The ping of the transit signal coincided with the chrono zeroing out. The feeling of being pulled sideways came and went, and the screens and holos populated with new data. The murmur of orders and comms rose as the full CCC swung into action.
“Indy,” Straker said in a conversational tone.
A screen at his elbow glowed to life with the idealized woman’s face Indy used. “Here, sir.”
“Any surprises?”
“Not so far. I’ll let you know.”
Straker tapped his comlink. “I know you will.”
“I could install a wireless aug for your brainlink. It would be much more efficient.”
Suppressing a shudder, he replied, “No thanks—and please stop asking. Hardlinks are…” He glanced at Winter.
“Seductive enough?” the colonel supplied.
“Right. If I had a brainlink available all the time… well, I’m just not comfortable with that.”
“I understand,” Indy said. “However, I have one configured for you and available if an emergency arises.”
“Noted.” Straker gazed out over the pit, noticing that about half the staff had augs—small, unobtrusive thumb-sized devices at the napes of their necks—and another quarter were using their console hardlinks.
No doubt they were efficient. Hell, the expense of mechsuits was only justified by their superlative, brainlink-driven combat effectiveness, but troops—and spacers—needed to delink and recuperate. It must be the same for staff. It wasn’t that different from stims—great in a crisis, but not for use all the time.
“Indy, you control all the augs, right?”
“All aboard the Independence, and I can access those aboard other ships when nearby. Does that concern you?”
“No… not in the way you mean, I think. I trust you with the power. You’ve proven yourself many times. No, I’m concerned about us frail humans and our failings. Can you program those things so they’re only allowed to be on when the user is on duty? I can imagine some people might leave them on all the time—they’ll end up dependent and addicted, and detached from the real world. Helpless if they lost their links.”
“Doctor Straker and the medical staff raised this concern long ago. We’re monitoring all personnel for signs of overuse and dependency.”
Straker chuckled. “So what you’re saying is, shut up and quit worrying.”
“I always value input from the commander, sir.”
“Thanks, Indy. Bye.”
The screen winked off.
“She scares me, sometimes…” Winter said.
“Don’t trust her?”
The man shook his head. “That’s not it. She’s too efficient, too perfect.” He waved at the Pit. “With a couple-three more AIs, we could do away with all the staff. A dozen AIs, and we don’t need spacers to run the ships, just bots. It’s not much of a jump to AI-commanded ships and AI ground troops. Pretty soon…”
“Who needs organics anymore? Yeah. That one’s as old as science-fiction. Maybe as old as religions and myths. Every culture has its powerful demons, ready to corrupt and supplant humans, sirens to lure us upon the rocks of our own navigation. Maybe we’re lucky human AIs all went mad until now—and even Indy isn’t a product of human technology.”
Winter stroked his chin. “Yeah, I always wondered about that. Who made the Mindspark cube? What happened to them? Were they a society of AIs? Are they still out there?”
“Zaxby said the Ruxins found it on an alien ship in the Starfish Nebula, and estimated it to be several million years old. The universe is, what, thirteen billion years old?”
“Something like that.”
“So thousands of great alien civilizations must have come and gone.”
“I wonder what caused them to fall.”
“If they’re anything like humans, it’ll have been their own damn fault. We can’t seem to stop repeating the same old patterns of tyranny and war.” Straker’s bleak, wintry smile soon fled. “We’ll always have a job, though.”
“God help us, you’re right.”
Straker chuckled. “God, huh? Religion’s catching on again, along with blasphemy. Nobody to disapprove. Besides, the military’s always been superstitious. Do it this way, not that way, or disaster will strike. The Huns tried to get rid of chaplains, but they never could, even if they watered down their doctrines to just the Unknowable Creator and a few moral principles. The Mutuality substituted the State for a deity, but that never really worked either.”
“No atheists in foxholes, right?”
“Not many, in my experience, no matter what god they call to.” Straker stood. “I’m going to take a turn through the Pit, then grab some chow. Care to come along?”
“Sure, sir.” Winter stood beside him.
Staff nodded and murmured greetings at Straker and Winter as they threaded their way through the crowded area. No ceremony here; it was a workspace, with formality suspended.
Commodore Gray sat at the conference table in the center, with slates, tablets and programmable smartcopy scattered across it. Straker and Winter took seats at the far end of the table while Gray received reports and gave orders. When she glanced at him, he waved her off as if to say ignore us.
The hologram above the table showed the system and the position of shipping. The Breakers had tightened their loose arrival formation and now cruised inward toward Premdor. They’d deliberately arrived well off the plane of the ecliptic, curving in from the stellar north. Because most routine system traffic tended to remain in that plane, in line with the bulk of the orbiting planets and moons and asteroids, this gave the intelligence staff a great view. It was like looking down from a height.
The six Salamander ships were traveling off to one side, in their own formation, slightly ahead of the Breakers. Straker approved. He was no space tactician, but he knew letting anyone behind your ships was risky—or trusting, anyway—exposing their vulnerable sterns, with the open ports of their fusion drives and thin armor.
The hologram zoomed in on the target planet, showing orbital space. No natural moons orbited the watery, island-scattered world, but there were twenty or thirty habs and captured asteroids. None of them were marked as fortresses, a relief. The Breakers had nothing that could have dealt with one of those monsters. There weren’t even any defense stations.
Red icons appeared—five, seven, ten. Rhino warships, annotated with a rough ship class assessment. The Salamanders had provided intel on their enemy’s capabilities, but Gray was taking her time, seeing for herself.
“Doveryai, no proveryai,” Winter muttered. When Straker looked a question at him, he said, “An old proverb in the language of the Russian branch of my family. Trust, but prove.”
“A wise saying. The version I heard was ‘trust, but cut the cards anyway.’” Straker sighed. “Feels different with all our eggs in one fragile basket and so many depending on us. Or maybe I’m getting old.”
Winter chuckled. “What are you, thirty-three?”
“Something like that… but I’m a lot older than I used to be.”
“Seeing your dreams die will do that to you.”
Straker raised his eyebrows at Winter’s bleak look. “What were yours?”
The colonel shrugged. “Victorious battles against a despicable enemy I grew up hating. An honorable career, family, kids, flag rank maybe… eventual retirement, all against the backdrop of prosperity and a society I could be proud of. Instead, now it’s like that Greek god who pushed the boulder endlessly up the hill, only for it to roll down again.”
“Sisyphus.”
“Yes. We try to improve the Republic, but evil always seems to win out. The stone rolls down the hill again.”
“Not this time,” Straker said. “This time, we leave the hill behind and build something—a home, maybe eventually a world where we can create a society worth living in.”
“So we won’t be staying here.” Winter gestured at the planet in the hologram.
“Probably not
. It’s not our world. If we stayed, we’d always be the alien allies of the Salamanders, with the Rhinos against us. No, this island they promised us will be a way station, but what we really need is our own planet. Or at least a big, independent hab.”
“Too bad Freiheit is so small. What about having the Ruxins in the Starfish Nebula build one for us?”
“That’s one idea,” Straker said, “but we already owe Freenix and her people a lot. We’d need to pay her for anything more—and we don’t have much to pay with. Then there’s the problem of discovery. Add in all the Breakers and a bunch of ship traffic, and eventually we’ll get found out. Then it’s a fight again. Better that we’re two solid months’ travel away, deep in alien space. Any Republic task force coming after us will be far from home, short on supplies and intel, with no official capacity, and surrounded by people that don’t want them there.”
“Right.”
“Hey, boss.” Loco came up behind Straker and sat next to him. “Learn anything?”
Straker waved at the holo. “You know as much as I do. It’ll be a couple days before we engage. Lots of prep work, but not many command decisions yet. Besides, I’m trying to stay out of Ellen’s way. It’s her show.”
“That’s why you’re sitting here at the center of things. You can’t stand the waiting any more than I can.”
Captain Jilani plopped down beside Loco. She’d changed her clothes, but the style remained the same—skintight black that emphasized her full figure. She’d reprogrammed her hair color to green-and-gold, though. “Waiting’s part of the job, paisanos.”
Winter stared skeptically at Jilani. “What job is that, by the way? You never really explained what you’re doing here.”
“I trade in high-value materials. Now and again I try to do some good in the galaxy.”
“Yes, but,” Winter tapped the table with his index finger, “why are you here. With us, still.”
“Because the highest-value cargo possible is information. You need me, and I figure I’m building up credit with the Breakers. General Straker here’s a straight arrow. I’m sure he’ll compensate me fairly down the line.”
Loco chuckled. “And…”
Jilani elbowed Loco. “And, the Tarellians are persistent figli di puttane. Here, I’m safe.”
“The ship that was chasing you.” Winter frowned.
“Yeah. They discovered me reconning their zombie factory. I barely got out in time.”
“Zombie factory?”
“High-value engineered sex clones. Low-IQ, humanoids mostly, but some custom-made exotics too. Live for five or six years, fuck anything you tell ’em to… Much better than sex bots, I’m told, if you like that type of thing.” Jilani’s expression soured. “After all, there’s no fun in lording it over a bot. They’re pricey, and tricky to incubate. They have to liquidate nine out of ten before they come to term. Makes me sick.”
“Gods and monsters!” Winter said. “People buy these… things?”
“Things? Some would say they’re people. Their origin isn’t their fault. Bordellos use them, and twisted degenerates who can afford it. In some circles they’re status symbols.”
Straker felt his stomach turn. “That’s inhuman.”
Jilani snorted. “What humanity have you been living in? ’Cause in my world, people are scum, mostly, human or not.”
“Hey, we’re not scum,” Loco said.
“Jury’s still out on you, pretty boy.”
Loco opened his mouth like a surprised fish, and then shut it.
“And that’s not the worst thing I’ve seen,” Jilani continued. “Fairly tame, actually, but the Yellow Foot mob was paying me a lot for the info. Competitors, you know…” She sighed. “With no law out here, the best I can do is try to keep the criminals hurting each other while I make a living. Unfortunately, I was supposed to escape unnoticed with the intel. That didn’t work out. So, I didn’t get paid, I got chased… and here I am. At least you’re real humans. The other ones never smell quite right, you know?”
“Right…” Straker drummed his fingers on the table, thinking.
Jilani was a fount of information, well worth a reasonable payment… but was she trustworthy? And what was going on between her and Loco? Loco was looking possessive and overly casual, which meant he was trying to play it off… and despite Loco’s son, little Derek by Maria Campos, Loco hadn’t married her, or been exclusive for a while. Straker’d warned Loco to cool it a few times when it looked like he was fraternizing with someone under his command, but that prohibition was the job—military, not morality.
So maybe Loco hooking up with this streetwise, self-contained rogue wasn’t a bad thing. Loco could keep an eye on her, and she wasn’t forbidden fruit.
And something occurred to Straker. “Too bad we can’t get paid to go after the worst of these criminals.”
He saw Jilani’s eyes flash and her mouth twitch, as if suppressing a reaction. “Wouldn’t hurt my feelings any. And… maybe you could get paid.”
“How’s that?”
“Well, crimorgs don’t usually deal in registered credit. The Conglomerate’s anti-money-laundering division is hell on wheels, so most of the mobs develop other ways to pay. They barter information or high-value trade goods—rare elements, antimatter, drugs, weapons… slaves. Anything that acts like currency, but isn’t.”
“Like raw gold and silver on Old Earth,” Straker said. “Any of that would be useful, but we don’t want slaves,” Straker said.
“You don’t?” Jilani grinned as if she’d scored a point. “What do you call these Hok you got running around?” She held up her hands to fend off Straker’s immediate protest. “But who said those we rescue have to stay slaves? They did call you the Liberator, right? So start liberating! Free them and put them to work until they pay off their debt to you.”
“Like the Old Earth pre-industrial navies?” Loco chimed in. “They’d take anyone and make him a seaman—no choice. ‘Pressing,’ they called it.”
Straker allowed himself to feel surprised Loco was citing history. He was definitely interested in the winsome Chiara Jilani, trying to impress her. He was less impressed with Loco’s reasoning.
Colonel Winter cleared his throat. “I bet Captain Jilani has some ideas about what crimorgs to hit first. General Straker, she just wants to use us to fight her battles. I’m surprised she’s waited this long to bring up the idea.”
Jilani raised a phantom glass to Winter. “You’re a cynical son of a bitch, Colonel, but I like you anyway—and you’re right. I do want you to fight my battles, but I wanted to see what you people are made of first. And, I figured you’d like to get to know me better too, before you send Breakers haring off to a fight I suggested. If you do, with my local knowledge, I’ll be giving you value for value. We’ll take down some bad guys, we’ll all get paid, and I’ll be right there alongside you with my ass on the line.”
“And a nice ass it is,” Loco murmured.
Jilani reached up and backward over her shoulder to slap Loco affectionately on the cheek. “Easy, tiger. Plenty of time for fun.”
Bingo, thought Straker, but she’s still playing with him. He hasn’t got that self-satisfied look he gets when he’s made his conquest. Well, let’s see how long that lasts… “Yes, Captain Jilani—plenty of time. You’ve put the bug in my ear, but for now, we need to concentrate on our upcoming battles.” He turned to examine the hologram again.
Chapter 12
Commodore Ellen Gray, in the CCC, aboard Independence
As General Straker and his coterie conversed at the other end of the table, Ellen Gray brushed at her dress uniform, still that of the Republic Fleet, minus the flag. Fortunately, naval jackets hadn’t changed much over the centuries. Tradition ran deeper than in the ground forces.
Maybe it was because ships’ companies tended to be tight-knit, unitary, independent, and subject to the whims of one person—the captain. They held strongly to tradition, an anchor in uncertain times.
For that reason she was glad Straker had given up his title of “Admiral”, one he’d never earned in her estimation, trading it in for “General.” It was a tiny detail, but like a rock in the shoe or a thorn in the foot, it had always annoyed her out of proportion to its real significance.
Admiral Engels, on the other hand, had earned her broad stripes. Gray was happy to serve under Engels, glad to have chance to prove herself by taking charge, aware of the tremendous, redoubled responsibility on her now.
Responsibility… Those damn civilians, aboard the transports again, all except for the ones on the flagship. The Independence remained back, guarding the vulnerable transports and exercising command and control, while her small but powerful squadron—three dreadnoughts, three heavy cruisers—advanced toward Premdor.
She glanced up at the hologram above the large central table, and then ordered the holotank’s activation. Projected holograms were fine for low-resolution use, but without a holotank’s specially designed and contained charged-particle atmosphere to fully reflect the multiphase lasers, they just didn’t cut it for fine work.
The clear, cylindrical holotank, more than three meters on a side and two high, rose from the center of the table, already showing Premdor orbital space. Ten Rhino cruisers loitered in orbit, but there were no fixed defenses. The Salamanders said the stations had all been destroyed in the recent hostilities, the opening of the war where they were driven out of their own system.
Gray could see why the Salamanders were desperate to speedily retake orbital space, willing to make a favorable deal with the Breakers. The planet’s only shipyard contained a nearly finished Rhino dreadnought. They’d estimated two to four weeks until commissioning. Once she was launched, things would get that much harder for the Salamanders.
But Gray was confident. The intel on the Rhino ships showed a conventional, forward-focused weapons suite on a cylindrical hull, though they were stubby, wider than the usual human cigar-shaped vessels. They were also heavier, slower, and apparently equipped with hard shields similar to the Crystal versions—hard enough to allow for intentional collisions, when combined with extensive gravplating and structural reinforcement.
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