Critical Asset

by Ian Tonnessen

  “This is mutiny,” he said. His eyes showed more rage than fright. He hesitated as long as he dared but then did as instructed.

  “Now kneel down on the floor over there, next to Lieutenant Clark. He’ll be okay in a minute.” She stood behind the command chair rather than sat in it. “Technically this is piracy, not mutiny. McKenna was within his rights to relieve me, so I wasn’t under your command.” Pierce grabbed Yates’s stun gun and pocketed it.

  “What the hell are you going to do?” Yates said.

  “I’m going to try to do the right thing, if I still have time. Lieutenant Crawford!” Pierce yelled across the room. She held her gun low but visible, having no idea whose side Crawford might take. “Set our UHF comms suite to the international bridge-to-bridge channel. I want to broadcast for the whole world to hear.”

  “It’s worse than mutiny. It’s treason,” Yates rasped. “They’re just going to think it’s a trick. Broadcasting some message won’t stop the strikes.”

  Pierce looked at the countdown timer. Twenty-eight minutes left until Operation Avalanche. He’s probably right. Even if the HM doesn’t ignore the data on Demirci, they won’t have time to do much with it. They’d have to back their forces down, and they won’t do that unless we make a show of sticking our necks out. But right now they’d chop our necks if given the chance. It’ll have to be someone else’s necks…

  “It’s good to have you back, Captain,” Yamada whispered.

  “I doubt it’ll last long,” Pierce replied, then turned to look at Yates. “Commander, I think you’re right. A broadcast alone won’t do it. We need to do something riskier.”

  “You’re out of your mind!” Yates yelled, wanting to jump up. Waters motioned with his gun, and Yates stayed kneeling on the floor.

  Pierce looked into Yamada’s eyes and spoke quietly. “Beth, do you trust me?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I do.”

  “Then while I’m speaking over bridge-to-bridge, I want you to maneuver this ship closer to the planet. Put us two hundred kilometers above central Turkey and then surge the station-keeping thrusters to hold us there.”

  “Two hundred kilometers?!”

  “Deep inside their railgun range, yes. Get us there as fast as you can.”

  “UHF suite available for broadcast,” Crawford announced.

  While Pierce put her headset on, Yamada ordered Tech Officer Morelli at the helm to thrust away from Lincoln’s holding position. Morelli looked at Waters as if to confirm it. The engineer waved his gun in a flicking motion. “Yeah, just do it, Jay. Sorry about this.”

  “All stations, all stations, this is Captain Jaana Pierce aboard USS Abraham Lincoln, broadcasting in the clear. I am aware that Hras al-M’umnyn forces monitor this channel. I specifically request for authorities in the Islamic Republic of Turkey to review this message. My ship has recently returned from Dirac Station. We are carrying the survivors of that station as well as the survivors of the supply vessel Kostroma. There are well over two hundred of these passengers onboard.”

  Pierce felt the ship’s thrusters switch from their station-keeping role to forward momentum. The Lincoln was heading towards the planet.

  “These men and women survived an armed assault against their station. While this assault was carried out largely by at least twelve members of the Turkish armed forces, I have reason to believe that they were acting on false orders. One of the men accompanying this raiding party, and the only one responsible for the station’s destruction, was a civilian engineer named Aydin Demirci. This man may be a dissident who sought to instigate war against his government. I will now forward the biometric data we collected on these raiders over open frequency, making it available to anyone. This report is classified, but I am defying my chain of command to openly disseminate it with the goal of preventing a war.”

  On the muted comms screen on her command console, Pierce could see Admiral McKenna shouting at her. She kept the screen muted.

  “I now address the Turkish government and the Hras al-M’umnyn military command. By now, you are tracking my ship approaching the Earth’s atmosphere above the eastern Mediterranean Sea. We will end our transit at a position two hundred kilometers over Turkey. This is well inside the range of ground-based railguns which could destroy this ship. This maneuver will present you with three options. First, if you are indeed responsible for the attack on Dirac Station, you will have the opportunity to finish the job by firing on this ship and killing all of the station’s survivors. Your second option will be to do nothing. I implore you not to make that choice, as you are no doubt aware of your precarious military situation. Your third option will be to deescalate the situation by standing down your forces. It is my hope that my own commanders will follow suit. If you choose option three, I urge you to publicly announce this decision within in the next fifteen minutes. This is warship six-six standing by, out.”

  The countdown timer said twenty-two minutes.

  Yates didn’t even look at her, keeping his stare at the floor. “You godawful bitch. You’re jumping off a cliff and taking us all with you.”

  On Pierce’s comms display, a vein on McKenna’s reddened forehead was visible as his shouts had become hysterics. “I imagine the admiral here would say something similar if I took the comms off mute.”

  The rest of C2C was silent. Yamada’s forehead glistened with sweat, but Pierce noticed a faint smirk on the corner of her mouth.

  Lieutenant Meyer’s tracking console beeped with an automated alert. The single noise quickly became four overlapping beeps, filling the C2C.

  “Four anti-space sites in Turkey are locking onto us, Captain!” Meyer said. “Their railguns are pointed upwards. We’re entering their outer range now.”

  Abe displayed a tactical graph on the main viewscreen before he spoke, showing the dome-like ranges of the four tracking railguns. “At our maneuver’s end position of two hundred kilometers above Ankara, these four anti-space systems will have a ninety-six percent probability of inflicting lethal damage to the Lincoln. The probability of our destruction will reach one hundred percent if we remain stationary there for over a minute after they commence firing.”

  “I’ll make you this promise, Commander,” Pierce said to Yates, “Whether I’m right or wrong, in twenty-one minutes I’ll turn the ship back over to you.”

  “If you’re wrong you won’t be alive to do it.”

  “Don’t I know it.”

  Air Force One

  11:22 pm, 24 December (0422Z, 25 December) 2065

  “Treason!” Drennan shouted. “That captain was already relieved of duty. She’s actively undermining the entire alliance!”

  “Madam President, we are mobilized,” Stendahl said. “You’ve seen the intelligence. This captain must have been coerced or deceived. The HM is behind these attacks, and their military posture matches ours. Whatever their next move is, it’s coming. We cannot allow this stunt to deter us.” The defense secretary’s lips trembled as he spoke. Nobody in the room had ever seen Erik Stendahl show anything but calm sobriety.

  “I didn’t say it would,” Loughlin replied, “but the HM’s next move ought to be communication. We’ll see what comes from that. Is the Lincoln’s presence at that location going to be a military obstacle for us?”

  “No, ma’am,” Stendahl said. “Our other ships can shoot past them just fine.”

  “Madam President, the Russian command is signaling that they’re eager to proceed with the attack,” Stone added. “Poland also. We can’t unilaterally force the rest of the alliance away from these war orders.”

  “No? Tell me, can any of them carry out this operation without us?”

  Stone shook her head. “No, ma’am.”

  “Alright. There’s seventeen minutes left. If there’s no reaction from the HM, Avalanche proceeds as planned.”

  “Ma’am, excuse me,” Drennan’s deputy said from one of the wall screens. “The Presidential Complex in Ankara is announcing that Celik is about
to make a public address. They say they’re broadcasting from his bunker in Ankara.”

  “Confirmed, ma’am” Stone said. “I can connect the internet feed here.” She inset the image on one of the conference room’s wall screens.

  Orhan Celik stood behind a podium in a small room, large concrete blocks behind him emphasizing that he was underground. He had dark rings under bloodshot eyes, a look he might have had even without the circumstances considering it was now dawn in Ankara. He looked directly into the camera as he spoke.

  “I am speaking in response to the message sent by the captain of the war vessel Lincoln. This officer announced to the world a claim of dissent and treachery inside my country. This allegation is correct. It has become clear that an unprincipled group of conspirators have launched a scheme to bring down destruction upon this government. We have already captured several of these plotters, and we will hunt down all others. I appreciate the risk this American commander is taking. I will now take one of my own. I am directing my nation’s armed forces to relax their posture from level Orange to level Yellow. This message will unfortunately be the first our allies hear of this move, but I ask them to similarly reduce their alert levels. I invite the leaders of the Democratic Alliance, now poised to deliver a cruel blow to the innocent and faithful, to also respond by reducing their posture to Defense Condition Three. Over the last sixteen hours, I have asked the leaders of this alliance to believe my words of innocence. Now I ask them to believe my actions. I will lower my shield. President Loughlin, will you lower your sword?” Celik walked off camera, and the broadcast image faded into his own presidential seal.

  The aircraft’s conference room was quiet. Loughlin felt every pair of eyes upon her, even from the faces on the wall screens, but it was Secretary Stendahl who spoke first.

  “It’s all part of the same ploy,” he said, his voice quivering. “Strategic perfidy. History has many examples of one side generating complacency in the other before–”

  Loughlin waved him silent with her hand. “Enough, Erik. There’s twelve minutes left until DEFCON One. If he’s serious, we’ll see some confirmation by then.”

  Over the next few minutes, it came. Signals intelligence intercepted HM orders from sources both open and classified. Combat air patrols began returning to base. Space defense sites switched off their radar and laser tracking systems. The president of Pakistan televised his own speech calling for peace. The chancellor’s office in the United Caliphate announced that Shadid would soon address his nation, and would be followed by the Caliph himself.

  Loughlin looked around the conference room table. The faces were a mix of relief and frustration. As she stood, all the others in the room did the same.

  “General Garrett,” Loughlin announced, “the time is four thirty-four Zulu. Relay orders to our forces to stand down to DEFCON Three. Place Operation Avalanche in abeyance until further notice.”

  Loughlin ignored the defeated looks on the faces of Stendahl and Drennan. She pressed a button on the table to speak to the plane’s cockpit. “Colonel, fly us back to Joint Base Andrews. It’s time to go home.”

  EPILOGUE

  US Space Command Headquarters

  Omaha, Nebraska

  1:15 pm, 11 February 2066

  Jaana Pierce and a crowd of military officers stepped out of the base administration building. She stood in place for a moment and looked around at the streets and skies before following the others out to the sidewalk. It had become an instinct over the last seven weeks, acquired from dealing with a deluge of reporters and camera drones. But she was in the middle of a military base, and the only people waiting were Jack and Eleanor, ready to ride home with her.

  “So?” Jack asked as she sat inside the car.

  “Let’s leave through the southwest gate,” Pierce said. “The media’s still camped out at all of them, but at least we’ll be on the highway right away. The scout drone will fly ahead and the security detail will follow us.”

  “No, I meant what happened today?”

  “Well, the cameras and motorcades will be around for a little while longer. The prosecution will formally end the investigation phase tomorrow. I don’t know all the details, but they’ll charge both Waters and me on Monday, and they’re ready to begin the initial hearing on Tuesday.”

  “They’re moving awfully quick. Your lawyers are still optimistic?” Jack asked.

  “As ever. It’ll still go to trial though. Uncle Sam has to go through the motions so there isn’t an ‘ends-justifying-the-means’ precedent. But the lawyers keep talking about factors that none of them have ever dealt with before.”

  “Sure, you being one of the most famous people alive,” Ellie said. “The woman who stopped World War Three!”

  Pierce half-smiled. “Something like that. Jake Waters thinks he’ll end up with a slap on the wrist, maybe a censured personnel record. And the personnel detailers will make damn sure he never again serves on the same ship as Robert Yates or Tom Clark.”

  “Did Jake get in touch with you again?”

  “I got a call from him over lunch,” Jaana said, breaking an actual grin. “Apparently he’s even more optimistic about staying out of prison than I am. He’s proposing to Beth Yamada this weekend.”

  “But you still think your career is over?” Jack asked. “Even with most of the world calling you a hero?”

  “It’s as good as over. Why would the admiralty let me back on a ship? I’m a loose cannon to them. But once the congressional hearings start, they can’t very well have me showing up to testify from a prison cell.”

  “They ought to give you a parade!” Ellie said. “Most people would love it. Anyway, the job offers coming in have been amazing. You can pick your next career. And no matter what, you’ll always know that you prevented a war.”

  Jaana Pierce half-smiled again, then looked out the car window.

  “Something like that.”

  Did I really? She wondered.

  The White House

  2:30 pm, 11 February 2066

  Fifteen people gathered in the Oval Office to hear the news from the attorney general, news they’d been waiting to hear for seven weeks. The investigators had their culprit.

  “When do they make the arrest?” Secretary Gonzalez asked.

  “Tomorrow morning in London,” the attorney general replied. “They’ll get the warrant first thing and pick up Hunter Lynch from his home. He’ll be charged with theft of the antimatter, conspiracy to aid and abet terrorism, the whole nine yards. Then MI5 and the FBI will hold a joint press conference.”

  “He’ll be quite the fallen star,” Loughlin said. “Will Justice try to extradite him?”

  “Dirac was DA-owned, so we have no more claim to jurisdiction over Lynch than anyone else in the alliance,” the attorney general explained. “We had the largest financial stake and the most people lost, so maybe the U.K. will agree to extradition if they see a benefit to it. That’ll involve a call from you to the prime minister, ma’am.”

  The group discussed the matter for another ten minutes before most of the participants left the Oval Office. Remaining behind with the president were Eli Drennan, Erik Stendahl, and Diandra Stone.

  “So, do we try to extradite? I’m asking you in particular, Dee.”

  Stone shook her head. “Definitely no. If he hears that he’s being moved to the U.S., he’ll be afraid for his life and more likely to try to drag down others. He stays in Britain.”

  “You’re certain there’s no way he can implicate you?”

  “I made sure of it ever since he contacted me a year ago. It’d be hearsay, completely unproveable. He’d just come off sounding like he’s trying to cut a deal.”

  “I can’t believe he was naïve enough to think he’d be spared from the attack.”

  “He thought the raid was going to happen in mid-January when he was scheduled to be home on leave. That was as much as I told him about it. Once he knew what was happening, he did what he could to escap
e on the Lincoln. He’s a loose end that should’ve been cut when the station blew up.”

  “I meant naïve that he thought you would spare him,” Loughlin sighed. She turned to Drennan. “Tell me about the other issue of yours, taking down the comms circuits at SPACECOM HQ while we were trying to warn Dirac about the missile.”

  “It’s still classified, and the investigators can’t find a link to Lynch because there isn’t any. There’s no evidence to connect it to Admiral Martin, either, so he’s not a suspect.”

  “I hope you’re right. As for your man in Ankara, I suppose we don’t have any worries there.”

  “General Candemir did the resistance a great service, going out in a firefight like he did. They would’ve squeezed information out of him like a wet rag if they captured him.”

  “It’s a shame, the reports we’re getting out of Turkey. Executions by the dozen. And your man Demirci’s family still in prison for questioning. They even pulled his son out of the army for questioning.”

  “They’ll let them all out after a little while,” Drennan said. “It’ll make a good show for public opinion, considering they knew nothing.”

  “It’s not quite worst-case, ma’am,” Stendahl replied. “The Arrows were compartmentalized as far as who knew what, and Eli tells me many of the leaders went like Candemir, choosing suicide over capture. The one top guy they did capture, Ozcan, died during interrogation.”

  “Celik’s been taking some heat from that from his own public. Their key ‘witness’ to Demirci was dead.”

  “Yes, ma’am. The remnants of the resistance are unconnected but they’re still there, and after the war scare there’s a palpable undercurrent of public distrust.”

  “It’ll take time, but we’ll get someone new to work with,” Drennan added. “CIA is already making it a priority to help get the Arrows back on their feet.”

  Loughlin stood and looked out the window. Fresh snow was coming in, adding to the blanket of white already on the ground.