The Jupiter War

by Gregory Benford

  “Madam, I hardly deserve such treatment, when I am but a humble servant of the corporation, a mere bookkeeper. “

  “You have come all the way from Earth to visit me,” Myessa purred. “That makes you honored guest enough.”

  “I am but a tool of NPW. It is the movers who command me to calculate the value of the dark side of Io on behalf of the Federation. It is for one of them that you should make such efforts.”

  Alarms rang in Myessa’s head, and she worried about listening devices. “Dear sir, shouldn’t you keep that kind of information private? That sounds so very confidential to me.”

  “Oh, but I want to tell you. You’re so sympathetic. I can’t see that there would be any harm if I do.”

  Bingo. It was just the barest trace of a wink, a lowering of the eyelashes of his right eye, which could have been an involuntary twitch. There were no other signs. This man, who was legitimately a senior executive and deserving of all the hospitality he eschewed, was very good. Myessa smiled at him, and dropped a kiss on his knee. She wanted to see how he’d perform in the boardroom some time.

  “Of course, dear. Let me order some wine, and we will enjoy it together while you tell me what you’d like me to do for you.”

  * * *

  When Fouad slept, Myessa went back to her office to record her newly received information. Kytera was waiting for her.

  “If I don’t talk to you right this minute, I’m going to burst in a shower of sparks.”

  “Save it for the clients, querida, they might like that kind of thing. What is it?”

  “Privacy?” asked Kytera, looking around.

  “Of course.” The Club owner activated a small device under her desk, installed by Sparks, which effectively scotched any listening device. “But the effect is temporary. We do not wish it to be detected.”

  “Major,” Kytera began, and broke into hysterical giggles. “I can’t call you that! It’s too funny. Listen, I had a corporal in bed with me last night. Almost put me through the bulkhead, he had so much energy. I calmed him down some, and we stopped for refreshment. He paid for the wine, said he’s celebrating. Well, somewhere between the cork and the glass, he tells me the news. The U.N. has developed a new kind of space drive: matter/antimatter. It’s an honest breakthrough. Dangerous, but they got it to work without killing anyone.”

  “That’s the finest news I’ve heard in a Jupiter year,” Myessa said, smiling broadly, and glanced back at her bedroom door. “Nearly.” A low beeping interrupted them. “We’re public again. Of course, you deserve a bonus. “

  “Put it in my credit,” Kytera requested, winking. “I paid for a bottle, too. He was not bad.”

  * * *

  The next time van Owen appeared, he proved well satisfied with the report Myessa had for him. “A mission to the dark side of Io, eh? We have a substantial interest there, as well as a large base. Those scientists and so on will be very surprised that that seat, so to speak, is already taken.”

  Myessa was disgusted that he would gloat so openly before her. “You know I’m from the South. I’m spying on my own, you bastard.”

  “Life is hard for the small businesswoman, Madame.”

  And man, she thought, smiling to herself. Sometimes one had to settle for a batch of ill-made goods. There had been an amazing number of Confederation visitors: military, scientific, and commercial, and all amazingly talkative. She was sure that was Charles’s doing, and certain also that much of the information these talkative clients gave them was bad.

  She thought she had it nailed down, which of her stable would easiest attract the son of a bitch. It was down to Joao, a slim, dark, sword-dancer, and Sparks, her communication technician. So, this time the U.N. man came, she had Sparks interrupt them.

  Sparks came in at that point, looking pale and interesting. She had a pouch of common gear slung by a long strap over her shoulder. The strap defined her small breasts and the narrow bones of her upper body. Van Owen devoured the sight hungrily as the small woman bent near him to repair a split wire, her black hair swinging over a perfect, white-jade cheekbone. Yes. The way van Owen looked her up and down, there was more than interest, there was lust. This was his favorite prey—skinny, dark, gentle, and afraid. He was into big power trips, that Myessa knew from the way he tried to bully her, but he liked to dominate Sparks’s and Joao’s kind. Well, the dénouement couldn’t take place in the House, that was clear.

  Aha, I have the key to your soul, hijo mio, Myessa thought. “Well, Captain, what’ll it be? You feeling happy? I’m generous. Today we’re running a special. You’ve paid me for one . . . service, I’ll throw in another. You name it.”

  “What about her?” Van Owen aimed a glance at the kneeling technician.

  “She’s not on the menu, ninito. Reserved for one rich hotshot who comes in about once a month.” Myessa had long since given up explaining to uncomprehending fools that not everyone who worked in a whorehouse was a whore.

  “Then thank you, no. Some other time.”

  “Why are you so certain that I am passing on this data to you straight?” she asked van Owen as he prepared to leave. “Why are you so sure I am not doctoring it?”

  “I just know,” he said with that little smile that never failed to infuriate her. With a careless flick he tossed her the credit voucher, and left with her disk tucked into his pocket.

  “You don’t know,” she said to the door after he had left. “You are arrogant, and that is why you will lose the war.”

  * * *

  It was only a matter of time before he discovered that the information was bad. Myessa needed to disarm van Owen somehow, and get him off their backs.

  His confidence in the continuity of their data told her that he must have a way of checking up on it. The usual method was to plant a mole among her employees, but Myessa didn’t hire from the local talent and van Owen couldn’t have suborned anyone. He never stopped to pass the time of day with anyone working for the club. The second method must be the one: the rooms were tapped. Myessa had Sparks do a sweep for foreign listening devices. The girl assured her the place was clean.

  Van Owen appeared four days ahead of schedule and slammed the disk on her desk. “This data is bad, dammit! Why didn’t you check to see that your contacts were telling the truth?”

  “How am I supposed to know what is good and what is bad? Am I inside High Command’s head? I give you what I get.”

  “Goddammit, can’t you check?”

  “No! How can I? Do you want me to tell them I’m a spy and give me references?”

  They glared at one another, at an impasse. Van Owen left, furious, and Myessa worried that they would have to do something about him before he did something about them.

  That night, while she was walking about on the top floor of the Club, she caught sight of a slim figure sneaking through the corridors. Calling for the bouncers, she gave chase.

  Arsène cornered the intruder near the disintegrator, and held the figure there until Myessa could catch up. It was Sparks.

  “She was trying to shove this in the disposer,” Arsene said, passing Myessa a bag. It was full of electronic components, which Myessa recognized as eavesdropping devices.

  “I am not responsible for them. I found them in the ceiling and walls. I removed them, and I am destroying them, I swear to you!”

  “Who put them there?” Myessa barked.

  “I don’t know!” the girl shrieked, struggling in Arsène’s arms.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were finding bugs in the Club?”

  “Because I was sure you would think it was me.” Myessa opened the bag. The bugs were of a design she hadn’t seen before, but she understood the little spokes with suction cups affixed at the bottom of each one. These could “walk” to a preset destination, and fasten themselves to a support. It was unlikely that Sparks, who
had access to every square centimeter of the station, had created these. “I nearly ordered you spaced just now, chiquita. Next time you tell me, and let me judge. Don’t you think I’m fair?”

  “Oh yes, Myessa!”

  “Then trust me. Help me. This is a matter of life and death to us, to our home nations. We can discredit this monster, van Owen, so you can find all the equipment you want and it won’t help him, no matter what he hears.”

  “Anything. “

  “Solicit him.”

  “No, please, Myessa. He terrifies me!”

  “Well then, you must be his mole. I’ll turn you in, but first I let Arsène take you for a walk to the airlock. “

  “I’m not his mole!”

  Myessa took Sparks’s hand. “My child, I am desperate. You are the one he wants, so you are the only bait I can use. I promise you won’t have to sleep with him. Is that good enough? All I want to do is discredit him.”

  The girl was weeping. “Yes, Myessa. I’ll do it. I would never be disloyal! You know what l owe you.”

  “It’s all in your head, my child. You owe me nothing. Everything you have, you earned. Now here is what I need you to prepare, and how I want it done.”

  * * *

  “Captain van Owen, you have been accused by this woman of attempting to molest her,” the director of the space station said sternly.

  “I saw the whole thing,” put in Jose Maria Veracruz. “They passed in a corridor. She spoke to him, he spoke to her, and suddenly, he seized her to him, kissed her, and . . . how may I put it delicately?”

  “I was with Señor Veracruz,” put in the slim lieutenant. Patty, Myessa remembered. She was pleased to have been able to inform him that though the covert operation would be on Europa, not Io, the U.N. would be alone in the midst of that cold and dreary landscape. No lives would be lost. She offered to break the news of Jose Maria’s second employment to Patty, but the hidalgo told her it wasn’t necessary. “My observations are the same as his.” Jose Maria looked at Patty fondly, and she squeezed his hand.

  “He said that I was a Fed whore. He told me if I didn’t go to bed with him, he would have me executed as a spy. He tried to rape me.”

  “This is a serious charge, Captain. What is your defense?”

  The captain’s fair-skinned face turned purple. “The bitch solicited me! She offered me her body for money because she was tired of her usual client.”

  “This woman is a technician only,“ Myessa put in, setting a disk on the table. “I have her employment records here. She does not work in the bedrooms of the Club. Clearly you can see that she is terrified of him. Why would she approach him outside, when he visits my club regularly once a week?”

  Van Owen sat silent throughout the arraignment and the statements. Myessa sat next to Sparks, one hand placed protectively on the girl’s arm. Her “regiment” was performing brilliantly, and she was proud of them.

  “I see,” the captain spat, when the director left them alone. “You’ve concocted this story to try to discredit me.”

  “I think we have done so,” Myessa said with satisfaction. “Your service rank is no longer secret, so your profile is much too high to be a receiver of stolen secrets. Perhaps they will find you a job tapping wires elsewhere. “

  “Not only did I outsmart you, my Captain, but I outrank you.” She laughed at the puzzled expression on his face. For an intelligence officer, he was remarkably ignorant. “Never try to teach a gold-digger how to dispose of dirt.”

  BY LATE in 2059 the forces deployed by each side in the Jovian system were at near parity. Back on the Earth, the Confederation was losing the war of production. The U.N. nations, with their larger industrial base and greater experience at spaceship construction, were producing almost twice as many ships as the Southern nations.

  This had actually been the case since late in 2058, but at first this excess production had not affected the balance of forces. The reason the extra ships had no impact was the work of one man, Kinyetta Kimoyso. Captain Kimoyso commanded a squadron of Confederation commerce raiders that had managed to ambush and destroy almost a third of all the ships dispatched to the war zone by the U.N. While his existence was officially denied’ by the Confederation on all levels, the efforts of his eight ships had staved off their defeat for almost a year.

  In May 2059 Captain Kimoyso reported a strange lack of U.N. shipping. It provided his exhausted crews with a badly needed rest. This respite was brief, for in mid June the reason for the break became apparent. The U.N., having earlier rejected it as too cumbersome, had finally adopted a convoy system.

  Accompanied by two cruisers and a carrier, a convoy of twelve merchants arrived on Europa with the loss of only one ship. This compared favorably with the forty percent loss rate the U.N. had suffered over the preceding six months. Encouraged by this success, the U.N. began accumulating ships. By late August over two dozen newly commissioned capital ships and thirty-one heavily laden merchants had gathered at Ceres Station. On these merchants were enough fighters to completely restock all nine U.N. carriers already in the Jovian system. This mass of material constituted almost six months of United Nation’s output. If it had arrived intact, the balance of power around Jupiter would have irrevocably swung in their favor. Its loss would have been a powerful incentive to a negotiated peace favorable to the Confederation.

  Confederation intelligence first learned of this super convoy from a leak on Jupiter Station. Before it could be confirmed, the convoy had left. A courageous attempt to delay the departure cost Kimoyso two of his ships and resulted in less than a six-hour delay. The Confederation Central Command realized this was to be the key battle of the war and ordered the convoy stopped at all cost.

  Plans were made for the Fed ships in the Jovian system to attempt to intercept the convoy when it was still a week out. The U.N., its intelligence service proving equally effective, soon learned of their intent and was less than two hours behind the Fed fleet when it departed. Trapped in open space between the two forces, the Confederation Admiral ordered full acceleration. He was aware that the convoy could neither deviate from its set course or even cease decelerating without creating a massive delay or missing Jupiter System entirely. She was also aware that she also could now not slow down, for this would allow the U.N. ships to catch up. If that happened it was likely that the convoy would pass completely unscathed while her ships fought an even battle with those of the U.N. Jupiter Force.

  The first shots of this decisive battle were actually fired by Kimoyso. Half an hour before the convoy and Fed force met, he lead his six remaining ships in an attempt to destroy or even draw off in pursuit some of the convoy’s escorts. Outgunned, he lost three more ships in this courageous action and severely damaged one cruiser and three freighters. When his remaining ships retired, they were not followed.

  The rest of the battle was a matter of brute strength and speed. It lasted slightly less than seventeen seconds. As both forces approached each other at a relative velocity of several thousand miles per hour, each ceased accelerating and fired ahead of itself everything possible. Fanning ahead of both sides was a curtain of smart missles and shrapnel. Several of the lightly armed U.N. freighters actually jettisoned ball bearings and small-arms ammunition while continuing to decelerate, though, since it was easy to dodge, the effect of this impromptu barrier was slight.

  During the short period between the time each side encountered the other’s ordnance and when they had flashed past, each lost almost half of their ships. The lightly armored freighters suffered considerably more damage than the warships involved. The Confederation fleet then swung in a large arc and returned to tier bases. The U.N. ships met the convoy an hour later. Less than half of the freighters survived the encounter. Three of those that did had to be towed in. In the sense that they had decisively diminished the effect of the convoy’s arrival, this battle was a Fed victory. They
had achieved their objective, but the cost had been high. The Confederation fleet had been cut by a third, and the originally equal U.N. fleet had not even seen action. When the surviving warships from the convoy’s escort were added, the U.N. now had an insurmountable numerical advantage.

  Of course, the next day this no longer mattered. Only the losses were of any concern—though not for the reasons anyone had expected.

  DAN CORBIN knew he was going to die.

  He could sense the impending doom, feel the primal, screaming fear it roused in the deepest reptilian areas of his brain. He felt the wrongness of it even before the instruments began chirping and flashing their urgent warnings. He wanted to yell something, to warn Baedecker and Tyne, but what would be the point? It was too late-they couldn’t exactly slam on the brakes, turn around and go home. Besides, the gut-wrenching torture of the Jump itself made it impossible to speak, an effort even to breathe. Whatever was going to happen was going to happen.

  He recalled when one of the techs, attempting to describe in layman’s terms the theories of what the Jump would feel like, had said it would be like trying to pour a full-grown man through a magna-key slot. Corbin usually put little stock in techs’ opinions, but this time he had to admit that they had been entirely too close to the truth. .

  The only thing that could be said in its favor was that it didn’t last long. Almost as soon as it began, it was over. Corbin inhaled long, shuddering gasps of air, feeling the inside surfaces of his suit sticking to his clammy skin. He no longer was being pulled apart by wild animals while being simultaneously squeezed in the fist of a maddened giant—the sensations of the Jump demanded mixed metaphors.

  Something had gone wrong, but at least he was still alive.

  Now all he had to do was find out what the problem was.