The Rampant Storm

by J. Alan Field

  “Mercenaries, maybe even some of our own people. Not everyone supports the Directorate,” Boyer responded.

  The specter raised by the Chief of Staff gave Darracott a quiet shudder. The Union had already seen two coup attempts in the past three years—one of them a success. For all they knew, Zevkov wasn’t alone in mounting Project Arrow, whatever it was. Director Tolbert continued to chase down information concerning the shadowy Committee of Nine, and then there was possible opposition from within the military itself. All of this was coupled with the fact that Calydon was very close to the Union world of Rusalka, which was guarded by Sixth Fleet; except that Sixth Fleet wasn’t there right now—Admiral Maxon was using them in her upcoming operation.

  “We should raid the facility,” proclaimed Boyer. “Send in some SSB tactical squads or have the Space Force send in the Marines to look the place over.”

  Gideon smiled at the older man. “And what would they see, Professor? A bunch of big metal hulls and build frames. The average SSB inspector or Marine couldn’t tell a freighter hull from a cruiser hull. They’d have no idea what they were even looking at.”

  “Another thing,” said Darracott. “Calydon isn’t a Union system—technically it’s in neutral space.”

  Flood was scanning her datapad, undoubtedly reading up on the Bona Dea shipyard. “But the Arcadius employees at that facility are almost all Union citizens—we can use that,” she said.

  “Safety inspection,” said Gideon, snapping his fingers. The others looked his way. “The Ministry of Labor conducts periodic safety inspections on my yards. My managers are always complaining about them—it throws the entire yard into an uproar when the inspectors come around.”

  “Is this going somewhere” asked Darracott, “or are you just whining about the bureaucracy?”

  Gideon ignored her jibe. “If someone paid the Bona Dea shipyard a visit under the guise of a Labor Ministry inspector, we could have a good look at what’s going on there.”

  “Wait, Karl,” said Darracott, “who exactly is ‘someone?’”

  The scheming was written all over his face. “A person who actually knows what goes on at a shipyard.”

  “Are you suggesting one of your people?” asked Boyer.

  “I am, Professor.”

  Darracott thought about it for a moment. Gideon was right—they needed an expert opinion, and they weren’t likely to find a SSB inspector who just happened to also be a shipwright. “That’s a good idea. Who would you propose sending?’

  “My best engineer.”

  “What’s his name?” asked the First Consul.

  “Karl Gideon.”

  “Unacceptable,” she said immediately.

  “Wait—you just said it was a good idea,” he countered.

  “It was when it was someone else.” Darracott tried to play it with a smile, but inside she was a little angry—and a little scared. She had just found a person she really cared about, and now he wanted to run off into outer space and play spy. “Besides, you’re one of the most recognizable people in the Union, especially now that it’s all over the Nets that you’re sleeping with the First Consul.” Bennett Boyer shifted uncomfortably in his seat. It was the kind of comment that ordinarily would have Ardith Flood grinning, but she sat stone-faced.

  “I can work up some sort of disguise or something. You’re not going to find a more qualified candidate. I can get a few quick pointers from someone on my staff about what questions to ask—learn inspector lingo. Even if I get caught, it will just look like a case of industrial espionage. The worst that could happen is that I’m publically embarrassed,” Gideon said, wildly tossing out arguments for why he should go.

  “He’s right,” said Flood. “It may be our best chance to get a look at what’s going on.” The other three people at the table looked the colonel’s way: Darracott was growing angry, Gideon was plainly surprised to have her support, and Boyer was nodding his head.

  “Excellency, I think the Colonel is right,” said the Chief of Staff. “Perhaps as a precaution, we could send a couple of undercover SSB agents with Mr. Gideon to give him support.”

  “Et tu, Bennett?” said Darracott humorlessly.

  “I’ll go with him,” said Flood, “but I’ll play the role of the Labor inspector. Mr. Gideon can be my shuttle pilot—he will be less conspicuous, and it will give him a chance to snoop around the facility while I keep the managers busy with bureaucratic mumbo jumbo.”

  Darracott jerked the cloth napkin from her lap and threw it on the plate in front of her. “No, no, no. You have all taken leave of your senses. The best course of action is to let Mr. Preiss and the SSB handle this.”

  “Excuse me, ma’am, but as your head of security, that’s not your call—it’s mine,” declared Flood boldly. In two years of service, the colonel had never contradicted the First Consul—at least not so directly. “There may be something at Bona Dea that could be a direct threat to you and to the Union government,” she continued. “It’s my job to protect you, so I have to find out what’s going on there, and Mr. Gideon has offered his assistance. Please let those who care about you do what they have to do—ma’am.”

  Darracott sat speechless. “I need a moment with Mr. Gideon,” she finally said. After Flood and Boyer departed, her eyes bore into Karl with a mixture of anger and worry.

  “I don’t want you involved in this,” she said.

  He reached across the table to take her hand into his. “I’m already involved, Renata. Besides, with the indomitable Colonel Flood at my side, I couldn’t be safer. We’ll be there and back in no time.”

  Gideon smiled warmly at her, trying to reassure her. She tried to smile back, but as she did, a cold shiver shot up her spine and a feeling of deja vu washed over her. She had seen that smile before—it was the same one Victor Polonco showed her once, when he was trying to convince her everything was going to be all right. That was the night before he died.

  19: Spider

  Beresford

  Planet Gerrha

  It was all starting to unravel…

  As Hanley Pascoe ambled along the walkways of Hutchinson Park, he went over everything in his mind. He and Charlotte had another fight last night. Their worthless son Willie and his pregnant girlfriend wanted to move in with them. That discussion quickly degenerated into a shouting match, and she threatened to divorce him—again. These days, a week didn’t go by without Charlotte mentioning a possible divorce. Little did she realize that her threats weren’t necessary since she was only days away from being rid of him for good.

  At work, it was obvious that his usefulness to Gerrhan Intelligence had ended. A few days ago, Supervisor Geldart handed him a pile of busywork. He might not have been the most dynamic staffer they ever had, but up until now, Pascoe had always been deemed competent enough to work on relevant projects. Suddenly, it was busywork.

  And to top it all off, there was the bizarre meeting with Admiral Choi this morning. The admiral was waiting for him when he arrived at his office—said she needed to speak with him privately. She tried to befriend him, telling him he was one of the few people in Gerrhan Intelligence she could trust. Brin Choi might be many things: a traitor, a warrior, a brilliant strategist, but an actress she was not. It was an insincere, wooden performance.

  He was on his way to meet with Eden Southwell in Hutchinson Park, a large public green space located in the middle of Beresford. With gardens, sports fields, playgrounds, and trails, the area was modeled on an Old Earth location called Central Park. It was the third time he had met Eden here. All in all, he preferred her bedroom, but the park was nice too.

  “What a gorgeous day,” she said as he sat down next to her on a comfortable park bench. They met beside St. George Pond, a pleasant, shady spot near the center of the park.

  “Not as gorgeous as you,” he said, cringing to himself. Trite, Hanley, very trite—you can do better.

  She shifted her body sideways to face him, placing her hand on his should
er.

  “You sounded so down on the mobile,” Eden said in her sympathetic voice. “What’s wrong, baby?”

  “They’re on to me at work. I had a visit from Admiral Choi this morning.”

  “Ooh, I hear she’s a very beautiful woman. Should I be jealous?”

  Twisting his body around to face her, he wore an anxious expression. “Look, Choi gave me this big routine about how she and Geldart were going to move Doctor Acree from Central Medical to a facility in Lucasburg. Choi wanted to know what I thought of the plan—she said that Geldart didn’t want me in on it, but that she valued my opinion.”

  Eden’s smile faded slightly. “They’re moving him? That’s going to complicate things. What did you tell her, baby?”

  “I played along, but it’s all nonsense. Acree isn’t even in Central Medical—he was moved days ago.”

  “They moved him without telling you?”

  “Correct—but I found out about it, and I know his present location. The point is that they’re screwing with me. They must know about us.”

  “You’re kidding, right? Hanley, baby, don’t look now, but half the people in this park are probably Division Six agents.” Division Six was the security and personnel branch of the Gerrhan Intelligence apparatus. “Of course they know about us.”

  Despite her advice, Pascoe started to glance wildly around. Eden grabbed his chin and pulled his mouth to hers for a kiss.

  “Focus, baby, focus on what’s important, and that would be us—you and me,” she said as their lips parted and she cupped his face in her hands. “If the Gerrhans know about us and they haven’t arrested us yet, it means they’re waiting for us to take them to bigger game.”

  “Your friends, Carr and Sanchez?”

  He had clearly surprised her. “How did you know those names?”

  “I’m not the fool everyone thinks I am, Eden. I know things. I know those two are Sarissan operatives, and I know they’re supposed to be good.”

  She smiled, trying to calm him. “They are good, and they’re going to get both of us off Gerrha as soon as you help them with Acree, but my bet is that your employers already know about Carr and Sanchez too. There’s something bigger going on here, I’m just not sure what it is.”

  The summer breeze felt good on a hot day. A few children ran by chasing an automaton toy of some sort, and Pascoe found himself wondering if they were Division Six agents. Eden leaned into him, putting her head on his shoulder and her hand on the inside of his thigh.

  “The quicker we get my friends to Acree, the quicker you and I can be together. They’ve got it all set up—we’re going to Galba, they even found a place for us to live there,” she said, rubbing his leg. “So if Acree isn’t in Central Medical, where is he, baby?”

  Pascoe gave her a long look. Typically, he would have snapped to and answered her question. It was almost Pavlovian by now—she asked, he complied, and then got rewarded with some sugar. Now that he was so close to his goal however, he was trying with all his might to be extra careful.

  “Not yet—baby,” he answered in a rare show of backbone. “I’ll tell them what they need to know after things are in motion.”

  Eden pecked him on the cheek. “OK, hun, anything you say—you’re in charge. Why don’t we go back to my place and work out the details,” she said with a naughty giggle as her hand slid further up his leg.

  “Can’t—got to go home. Things to do, preparations to make,” he said. Pascoe had never turned down an invitation for a romp at her place before, but it was true—he did have things to prepare for, as in leaving his entire known life for a new one. He took her hand away from his leg while surreptitiously slipping a data chip into it. “Information for the meeting with your Sarissan friends is on there,” he said. “Once we’re on the move, I’ll take them to Acree.”

  Pascoe stood and casually looked around, then put his eyes squarely back on Southwell. “You’re not going to betray me, are you Eden?”

  As she stood and wrapped her arms around him, the blonde gazed into his eyes. “No, Hanley—I really do need you. You’re much stronger than people think you are, and I’m much weaker than people think I am,” she said, holding him tight. “I can’t do this alone.” Eden gave him one more kiss on the cheek and turned quickly to walk away.

  She is a better actress than Brin Choi, I’ll give her that.

  His thoughts raced as he walked to the metro station. What the hell, he was committed. If only half of what she’d told him was true, his life after Gerrha would be better than the first fifty years had been. Who knows—he might still make it out of this alive AND get the girl. At this point, it was all or nothing.

  20: Brink

  Strike Base Havoc

  Varasova system

  The two standard days of leave for the crew of Tempest felt like mere hours. Captain Pettigrew’s people were used to relaxing on Earth, the world that had been given a second chance by the terraforming technology from another dimension. The Blue Planet, however, was now some twenty-seven light-years distant. The canteens and rec rooms of Strike Base Havoc were no match for the fresh air and sunlight of Earth, but at least it was down time. Everyone knew what was coming. They might not know the specifics, but there was no doubt about the general direction they were all headed—straight into the biggest battle of human history.

  Earlier in the day, there had been some excitement when the base rang to general quarters. A single Commonwealth frigate translated into the inner region of the system. The sensor cloud around Hanakoa was working perfectly, but there were fears that one of the many Union military transports that were coming and going might choose that time to pop into Varasovan space and give everything away. It would be impossible for Union forces to reach the enemy ship before it made a hyperspace jump to escape and report suspicious activity near an insignificant star, so the staff of Base Command held their collective breaths and prayed to whichever of the Many Gods they might each favor. After loitering for about an hour, the Gerrhan ship left as unaware as it had arrived—at least that was the hope. In another twenty-four standard hours, it wouldn’t matter. By then, most of the Union forces here would be bound for Eupraxa and whatever destiny awaited them.

  On the brink of departure, Chaz Pettigrew met with Admiral Carson and a Marine major named Mowry to be briefed on Task Force 19’s part in what was being called Operation Bronze Talon. Mowry was a well-worn man of fifty or so, the archetype for what middle-aged male Marine officers looked like. His chiseled face remained all business as he was introduced to Pettigrew, shaking the captain’s hand firmly.

  Although Alexander Carson was older than Pettigrew, he looked like a young Space Force Academy plebe who was masquerading as a flag officer. Carson had the reputation as a superb strategic mind, undefeated in war games and computer battle sims. There hadn’t been a real war for over thirty years though, and to Pettigrew’s knowledge, the admiral had never held an operational command—not even in anti-piracy ops.

  The Tempest’s captain knew he was being irrational, but the more he dealt with Carson the more he resented the man. Pettigrew had commanded in three separate battles during the past two years. He had gained victories and lost men and women under his charge. Unlike Carson’s computer simulations, none of his lost ships or dead crew ever reappeared for the next skirmish. Fate had chosen Chaz Pettigrew to do what Alexander Carson only played at, and yet it was Carson giving orders on the eve of action.

  “I have good news and bad news for you, Captain Pettigrew,” Carson began. “Which do you want first?”

  “I’ll take the bad news first, sir,” smiled Pettigrew, trying to keep an edge out of his voice.

  “The bad news is that Task Force Nineteen is down to five ships.”

  Pettigrew held his smile but cringed inside. He didn’t even know yet what his mission would be in the upcoming operation, but working with five vessels already seemed thin.

  “The good news is that you can keep Sinopa.”

&nbs
p; Pettigrew nodded. “Keep her for what, sir?”

  Carson activated a briefing screen. “TF Nineteen is going to assist Major Mowry and his company of Marines. You will escort their carrier to one of the two hypergates in the Eupraxa system, the Dijana Gate. They will breach the facility, board it, and capture the Gate intact while your ships provide protection.”

  Pettigrew looked over the schematic on the screen showing the location of the Gate and a diagram of the facility. As far as he could tell, it looked the same as every other Gate ever built. Chaz didn’t know much about hypergates, but he knew that they all had one thing in common—a self-destruct system.

  “What is to stop them from blowing it up, along with the Major’s Marines and my ships?”

  Carson’s face told Pettigrew that he had anticipated the question. “While your shield generators were being repaired, our engineers installed an extra piece of hardware on Tempest—an electromagnetic pulse projector.”

  Pettigrew didn’t take kindly to work being done on his ship that he wasn’t informed of in advance, but he let that slide for the moment. “That’s been tried before. Gates have special protection against electromagnetic pulses.”

  “Look,” an impatient Mowry cut in, “you just get us to the Gate in one piece and protect our backs, Captain. My people will take care of the rest.”

  Carson shot a sideways glance at the major to muzzle him. “This weapon is a new type of EMP projector. Our engineers assure us that it will do the job,” said the admiral patiently, almost condescendingly thought Pettigrew.

  “If we do burn out their ability to activate a self-destruction, won’t the EMP destroy the Gate’s travel functions as well?”

  “We can repair a damaged Gate, Captain—we just don’t want to have to build a new one.”