by Rick Partlow
“Sir,” she’d started, full of righteous indignation, “I think we should consider an investigation into the conduct of the Homeworld Guard troops in Fairbanks…”
The Director of the CIS had stepped on that idea unceremoniously. “I don’t give a damn about those thugs in the Guard,” he’d snapped, his florid, doughy face twisted into a deep frown. “You’re here to explain your report.” He waved his tablet demonstratively, and she assumed that her report on the events in Alaska was displayed on it. “This bullshit is worthless, Agent Carr. I need something I can use against McKay. That arrogant little bastard Franks or his people had to have done something illegal. This whole thing was a disaster and we need to be able to blame it on them.”
Carr had been struck speechless with surprise for a moment.
“Sir,” she’d finally been able to say, “My report was accurate as far as I saw the events that occurred. Are you saying we’re going to ignore the innocent civilians that were killed…”
“Agent Carr,” Ayrock had interrupted, “do you know how I got this job?” At her silence, he pressed on with the answer. “I got this job by listening to the President.” He smirked. “By listening very carefully to everything he said. I haven’t heard President Jameson ask me to prosecute any Guard soldier for any action undertaken in Alaska, so I won’t be prosecuting them.” He jabbed a finger at her. “I picked you for this assignment because you know how to do your job and keep your mouth shut. If you can manage to do that, you’ll move up just as fast as I did.”
He tossed the tablet with her report down carelessly on his desk.
“I have other people keeping an eye on McKay and Stark,” he concluded. “I want you to monitor Captain Franks. If he interferes with this investigation in any way, I want to know about it immediately.” He waved a chubby hand dismissively at her and she rose from her chair. “Get out there and don’t come back until you have something useful to show me.”
So here she was, sitting with tablet in hand at a sidewalk café three blocks away from the restaurant, trying to look inconspicuous despite being there alone at eight o’clock at night. She’d been following Drew Franks for the last ten hours, monitoring him via insect drones and taps on public security sensors.
The West Texas Sunrise was not a place she’d expected to see the young officer: it was an expensive, specialty restaurant, boasting that its steaks were from free-range animals rather than the cloned tissue that most places served and most people ate at home. With the punitive taxes levied on the raising of farm animals, that meant their steaks also cost somewhere upwards of five times as much as ones fashioned from cloned animal tissue in the food factories. That had to hurt on a Captain’s salary.
She maneuvered two of the drones through the doorway of the restaurant, then cursed as both were smashed to the pavement by a sudden gust of air. She should have realized a place as nice as West Texas Sunrise would have overpressure vents at the door to keep out real insects. She waited for another minute until she saw a nattily-dressed couple heading through the door and settled one of the drones on the collar at the rear of the man’s dress jacket.
She grinned as the drone slipped through the doorway attached to the patron, and the view on her tablet display shifted to the interior of the restaurant…and then she blinked at the sight, wondering if there was a problem with her display. It took her a moment to realize that the interior of the restaurant was overlain with a hologram of the high desert at sunrise…and that each booth was also concealed from every other, so that no patron had to see any other diner while they were eating.
“Son of a bitch,” she murmured, not without admiration. He really was that good.
“I have to admit,” Tanya Manning said, sipping wine from her glass, “when I asked for a steak dinner, I wasn’t imagining this place.”
Drew Franks laughed softly, but she noticed that his eyes never left her. She fought back a grin. She’d internally debated for nearly an hour how to dress for this dinner once he’d invited her. Part of her---the professional NCO part who viewed Franks as an officer with whom she sometimes had to work---had insisted she should wear something subdued and respectable; while another part---the part that still found Franks to be an attractive and intelligent man---had other ideas.
She’d wound up wearing an off-the-shoulder turquoise dress that she’d fab’ed using a pattern from a Brazilian designer: it had cost her nearly half a month’s salary. She’d felt like an idiot at the time, but the minute Franks had walked in, she’d seen the slight widening of his eyes and it had been so totally worth it. Particularly since he was picking up the tab for the incredible steak she’d just finished.
“Well, this place has a lot to recommend it,” Franks replied. He glanced meaningfully around them at the wind-swept plains of…well, of somewhere, Tanya Manning imagined. She’d been to west Texas once and this didn’t look anything like it.
“Privacy, you mean,” Manning surmised.
He nodded, then reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small box only slightly bigger than a commercial ‘link. “This takes care of anyone trying to listen,” he said, slipping the device back in place, “and the hologram keeps out prying eyes.”
Manning glanced around carefully before speaking again. “So, what’s the op?”
“The explosives that were used in Houston,” he told her, “came from the biomech manufacturing plant on Luna. We’re officially off that investigation, however,” his mouth turned in a half-sneer for just a moment, “and the systems there are not remotely accessible.”
“So,” she said, unable to keep a grin off her face, “you and I are going to the moon without backup or support and breaking into the biomech factory.”
His expression grew more serious. “Tanya,” he said, “I am not your superior officer tonight. I can’t order you to do this. I can’t even ask you to do this. We could both wind up in a Detention Facility for the next ten years.”
“Hell,” she said with a laugh, “the way things are going, I’ll probably wind up there no matter what I do.” She shook her head. “Poor mom will be so scandalized.”
Franks nodded. “Okay then. We’re going in as maintenance techs. The IDs will be waiting for us at McAuliffe Station tomorrow morning.”
“No danger of the actual techs showing up, I presume,” Manning cocked an eyebrow.
“They’re being well paid to lay low until after we’re gone,” Franks assured her.
“How are we getting to Luna?” she wanted to know. “Can you get us on a military transport?”
“Not without attracting attention,” he replied, shaking his head. “We’re going to take a commercial shuttle from McAuliffe to Roshni.”
“The tourist park?” Manning said with a laugh. “Who are we going as?”
“Ourselves,” he told her, shrugging helplessly. “I’m too recognizable to do anything else.”
Manning cocked an eyebrow at the man suspiciously. “So, the two of us are what? Going on vacation together?”
“If I could, I’d get restruct surgery done,” Franks said, “but we don’t have the time.”
Manning studied his face for a moment, searching for any trace of ulterior motive…and not exactly sure whether she cared if she found one or not.
“Do you have a place in Capital City?” she asked him.
“I figured I’d sack out in the flitter with my bug-out bag.”
“I keep an apartment here,” she told him, almost feeling as if it were someone else saying the words, someone with far fewer inhibitions and worries. “Grab your bag on the way; you’ll be staying at my place.”
She could see cracks of surprise in the cool, in-control mask that Drew Franks showed the world and she fought back a laugh.
What am I getting myself into?
Franks smiled: an honest, open smile and not the smart-ass grin she’d seen so many times before. “Is that an order, Master Sergeant?” he asked, his hand moving across the table to cover
hers. She felt an electric tingle where the warmth of his palm touched the back of her hand.
“Like you said,” she told him, turning her hand over to grasp his, looking him in the eye boldly, “you’re not my superior officer tonight.” She shrugged. “And we’ll probably wind up in prison anyway…might as well be for something enjoyable.”
Caitlyn Carr was beginning to wonder just how long the owners of the café would let her use their table still nursing the same latte and salad, when Drew Franks finally exited the restaurant…hand in hand with a woman in a stunning green dress. She was, Caitlyn reflected with clinical objectivity, sexy in an athletic way, with spiky brown hair and well-shaped legs shown off to her advantage by the dress. It took a long, squinting glance at the tablet before she realized that the woman was Sgt. Manning.
“Holy shit,” she murmured to herself, earning a curious look from an older couple at the next table. Did not see that one coming. She sat back in her seat, feeling a tinge of jealousy that surprised her.
She shook the feeling away. She was a professional, after all… She frowned. She was a professional, but so was Sgt. Manning. Franks…she could see him bending the rules to have a relationship with an NCO. He was ballsy enough to do it and clever enough to think he’d have a chance at getting away with it.
But Manning was a different type altogether. She was just as smart and competent as Franks, but she hadn’t struck Carr as someone likely to mix business and pleasure. Why would she take such a risk with her career?
Unless she’s already taking a big enough risk that it doesn’t matter.
She hit the control on her ‘link to pay her bill, rose from her table and began following the couple. The streets of Capital City’s entertainment districts were bright and loud at any time of the day or night, and she felt as if she were wearing a sign around her neck that said “Look! I’m a federal agent!” But she kept moving, knowing on an intellectual level that she was far enough back that the two of them would never know she was there.
Her mind was working feverishly as she walked, keeping up with Franks and Manning via the insect drones. There were machinations within machinations running all around her and she was beginning to feel lost in them. Director Ayrock was more interested in sabotaging General McKay than finding the nanovirus. President Jameson and General Kage seemed desperate to be seen doing something, even if it was the wrong thing. And General McKay…
What the hell was General McKay doing?
* * *
What the hell am I doing? Jason McKay wondered, staring at his own reflection in the office’s deactivated window. His face didn’t seem that much older than it had ten years ago, but his eyes…his eyes were ancient, exhausted.
“This job used to be fun,” he muttered to himself.
“Sir?” a voice from behind him asked.
McKay turned, trying not to look startled. The young officer who had entered his office was medium height and whipcord thin in his Intelligence black uniform, his face sharp bronze and his eyes burning with drive and intelligence. He looked so much like his father…
“Sorry, Lt. Patel,” McKay said, “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“My apologies, sir,” First Lieutenant Abshay Patel said, frowning. “I knocked and I thought I heard you tell me to enter.”
“I was just talking to myself,” McKay confessed with a wry chuckle. “One of the dangers of becoming a General officer, I guess.”
“I finished cross-linking and disseminating those intelligence reports, sir,” Abshay told him, tactfully ignoring McKay’s comment. “Your message said you had something else for me?”
Jason McKay looked at the young man for a long moment, remembering the last time he’d spoken to Admiral Arvid Patel, trying to talk the man out of ramming his wrecked cruiser into the Protectorate ship that was about to launch a multiple-warhead nuke at Capital City. He’d promised his friend that he would look out for his son…
“Lt. Patel,” McKay said, “you’ve been working for me over a year now.”
“Eighteen months, sir,” Patel confirmed with a proud note to his voice and a firm nod. McKay felt a twist in his gut. He’d tried to talk the kid into going for a ship assignment, staying in the Fleet’s main command structure, but Abshay had his heart set on Intelligence.
“You did very well in Sgt. Major Crossman’s training course last year,” McKay went on, “and I know you’ve wanted to get some field experience.”
“You have something for me, sir?” the young officer asked eagerly. He reminded McKay of Franks four years ago…or Ari Shamir eight years ago.
Of all the things McKay had been worried about when he’d taken over Intelligence, developing a cult of personality hadn’t been one of them. Maybe it was the uniform, maybe it was the sidearm that was a constant part of it, or maybe it was the legend that had built up around the whole service. Whatever it was, it seemed like every data analyst and maintenance tech in the Intelligence section on Fleet HQ wanted to be a field operative and save the world…and get a movie made about them.
Not that fame was Abshay Patel’s motivation. He wanted to be a hero, like his father.
His father’s dead, McKay reminded himself.
“Yeah, I have something for you,” McKay answered the question, hating himself for it. “I’m going to be honest with you, Abshay…this is not the usual assignment. You’re not going to have backup on this. You are the backup.”
“Yes, sir,” Patel said, voice still firm but a hint of doubt in the set of his eyes.
“I’m sending you to the Lunar Defense Base,” McKay explained. “Nominally, you’ll be there to supervise the installation of the secure communications equipment in the Intelligence offices there, but there’s going to be a suborbital transport available for you. If you receive a request for help on a secure ‘link I’m going to give you, you’re to take that transport to coordinates that are preprogrammed into it and provide support and egress for whoever calls you.”
“That’s…a bit short on details, sir,” the junior officer commented cautiously.
“It has to be,” McKay told him. “This is need-to-know, Lieutenant. You don’t discuss this with anyone other than the personnel that contact you on this ‘link.” He pulled the device out of a desk drawer and handed it to Patel.
“Yes, sir,” Patel said, pocketing the ‘link. “When do I leave?”
“You have a bug-out bag?” McKay asked him.
“In my locker, sir.” The young man smiled. It was one of the first things any officer who hoped to be a field op learned: you always kept a bag handy with enough clothes---uniform and otherwise---toiletries and other necessities to see you through two or three days incommunicado.
“Your shuttle leaves in an hour,” McKay informed him. “Details have been sent to your ‘link, along with confirmation of your cover assignment.”
“Yes, sir,” Abshay Patel said quietly, eyes widening slightly as the reality of the situation hit him.
“One more thing, Lieutenant,” McKay raised a hand to stop him as he started to turn toward the door. “Do not contact this office electronically while you’re on this assignment. You’re to report back to me in person when you return. Until then, you are radio silent, understood?”
McKay could tell by the confused look on the young man’s face that he didn’t understand at all, but all Patel said was: “Yes, sir.”
“Trust your gut, Abshay,” McKay advised him, grinning with what he hoped seemed like confidence. “You’ll do fine.”
“Yes, sir,” Patel said again, a bit more self-assured this time. “I’ll get it done.”
The Lieutenant turned crisply and left the office. McKay caught a brief glimpse of him breaking into a jog before the door slid shut, hurrying to get ready to leave.
“I’m sorry, Arvid,” he whispered.
What the hell am I doing?
Chapter Thirteen
Drew Franks came awake to a soft beeping in his ear and his hand shot out
automatically, slapping his ‘link where it lay on the nightstand and killing the alarm. He blinked his eyes clear and the earth-tone walls slowly came into focus. He rolled over in bed and saw Tanya Manning propped up on an elbow, watching him in the dim glow of the chemical ghostlights that lined the floor of their hotel room. Her hair was short enough that it didn’t even seem mussed from the activities of the previous night---the lighter gravity probably helped there too, he reflected---and her eyes smoldered in the darkness.
“Good morning,” she said. He grinned as his eyes travelled over the bare skin visible where the sheet had fallen down to the swell of her hips. Tanya Manning was a she-leopard, all hard muscle with just the bare minimum of body fat to give a feminine curve to her athlete’s body.
“Morning,” he returned. “How long have you been awake?”
“A few minutes,” she answered, shrugging sinuously. “I was just enjoying the view.”
“That’s my line,” he cracked, reaching out to draw her to him, reveling in the warm softness of her skin pressing against his, her arms slipping around his neck.
“I guess it’s a bit late to be bringing this up,” Tanya Manning whispered softly into his ear, “but on the off chance that we live through this and don’t wind up in jail…what then?”
Franks shrugged at the sudden shift in gears. “I suppose,” he replied thoughtfully, “that General McKay is going to try to use the information that we gather here to force President Jameson to let us take over the investigation and get it back on track.” He snorted doubtfully. “Whether or not that works, God only knows.”
“I’m sure you’re correct, Captain Franks,” Manning said dryly, cuffing him playfully in the back of the head with the heel of her hand, “but what I was referring to was, what then about us?”
Franks blinked in sudden understanding. “Oh,” he said, and felt the gears begin grinding.