Fire with Fire, Second Edition

by Charles E Gannon

  Table of Contents

  BOOK ONE Prologue

  PART ONE Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  PART TWO Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  PART THREE Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  BOOK TWO PART FOUR Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  PART FIVE Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Appendix A

  Appendix B

  Appendix C

  FIRE

  WITH

  FIRE

  Second Edition

  CHARLES E.

  GANNON

  Contains all-new images and a new Appendix by Charles E. Gannon!

  2105, September: Intelligence Analyst Caine Riordan uncovers a conspiracy on Earth's Moon—a history-making clandestine project—and ends up involuntarily cryocelled for his troubles. Twelve years later, Riordan awakens to a changed world. Humanity has achieved faster-than-light travel and is pioneering nearby star systems. And now, Riordan is compelled to become an inadvertent agent of conspiracy himself. Riordan's mission: travel to a newly settled world and investigate whether a primitive local species was once sentient—enough so to have built a lost civilization.

  However, arriving on site in the Delta Pavonis system, Caine discovers that the job he's been given is anything but secret or safe. With assassins and saboteurs dogging his every step, it's clear that someone doesn't want his mission to succeed. In the end, it takes the keen insights of an intelligence analyst and a matching instinct for intrigue to ferret out the truth: that humanity is neither alone in the cosmos nor safe. Earth is revealed to be the lynchpin planet in an impending struggle for interstellar dominance, a struggle into which it is being irresistibly dragged. Discovering new dangers at every turn, Riordan must now convince the powers-that-be that the only way for humanity to survive as a free species is to face the perils directly—and to fight fire with fire.

  BAEN BOOKS by CHARLES E. GANNON

  Fire with Fire

  Trial by Fire

  The Starfire Series

  Extremis (with Steve White)

  The Ring of Fire Series

  1635: Papal Stakes (with Eric Flint)

  1636: Commander Cantrell in the West Indies (with Eric Flint)

  FIRE WITH FIRE, Second Edition

  This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

  Second Edition, Copyright © 2014 by Charles E. Gannon

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form.

  Baen Publishing Enterprises

  P.O. Box 1403

  Riverdale, NY 10471

  www.baen.com

  Cover art by Sam Kennedy

  Distributed by Simon & Schuster

  1230 Avenue of the Americas

  New York, NY 10020

  eISBN: 978-1-62579-435-2

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS:

  My profound thanks go to—

  — my loyal legion of advance readers, but particularly Tom MacCarrol;

  — Ian Tregillis, PhD, high-energy physicist at Los Alamos, who vetted the theoretical logic of the Wasserman Drive;

  — my late mother, who believed that I could and should pursue the calling and life of an author;

  — and my late father, who imbued me with his own interest in the future and the limitless possibilities of space.

  But above all, this book is . . .

  DEDICATED TO:

  My wife Andrea Trisciuzzi,

  without whom it would

  never have been written.

  BOOK ONE

  CONTACT

  Prologue

  Perry City, Luna

  September, 2105

  The Taiwanese captain bowed quickly when his temporary commander—USSF Admiral Nolan Corcoran—rounded the corner. “Admiral Corcoran, I—”

  Corcoran, a tall, broad-shouldered man whose sharp blue eyes and trim physique belied his advancing age, raised a silencing hand. He ignored the captain’s waiting covert ops team, and moved instead to the cryogenic suspension unit resting on a gurney just behind them. “Is that the intruder?”

  “Yes, Admiral. We found him right outside the door to your quarters. I’m sure you have the report by now.”

  “We do, Captain Chen,” answered a second man who came around the same corner that Corcoran had. “But the details are sketchy.”

  Chen did not recognize the man, who spoke with an English accent. “Apologies, sir: I relayed what I had at the time.”

  The tall, thin Englishman looked up from his dataslate. “So you weren’t present at the incident?”

  Chen stood even straighter. “Nonetheless, I am the team leader, sirs.”

  Corcoran canted his head toward the Englishman. “Mr. Downing is not implying you were at fault, Captain Chen. We know it’s your job to take responsibility for what happens on your watch. Even if you weren’t there yourself. Now, what more have you learned since alerting us?”

  “The subject—Mr. Riordan—was detected near your quarters at 2020 hours GMT, Admiral. He was behaving in a suspicious manner, apparently attempting to force entry. Since you had shared classified information with him earlier today, we feared that he intended to steal additional, sensitive data from your suite.”

  Downing stared at the cryogenic suspension unit. “And he resisted so strongly that you had to render him unconscious and stick him in a cold cell?”

  Chen felt sweat rising on his upper lip. “That was, in hindsight, an excessive response. However, when accosted, Riordan turned sharply and his hand was concealed in a bag. Our operative had originally conjectured it might hold tools, but then feared that it might conceal a weapon. So the subject was—subdued.”

  Corcoran nodded, but, Chen noted, without the peripheral signs of reassurance that were common among Western commanders. “That explains why he’s unconscious. Why did you put him in a cold cell?”

  Chen’s upper lip was now thoroughly wet with perspiration. “Sirs, you were on the Far Side. I had no way of knowing if you had received our communications. And we had to act quickly.” />
  Downing folded his arms. “Why?”

  “I reasoned that Mr. Riordan’s books might have made him too well-known for us to detain until you returned. And if the local authorities had discovered him in our custody, that would have necessitated explaining why my team is here at all, thereby attracting more attenti—”

  “Yes, you had a difficult situation,” Corcoran said. And Chen saw that he meant it, but was also disappointed. Now that Caine Riordan was in cold sleep, there was no way to awaken him without calling attention to the covert activities being undertaken on Luna. Which meant that—

  “Have you informed our contacts that we will need to initiate a ‘missing, presumed dead’ scenario to cover up Mr. Riordan’s disappearance?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Very good. Mr. Downing will need access to the corridor security footage. We’ll overwrite the recording of the incident with ‘neutral view’ footage. See to that quickly, Rich.”

  The Englishman grumbled. “Let’s just hope somebody hasn’t reviewed the video logs already.” He moved off to establish communication with their operative inside Perry City’s security force. Corcoran turned back to Chen. “And what were the contents of the bag Mr. Riordan was carrying?”

  The Taiwanese captain handed it to the admiral, who looked inside as Downing called over, “We’re clear; no one’s screened the security footage, yet.”

  The retired admiral stared down into the bag for several seconds before handing it back to Chen. “Keep the contents with Mr. Riordan for now. I’ll have need of them later.”

  Chen did not allow himself to look puzzled. “Yes, sir.”

  Downing had returned. He looked at Caine Riordan’s deathly white face, made blue by the glass of the cryocell’s lid. “You know, I believed Riordan when he said he wouldn’t reveal our work here.” He shook his head, ran a hand rearwards over his prominent widow’s peak. “Somehow, I still believe him.”

  Corcoran’s response was quiet. “Well, that’s a moot point now.”

  Downing shrugged. “No tools for breaking and entering, then?” He scanned the area. “So what was in the bag?”

  “Nothing,” answered Corcoran. “Nothing of importance, at any rate.”

  Chen almost started in surprise, managed not to glance down at the bag he was holding.

  Downing shook his head again. “I’ll make arrangements to have Riordan’s cold cell shipped to our holding facility in—”

  “No, Rich. The Taiwanese will have to transfer Caine from their cryogenic system to ours, first. We can’t take receipt of a foreign cryocell: too likely that someone will ask an awkward question.”

  Downing nodded. “Right,” he said. “I’ll set up the exchange paperwork now.” He moved off to send the necessary orders.

  When Downing was well out of earshot, Corcoran looked down at the cold cell again and spoke to Chen in a very low tone. “Because your cryogenic technology is so different from ours, I imagine Mr. Riordan will experience a difficult reanimation.”

  “Oh no, Admiral,” Chen corrected in a voice that was both deferential and enthusiastic. “This cryocell utilizes Taiwan’s improved pre-toxification system. It is vastly superior to our current models. Memory loss has been reduced to the same level as your ‘slow freeze’ technology. Indeed, recent studies—”

  Corcoran looked up from the cold cell, his eyes unblinking. “I said, Mr. Chen, that this will be a difficult reanimation. In fact, it will be very difficult, and I’m sure the memory loss will be even worse than with your older models.” Corcoran still did not blink. “Do I make myself clear?”

  Chen had come to the conclusion that Western commanders were not particularly good at fixing underlings with stern, even terrifying, stares. Now, looking into Nolan Corcoran’s blue eyes, he suddenly found himself revising his opinion. “Y-yes, Admiral. Mr. Riordan’s reanimation will be most difficult. Singularly difficult.”

  But Corcoran was staring down at the cryocell again. The look on his face puzzled Chen: was it guilt, regret, resolve—or all three?

  Chen turned to his security detachment. “Flag Mr. Riordan for ‘augmented’ reanimation prior to transfer back to the US authorities.”

  “What kind of augmentation?” asked Chen’s adjutant, taking Riordan’s bag when his superior held it out toward him.

  “Short term memory suppression. Chemical and electroconvulsive.”

  “How intensive?”

  Chen fixed his underling with a baleful stare of his own. “Do you really have to ask?”

  PART ONE

  Approaching heliopause,

  Junction system (Lacaille 8760)

  March–April, 2118

  Chapter One

  ODYSSEUS

  Caine Riordan felt himself floating back up to awareness through fragments of many dreams. It seemed as though, in the midst of this waking, he had eaten, gone back to sleep, had conversations, other dreams, more meals, then finally . . .

  Awake. But why was he already sitting, and why was he ringed by spotlights? Where—?

  A voice—speaking in an English accent—asked: “Are the lights too bright? I can dim them, if you wish.”

  Caine nodded, squinted, seeking the source of the voice.

  “What is the last thing you remember?”

  Odd question. Caine thought back: he was on the lunar suborbital ferry to Perry City—and then nothing. As though someone had snipped a filmstrip in the middle of a scene. First he was there, and then he was here. And between the two—nothing.

  Abruptly, Caine no longer saw the still-blinding lights: finding no memories to fill that blank space, his awareness exploded inward, like a multitude of rushing hands, scrabbling in a dark closet. But instead of touching something tangible, they only encountered more yawning darkness, into which he was falling, falling, falling . . .

  Caine felt a cool hand on his shoulder and suddenly he was seeing again, looking into dark brown eyes in a thin face, skin the color of seared wheat. Male, early middle-aged but lean, and seamed enough to look older, brown hair receding from either side of a widow’s peak. The eyes were patient, concerned. “Steady now. Tell me: what do you remember?”

  “I remember heading to Perry City. But after that—” Caine felt a snap-frost of panic coat his body. “What the hell has happened to me? Have I been in an accident?”

  Downing retrieved a folder from a black, wire-frame table that Caine only now distinguished against the darkness. “You were taken into—let’s call it protective custody.”

  “Protective custody? Why? And what kind of protective custody would cause me to black out, or—” Or lose my muscle tone, Caine suddenly realized, seeing his wrists and arms for the first time: my God, I must have lost five kilos. More. How long have I—?

  Long-face-brown-eyes nodded at Caine’s sudden fixation with his limbs. “In your case, Mr. Riordan, protective custody meant being placed in cryogenic suspension.”

  Terror pulsed from the rear of Caine’s skull, across his back, and out into his arms and legs. “How long have I been in cold sleep?”

  The crow’s feet bracketing the dark brown eyes bunched in a wince. “Thirteen years: it is now 2118.”

  Caine felt a trembling in his limbs, was unsure whether it was a muscular spasm, or a fear reaction. Waking up after thirteen years felt like a surreal reversal of learning that you had only a dozen years or so left to live. This way, it was not he who was going to die sooner than expected, it was everyone else. There was also a sharp, sudden fear of personal obsolescence: will I even have a place in this world?

  Caine shook off that doubt, willed himself not to shudder again, wasn’t entirely successful. “Why was I cryogenically suspended? That’s a risky process—or it was thirteen years ago.”

  “By comparison to today, yes. But the risk to you was a great deal less serious than the threat you posed to us.”

  “I posed a threat to you?”

  “Your investigations for the Independent Interplanetary
News Network jeopardized crucial national interests.”

  That’s right: I was on my way to Luna to conduct research. Aloud: “And so you decided to ‘sedate’ me before I could step off the shuttle?”

  “Oh, no. You debarked safely on Luna and were quite active for just under one hundred hours.”

  “Then why don’t I remember any of those one hundred hours?”

  Mr. Long-face-brown-eyes tilted his head apologetically. “Side effect of the cold sleep, I’m afraid.”

  “Hold on. Cold sleep only disrupts memories that haven’t been fixed in the brain by a natural sleep cycle. So at most, I should have lost twenty-four hours. But I’ve lost more than four days. What caused the extra memory loss? And what happened during that time?”

  “I wish I knew, but my superiors didn’t share that information with me. I’ll look into it when I get access to the full records, back on Earth.”

  But for now, how utterly convenient for you. With no memories of those one hundred crucial hours, Caine had no way of knowing if Long-face-brown-eyes was telling the truth or not. So did I give them grounds to put me on ice? Or is that just a shrewd lie, an attempt to make me feel responsible for my own condition? A hot wave of resentment shriveled Caine’s uncertainties: either way, he was the one who had lost thirteen years, not his captors. “And you are . . . ?”

  Caine was gratified to see the other man blink, but Long-face-brown-eyes recovered quickly: “I am Richard Downing.”