The Rampant Storm

by J. Alan Field

  Pettigrew patted her on the shoulder. “Anyway, you look like leave has agreed with you.”

  Mullenhoff snickered. “Leave—right! All seventy-two hours of it. We got to enjoy ourselves for three days, and then Seventh Fleet found us and shanghaied us to this Gods’ forsaken place.” She motioned to another officer standing behind her.

  In the excitement of seeing his friend again, Pettigrew had overlooked Commander Ajax Baker, who was standing behind her. It was no small feat to overlook Baker—Mullenhoff stood six feet tall, and Baker was taller than she was. The broad-shouldered man grinned, gave a quick salute, and then extended a huge paw to Pettigrew.

  “Ajax, it’s been a while,” said Chaz, shaking Baker’s hand. The three of them had attended the Space Force Academy together. Mullenhoff and Baker had been conducting a long distance romance for years. “Sorry about the leave guys.”

  “Actually, it’s not been all bad,” said Mullenhoff. “Jax got a transfer—he’s Chief Engineer on the Huntress now. By day, we’ve been geeking out on engineering stuff—lots of new toys at this place. At night, well…”

  “They let us share a stateroom,” Baker said with a sheepish smile.

  Pettigrew grinned. “Best of both worlds then. But, Uschi, you said something about Seventh Fleet. Last I checked there were only six designated fleets. What’s Seventh Fleet?”

  “You’re standing in the middle of it. All top secret and super hush.”

  “And hidden,” added Pettigrew. “How’s that work?”

  “Sensor clouding,” answered Baker. “Our Earth allies helped us build the same kind of projectors and satellites they used to hide themselves from prying eyes for a dozen years.”

  “And this Seventh Fleet, I’m assuming it’s coming together for a reason.”

  “A helluva reason,” said Mullenhoff, “but I’m sure you’ll be briefed soon by the brass.”

  “I’m meeting with the Fleet Admiral later.” Pettigrew tried to gauge the reaction of the two engineers to that statement, but he got nothing. He had met Channa Maxon on a couple of occasions but didn’t really know her personally. He wasn’t sure what to expect going into a conference with her.

  “By the way,” said Mullenhoff, assuming a more formal voice. “My assignment here at Strike Base Havoc has been provisional. Now that Tempest has docked, I am officially reporting back for duty, sir.”

  “Thank the Gods. I don’t know what this is all about, but I suspect I’m going to need all the help I can get.”

  * * * *

  Channa Maxon took another sip of coffee and smiled at Chaz Pettigrew. The two were seated in comfortable cushioned chairs at a small table in the corner of her office. It was a side area set off for meals and informal chats. Talking here was meant to be more inviting than facing her across a desk, but he was still somewhat nervous.

  “Our construction people did a remarkable job putting this base together,” the admiral said, “save for one thing. I’m always cold. I think it’s partly because I’m Tezrinan. The desert is in my blood.”

  “My XO used to say the same thing—she was also from Tezrina. My former XO, I mean,” said Pettigrew, stumbling a bit.

  “Yes, Commander Adams. Her record was impressive. My condolences on her loss,” said Maxon. He was both surprised and gratified that the Supreme Commander knew Taylin by name.

  “Thank you, ma’am.” Placing his cup and saucer on the table, Pettigrew couldn’t wait any longer to get some answers to the questions on his mind. “Fleet Admiral, I have to say it was quite a surprise to find this base here. You mentioned construction—when was this whole thing built?”

  “Admiral Polanco started development when he took power three years ago. After Choi’s coup attempt, First Consul Darracott and I had construction accelerated. The minute Choi defected to the Commonwealth, I knew this place would come in handy one day.”

  “How is this all being kept secret? I don’t mean locally—I understand about the sensor clouding. However, the Gerrhans monitor our fleet status through spies, neutral freighter reports, and such—just as we do with them. Surely they must have noticed that more than a few Union warships are missing.”

  Maxon gave a mischievous smile. “They should be noticing, but we don’t think they are. When a Pontian freighter comes into the Artemis system, we know they take note of what warships are in system. But they don’t actually eyeball every ship, do they?”

  “No, they depend on transponder signals.” Pettigrew paused, snapping his fingers. “Drones. You have robotic drones floating around mimicking the missing ship transponders.”

  “Chirping like birds. And not just the transponder signals—they send out simulated physical profiles as well. You’d have to get close to figure out that the ship in question isn’t really there. As far as the Gerrhans and their spies know, every ship is right where it’s supposed to be. We even sim the comm traffic.”

  Maxon took a last gulp of her coffee. “Chaz, I’m sorry we can’t give you and Nineteen more than a few days’ rest, but as soon as we refit your shield generators, the fleet moves out.”

  “Out to where, ma’am?”

  “I should think that that would be obvious.”

  Pettigrew’s eyes narrowed. “Eupraxa?”

  She nodded. “The home system of the Gerrhan Commonwealth. One of the reasons this base was built here was because of this star’s strategic position—only a standard week’s travel to Gerrha. Admiral Carson will brief you within the next day or so. The ships under your command have a special part to play in what we’re hoping is both the first and last major battle of this war.”

  Pettigrew’s face must have given away his amazement. He had justifiably earned the reputation as a tactician who took risks, but this was a gamble of monumental proportion. If Seventh Fleet failed, the Union would be wide open to counterattack and possible conquest.

  The Fleet Admiral rose to signal the end of his audience. “Chaz, I’d like for you to dine with me this evening here at the Command Dome.”

  “I’d be honored, ma’am.” Honestly, he wanted to get back to check on his ship and crew, but it wasn’t as if he could turn her down.

  “I want to hear all about Earth, the battle, and our mutual friend,” Maxon said as she headed back to her desk.

  “Our mutual friend, ma’am?” Pettigrew blurted out before he thought.

  She twisted her lips into a half-smile. “Yes, Captain—Brin Choi.”

  17: Siren

  Beresford

  Planet Gerrha

  Four standard years ago, Frank Carr was assigned to plug a security leak at the Hopetown Army Base, about twelve hundred kilometers south of Boutwell. Military secrets seemed to be slipping out of that facility with ease and regularity.

  Carr smoked out the culprit, who turned out to be an officer on the staff of the base commander. The OMI grabbed the man and brought him to one of their black sites just outside Boutwell. As Carr sat in on the interrogations, the man was grilled repeatedly, but no interrogator or method—no matter how brutal or psychologically devious—could get him to talk.

  With nothing to lose, the supervisor allowed one of his trainees to have a go at the subject. Carr monitored the young woman as she spoke with the traitor. Initially, she seemed more frightened than the man she was questioning, but gradually she got him to open up. Within two hours, this girl had gotten more from the subject than beatings, drugs, and bribes had produced in a week.

  The trainee was not only excellent at her job but also stunningly beautiful. Word was that she had been hit on by nearly every man at the facility and some of the women as well, but to no avail. So when young Eden Southwell asked him out, Carr was more than a little surprised. He remembered thinking that maybe she had a thing for guys with shaved heads.

  One date lead to others, and the two became romantically involved. Southwell continued to excel in her position as an OMI interrogator. It was as if she had an intuitive connection to her subjects. She knew just wh
at to say, what tone of voice to use, the right gesture to make, and the precise moment to make it. Regrettably, the rise of the young prodigy did not sit well with all of her colleagues. Some resented her lack of seniority, but most of all they resented her success.

  As things got difficult at work, Southwell increasingly turned to Carr for emotional support—when he was around. OMI operatives spent a lot of time off-world and that meant Southwell spent a lot of time alone. Eventually, the two of them parted ways and not on the best of terms. Southwell left the agency and Sarissa.

  “Years later, she turned up on Gerrha—with hot intel to sell to the highest bidder,” said Carr, flicking a piece of lint off his suit jacket as he took one last look in the large mirror hanging on the wall of their suite. Sanchez came from her bedroom, doing a model’s turn to show off her outfit.

  Carr gave out a low whistle. “Whoa! You’re lookin’ to be on the high side of marvelous tonight. But why didn’t you wear the black dress?”

  “Saving it for a special occasion,” said Sanchez. Carr knew better. Sanchez dressed conservatively by nature, and he knew she wasn’t comfortable wearing the daring dress he had pushed her into ordering. Oh, well, he thought, it was the OMI’s money.

  Sanchez came close to him, adjusting his lapels and brushing something off his shoulder. “So Southwell came here and set up shop as an information dealer. Why Beresford?”

  “Largest city in the largest starhold—where better to find info and customers?”

  “Did you love her?” She asked the question in a matter-of-fact tone. Do I want to hear some jealousy in her voice?

  “Yes and no,” he answered. “Or maybe it was… maybe. Hell, I don’t know. We’re both different people today. It was only four years ago, but it seems much longer.”

  She placed her hand on his cheek and looked him in the eye. “Thanks for sharing with me.”

  “Just wanted you to know the score going in. You know, so you wouldn’t be nervous.”

  “I’m not the one who’s nervous,” she said giving him a pat.

  Sanchez moved to pick up her throwaway mobile and purse. They had decided not to carry either of the small pistols Lucky had slipped to them this evening, carefully hiding the guns away in case the suite got searched while they were out.

  “Well, Carr, I must say that you do seem to get involved with the most amazing women,” she said with a wink. “Shall we go meet this goddess?”

  An hour later, they were enjoying cocktails at Club Mezzo, a stylish jazz haunt near the riverwalk. Lucky had set up the meeting for 22:00 hours, but Southwell was already thirty minutes late.

  “Maybe she changed her mind,” said Sanchez finishing off her vodka and tonic.

  “No, she wants us to get a few drinks under our belts before we talk. It puts her at an advantage,” Carr said, pacing himself on that front.

  Sanchez gave him a twisted smile. “I thought you said this woman knows you. If she’s waiting for you to get drunk, we will be here until dawn.”

  “She also wants to make an entrance,” he added. “She knows me, but she’ll try extra hard to put you under her spell straightaway.”

  “Look, I can handle myself,” said Sanchez glancing toward the entrance, “You know me, I’m not… so… easily…” Sanchez never completed her thought, halting to stare at the woman in the white dress.

  Eden Southwell had arrived. Gliding into the lounge, all heads turned her way. Her luxuriant golden hair cascaded across her shoulders as she moved with grace and ease. Her strides were long, controlled, and confident. She was a beautiful woman, without a doubt, but her magic wasn’t in her looks—it was in her ‘look.’ Every room she entered, she owned. Every person she met, she possessed. Eden Southwell was the type of person that if you only passed her once on the street, you would remember her for the rest of your life.

  Spotting Carr, her lush raspberry lips formed a tentative smile. As she came closer to the table however, the woman’s attention shifted to Sanchez. Carr wasn’t sure, but he thought Sanchez might be blushing under Eden’s sultry gaze.

  All but invisible, another person walked alongside Southwell. He was shorter than she was, with long, greasy brown hair and an unkempt moustache situated above a set of crooked teeth. His suit was slightly out of style and maybe a size too big. The man seemed less than ordinary—a perfect paradox to his striking companion.

  As they sat down, Eden Southwell introduced her ‘associate,’ Billy Van Fossen. He nodded to Sanchez and shook Carr’s hand, then went straightaway to checking messages on his mobile.

  The atmosphere at the table was tentative early on, as the four of them exchanged meaningless small talk. Sanchez was wearing her phony smile, the one people break out for edgy social situations. Carr didn’t know whether it was Eden, Van Fossen, the venue, or all of the above, but he knew Sanchez was wishing she had brought her gun.

  As a server passed near the table, Eden summoned him with a nod.

  “Joshua, the gentleman will have an Old Oakfield, the double oaked—oh yes, Carr, I remember. And for the beautiful lady?” Eden asked, reaching out to touch Sanchez’s hand.

  “Uh, another Wellman and tonic I guess.”

  “Oh, my dear, absolutely not,” said Eden. “Wellman is like drinking aerofuel. Joshua, bring her a Blue Heron with Oppegaard Premium. It’s imported vodka from Hathor—very smooth—you’ll enjoy it.”

  “And for you, sir?”

  Van Fossen had said little, barely looking up from his mobile. “Nothing for me. I have to be leaving—business. Eden, let me know when you’re ready to go home, and I’ll swing by to pick you up. Or, Carr, maybe you could…”

  “We would be happy to see that she gets home safely,” said Frank, emphasizing the ‘we.’

  A jazz quintet played soft music in the background, tunes that matched the club’s retro 2540’s ambience. Maldonado’s cousin had done well to book them into a hotel in the Riverview District. The area was upscale and refined but not ostentatious.

  Sanchez took a taste of her Blue Heron and looked pleased. “So, you and Carr go back a way?” she said to Eden, not just breaking the ice but also crushing it.

  Eden laughed. “Etta, my new friend, I enjoy your candor. No messing about. And thank you for not asking until Billy left—he can get a little jealous.” She took a sip of her martini. “Yes, Frankie and I go back, but that was a while ago. Back then, I wasn’t the scandalous woman I am today.”

  “You’re the second person on this trip that’s called him Frankie. Lucky calls him that too,” said Sanchez.

  “Billy told me Lucky was with you. He’s a nice guy, I’ve worked with him before. I understand he has a new boyfriend.”

  Carr leaned back in the booth and crossed his arms. “We didn’t come here to talk about Lucky’s love life.”

  “You see,” said Eden to Sanchez, lifting her glass toward Carr. “Like you, Frankie is candid as well. It’s just too bad he can’t be more patient with people.”

  “You know why we’re here, Eden. Time is not on our side,” Carr said.

  “Yes, yes, I know. OMI Rule Number One: the mission always comes before everything—and everyone—else.”

  Sensing that she was about to be caught in the middle of a four-year old argument, Sanchez tried to change the subject. “Eden, how does a Sarissan expatriate like you operate so freely here on Gerrha?”

  “I’ve had several important clients in the time I’ve been in Beresford. I know things, and they know I know things. So, I’ve set up the equivalent of an information dead-man’s switch. If I don’t enter a particular code into a particular website on the Net once each day, the next day many, many secrets get published on a dozen or more sites. Information IS power, Etta.”

  “And to get this information, you…” Sanchez blushed again, realizing she was probably overreaching.

  Eden didn’t seem to mind, and in fact, she seemed pleased to talk about her work. “Oh, my dear, it isn’t all sex. I describe myself
as a Lady of Pleasures. Tell me your pleasure, Etta Sanchez, and I will join you in it. I find my client’s obsession and help them indulge. With alcoholics, I drink. With drug users, I use. Their compulsions are their weaknesses, and their weaknesses are my livelihood. I just give them a push, a nudge… a touch,” she said, as the back of her hand brushed against Sanchez’s. “For instance, a recent client was the wife of an ambassador. She had one of my favorite addictions—shopping.”

  Sanchez snickered. “How do you gain control of a compulsive shopper?”

  “I loan them money. And when the loans come due, I demand payment in the form of secrets. In this instance, the ambassador’s wife did all the sexual labor for me.”

  “Must have made the ambassador happy,” chimed in Carr, signaling the server for a refill.

  “I doubt it,” said Eden playfully. “The secrets I wanted were from the embassy’s military attaché.”

  Sanchez noticed that Eden’s hand was still resting on hers. She withdrew her hand to pick up her drink. “And here I thought it was all about sex.”

  “Resorting to that all the time is so unimaginative,” said Eden. “Besides, everyone has a sex problem, one way or another.”

  “Do tell,” mumbled Carr.

  Eden ignored his comment. “The fact is, my lovely Etta, I rarely sleep with my clients. It’s more challenging that way.”

  “Tell us about this mark you have lined up to help us with our problem,” said Carr.

  The server arrived with fresh drinks, not only for Carr but for the women as well. Sanchez pushed hers away and asked for a glass of water. Carr and Eden Southwell drank up.

  “The dupe,” reminded Carr.

  “Oh, I sleep with him,” Eden said, looking at Carr with a satisfied expression. “But mostly I let him be seen with me, flatter him, and make him feel loved and important. This man’s weaknesses have weaknesses, but his main addiction is now me. It’s essentially a savior gig—we’re going to rescue each other. He’s going to make a respectable woman out of me, and I’m delivering him from a life of triviality.”