Duty, Honor, Planet: 02 - Honor Bound

by Rick Partlow

  Captain Minishimi took in a deep breath and winced as she did it. “We’re on alert and we can move insystem right now if you order it. Please respond with your orders as soon as you can.” She shook her head. “Good luck, Major.”

  “Oh shit,” Franks muttered as he shut down the recording. Three fucking hours…

  Trying to hurry without fumbling, Franks brought up the secure communications line on his display and then hesitated…Major Stark had left orders not to contact her while the operation was under way. He quickly looked up the commo ID for the lander supporting her operation and punched in the number.

  “Charlie Gulf Niner Niner,” Franks transmitted, “this is Sierra Hotel Bravo.” His eyes flicked to the contact codes on the display. “Sierra Hotel Bravo authenticates ‘Georgetown Alibi.’ Do you copy? Over.”

  “This is Charlie Gulf Niner Niner,” the answer came immediately, a male voice that Franks had heard before. “Go. Over.”

  “I have a priority one message for Charlie Gulf One,” Franks told the man. “I repeat, this is priority one, very urgent. Over.”

  “Charlie Gulf One is not available,” the man told him. “We’ve received a report from Charlie Gulf Ten that there are biomechs on site and the operation may take longer than estimated.” There was a pause before the man went on, reluctantly. “It’s been too long, Sierra Hotel Bravo. I’m worried. Please advise. Over.”

  Franks’ eyes glazed over. Please advise? He thought in disbelief. I’m a fucking First Lieutenant!

  “Wait one, Charlie Gulf Niner Niner,” he said, breaking the connection.

  The ramships…those were the priority. That’s what Major Stark would say. Three fucking hours…

  “Oh shit!” he exclaimed as he suddenly remembered something else. “The President!”

  As he tried to do half a dozen things at once, part of his mind gibbered Just five minutes ago I was complaining about being bored…

  * * *

  Daniel O’Keefe paced restlessly in the antechamber just steps away from the Senate floor, waiting impatiently as introductions were made. He glanced at the monitors on the wall and saw the hundreds assembled in the audience to hear his speech. The full senate was in attendance, including Valerie, along with several high-ranking military officers-though not General Kage, he noted-and a few executives of the multicorps. They waited, some impatient, some curious to hear his speech. They knew he was to speak about the failed Colonial Guard mutiny, but none had any idea of what else he intended to cover.

  “Sir,” Charlie Klesko stepped through the door into the antechamber, still looking a bit uncomfortable in his renewed role as a Presidential protection agent. “They’re ready.”

  O’Keefe shot the man a grateful smile. “Thanks, Charlie,” he said. “Don’t worry…you won’t be babysitting me too much longer.”

  “Sir,’ Klesko said with grave sincerity, “it’s an honor and a privilege to work for you in whatever capacity you deem necessary.”

  O’Keefe clapped the protection agent on the shoulder as he passed him, then he was on the speaker’s platform of the Republic Senate. He had toured the building this one was based on, the United States House of Representatives in Washington, D.C. and reflected for a moment that this chamber somehow lacked the feel of history and gravity that the older building possessed. It had a feel of novelty to it, a feel of impermanence that he couldn’t shake.

  There was a light smattering of polite applause but most of the hundreds gathered were subdued and expectant as he stepped to the podium. O’Keefe tried to focus on one face or a small group, in order to make his words seem more personal, but he found to his surprise that he couldn’t do it. The faces merged together in a haze of thoughts that he couldn’t suppress.

  Just have to do this the hard way, he thought grimly.

  “Good morning,” he said, his voice amplified and also transmitted to each person’s ‘link. He suppressed his usual speaker’s smile: it would seem disingenuous and puerile under the circumstances. “Thank you for joining me here on such short notice. I know you’re all concerned and curious as to why I’ve called this special session of the Senate, so I’ll get right to the point. I spoke at the press conference in Houston about the foiled attempt by some reactionary elements in the Colonial Guard to stage a mutiny and how the assassination of my son-in-law was connected with this. Well, as I am sure you can guess, there is more to that story than I’ve been able to share so far.

  “The attempted mutiny was only a small part of a larger plot that is still ongoing. What I am about to tell you is going to be hard to believe, but I will be presenting evidence to back it up, both to the Senate and the press. Elements in the Multicorps Executive Council, organized by a lobbyist named Kevin Fourcade, have been conspiring to engineer a coup against the Republic government.” There was stunned murmuring at that…though not as much as if he’d gone ahead and mentioned Brendan Riordan’s name, as he’d seriously considered. But he still held out hope of turning the Executive Director and he needed to be able to promise him something resembling his old life back in order to do that.

  “We are still gathering intelligence…we don’t know how far up the chain this conspiracy goes, but we have definitive proof that Fourcade was planning to distract us with the Colonial Guard mutiny, then stage an apparent attack by Sergei Antonov’s Protectorate that would lead to my assassination and replacement by Vice President Dominguez, who they hoped would be more receptive to their demands.”

  Now there was a huge uproar and some people rose from their seats, shouting questions and demands at him-a major violation of Senate rules, but it was an unusual circumstance and he waved away the sergeant-at-arms when the woman stood to try to restore decorum. Instead, he motioned to his chief of staff to raise the volume, and when he spoke again it cut through the chaos.

  “Vice President Dominguez couldn’t be here this morning,” he went on. In truth, Dominguez was nowhere to be found: he’d slipped his protection detail and his biological sensors were inactive. “However, we have no evidence that he is involved in this in any way.” No evidence that would hold up in court, anyway.

  “As I said, this threat is ongoing, and there were those who believed I shouldn’t make it public as of yet, but I was elected on the promise of making the Republic government more transparent to the people. There are some campaign promises I haven’t been able to keep-I don’t have to tell any of you about the state of our economy-but this one I can and will. Time will tell whether I’ve made the right decision in doing so, but I have to believe in the strength and courage of the citizens of the Republic.”

  The crowd had quieted at his words and he took the opportunity to take a deep breath and gather his thoughts…but before he could speak again, Charlie Klesko was sprinting up the steps of the podium toward him, his eyes fierce and focused. On instinct, Daniel O’Keefe touched the control to mute his microphone.

  “Sir,” he hissed tightly, grasping O’Keefe’s arm, “we have to get you to safety. There are two Protectorate ships inbound using Eysselink drives. They’re probably unmanned and they’re heading for Earth at relativistic speeds: anywhere they hit will cease to exist to a radius of about ten kilometers. They’ll be here in just over two hours and we’ll need every minute of that to get you clear of the city.”

  “Jesus Christ!” O’Keefe hissed in disbelief. His mind tried to shut down but he flogged it into action. Two hours…there was no way to evacuate the whole city in that amount of time, not even close. There were emergency shelters, but would they be enough? And could he fly out of Capital City and leave its citizens to the threat of death? He grabbed Klesko by the shoulder and looked him in the eye. “Charlie, get my daughter and granddaughter out of the city.”

  “Sir!” Klesko exclaimed, a protest forming on his lips.

  “Charlie, just do it,” O’Keefe said firmly. “That’s an order. Get her out of here now.”

  “Yes, sir,” Klesko ground out through his teeth, then
ran down the steps into the audience.

  O’Keefe looked back up at the crowd, hearing their restless rumble. He saw the Majority Leader of the Senate rise from his seat and start to walk toward the podium, her arms swinging authoritatively. He hit the control to turn his audio pickup back on.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, speaking slowly, trying to give Klesko time to get Valerie out of the audience, “I’ve just been given disturbing information.” He raised a hand to halt Senator Chorney’s advance, motioning for the Majority Leader to stay where she was. “There are two unidentified Eysselink drive spaceships heading towards Earth from the area of the asteroid belt where we believe the Protectorate wormhole is located. They are accelerating toward us at 200 gravities and are showing no sign of slowing down.”

  He let his gaze travel across the crowd, saw Klesko hustling Valerie out of a side exit to the chamber. People were rising in their seats hesitantly, alarmed but unsure what to do. “These two ships are probably unmanned, and they’re travelling at near 20 percent of the speed of light. They will arrive in two hours, and if they impact on any populated area, millions of people could die. Capital City is a logical target for these ships, though we don’t know as of yet where they are intended to hit. There is no possibility of evacuating this city, much less every city that might be a target.” He looked directly into the nearest news camera pickup. “I would encourage all citizens to move in an orderly and safe fashion to the nearest emergency shelter, and I am hereby ordering all Republic Service Corps personnel to report to the shelters to support those who seek refuge there. If anyone here wishes to use their personal resources to evacuate ahead of the threat, I will not condemn their actions, but I intend to stay in Capital City and share the fate of its citizens. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to coordinate our defense against this threat.”

  Without further pronouncement, O’Keefe turned and left the podium, grabbing his chief of staff by the shoulder as he passed her. He’d promoted Svetlana Zakharova to the position after Glen’s death, not so much because she was supremely qualified for it but mostly because he trusted her more than anyone else in his administration.

  “I need a ready room set up here, now,” he told her urgently, motioning back towards the antechamber where he’d waited for the speech to begin. “I want a line to Fleet Headquarters in there now and get me General Rietveld and Fleet Captain Di Ndinge from the audience. I need to know what we can do about this.”

  “Sir,” Zakharova interrupted him, “I just got a call from Lieutenant Franks at Fleet Headquarters…he has an idea, but needs your immediate clearance to do it and says there’s no time to explain.”

  O’Keefe paused in mid-step, a wry grin spreading across his face almost unwillingly. “Goddamn, that apple surely didn’t fall too far from the command tree,” he said, shaking his head. “Tell him he has my clearance to do anything he thinks will stop those ships, no questions asked. But God help him if it doesn’t work…”

  * * *

  Captain Tomas Perez was sweating and he hated himself for it. He’d been promoted to Captain and given command of the Bradley just three months ago, and the ship had been in dry-dock being refitted for nearly all of that. He only had half his crew aboard and had yet to meet his Executive Officer…and now, the ship had been put on alert and ordered to power up the drive and detach from the dock at Fleet Headquarters in less than an hour which was fucking impossible. He’d been to engineering twice in the last ten minutes and it seemed like they were finally ready to go…

  “Prepare to detach from docking umbilical,” Perez ordered the Helm officer, a short-haired, stocky Asian-looking young man with the unlikely name of Bevins…at least Perez hoped that was his name, as he’d called him by it twice in the last half hour and he just didn’t have time to consult his ‘link to make sure.

  “Sir,” the Communications Officer said from his position across the bridge, “we have an Intelligence officer coming on board via the umbilical…a Lieutenant Franks. He says he has to go with us, that it’s urgent.”

  “If he’s in, tell them to disconnect from the umbilical now,” the Captain snapped, annoyed at the delay.

  “Umbilical is clear,” Helm announced, checking the sensors. “Disconnecting now…”

  “Directional thrusters,” Perez ordered. “Takes us to a safe distance then engage the plasma drive.”

  There was the familiar “bang, bang” sound of the maneuvering rockets gently pushing the massive, monolithic cruiser away from the hub of the slowly spinning barrel of Fleet Headquarters.

  “Lieutenant,” Perez turned to the Comm officer-Reno was his name, a hawk-faced Lt-JG a year out of the Academy, “get on the horn with command and find out where exactly we’re supposed to go.”

  “I can help you with that, sir.” Perez turned at the unfamiliar voice and saw a freckle-faced young man in a black Intelligence uniform kicking off from the bridge entrance to come to a halt on the back of the acceleration couches behind the Captain’s station. “I’m Lt. Franks, Fleet Intelligence,” he said, saluting awkwardly as he levered himself into the couch and strapped in. “Sorry to intrude on your bridge, sir, but we have next to no time and you’re the only Eysselink drive ship in the Earth-moon area at the moment.”

  He took a breath, seeming a bit frazzled at the situation himself. “There are two Protectorate ships headed for Earth…they’re just over an hour away right now, going at almost a quarter light using stolen Eysselink drives. That means none of our defenses can touch them. They’re probably unmanned or even if they are crewed, they’re most likely on a suicide mission-they’re going to be used, we think, as relativistic kinetic kill vehicles, try to slam into their targets on Earth at a good percentage of lightspeed, which will turn anything it hits into a crater about ten kilometers wide.”

  Perez started to blurt out an exclamation, then checked himself as he realized it wouldn’t be professional. “So, how are we going to stop them, then?” He asked instead.

  “The only way to stop a ship with its drive field up is to hit it with another drive field,” Franks replied, shaking his head ruefully. “Unfortunately, the consequences of that can be…drastic. So we need to make some preparations, because we have to do it twice…and we have to intercept those ships before they reach the point where they’ll turn off their drive fields because if we don’t, it won’t matter what we do, even their ashes will be traveling at relativistic speeds and the radiation wave they would cause would still kill millions.” The young Lieutenant grinned. “But no pressure.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Shannon Stark woke slowly and painfully, with a metallic taste in her mouth and her pulse pounding in her head. She jerked and thrashed in a half-conscious panic but found she couldn’t move: something was restraining her wrists, ankles and even her head. Her eyes felt glued shut, but Shannon managed to pry them open and blink away the blur that painted a haze across reality.

  She was sitting upright, she discovered, strapped into a padded chair, staring into the lenses of a machine she recognized all too well: a hypnoprobe. It loomed in front of her, sinister in its plastic and metal sterility, so much more terrifying from this side than it had even been from the other. She struggled to control her breathing and heartbeat and to try to force her mind to work. She’d been hit by a stunner…presumably one built into the room as a security system. The whole thing had been a trap…

  “Ah, Dobroe utro, Colonel Stark,” she heard Antonov’s voice from her right side and just behind her. Good morning. So, she hadn’t been out for very long. She tried to twist around to see the man, but he was too far behind her and she could only see the bare wall of whatever room she was in.

  “Why…” she tried to speak, but her mouth felt as if it were stuffed with cotton. Antonov came into her peripheral vision, holding a cup of water. She considered resisting but that, she reflected silently, would be pointless. She sipped the water and sighed slightly in relief.

  “I think
,” Antonov said cheerfully, “you were about to ask me why I didn’t kill you, no?”

  “Yes,” she said quietly. Antonov walked behind her and around to her left. She tried to follow him, but the strap around her forehead restricted her motion.

  “I kept you alive,” he informed her, “because as you said, I can’t leave without you. As I don’t have time for anything more entertaining,” he chuckled at that, and she fought back an instinctive shiver as his calloused finger traced a line across her left cheek, “…and believe me, my dear, I can think of much more entertaining ways to bend a beautiful woman to my will…I will be forced to rely on the more antiseptic option of using this mashina.”

  “It won’t work,” she told him tightly. “To use the probe on me without drugs, I’d have to do it voluntarily…and if you drug me, I won’t recover quickly enough to call my air cover before they sound the alert and seal this place off.”

  “I did indeed consider this, Colonel,” he assured her, voice as confident and cheerful as ever. He walked back around behind her and she felt a surge of panic as her chair started to shake, but then she realized he was turning it so she could see farther to her left.

  As she slowly turned, she could see that she was in some sort of medical lab or clinic, filled with a fairly sophisticated array of equipment; turned a bit more and she could see a wheeled gurney was rolled up a couple of meters to her left and that there was someone laid out on it. She recognized the boots as belonging to the stealth armor her team had been wearing and she felt her heart rise into her throat.

  Another jerk on the side of her chair and she could see that the soldier had half-dried blood spattered on those boots and a pair of smart bandages on the right leg, at the knee and hip. A bit more to her left and she saw a bedraggled female in rumpled clothes that she recognized from Jameson’s description as Dr. Maggie Cochrane. Cochrane was standing behind the gurney, looking supremely uncomfortable, her face twisted in what looked like a combination of distaste and abject terror. Next to her and slightly behind her, backs against the wall, were two armored biomechs, their weapons trained on her and the soldier on the gurney, standing stock-still.