As the outer airlock door closed and the space pressurized, he took the time to start shutting down his non-essential systems. He did a quick upload of his new findings to his personal account in Kristiansand, then backed up the data on the crystal. As he did so, the inner airlock doors opened and the Hawk was towed into the hangar. He continued to shut down systems and finally unstrapped from his seat.
The aft cargo door began to open, activated by the ground crew outside. He pushed off from his seat and floated back into the main cargo area, expecting to be greeted by his crew chief.
Instead, he was greeted by the smiling face of the XO, Lieutenant Duncan. Behind him was what looked like the entire ground crew. As soon as Jack came into view, the crew started applauding.
He felt a stupid grin spread across his face.
The XO steadied himself against the doorframe and extended his hand. “Nicely done, Jack.”
“Thanks, sir. Feels pretty good to wax a bad guy.”
“Hey, Sublieutenant Mallory, check this out!” His crew chief had positioned himself forward against the Hawk’s hull, just below the cockpit windows. Jack pushed himself out through the cargo door and looked over to see the chief stenciling a hand-sized silhouette of a stealth ship onto the hull.
“That’s just our first!” the chief said, amidst fresh applause.
Jack joined in the clapping for a moment, then waved to the group. With only one Hawk left—the other having been destroyed in Free Lhasa—there was plenty of room to spread out, and they were floating almost all the way up to the deckhead.
“Thanks, everybody,” he said. “We’re an awesome team.”
The XO leaned in. “The captain was wondering if you’d dine with her tonight.”
New surprise washed over Jack. He didn’t think he’d said more than two dozen words to Commander Avernell in his four months on board, and most of those had been “Yes, ma’am.” And now she wanted to have dinner with him? He wondered what he’d talk to her about for an hour or more.
Then he remembered the data crystal in his pocket.
“I’d be happy to, sir.”
* * *
Lieutenant Makatiani was just climbing into his rack when Jack found him, and even with Jack’s new credit as a stealth-hunter, he had to convince Kristiansand’s anti-stealth warfare director to stay up and listen to his theory.
It took more than half an hour to present all the evidence he had, but by the time he’d finished Makatiani had long forgotten about sleep. The lieutenant had already done several tours in the Sirian system, and was well versed in the local spacetime landscape. He also had the experience to know where to look to find more evidence, and the final piece he was able to add to the puzzle left them both speechless.
He barely had time to race back to Club Sub, shower, and put on fresh coveralls before it was time to present himself at the commanding officer’s cabin.
The door slid open at his knock, and he struggled to float through with his hand computer and portable 3-D display projector. The dining table was set for two, just inside the door, and there was a small sitting area with a couple of doors on the forward bulkhead. A thick black sheet had been fastened on the far bulkhead, covering the broad window he knew to be there.
“Good evening, ma’am.”
Commander Avernell let loose the hand computer she’d been reading. It floated at an angle above the table. She looked tired, like everyone, and he wondered if her round face hadn’t thinned a bit.
She took him in curiously with her large eyes.
“Good evening, Mr. Mallory,” she said, peering at the equipment he carried. “I hope you realize that this is purely a social visit.”
He fumbled to clamp the disk-like projector to the dining table. “Yes, ma’am. I, uhh, thought you might like to see what my hobby has been lately.”
Boy, that came out smooth. He forced himself to smile into the captain’s intent gaze.
Her lips curled in what might have been amusement.
“Wonderful,” she replied. “Would you like to sit here, or would you prefer the dining table?”
Since he had already clamped the projector, he thought it best not to move it again.
“The table would be good, if that’s okay.”
Avernell pushed herself forward and floated across the cabin, stopping her movement gracefully by grabbing the back of one of the dining chairs. She hooked herself into the seat and did her best attempt at leaning her elbows on the table. Her face wore the same, carefully neutral expression it always had.
He couldn’t hold her gaze, so he looked down at his computer as he hooked himself into the seat facing her and quickly called up his brief.
“I’m impressed that you still have time for a hobby,” she said. “Especially one that requires a 3-D display.”
As if on cue, the projector blossomed to life. A spherical image one meter in diameter lit up the air between them, revealing the Sirian star system, complete with planets.
As a reference point he had also dropped in the Terran jump gate, right at the top of the display. Other symbols were ready to project, but he had thought very carefully about how to present them.
“Ma’am, when I was with the XO in Normandy their top priority was to find out how the Centauri ships were sneaking through the jump gate. I know that lots of people have been putting together theories, but I’ve been gathering some hard evidence to support my own.”
She didn’t look too impressed. Jack felt butterflies in his gut.
“I’m sure this won’t be new to you,” he said apologetically, “but I really want to show you what I’ve found.”
Her expression didn’t change, but she nodded. “Go ahead, Mr. Mallory.”
Her words gave him a little courage.
“Okay, let me set this up. A few weeks ago, we covered Rapier when she boarded that cargo ship Astrid. That was here.”
On his command, a marker lit up on the 3-D display above the ecliptic. “Rapier’s boarding officer got a copy of Astrid’s logs, which record the ship’s transit from this point, where she rendezvoused with another ship that gave her the weapons cargo.”
A line traced back to a second point, much higher above the ecliptic and far from any space lanes.
“Based on Astrid’s logs, the other ship approached on a bearing which would backtrack its course along this trajectory.” Lieutenant Emmes’s extrapolation stretched down across the display. It crossed the ecliptic between planetary orbits, and extended to a point almost as far below Sirius as the jump gate was above.
“Today, on my patrol, I detected an exhaust trail. Based on its diffusion, it’s about five weeks old, which would tie in with the mystery ship on a low-energy run to its rendezvous with Astrid. I detected the trail here.” A point on the long trajectory line lit up.
“With Lieutenant Makatiani’s help, I searched through the EF’s database and discovered three similar detections from other patrols over the past six weeks.”
Three more points lit up, each hitting the extrapolated trajectory. The oldest instance was from six weeks earlier, and was actually south of the ecliptic.
“There’s nothing down that path for light years. Or so I thought.” He was feeling excited now, spurred on by the fact that the captain hadn’t told him to shut up. She was still listening, wearing that same neutral expression.
“Lieutenant Makatiani told me about some unexplained spacetime irregularities that were charted by Cape Town when our deployment first started—two months ago, right down around here.” His last pre-programmed marker lit up at the southern end of the trajectory path.
“Since they were far away from the Expeditionary Force, any investigation was considered a low priority. But I took Cape Town’s readings and compared them to the spacetime signature of the jump gate back to Terra.” 3-D graphs appeared in the empty space at the bottom of the display. “We ran an ASW analysis on them.
“Ma’am, they’re virtually identical.”
He stopped, and watched her reaction. Her eyes rested for a long time on the pair of graphs, then flicked over to his final marker. Finally he couldn’t stand the silence.
“Ma’am, I know it sounds crazy, but I think the Centauris have actually built their own jump gate, and have been using it to sneak weapons and even ships into the system.”
Then Commander Avernell picked up the handset hard-mounted to the table next to her seat and tapped in a number.
“XO, Captain,” she said. “Tell comms to prepare for a data-heavy burst transmission to Normandy in about twenty minutes. And come to my cabin.” She replaced the handset and looked at him through the 3-D display.
“Mr. Mallory, just before you arrived this evening. I was reading a report in the file concerning a prisoner who was captured on Cerberus. He was a Centauri agent arming the warlords, and we picked him up a couple of days ago. Under interrogation he confessed that he’d arrived through a Centauri-designed jump gate. The problem was, he had no understanding of astro-navigation. Even deconstructing his brain didn’t give us any clues as to where this jump gate is. He just didn’t know.”
The door chimed and opened as the XO floated in.
“But you seem to have added that last piece, Mr. Mallory,” she said. “What I want you to do now is go through that presentation again exactly the same way.” She tapped a command in her tabletop console. “It’ll educate the XO, and we’ll be recording for the commodore and his staff.”
Jack quickly backtracked his presentation to the start, gathering his thoughts.
“Oh, and by the way…” the captain said. He looked up at her. She smiled. “Nice job on waxing that stealth ship.”
Jack grinned. He hoped that the recording for the commodore didn’t include a visual on him. No matter how solid a presentation he had, he figured no one would take it seriously from a pug-faced kid like him. Then he shrugged. Their loss.
40
Breeze read the message again, stunned that so few words could carry with them so much meaning.
To: the commanding officer of the surviving Terran forces in Sirius
From: Admiral Yukiko Matsumoto, Commander, 3rd Squadron, Centauri Republican Defense Force
I control Sirian space and have the support of the free citizens of Cerberus, Laika, and the outlying settlements.
Centauria controls the jump gates in all star systems and is massing the assets needed to attack Earth.
If the Terran forces in all star systems surrender peacefully, the invasion of Earth will not occur.
Surrender.
Admiral Matsumoto sends.
Given the current state of affairs, the Centauris were in a good position to make demands. Breeze had personally delivered the message to Chandler, seen with her own eyes his reaction. She’d always known that he was arrogant and ambitious, but underneath that she had always assumed him to have the sense of self-preservation all leaders should possess.
Apparently not.
Breeze did not want to die in space. Whether Chandler’s cause was just or not didn’t matter in the slightest. Breeze did not want to die in space. Thus, message in hand, she arrived at the cabin of the one person she thought might be able to change his mind.
She knocked, and the door opened a few moments later. The cabin was dark, lit only by a lamp over the desk, and Thomas sat slumped back in his armchair. A glass sat on the table next to him. He looked up with vague interest.
“Evening, Breeze,” he said. “What brings you by?”
Not knowing quite how to respond, she just walked in and handed him the printed message. He glanced at it, then sat up straighter and actually read it. She looked at the glass next to him.
He lowered the message and stared off into space. “Holy shit.”
“It was transmitted about thirty minutes ago,” she said. “I just came from the commodore.”
Thomas pulled himself up and reached for a bottle that was hidden in the shadows. He tilted it to her with an inquiring glance. Whiskey wasn’t her drink, but she found herself nodding. He pulled up another glass and poured a healthy portion.
Then he refilled his own.
“So let me guess,” he said, collapsing back into his seat and sipping. “Chandler wants to attack the jump gate.”
A ray of hope cracked through the doom in her soul. Her instincts about Thomas were right.
“Yes, in about twelve hours. He wants us to move quickly, before they can consolidate their position.”
Thomas snorted. “Everything the Centauris have done has been perfectly planned and executed. They wouldn’t even transmit this message unless they were ready for us.” He gestured vaguely at the bulkheads. “They probably already have a stealth ship sitting right next to us, with a firing solution already plotted out.”
Breeze hadn’t thought of that.
She could feel nausea rising. “Thomas, you know I’d never be disloyal to my superior—”
“Oh, yeah…” he replied. “I know that.”
She acknowledged his sarcasm with a placating gesture. “Thomas, listen, this is suicide! I think you’re right. The Centauris have to expect us to retaliate, so they’ll be waiting in an ambush. If we carry out this plan, we will all die.”
His eyes narrowed. “Lieutenant Brisebois, you’re not talking mutiny are you?”
“Oh, God, no,” she said. “Nothing like that! But we have to change his mind.”
He smiled behind his glass. “You’re new at this,” he said. “Once Chandler’s made a decision, he doesn’t change his mind. Ever. Especially now that he’s in command. So you might as well just sit and have a drink with me, Breeze, because it looks like we’re all going to die.”
But she didn’t sit. The nausea mixed with rising terror. And under it all, by far the worst, was a feeling of helplessness to which she was unaccustomed. She crouched in front of him, putting her drink down and placing both hands on his knees.
She wasn’t above begging.
“Thomas, please. I don’t want to die. Not like this.”
He stared at her from his slouch, eyes moving lazily from her face to her hands and back.
“What can we possibly do?” he asked.
“You know Chandler better than anyone, and you have his ear. He always listens when you speak up. You need to convince him that there’s a better way.”
His face darkened and he looked away. It wasn’t the reaction she was anticipating.
“Why don’t you convince him,” he said. “You’re the favorite.”
She didn’t know what to say. Of all the emotions she might have expected from Thomas Kane, jealousy wasn’t one of them. She groped for words. To buy time she slipped her hands up his legs just a few centimeters, and squeezed.
“Thomas, I am not his favorite.” She smiled at him, suddenly knowing the angle she needed to take. “Despite my best efforts. It has frustrated me no end trying to figure out how to get him to listen to me instead of you… or at least before you. I’ve been watching the interplay among the command staff, and even though you’re the junior controller, Chandler always puts the most weight on your opinion.”
He gave her a long look.
Her mind raced as she formed her thoughts.
“That’s why I came to you now. He’ll never let another captain change his mind, because that would show weakness. But he doesn’t see you as a threat, or a rival. He sees you as himself.”
Oh, brilliant, Breeze.
“He wants you to succeed, because he sees in you all the talent and ambition that he had at your age. You’re his protégé. To change his mind on your recommendation wouldn’t be a failure to him—it would be a confirmation that he’s trained you well.”
Thomas was staring at her, but the expression in his eyes went much deeper. She allowed herself a moment of hope. And triumph.
She leaned back slightly, bringing her hands to his knees again.
“Thomas, I envy you. And in the normal world I’d be trying to unseat yo
u.” She took a deep breath and stared into his eyes. “But right now I need you. And so does the entire Expeditionary Force.”
He nodded. With some effort he leaned forward, bringing his face closer to hers. “I think I might have a good alternative. When is he issuing the orders?”
“He said he was going to assess our current strength, and he wanted some input from Intelligence—wants to know if the Sirian worlds really are allying with Centauria. I told him I’d need at least three hours. So he gave me two. At midnight he’s briefing the command staff, and then issuing orders to the entire EF.”
He glanced over at the clock. Then back at her with a look she had desperately hoped not to see.
“So we have two hours.” His breath was heavy with the booze.
Behind her neutral face she grimaced. What was it with men? Wasn’t the admiration of your mentor motivation enough?
“Not much time,” she said, and she leaned back slightly, still holding his eyes.
His hands slid up her arms.
So much for “mission accomplished.” She prided herself on never having to make good on her innuendo—it was amazing how far flirting could get you—and usually she’d have the option to walk away and leave him approachable at a future date.
But not today. There wasn’t time.
She let her hands slip up his legs again.
“Thomas, you naughty man.”
He pulled her closer. She came willingly, with just a hint of resistance to heighten the arousal. Behind her sultry eyes, however, she was doing a quick, cold calculation.
What was she giving up? Not much. Some mystique, really.
What was she gaining? Hot, meaningless sex with one of the better-looking men in the ship. The delicious opportunity to “accidentally” let slip to Katja the fact that Thomas was a stallion in bed, regardless of the reality.
And something she could use in the future, when he was married to Chandler’s goddaughter.
All in all, not a bad deal.
41
Thomas’s head was still foggy as he sat down at the command console. He hadn’t drunk that much, but Breeze and her hot body had left him exhausted.
Virtues of War Page 31