The Borrega Test

by James Vincett

  “Yes,” Pederson said, “I am aware of these facts.”

  “But do you know its origin?”

  Pederson decided to humor the man. He knew all of this, but he suspected McFinn had a bigger point to make. “Tell me.”

  “In 2437 the Senate and Parliament appointed Émile Destillières Consul and Prime Minister for life. In reward for Émile’s leadership during the conflict with the Transhumans, and his grandfather’s leadership during the Snirr Wars, the Senate and Parliament granted the Destillières direct rule over vast portions of the Earth. These include large areas of North and South America and Asia, as well as the entire continents of Australia and Antarctica.”

  “Fascinating,” Pederson deadpanned.

  “Isn’t it? What happened next is better. The Destillières then ordered all current inhabitants of those regions to relocate outside of these areas to another place on Earth, or off world to Senate Worlds or colonies. Billions of people. Over the next hundred and ten years the original inhabitants of these regions left, and terraformers removed almost all trace of human habitation. These are the Imperial Preservation Districts, and are for the exclusive use of the Destillières. They have built palaces in these regions, and have granted certain people permission to live in them.”

  “These regions also provide a measure of secrecy; the GID HQ is here in this Preservation District.”

  “Yes! That’s power, Lars. True power. Power and strength. There’s been nothing like it since.”

  Here it comes.

  McFinn leaned back and took a small tin out of the pocket of his robe. He opened it and offered a cigarette to Pederson, who waved it away. McFinn lit the cigarette with a flourish. “Tell me about ongoing operations against the rebels.”

  “Despite our best efforts the rebellions on thirteen worlds within the Justified Conquest and the Frontiers have festered and grown.” Pederson pushed away his plate and sipped on his coffee. “A growing network of agitators within the Union supplies these rebels with modern arms and other material. Tech smugglers have acquired advanced technology, most notably stealth and shields; they boldly penetrate any naval blockades. I suspect several current and former members of the Imperial Exploration Service are key figures in this conspiracy. The Union Security Service is useless; USS agents have yet to penetrate this network and break it up.” Pederson looked at the nearby mountains. “The Directorate can do little. I can only assist in intelligence; I do not have a legal mandate to conduct covert strikes within the Union.”

  “An interesting side benefit; these operations have been going on so long that the Marines and Army use the conflicts as training exercises; they bring in raw troops to get combat experience.”

  “Yes, I am aware. I use these conflicts for the same purpose. However, there are risks. The longer those rebellions continue, the greater the risk of rebellion spreading to other worlds.”

  “That isn’t such a bad thing.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “These rebellions are the reason for the whole Borrega operation. The purpose of Her Majesty’s play against the Naati is to demonstrate her power within the Union and discourage or crush dissent. Her first hope is in the success of the upcoming negotiations on Borrega. She can cut a deal with the Tolkist Faction, negotiate a peace and then ally with the Tolkists and destroy the Reactionary Faction.”

  “Yes, as discussed.”

  “She will only annex Borrega using military force if the negotiations fail, and then militarily exploit the conflict between the two Naati factions to defeat them once and for all.”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t think a negotiated peace will be enough to cow her enemies within the Union; such an outcome will only encourage hope for similar settlements with the Crown.”

  “What are you suggesting?”

  “Shift GID resources away from fighting the rebellions. It’s a nice passive way of encouraging them.”

  “Okay. Will you cover for me?”

  “Of course, but this is just the beginning. Reallocate those resources to a new, special project.”

  “And what would that be?”

  “I don’t know the details; that’s your job. I only care about the results.” McFinn sipped his coffee.

  “And what results do you desire?”

  “An absolute guarantee that the coming negotiations on Borrega will fail.” McFinn leaned forward. “Not only that, the negotiations must fail in such a way as to inflame the anger of the entire Union. I want an act so heinous the Union will be begging for war.”

  “Why?”

  “The original purpose of this entire scheme is to give Her Majesty a means to dominate her enemies within the Union and consolidate her power.” McFinn lit another cigarette. “We need to think bigger.”

  Pederson instantly knew what McFinn hinted at; day-to-day operations had so consumed his thoughts he did not see it. “A military defeat of the Naati would be a powerful demonstration of Human resolve to the other major species in the galaxy.”

  McFinn blew out a long plume of smoke. “Ever since the Snirr Wars Humanity has been beset on all sides by savage alien species that want nothing less than our complete annihilation. Reasoning with these freaks is almost impossible because of differences in biology. The only thing they understand is raw power. We must crush the Naati; it would leave no doubt in the minds of the other monsters that we Humans can defend ourselves, and the Hominin Union would become the greatest power in the Milky Way.”

  “There is one other matter. What about your son, Joshua? He is attaché to the Imperial Ambassador. Surely, he will be involved in the negotiations. I cannot ensure his safety.”

  McFinn smiled. “I did realize he would be in danger.”

  “And?”

  “You’re a clever man; I’m sure you know what to do in this case.” McFinn stood up. “You have work to do, Lars. Succeed in this, and you will receive a handsome reward.”

  Pederson rose from his chair, shook the Minister’s hand, and retrieved his bag. He left the meeting knowing he was probably a dead man. If Pederson failed to carry out the obviously illegal orders, McFinn would strip him of his duties and arrest him on some trumped-up charge. He would die, forgotten, in prison, and McFinn would find some other stooge to carry out his plans. If Joshua McFinn died, his father would blame Pederson for the failure of the negotiations, and the USS would execute him as a criminal and a traitor.

  Robert McFinn had made his son Pederson’s only insurance against being hung out to dry.

  Fuck you, Robert McFinn. I still have some aces up my sleeve.

  Kruger’s work on the second Harbinger artifact in the outer reaches of the Cerilia system was almost complete. His creations were like nothing else in the Union.

  Agent Yazdani’s orders included investigating what the Naati were digging for on Borrega. The Naati defector had told the Directorate about the strange objects buried on that world, and Pederson suspected they had something to do with the Harbingers, but he did not know their precise meaning.

  The crazy geologist, Beckenbaur, had made excellent strides toward finding yet another Harbinger artifact. It had not cost Pederson much, but the potential discovery was a payoff larger than anyone could imagine. He had put one of his best agents to tracking Beckenbaur. The young man was cunning, intelligent, driven, and ruthless; he had only impressed Pederson since the demonstration with the telepath and the Nano Mob enforcer.

  Pederson’s growing knowledge of the Harbingers would provide an excellent bargaining chip.

  Pederson looked around the landing bay of the Intelligence Research Installation. He looked up at the large surface doors fifty meters above. The work done here during the Snirr Wars and the Secession, not to mention fighting the Transhumans, had changed the course of history. The work he was doing would do likewise. He turned and ran his hand along the smooth gray hull of a spacecraft. A Viper class intelligence ship, the craft had the latest and most powerful electronic countermeasu
res. Crewed by a pilot and co-pilot, the vessel also carried a dozen operatives.

  Pederson had concluded he was the only one that could lead this operation; it was far too important for anyone else. Over the past several weeks, he had worked eighteen hours a day gathering intelligence and vetting operatives; Robert McFinn had not given him much time.

  Agent Antonovich, who had explored the ISI with him all those years ago, stood beside nine other operatives. Like Pederson, they all wore head-to-toe black combat stealth suits and held their black helmets under their arms. Each had a backpack of the same material as the stealth suit, a long black rifle slung over their shoulders and a pistol at their belts. The pick of the General Intelligence Directorate, these agents were intelligent, adaptable, resourceful, and willing to do what was necessary.

  Two agents lifted a slender object, a meter long, into a bay on the bottom of the stealth ship, locked it into place, and joined the others standing beside the ship. Pederson hated to do it this way. So inelegant. Assassinations were best-accomplished using custom viruses or nanotechnology; only the Naati were ham-fisted enough to use an antimatter bomb.

  Pederson faced his men. “Are you all ready?”

  Each replied in the affirmative.

  “Your training has prepared you well for this mission.” Pederson pulled out his pockcomp and tapped a few keys. “The full details are on your pockcomps. I know what I am asking you to do is difficult, but I believe you are fully prepared to carry out these orders. Remember, only the Union matters. By carrying out these orders, you will be saving billions of lives in the end. The growing weakness within the Union must be extracted if Humanity is going to survive and we must show our enemies in the galaxy we have the resolve to defend ourselves.”

  “The support elements of the task force are assembling near Saturn. A special bay on board the Michigan, a Trusty class supply ship, is available for this vessel. We will dock with the Michigan and remain on this ship for the entire journey. Quarters are cramped, but it is necessary that we maintain informational quarantine. Once these support elements rendezvous with the remainder of the Task Force in the Eiding Forward Deployment area, we will depart and go to Borrega.”

  Pederson climbed the narrow stairs and entered the vessel; the others followed.

  Part III: Enemies and Allies

  All warfare is based on deception.

  Sun Tzu

  Beckenbaur

  Beckenbaur liked to think about what ancient mariners may have felt during their long journeys across the oceans of Earth, looking at a vast expanse of nothing for weeks or months on end, but he knew the comparison ended there.

  Those guys had balls.

  He didn’t need to worry about unpredictable weather, or work himself to exhaustion keeping a rickety wooden boat afloat and moving in the right direction. He only suffered from boredom, and that was enough.

  The Trieste was faster than a space liner, but not by much. Talbot informed him the journey to Yokkaichi Outstation would take twenty-eight days. He spent much of this time reviewing his research and reading what the Trieste’s computer had on offer. Conversation with the twins Dylan and Danner gave him some amusement; tales of their adventures in the Imperial Army and working for the more unsavory elements of Union society entertained him for a while, but he suspected they stretched the truth somewhat.

  Bandele spent the first ten days recovering from his incarceration, and Heather tended him like a dutiful daughter. Talbot, too, frequently looked in on him. It seemed she and Bandele had a history of student and teacher.

  Beckenbaur heard a knock on his door. “Come in.”

  The panel slid open and Talbot entered the tight quarters. Beckenbaur put down his tablet and sat on the edge of the bunk. “What can I do for you, Captain?”

  “Just letting you know Bandele is recovering nicely. I think he was more exhausted than anything else.”

  “Thank you, Captain. That’s good to hear.”

  She looked at him for a moment. “Sorry to disturb. I’ll leave you ...”

  “Was there anything else, Captain?”

  She sat down on the only chair. “Why did you hire me?”

  “The agent I was working with said you had a fast ship and exploration experience.”

  “You didn’t know I knew Bandele?”

  “How could I?”

  “Hmm.” She sat still for a moment; she looked at her knees and fidgeted with a ring on one of her fingers. She looked at him. “What did the Bering find in the Anuvi system? I’ve heard plenty of rumors, but I want to know the truth.”

  “You haven’t asked Bandele?”

  “He told me to ask you.”

  “Well, I don’t know quite what we found, either. I can describe it, though. Fundamentally, the moon could move, even through hyperspace. Some ancient alien race had built the thing, we think as a weapon, to fight an unknown enemy.”

  “And the Union covered it up.”

  “Yes. I think they see the race that built it as a threat.”

  “And Bandele’s trial and sentence, that was part of the cover up?”

  “Someone had to take the fall for the destruction of the Bering, but no one could know it was the Ministry for Exploration that ordered us into the Neutral Zone, so they blamed Bandele. Besides, they knew we would find it.”

  “They knew?”

  “The Chief Scientist on board the Bering, Dr. Batista, replaced Dr. Duchesne at the last minute. She had a completely different flight plan than the one agreed to by the researchers. I was pissed because we were never able to analyze fully the first few worlds we looked at. She was always in a rush to get to the next one.”

  “Are these ancient aliens a threat?”

  “I don’t think so. When Batista woke them up ...”

  “You woke them up? There were some on the moon?”

  “She woke them up, and yes, there were a hundred and five of them, in stasis, on the moon. I think she screwed up because many of them died, but the rest left.”

  “They didn’t threaten you in any way?”

  “They ignored us, like we were insects. In fact, when they left the moon the artifact broadcast a quasi-particle signal, the user manual for the thing, as if they wanted us to be there. In addition, the environment inside the artifact changed to accommodate us. I am now convinced these aliens know about Humans.”

  “And what about this enemy?”

  “No one knows anything about that. Believe me, I’ve looked.”

  “And is what you’re looking for now have something to do with all of this?”

  “Yes. I traced Dr. Batista’s research and I’ve found evidence pointing to the location of another artifact, or something like it.”

  “And who are you meeting with on Yokkaichi?”

  Beckenbaur avoided her gaze. “Someone that can give me one of the last clues to the location.”

  She looked at the bulkhead and bit her lip. “Do you know what happened to Bandele on Akaisha?”

  “A little. I did meet with him secretly before he completed his sentence. He told me he couldn’t leave because of what he knew.”

  “I don’t think it was just about what he knew about the Anuvi Artifact. There is a secret on Akaisha.”

  “What is that?”

  “He said the Union is planning to replace the entire population of Akaisha with an off-world race that can more efficiently exploit that world’s resources.”

  What was shocking to Beckenbaur was not the secret, but that he was not surprised. “I wouldn’t put it past them. But what does this have to do with Anuvi?”

  “There seems to be a pattern here.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Abuse of power: the cover up of the Anuvi Artifact; Bandele’s show trial; the displacement of the people of Akaisha.” She stood and looked away. “I’ve seen a few things, too, in my time.” She turned and looked at him, her eyes full of tears. “They will murder to get their way.”

  Beckenbaur
finally understood. “This Kessler you spoke of earlier?”

  “Yes. He was my lover, and my best friend. We both were crew on the Lalande under Captain Bandele. We had a bit of a falling out after that mission, but then he served under me on the Solstice several years later, as we explored the Far Frontier. We saw things ... they killed him to cover up their schemes. That’s why I left the Exploration Service.” She looked at her hands. “I want to help you get these bastards.”

  “That’s why I risked so much to rescue Bandele: he wants to too, believe me. The best way I know how is to find what I’m looking for; if we reveal what they’ve been covering up, people will be angry. But there is one thing that worries me.”

  Talbot looked at him. “They let us go back at Akaisha.”

  “They had us cold, and at the last moment let us go. Someone is watching me, the GID I think, and they want what I’m looking for. Look, when we get to Yokkaichi, you need to call me Hans Brecht, okay? The people I’m meeting know me by that name.”

  To Beckenbaur’s eyes, Yokkaichi Outstation looked like a sprawling and haphazard collection of junk. He could still see the original torus and cylinder built almost three hundred years ago, but over the centuries the inhabitants had welded on hundreds of old spacecraft and thousands of cargo containers of all sizes. First built as a communications node and resupply depot for the United Earth Expeditionary Fleet cleaning the Snirr out of the Beachhead, the station now served as a magnet for every disaffected hommie or slag for five-thousand light years. On his first visit, Beckenbaur heard stories about the Union Security Service raiding the place once or twice a year, looking for some criminal or political undesirable, but for the most part the Union left the place alone, and even sold the position of Station Administrator to the highest bidder. Other stories told of USS or GID operatives haunting the station, looking to hire mercenaries, spies, or even terrorists. Informants, drug addicts, thugs, revolutionaries, runaways, prostitutes, terrorists, and criminals infested the place.