The Price of Freedom

by William R. Forstchen

  She looked up at him from the other side of the table, her expression unreadable. Her professional interrogator's demeanor dropped away. "I was worried about you," she said softly, so softly he might not have heard her.

  He felt his pulse skip a beat. The statement might have been nothing more than a simple statement of concern for his safe return, or it might mean a lot more. He still wasn't certain what he wanted from her, or what he himself was prepared to give. "You needn't have been," he replied. He kept his tones friendly, not inviting closer intimacy, but not rejecting it either.

  Velina shook her head softly and stood. "I've completed my debriefing," she said, while stuffing her equipment into her bag. She paused, then idly picked at a loose spot on the table with the edge of her painted nail. "Unless there's something you'd like to add." She looked up. The offer could have meant everything or nothing. He looked at her face. Her eyes appeared to be shining a bit. Or was it just a trick of the light?

  "Yes," he said, unbending a bit. "Thank you for being worried. Not too many people are."

  She smiled. His eyes met hers. The room grew warm. She turned away with an embarrassed cough, ending the moment.

  "The captain's holding his last briefing in a few minutes."

  "Last briefing?"

  "Captain Eisen's been transferred," she said, "haven't you heard?" She swept out of the debriefing room, exercising her woman's prerogative to have the last word. Blair followed her, taking the last seat in the briefing room.

  Eisen entered, waving them all to their seats when they stood at attention. He opened the conference without preamble. "As you should all know by now, I'm being transferred off this rust bucket." He nodded towards Hawk. "Some of you may be more distressed to hear that than others." Manley, unrepentant, stared back.

  Eisen took a deep breath. "Lieutenant Sosa has cracked most of the files I brought from the Lex. Her analysis suggests a pattern of systematic Confederation involvement in the attacks. We have orders, date-time groups, and mission instructions linking a number of unusual movements of Confed resources to some of the raids. It isn't a smoking gun, but it's close.

  "We can show that Confederation forces are doing this. We've got my files, Melek's tapes, and the depositions taken from Blair and Hawk. Together, it makes a pretty strong case. Unfortunately, we still don't know who's giving the orders or what the ultimate objective is."

  He smiled. "My job will be to infiltrate back to Earth. I've got friends in low places there. I'll try to get our evidence to them. We're missing a few key pieces, but hopefully we've got enough to make our case." He looked at Chris. "That, basically, is that. Colonel Blair, are you ready to brief us on your Kilrathi encounter?"

  He almost answered no. "Yes, sir." He gave an overview of his actions, sharply editing his story about what had transpired on board Melek's ship. The gun camera footage and Melek's tapes served to illustrate the battle. He finished his running commentary on the action and froze the tape with the scene of the fighter accelerating away, riding the mine's blast while his own Thunderbolt was engulfed.

  "Anyway," he concluded, "the pirates got seven of the thirteen ships, including two with that weird new weapon. It went right through the ships' phase shields and ignited the air within. The crews and passengers, about five hundred on each ship, were dead within seconds."

  Hawk leaned forward in his chair, his expression intense. "Could you run back that least sequence?" he asked. 'The one leading up to the mine explosion."

  Blair did as he was asked, running the scene three more times at Hawk's direction. "No," Hawk said, "it isn't possible."

  "What isn't?" Blair asked.

  "I went to flight school with a guy who was working on that," Hawk said excitedly. "He had all the theoretical work done, and was practicing it in the simulator. He finally perfected it, just before we graduated." He furrowed his brow. "He got pulled right after that. The word was that he'd been booted out for performing dangerous and unauthorized maneuvers. I remember I didn't buy that. There was no way we'd give up on a hot pilot like that because he broke some rules."

  Blair looked at Maniac, who had the good grace to look sheepish.

  Hawk rubbed his hand across his jaw, still trying to recall details. "There was also a story that he'd gone to a secret unit… some kind of special ops thing."

  "What was his name?" Blair pressed.

  Hawk shook his head. "I dunno. Sanders, Seeker, Slither… something like that."

  Blair looked at Eisen, whose eyebrows had climbed halfway to his scalp. "Seether?" they both asked at once.

  Hawk considered, then nodded. "Yeah, I think so." He looked at Eisen and Blair. "Umm, why are you two staring at me?"

  "Because, Colonel," Eisen replied, "you have given us the first direct link, our first solid name, in the conspiracy." He looked at Blair. "Now we have someplace to start."

  Hawk looked confused. "We do?"

  "Seether came aboard the Lexington armed with orders," Eisen said, "orders someone wrote. Someone in the conspiracy."

  "We have Paulson, too," Blair added, "I saw them together on the Lex's flight deck."

  "Right," Eisen said, "someone cut Paulson's orders relieving me. Either they are involved, or the person above them is. Either way, we have a starting point." He looked at Hawk. "Lieutenant Colonel Manley, I'm relieving you of duty as of this moment." He raised his hand to forestall Hawk's protest. "You are our only living witness linking Seether to the conspiracy and the files. You are far too valuable to us to risk you in space."

  Eisen looked at Maniac. "Lieutenant Colonel Marshall, I'm promoting you to wing commander in Hawks place."

  "Hey," Manley piped up angrily. "What about Farnsworth? Panthers got first crack at it!"

  "Colonel Farnsworth is being transferred as well." Eisen turned to Panther. "You'll be running a specialized planning staff, in addition to your squadron. Admiral Wilfords taking over for Admiral Richards. He requested you by name as his staff operations officer."

  Panther smiled and dipped her head in acknowledgement. "The admiral and I served together on the Tarawa, before it went to the Landreich. It'll be a pleasure to work for him again."

  Maniac raised his hand. "You said 'Lieutenant Colonel Marshall,' didn't you? Did I hear that right?"

  "Yeah," Eisen said, "Congrats. You've been promoted."

  "Well, hot damn!" Maniac declared. His expression soured. "It'd figure I'd have to commit treason to move up."

  Blair ignored him. "Who's taking over for you, Captain?"

  Eisen raised an eyebrow. "You are."

  Blair nearly choked. "Me!? I'm Space Forces, not Fleet. I don't know the first thing about commanding a carrier."

  "No," Eisen said, "but we need someone of your rank to command the ship. You're the only one we have available." He laughed at Blair. "You don't have to look so stricken, Chris. Garibaldi'll be there. He'll stand at your right elbow and whisper sweet nothings in your ear."

  "Why not him, then?" Blair asked, "Then we wouldn't need the charade."

  "Sorry," Eisen said, "he's too junior. It's you, Chris."

  Blair thought, from the twinkle in his eye, that Eisen wasn't sorry in the least.

  He was still worried twelve hours later while he waited with Eisen and a few well-wishers and watched a jump-capable transfer shuttle make a glass-smooth landing on the Intrepid's flight deck.

  Eisen turned to him and extended his hand. 'Take good care of her, Chris. Hopefully, I'll get to Earth and back with a political solution before you have to do much fighting." He let out a long breath. "This is the kind of change of command I like. Short and sweet with no formations or bands." He turned to shake hands with the officers and ratings who came to see him off. Sosa was there, with Pliers and Panther. Blair met her eye as she waited her turn to say good-bye to Eisen. She smiled warmly at him, warmly enough for Maniac to elbow him in the ribs.

  "Been doing docking maneuvers, eh?' he asked, leering.

  "Mind your own business
, Colonel," Blair snapped. Maniac grinned in response.

  A single man descended from the shuttle the moment the side hatch opened. He was wearing mottled black-and-gray shipboard camouflage and carrying a pack and a map case. He was also carrying a short-barrelled laser rifle slung barrel down.

  Eisen looked at him in surprise as the man came to attention, his boot heels clicking together as he assumed a parade ground brace. "You the captain?" he asked, his voice as casual as his body was stiff.

  Eisen hiked a thumb towards Blair. The Marine looked nonplussed. "Oh," he said, "sorry." He stepped over to Blair. He looked momentarily confused as he saw Blair's Space Forces tab. "Are you the boss?" he asked in a surprisingly bass voice.

  Blair had received similar treatment from Marines before. He'd long since chalked it up to bad breeding. "Something like that," he replied.

  The grunt offered his hand. "Sir, I'm Lieutenant Colonel Dekker. Some call me Gash. Wilfords assigned me aboard as your ground contingent commander."

  Blair sized him up. Gash Dekker was short, his head barely clearing Blairs chin. He looked to be in his middle thirties, except for his eyes. Blair hoped he'd never look like that.

  "Gash Dekker," he said, trying to recall where he'd heard the name. "Weren't you in a prisoner-of-war camp?"

  Dekker didn't look amused. "Briefly," he replied. "Got captured after you lot bugged out and left us on Repleetah. They took a few years of my life." He grinned ferally. "Of course I took quite a few of theirs, too."

  Blair nodded. Repleetah had been a space-borne assault on a Kilrathi world that had gone down twisted. The Space Forces commander had ordered a withdrawal, abandoning the better part of a Marine combat brigade on the planets surface. Tolwyn had decorated the Space Forces commander for cool thinking, much to the Marines' fury.

  He tried to put the best face on an awkward situation. "Welcome to the Intrepid. I'm Colonel Blair, the commander."

  It was Dekker's turn to size him up. "The Cat-killer?"

  Blair smiled thinly. "Once, maybe, but not anymore."

  Dekker nodded. "Fair enough."

  "How many troops will you be bringing aboard?" he asked, thinking about where to put them on the damaged ship.

  Dekkers mobile features turned sober. "We're listed as a company, but we've been in pretty deep. I'm down to three squads, organized as a platoon. They'll be aboard in about an hour." He grinned. "They won't look like much, but each is an expert in hand-to-hand combat, weapons, explosives, you name it."

  Blair's face remained still. "Colonel, I think we'll put your troops in the forward cargo bay. It'll be big enough for all your people and'U give you some room for training."

  The Marine came to attention. "Yes, sir, and thank you, sir."

  Blair laughed. "Don't thank me until you've seen it."

  It was Dekkers turn to laugh. "I'm sure it'll be better than the last accommodations I had, courtesy of Space Forces."

  Eisen interrupted, saving Blair the need to reply. "Well, gentlemen, it's time for me to go." He shook nands all around, then walked out to the shuttle Dekker had arrived in. The little ship wasted no time in departing.

  Blair waited for the ship to depart before he made a beeline for the bridge, hoping to find Garibaldi before the man went off duty. He found him in the CIC, relaxing with a cup of coffee and surveying the cramped bridge stations. He looked up, saw Blair, and grinned. "Captain on the bridge!" he announced.

  Blair said softly, "So you know already?"

  "Yes, sir," Garibaldi answered. He lowered his voice. "Don't worry, Colonel," he said, "I'll walk you through it." He tipped his head to one side. "You have orders waiting for you in your cabin, sir. I took the liberty of using Captain Eisen's command codes to read them." He paused. "Admiral Wilford's ordered us to the Peleus system. I've got the course laid in, sir. All you have to do is give the word."

  Blair looked at him. "Do it."

  Garibaldi laughed. "Actually, sir, the correct command is to have the helm read back the plotted course, then you say Initiate course blah-blah' and 'Execute.' Then they 'do it.'"

  Blair tried to glower and failed. Garibaldi was too affable for him to get angry. "I see, Lieutenant Commander, that as long as I have you, my humility wiD remain intact." He paused as something the exec had said sunk in. "I have quarters?"

  Garibaldi laughed. "They used to be the Purser's Office, before things got taken down a notch or two. Two doors down, on the right. Everything you'll need is in there."

  "Thanks," Blair said. "Anything else I should know?"

  "I'll let you know, sir," Garibaldi said. "It's your first day on the job, sir. I don't want to give you too much at once."

  "Thanks," Blair replied dryly.

  He walked down to his cabin and entered. The small cabin was barely large enough for a narrow bed, a desk with a computer terminal, and a private shower. The place looked like a palace compared to the flight deck. He ached to try both trie hot water and the bed, but duty called. He saw a message chip in the reader and the terminal's green light winking.

  He cued the reader and was surprised to see Wilford's seamed face in the desktop holo-tank. The sixtyish admiral wore a shabby sweater with his rank pinned to his breast rather than a uniform.

  "Colonel," Wilford's taped voice said. "We've been getting some strange, troubling reports out of the Peleus system. We've received a report of some kind of jamming weapon being used against our forces there. Peleus is absolutely vital to our efforts—it sits astride three major space lanes and is a major source of fuel. It is crucial mat we hold it. I've enclosed a holo-recording we received from a pilot who managed to get a tight-beam burst transmission out."

  Wilford's face vanished to be replaced by a grainy two-dee of a pilot. "Mayday…" the pilot said. Blair could hear the edge of panic in his voice. "… day, elec… ics are out… all systems… scrambled. My… and three others affected… out, as are trackers… and weapons. We're… attack. Mayday. May—" The recording ended and Wilford's face reappeared.

  "We have had two similar incidents in the last forty hours," he said. He smiled thinly. "Now that you've finished your vacation, your job is to jump into Peleus, find out what is going on, and stop it. I've encoded separate instructions for your helm. Good luck and good hunting. That is all." His face faded, leaving behind a moment's static.

  Blair sat back in the chair, wondering why his world had become so complicated.

  Chapter Nine

  Colonel Blair sat at the desk in what he still considered Eisen's quarters and fretted. The flight board displayed on the holo-terminal showed Maniac's squadron strength patrol as "Deployed," with no additional information. Maniac was damned close to exceeding the Hellcat's eight-hour endurance.

  The holo-terminal buzzed. He willed himself to be calm and activated the screen. Velina's face appeared. "Has there been any word from Maniac?" he asked her.

  "Negative, sir," she replied, her expression frustrated. "Nothing since he launched. I wish I knew what, or who, was causing this interference. My specialty is code breaking, not electronic warfare. I've got very little time in Electronio-Counter-Counter Measures. My people are doing their best, but ECCM's a pretty exotic field."

  Blair rubbed his forehead. "With our comm systems and scanners still out we're effectively blind, deaf, and mute."

  "We've fired a pair of proximity beacons along his outbound vector," Sosa replied. "Those might help them get home."

  "Thank you, Velina," he said absently.

  "You're welcome, sir," she answered, smiling. "I didn't know you knew my first name. That's the first time you've used it."

  "My apologies, Lieutenant."

  "Please don't apologize, sir," she answered, "I like it." Her face sobered. "We'll call you if we hear anything."

  "Thank you." He closed the contact, then stood and paced the tiny room. He had never been good at waiting safely behind the lines while others took the risks. He worried for his pilots; knowing that there was nothing h
e could do to help them only made the minutes drag longer. If he were in the cockpit, he'd be doing something important, rather than brooding and pacing.

  A flight tech, one of Sosa's trainees, cleared his throat and spoke into the all-call. "All hands to general quarters," h e said excitedly. "Prepare to recover fighters."

  Blair nearly leapt to the holo-box. The "Deployed" boxes began to ripple and shift, changing to "Inbound" and "Pending." He cued his comm-circuit, contacting the flight officer. "Launch the ready group," he ordered, "but keep it in close-in CAP. We don't know what might have followed us home."

  "Aye, sir," the woman answered.

  Sosa called him a moment later. ''We're getting short-ranged comms with Maniac. It looks like he managed a kill, even though he lost his trackers and communications. He's bringing a pilot home. I'll do the interrogation in the debriefing closet," she said, again smiling and showing her dimples.

  "May I watch?" Blair said, "I've seen debriefs done before, but rarely prisoner interrogations. It might help if I get picked up again."

  She hesitated. "Okay," she said after such a long delay that Blair wondered if she'd heard him, "but give me time to get started. These things usually take a while, and I'll want to wear them down a bit before I get spectators."

  "Okay," he said, signing off.

  He walked down to the pilot's ready room, arriving just as the first returnees trooped happily in from the flight line. They were grinning from ear to ear and chattering with the pent up energy that a long, dangerous mission left behind. Many would collapse into sleep the moment the nervous energy ebbed. He met Maniac trailing the group, his knee board and helmet in one hand.

  "How'd it go?" he asked.

  Marshall looked him in the eye. "We had no radios, no scanners, no trackers, and no solid weapons lock-ons. We shot dumbfires. How do you think it went?"

  "Well," Blair said, trying to put the best face on it, "you brought everybody home."

  "We were lucky. They jumped us, six of those damned black painted Hellcats. Their systems seemed to work fine." He sighed. "I got one on the first pass, a high-deflection shot that caught his fuel tanks. I think the rest thought we weren't affected by the jamming. They ran."