by Jay Allan
James inhaled deeply, the cool air clearing her mind. The president always kept his office temperature several degrees below normal, and tonight she was grateful. She’d probably be sweating if it had been any warmer. The stress was starting to get to her, and she expended a lot of effort to hide it.
She was being given the go ahead, she knew that. But she was also the one who’d be taking the risks. That was clear to her as well. Francis would love to be rid of Stark, but he wasn’t willing to take the risk of moving against the spymaster himself…or evenly opening supporting a move. He would stand out of her way, but that was the best he would offer.
“Very well, Mr. President.” She shifted her weight forward and started to rise. “I believe we understand each other.” She turned to face him. “And agree.”
Francis remained seated. He didn’t say anything, but he nodded. James returned the gesture and started toward the door. She stopped before she walked the rest of the way and said, “Goodnight, Mr. President.” She waved her hand over the control and the door slid open. She started through then turned around one last time. “I will keep you advised, sir.” And with that she walked out into the corridor.
Victoria James was one of the most powerful members of the Alliance Senate. The third generation of her family to hold the Seat, she’d leapfrogged over her older brother, a degenerate who preferred to spend his time abducting and molesting young Cogs of both sexes to wielding the political power that was the family’s due. Victoria had her own eclectic sexual tastes, but she had the good sense to keep them in the shadows. She’d had her eyes on the Senate Seat as long as she could remember, and she’d made damned sure not to cause any scandals or embarrassments, at least not until her alcoholic of a father had the decency to die and leave her in charge of the family’s political influence. She had a younger brother, far more intelligent and capable than the older…and he could easily have taken her place if she’d been less careful.
Her office was palatial, again befitting her station. James was not immune from the arrogance and corruption that permeated the Alliance’s political class, but fear had a way of draining cockiness and conceit. James was afraid…of the First Imperium, of the changes in the power structure this war might cause, of Gavin Stark. Most of all, she was scared of Stark and his rogue intelligence agency. Everyone was afraid of Alliance Intelligence, of course, but most of that was non-specific. The agency had a dossier on everyone of note in the Alliance, right down to local block bosses in South Detroit, and most of those files held damaging secrets…dangerous enough to cause significant problems if they were released. But James’ fears were more specific. She was sure Stark was up to something beyond his normal spy games. And considering the malevolent abilities of the head of Alliance Intelligence, that scared the hell out of her.
“I understand, Senator.” Raj Khosla stood respectfully in front of James’ desk. His grandfather had been rescued by James’ during the Unification Wars. Things had been very bad in India late in the wars, before the Alliance-Russian forces pushed back the Caliphate, and the St. Petersburg government offered the shattered central Indian states co-equal participation in their fledgling Confederacy. The Khosla clan had been trusted retainers to James’ family ever since, and Raj was their head of security. He organized protection for family members…and he handled the dirtier jobs that needed to be done. He was very good at what he did. “I shall attend to this personally, madam.”
“Thank you, Raj.” James felt considerable relief just from doing something. She’d wanted to get rid of Stark for a long time. She didn’t trust his intentions…and the bastard had far too much dirt on her. James didn’t like being controlled or blackmailed, and she was going to put a stop to it. “The loyalty of your family to mine shall always be repaid in kind, my most trusted friend.”
The retainer bowed, and slipped silently out of the office. James got up and poured herself a brandy from the exquisite set of decanters lined up on the credenza. She wasn’t much of a drinker, but she needed something to calm her nerves. Moving against Stark was the most terrifying thing she’d ever done. James had led a life of privilege and power; she was unaccustomed to feeling intimidated. She set the priceless brandy down next to the other ornate bottles. Though she rarely partook, she had the best of everything available at all times. All of her peers did. It was a matter of ego and prestige.
The early members of the political class had been normal politicians, driven primarily by a lust for personal power and status. The eventual merger of the existing political parties in the mid-21st century had been self-serving. Instead of savaging each other in increasingly rancorous political campaigns, those in power began to cooperate…they conspired to protect themselves in their positions and keep others out. Elections became mere formalities, and disruptive voters who refused to cast their ballots as expected became subject to harsh punitive measures afterward.
Once they had secured power for themselves, the politicians began to look ahead, to seek ways to pass on their positions and influence to their children…and later to their grandchildren. The development of the political academies solved this problem nicely. By requiring all government ministers to be graduates of the academies and controlling access to these institutions, the men and women in power permanently locked out any but those they handpicked themselves. An elaborate system of cronyism resulted, with existing government officials cooperating to approve members of each other’s families…while locking out anyone else except the occasional strongly supported protégé.
It was an expedient solution, at least from the point of view of the politicians, but after 150 years it had become ingrained in the Alliance’s structure and society. Families like James’ went from cynically hanging on to power to genuinely considering themselves an entitled aristocracy.
Gavin Stark was a threat to this established order. He was an outsider who’d blackmailed his way into his Alliance Intelligence. He’d sacrifice a Senator as quickly as a Cog to further his schemes. She could only guess what his plans were, but she was sure they would do no good for anyone. Except Gavin Stark.
She drained the snifter and laid it on the counter. It was late, and she was tired. She walked through her outer offices and into the lobby. There weren’t many people left in the Senate Building so late, and the lift came right away. The door opened, no one inside except a janitor. Victoria James gave no notice at all to maintenance workers. They existed to serve, and that was all anyone needed to think about them.
The startled night worker jumped to get out of her way, reaching to hold the door open for her. He tripped as he did, his hand reaching out for the wall to catch himself. He bumped into James, his hand brushing against her shoulder.
She spun around and gave him a withering stare. “Be careful, you imbecile!” Her voice was pure venom.
The terrified maintenance worker jumped out of the lift. “I’m terribly sorry, ma’am,” he cried piteously. “Please…” He cringed as he spoke, cowering away from her and looking down at the ground. “…forgive my carelessness. I will take another lift.”
She felt the heat around her neck, the residual effect of the flush of anger she’d felt. She was tempted to call Raj, to have this clumsy fool beaten within an inch of his life. But her rage quickly dissipated. The man’s abject fear and obsequious pleas salved her pride. And she had more important matters to think about. “I don’t expect to see you again, you clumsy fool.”
“No ma’am, never.” He backed away, moving down the hall toward the north bank of elevators. “Thank you, ma’am.”
Miserable Cogs, she thought as she punched the button and the doors quickly shut. She closed her eyes and rubbed the back of her neck, hitting the button on her portable com with her other hand, signaling Gerald to bring the car around. The doors opened and she stepped out into the lobby, moving her hand to the back of her neck again as she did. When she pulled it away it was slick with sweat. I don’t feel well, she thought…time to get home. I’ve
been working too hard. Too much stress.
Back on the 112th floor, the janitor stood in the hallway just outside the lift door. He allowed himself a tiny smile then he pulled out a portable com unit and flipped it on. “It’s done,” he said softly. Then he glided down the hallway and slipped into an empty lift.
Stark sat down in his office, a heavy crystal glass half-full of Scotch sitting in front of him. He was quiet, thoughtful…staring across at one of the leather guest chairs. For many years, Jack Dutton had sat there, discussing strategies and talking with him long into the night. Dutton had been a spy as long as there had been an Alliance, and he was the living embodiment of the old cliché…Jack Dutton knew where all the bodies were buried. Time had finally caught up with the ancient spook, and Stark sorely missed his only friend.
Dutton had been the only person Stark had ever really liked. Or trusted. He enjoyed Alex Linden’s company too, especially when she was on her back…or in a number of other positions, he thought with a dark smile. She was smart too, and capable. But Jack Dutton, thinking himself too infirm to handle the top job, had stepped aside so Stark could become Number One. That allowed Stark to truly trust his mentor. Alex, amusing diversion though she was, had her own eyes on the first chair…he was sure of that. Stark could never quite tell if she was truly attracted to him or if she was just using him. But he didn’t kid himself…either way, when she got her chance, she wouldn’t let him or any feelings she might have stand in her way. Sociopath that he was, he respected that about her. But that didn’t mean he’d ever let her get the chance. Pretty little Alex would end up in some deep ditch long before she got her opportunity to take out Stark.
Dutton had been more than friend, confidante, and mentor…he’d been a restraining influence as well. Now that he was gone, Stark’s megalomania and paranoia had begun to run unchecked. Number One was a genius, but he was also insane, at least by most definitions. His plans had become unimaginably vast, dangerous enough to threaten everything – the Alliance, the colonies, the Treaty of Paris that had kept peace on Earth for over a century.
He was satisfied; his operative had done well. James had no idea what had happened. She’d be dead in two days, three at the most, apparently of natural causes. The virus was courtesy of one of the more hostile worlds man had explored, a pathogen-infested hell that had been declared off-limits by agreement of all the Powers. But Stark wasn’t one to let a storehouse of useful tools go to waste because of something as trifling as international law.
Not only was this nasty little bug untraceable, it closely resembled an Earthly disease that was transmitted among certain Cog populations by unconventional sexual activities…except this one wouldn’t respond to treatment. There would be no investigation; he was sure of that. James’ peers would want to avoid the scandal and embarrassment. They’d announce that she died of something tragic and conventional. Then they’d give her a big state funeral and forget about her.
The com buzzed again. “Number One, phase two is completed. Raj Khosla has been terminated as per your instructions.” The agent’s voice was cool, professional. Still, Stark could hear the satisfaction there too.
He should be satisfied, Stark thought…he has done excellent work. “Well done, D.” Stark’s highest-level operatives were designated sequentially by single letters. “Return to the safe house as planned.”
“Yes, sir.” The line was cut immediately. There was no room in high level black ops for social niceties, even when speaking to Number One.
Yes, Stark thought, you have done very well. A different man than Stark would have regretted what he did next, or at least appreciated the irony. But Stark was as close to emotionless as a human being could be. He fingered the small controller for a few seconds, finally depressing his hand on the small button. Three kilometers away, he knew the operative had fallen to the ground dead, his aorta ruptured by a nano-explosive implanted in his chest. When he was found, he’d have no identity, no record in the system. They’d assume he was an undocumented Cog who’d snuck into the Core from the outer slums, and they’d chuck him in the recycling system.
The operative had done a perfect job, executed his assignment flawlessly. But this mission was too important, too sensitive…too close to the start of Shadow. And Gavin Stark did not like to leave loose ends.
Chapter 7
AS Indianapolis
HP 56548 III System
Outer System
220,000,000 km past Newton Orbit
Jacobs stared at the tactical screen, totally focused on the unfolding battle. His missiles had passed through the enemy’s outer point defense zone, and the surviving weapons were making their final approach. If he’d timed his attack right, the warheads would begin detonating just as the enemy vessels entered range of his laser buoys. That one-two punch would be followed up by the fighter-bombers, which were following the missiles in, using them as a screen to divert the enemy point defense. Jacobs didn’t want his missiles shot down, but he’d damned sure rather lose a nuclear warhead than a fighter and its crew.
There were missiles heading toward his fleet too, a lot of them. But less than there might have been. Jacobs had deployed half his fighters to anti-missile runs, and they’d earned their pay and then some. Barely a third of the enemy weapons got past the fighters and the long-ranged point defense. Now Scouting Fleet’s defensive lasers and shotguns were ravaging what was left. Some of them would get through; Jacobs knew that. But not many, not enough to seriously endanger the fleet. The energy weapons would be a different story. If enough of the enemy got into firing range in fighting shape, their particle accelerators were going to be a big problem. They had double the range and power of the lasers on Jacob’s cruisers.
“Missile detonations beginning, sir.” Carp’s voice was cool and professional. Jacobs was still impressed with his young protégé. Garret may very well have promoted Carp to lieutenant commander, but he was still just 24 years old. He was a block of ice under fire; not many officers his age could handle his heavy responsibilities so expertly. “It looks like the new ECM is working well, admiral. A lot of our birds are getting through.”
That’s good news, Jacobs thought. His people were the first to test out General Sparks’ new point defense jamming system. The First Imperium was far ahead of humanity in technology, but their electronic warfare systems had been surprisingly vulnerable to those of the various human fleets. It was an advantage, a welcome one in a war where the Pact didn’t have many, and Sparks and his people were determined to press it as far as they could. Jacobs didn’t begin to understand how it functioned, but the fact that it seemed to work was a welcome realization. Alliance ships carried fewer and weaker missiles than First Imperium vessels of comparable mass…if they could get more of their ordnance through the point defense zone it would go a long way toward bridging that gap.
“I’m reading multiple close detonations.” Carp was staring at his screens, following the reports as they streamed in. “And one direct hit, sir!” His head snapped up and spun to face Jacobs.
A direct hit was a rare thing in missile duels. Targeting a moving vessel millions of miles away, dealing with point defense and evasive maneuvers, was an almost impossibly difficult task. Fleets exchanged massive volleys hoping to get their warheads close enough to cause damage from a near miss. A 500 megaton bomb put out an enormous amount of energy when it exploded, and any vessel within a few kilometers was going to take at least some damage. No ship could survive an actual hit, of course. Even a battleship was reduced to plasma by a direct contact with a warhead that size. In this case, it was only a Gremlin. Jacobs wished it had been one of the Gargoyles, but he decided he would take what he could get.
“Lieutenant Hooper, status of incoming barrage?” Jacobs knew exactly what was still heading in toward his ships, but he wanted to put his tactical support officer through her paces.
“Approximately 18.35% of enemy warheads surviving, sir.” Hooper spoke precisely, as if everything she
said had been precalculated and double-checked. Which, in her case, they had been. “The shotguns are doing extremely well, sir.”
It’s a damned good thing, Jacobs thought. And they’d take out a lot more too before the missiles closed. He’d launched his volley before the enemy, and the incoming weapons were still 3-5 minutes out. Plenty of time for his point defense to whittle down the total.
“Admiral, I have updated damage assessments from our missile attack.” Carp was still hunched over his workstation as he spoke. “Two of the Gargolyes are out of action. One was destroyed outright; the other reads completely dead…no energy output at all.” He paused for an instant, reading the data as it came across his screen. “The remaining four have sustained serious to critical damage. A short pause, then: “The laser buoys are commencing fire.”
The x-ray lasers were programmed to fire at the nearest target. I should have preferenced the Gargoyles in the firing plan, Jacobs thought, scolding himself for not thinking of it sooner. With the lasers firing so soon after the missile attack, he didn’t have the luxury of reacting to the effects of his warheads. The enemy Gremlins were in the vanguard of the First Imperium flotilla, which meant they would take most of the fire from the lasers.
Jacobs was grateful he had a supply of the buoys…it was the only way an Alliance fleet could fight an energy weapons battle with the First Imperium forces and hope to win. It wasn’t just the strength of the bomb-pumped x-ray lasers…it was the ability to fire while the fleet itself stayed back, out of the range of the enemy’s particle accelerators. If we win this war, he thought, that’s going to be why. Of course every Pact officer had made a similar comment at one time or another, about half a dozen different weapons systems and strategies.