Badlands, seeking bits and pieces of ancient technology. Confederation patrol ships have made a moderate effort over the years to police the border and confiscate contraband, in accordance with the provisions of international law. We, too, have sought to intercept rogue traffic, though we have been hampered by our greater distance from the more lucrative regions. Of course, what old technology we have been able to retrieve was retained by Sector Nine and not turned over to international authorities as required by treaty.
“Still, despite the Confederation’s best enforcement efforts, more than one tramp freighter crew have come back staggeringly wealthy from an expedition. There is a significant black market for ancient technology in the Confederation, flouting their laws require that all such items be turned over to the government to be shared with the other treaty signatories.”
“Yes, Minister, we are aware of the value of ancient technology. As you know, the Union has purchased more than one item from, shall we say, gray market sources, to support ongoing research and development projects. Indeed, there was ancient technology involved in the design and construction of Supply One, was there not?”
“Yes, Honorable First, you are quite correct.”
The First frowned. “However, I have never heard of anyone finding more than fragments or small components of ancient devices. Useful for scientific research, certainly, and worthwhile in the long-term race for dominance perhaps, but something that can be deployed in a timeframe to win the war? Is that really possible?”
“Yes, Honorable First. We believe we have made just such a find.”
Now…give it to them…
“If you will all look at your screens, you will see a schematic of our discovery. This data was delivered by one of our frigates, half of an expedition we sent to investigate a lead that we…purchased. Please look at once. For security pur
poses, the data files on your systems will self-erase in one minute.”
He stood at his place, and he raised his hand, warding off the complaints he knew were coming. “Please, my colleagues. This is not a lack of trust in any of you. But if you consider the implications of the…item…on your screens now, you will understand the need for the tightest possible security.”
He could see that the other members of the Presidium were still restless—that was to be expected from a group of power-mad egomaniacs—but no one objected further, and their eyes all dropped to the screens.
“This is real, Minister? Your people actually found this?” The First looked back, a stunned expression on his face. Every pair of eyes in the room stared at Villieneuve, even as the mysterious images began to vanish from their screens.
“It was found, Honorable First, and my people were able to intervene and capture the crew that discovered it before they could return to Confederation space. They have been detained and…questioned.” That was what Arbalete’s commander had reported, at least, though on more…aggressive…questioning, Captain Rouget admitted that he’d returned to report the find before Chasseur had actually apprehended anyone. The bit about taking prisoners was based on assumption, not on unassailable fact. Still, it served Villieneuve’s purpose to deliver Rouget’s unfiltered first statement to the Presidium. As far as he was concerned, that was all they needed to know.
“I am confident that no one other than those in our custody have any knowledge of the discovery. I do, however, fear that the information that led this smuggler’s vessel to the artifact has fallen into other hands, and may eventually lead the Confederation navy—and other groups—in search of the ancient vessel. We have an opportunity to seize an insurmountable advantage. But we have no time to waste.” Again, a few lies, judiciously utilized. In actual fact, he was very concerned about what knowledge was extant about the ancient ship…and just how much time he had before the Confederation sent their own expedition.
“What do you propose?” The doubt was gone from the First’s voice, replaced by greed. Villieneuve knew the fool was imagining himself as the Union leader who finally brought the Confederation to its knees. It was harmless enough, but it still poked at a nerve. If the war was won, it would be Villieneuve’s victory, and watching this pompous ass take credit would be difficult.
“First, we must launch a major offensive. The Confederation lies closer to the Badlands than we do, and we must prevent them from discovering our operations and our increased presence there. To that end, we have prepared an intelligence campaign designed to deceive the Confederation forces, to convince them we possess a second mobile logistical base, designated Supply Two.”
A murmur of snorts and surprised grunts worked its way around the table. Supply One had almost bankrupted the Union. The thought of another such project, even a fake one, was too much for most of those present to handle.
“Is it reasonable to think they would be fooled, Minister?” The First looked uncertain. “We were barely able to build the first one. How could we possibly expect them to believe we were able to build another one?”
“You are correct of course, Honorable First. No normal intelligence campaign could succeed. To sustain the deception and to truly divert Confederation attention to the battle front, we must launch a renewed invasion, just as we would do if we truly possessed a second logistical base.”
“Our fleet has not yet recovered from the heavy losses suffered in the initial months of the war, Minister. We are not ready to resume the offensive, and we will not be for some time.”
“With all due respect, Honorable First, the Confederation fleet is even more badly damaged than our own. If we strike hard now, it will cause considerable alarm in their high command and their Senate. They will almost certainly focus all of their attention on the front lines…and we will use the opportunity to move into the Badlands in sufficient force to safely remove the artifact and bring it to Union space.”
The room was silent. Villieneuve had taken them all by surprise, as he’d intended. He didn’t want discussion. He didn’t want debate. He just wanted the authorization he needed. There was no time to waste. His people had only discovered the ancient ship because he had agents deployed to the ports on the Confederation’s border with the Badlands. They were there mostly to pose as black marketeers and to purchase any artifacts that seemed particularly useful, but this time their presence had paid off in a different way. If he hadn’t maintained the heavy surveillance, the Confederation could well have ended up with the artifact…and that would have been an unmitigated disaster.
“If this vessel is what you believe it to be, Minister, it would seem we have little choice but to move forward at once. Not only to harness its power for our own uses, but also to deny it to the Confederation. I must commend your intelligence operation for discovering word of this find and for getting our people there before the Confederation.”
“Thank you, Honorable First. The urgency we face is the reason I called for this emergency meeting. I must ask for immediate authorization to proceed, including an order for our forces to attack across the line.”
The First looked out across the room. “I do not believe we have any choice. We will authorize Minister Villieneuve to direct our military forces in an immediate full scale offensive. Further, the minister or his designate will have full viceregal authority in the Badlands, and shall act in the name of the Presidium in all actions undertaken in that area of space.” The First looked down the polished granite table at the twelve other men and eight women who ruled the Union. “All in favor?” Procedure required calling for the vote, but it seemed unlikely anyone would object. A “no” would be more than a rejection of the motion…it would be a direct challenge to the First, now that he had so forcefully stated his desire.
A few hands rose, followed by others, then all those present. A round of ayes followed. It was unanimous.
“The motion is passed by acclamation.” The First turned back toward Villieneuve. “You have your authorization, Minister. You understand the enormity of the authority this body had invested in you, I trust.
“I understand. I assure you the resources you have granted me—and all those possessed by Sector Nine—will be utilized with the greatest focus and forethought.” He turned back toward the First. “With your permission, Honorable First, I propose we adjourn this meeting so that I may return to Sector Nine headquarters at once and commence operations.”
“Agreed, Minister. If there are no objections…” The First paused, waiting a few seconds before continuing. “The meeting is adjourned. Good luck, Minister Villieneuve. I trust you will keep the Presidium informed as your operations progress.”
“Certainly, Honorable First.” I will tell you everything I want you to know…
Villieneuve stood up and nodded toward the assembled ministers. Then he turned and walked briskly through the heavy bronze double doors and out of the Presidium Chamber.
Chapter Six
The Promenade
Spacer’s District
Port Royal City, Planet Dannith, Ventica III
309 AC
Tyler Barron pushed aside the strings of cheap plastic beads hanging down over the entry and stepped into the room. The bar was dark, most of its meager illumination coming from small lamps on the tables. Their reddish glow reminded him a bit too much of Dauntless’s battlestations lamps. There was a vaguely unpleasant smell in the air, a disagreeable combination of cheap perfume and spilled liquor, mixed with some highly questionable scents emanating from the kitchen. The establishment looked like just what it was—a place where people came for clandestine meetings—and it by no means served the high end of its particular market.
Barron stifled a frown. He’d seen enough spacer’s bars, an unavoidable aspect of his profession, and many of them were far worse than this place. But there was an honesty to a watering hole catering to visiting spacers, even down to the smell of alcohol-tinged vomit and the occ
asional blood stain on the floor. This place seemed to have pretensions beyond its place in the scheme of things, and that grated on him somehow.
He was wearing a civilian suit, as per the strange request he’d received, but he still felt out of place. The Barrons were a wealthy family, and while his small non-military wardrobe tended toward the basic and conservative, it was all of extremely high quality, so much so that he suspected he couldn’t have stood out more if he’d been wearing a plume of feathers on his head.
He’d have questioned the odd summons that had brought him to this strange place, and probably disregarded it entirely, save for two things. One, it had come on the Priority One line and, two, it had been sent by Gary Holsten.
The Barrons and the Holstens had been acquainted for a long time, and the two families had been involved in a number of business transactions together. But that wasn’t why Barron had come. Though he was the senior member of his family’s main branch, he’d always been content to allow his cousins to tend to the Barron business interests, focusing almost entirely on his military career. Still, he was sufficiently well-connected to be privy to Gary Holsten’s other, far less well-known, vocation. That as the head of Confederation Intelligence.
Barron shared at least a measure of the mistrust of intelligence services so common in the military, but though he’d never met Holsten, he’d heard good things about the man. Details were sketchy of course, but he was fairly certain Holsten had been heavily involved in the replacement of Admiral Winston with Admiral Striker. The move had been one Barron agreed with wholeheartedly, and one to which he almost certainly owed his own life, and the lives of his crew.
Not that his opinion about Holsten mattered. Though the strange message was an abnormal use of the chain of command to say the least, he didn’t doubt that the intelligence chief had the authority to demand his presence anywhere, at any time.