by Dani Kollin
Then it hit her. She knew who this man was. She knew his face, but it had seemed somehow smaller and more distorted on the holodisplay.
Her initial reaction was to be horrified that this ballyhoo was being accorded such a fiend. He was, after all, a man who’d callously thrown away thousands of lives—permanently—under his command. But she also saw that this was certainly not the uncaring officer depicted in the media, nor were the soldiers and patients around him terrified or kowtowing in any way. Their deference, she sensed, was real. At least more real than what she’d been spoon-fed by the UHF press. She decided to grab the bull by the horns and insinuated herself between the captain and the next group he was preparing to greet.
“You don’t seem nearly as sinister in person, Captain Trang,” she said.
“Funny,” he snapped back, “that’s exactly what I was going to say about you, Dr. Harper. But we can save the polemics for later, because in truth I’d like to thank you first.”
“For what?” asked Neela, surprised.
“For all them,” answered Trang, indicating the crowd and the hundreds of pairs of eyes now locked onto the two of them. “The spacers here,” he continued, “both Alliance and Federation, speak quite highly of you and all the work you’ve done to help them recover. I’m only sorry that this war has caused so much suffering and that you, like the rest of us here, seem to have been swallowed whole by it.”
“More like chewed up and spat out, Captain. I’m actually the leper here, and if you don’t want to damage your already-sullied reputation I’d suggest you find yourself something better to do than be seen cavorting with the ‘whore of the core.’” Neela had chosen to use one of the tamer monikers she’d been saddled with.
Instead of taking her advice, Trang took her hand in both of his, knowing full well that there were mediabots recording every moment, knowing that a large and normally quite boisterous crowd surrounded them. The vast room remained eerily silent.
“Doctor,” he said, “what ever mistakes were made in the past, we must do our best to rectify them in the here and now. You’re doing that and that’s really all I, or anyone for that matter, can ask of you. And so I repeat, thank you for all you’ve done. Perhaps you’d care to join me on this visit. I don’t really know the place and I’d appreciate a guide.”
Neela wasn’t sure why, but at that moment she felt like crying. Not out of sadness but out of release. Trang, with a few reassuring words and concomitant action, had allowed her to stop fighting so hard. He believed, like her, that all spacers were the same—humans first, spacers second. His was the type of thinking that could end the war and, she thought sadly, more’s the pity, because the idiots in high command planned on frying the guy.
The rest of the visit was a blur. Neela remembered taking Trang through the various wards and finally to the cavernous space where the suspension units were being held. There were already a few thousand in residence, but she and Trang could both see that the space had been designed to hold far more than that. She saw the captain put his hand on one of the nearer units and whisper something to the person inside. She didn’t know what Trang said, but she could feel the intensity of his pain, guilt, and anger.
She resolved to find out as much as she could about this Captain Trang. Something told her that he might just be the key to her salvation.
Although housing on Mars was scarce, especially given Hektor’s relocation of the government to the city of Burroughs, Amanda Snow had still managed to secure a prime piece of real estate. Her house too was extraordinary. “Two-thirds fluid,” as she was so fond of telling anyone willing to listen. Nano-constructed fluid homes, common among the rich on Earth, were still a rarity on Mars. Having walls and furniture form to your every desire just wasn’t practical in a 0.38 Earth gravity environment—especially when that lack of full gravity tended to play havoc with the fickle technology.
Amanda had informed Neela that the house had belonged to a very successful, if disreputable, Cerian businessman who would not be visiting his property anytime soon. Either way, both women found themselves enjoying a eucalyptus steam in the house’s spa.
“Amanda,” Neela called out through the thick, pungent haze, “I’m going to ask you for something and it’s going to seem strange.”
“Of course, Neela, but you don’t happen to know any good fluid space technicians, do you? Damn war is sucking the rest of the economy dry. I’ll have to set the floor plan to solid soon, and if I do that, what was the use of stealing this place?”
Neela was fascinated by how Amanda almost never prevaricated, even if the truth made her out to be less than perfect. “I’m afraid I don’t know any fluid housing specialists offhand, Amanda.”
“Oh, don’t be silly, dear. You’re surrounded by hundreds of recovering, highly trained spacers. I’m sure one of them could tinker with my town house. It might even do them good to get out of the center.”
“I couldn’t ask,” Neela said firmly, and then added, “I wouldn’t ask.”
“Afraid they’d say no?”
“I’m afraid they’d say yes, which is why I can’t ask.”
“You know you’re annoyingly good, Neela Harper. It’s probably why I find you so compelling. You don’t act like most … actually, any of the people I normally associate with.” Amanda sighed. “Oh, very well, I won’t ask you to help with my petty problems. How can I help you with yours?”
“I need to get my hands on some personality profiles.”
“Whose?”
“The High Command.”
“That’s it?” asked Amanda facetiously. “And here I thought you were going to ask me to do something difficult.”
“And,” continued Neela, “all the officers who will be judging the courts-martial of Captain Samuel Trang and Admiral Abhay Gupta … I told you it was going to seem strange.”
Amanda was silent for a moment. “Neela, you do realize that you’re still technically a criminal and effectively an enemy national?”
“Yes.”
“And that my giving you that information could be construed as an act of treason?”
“Amanda, I swear that I’m not going to use it the way you think. I promise not to use this information to aid the Alliance, but I do need it.”
“Why?”
“To save a military genius.”
“Pardon?”
“Amanda, have you seen the caliber of moron running Fleet Command?”
“Yeah, a lot of ex-corporate bigwigs playing war.”
“And their stupid games are getting people killed. The amount of ineptitude is staggering. Most of my revives attribute their deaths to gross negligence. And they’re the ones that survived. Thousands more are p.d.’ing because the idiots running the show either don’t know what’s going on or don’t care. Either way, it’s a mess.”
“So this genius you’re worried about—”
“I think he could end it, Amanda.”
“End what?”
“The war.”
Amanda guffawed. “How? He’s only one man.”
“I don’t know … it’s just a feeling,” Neela answered forcefully, “but you need to trust me. I’m usually right about these things.”
The quiet hiss of the steam was interrupted by the sound of their two pinging DijAssists informing them of a major news event. Amanda quickly activated the holodisplay.
“The Federation fleet,” intoned the announcer, “has just broken orbit and is announcing a major offensive against the rebels. It’s believed that our rebuilt fleet significantly outnumbers that of the Alliance. And with Admiral Diep to lead us, Ceres should soon be ours, at which point it’s agreed by most experts the war will soon end. Some are even speculating that the war may be over before it enters its third year. This would be a relief to the economy, as commodity prices are at historic highs and are continuing to rise, which is having a serious effect on the GDP of the core—”
“Can Diep win?” Amanda asked earnestly.
Neela shook her head.
Amanda shut off the holovision and they both stayed silent. “OK, Neela,” she finally said, “I’ll try and get the files you need—no promises … you’re still sure you can’t ask one of the guys to fix my house?”
“Yes, Amanda, I’m sure.”
Asteroid belt, two days’ boost from Ceres
J. D. Black was in the conference room of the War Prize with her task force commanders, who included the recently returned Omad from his “shooting the core” sortie. The room was one of the few not seriously damaged in the battles of the Martian Gates, which, thought Janet, was quite ironic given that it had been located in one of the more exposed parts of the ship. J.D. liked the room’s stark features. Gray walls, rubberized floor to reduce noise, and twenty small display desks magnetically clamped into the flooring. The room was flexible enough to allow for any type of seating configuration. J.D preferred circular, as it afforded all a 360-degree view of what ever plans needed to be discussed. She’d usually situate the holo-tank in the center of the room and then above her. That way as it projected three-dimensional images downward she could walk under and around what ever it was that needed explaining. Of course it meant that every now and then, much to the amusement of those gathered, she’d “walk” through a planet, asteroid, or spaceship, but that was a small price to pay for making sure everyone was on board with her vision. J.D. thought back to the room and the preparations made there for the assault on Eros. Christina, when it was only the two of them reviewing plans, would always let J.D. know about which part of her body had a planet, asteroid, or spaceship sticking out of it with the less than eloquent terms “rock arm,” “rock leg,” or, Christina’s absolute favorite, “battle butt,” referring to a vivisected battleship.
J.D. missed Christina dearly, she was one of the few people J.D. felt a true kinship with, but it was too far for her to get back to Ceres and the truth was that Christina’s work at the 180 was far too important. The Feds may have had what was left of Eros, but Christina had been making any attempt to advance from their position very expensive indeed. J.D. wished she could send her secretly favorite captain more aid, but the simple fact of the matter was that the main battlefront was Ceres/Mars and would be for the foreseeable future. Further, the war could not be lost in one battle at the 180, but J.D. was painfully aware that it could be at Ceres.
When she was sure she had everyone’s attention J.D. called up a display in the holo-tank.
“If the Feds were smart they’d just bypass us sitting here,” she said, pointing to their fleet in the holodisplay, “and make their way to Ceres.”
Captain Lu, who, thought J.D., looked annoyingly like Captain Lee—and they always sat together—raised his hand.
“Admiral,” he asked, “what makes you think they’re not? Seems pretty obvious that they should keep going.”
J.D.’s eyes glittered with mischevious delight. “They may have received interesting intelligence.”
“How interesting?” asked Lee.
“Interesting enough that we can be reasonably assured they’ll continue on their current path straight toward us.”
“We tricked them?” asked Lu, surprised.
“They bought the whole hollowed-out asteroid,” answered Omad, beaming. J.D. could see that he wanted to reveal the plan, so she twirled her hand in his general direction and gave him a half smile with the unscarred part of her face. It was the closest she came to letting her hair down, and it was a privilege doled out only to her closest subordinates and even then in small doses. J.D. knew that her “relaxing” only in their presence was more of an incentive than either medals or commendations.
“We have some of their spies under surveillance,” said Omad, “and have managed to use them to our ends.”
“So you fed them a load of space dust,” said Captain Cordova, a short, stocky former mercenary with a gleaming bald head, goatee, and permanent scowl.
“Yup,” answered Omad proudly. “We released a report that we’re only at one-third strength and that we’re waiting for the rest of the fleet to reinforce us.”
“So, we appear to be sitting ducks, here for the taking,” added Lee.
“Exactly.”
“And what ‘rest of the fleet’ would that be?” asked Cordova, one eyebrow raised. “Other than Captain Sadma’s fleet, why would the UHF believe we have more than what’s currently here? We can’t just make ships appear out of nowhere.”
“But we can, Captain Cordova; we can,” answered Omad.
J.D. took over, sidestepping a holographic image of a large mass of freighter ships leaving the Ceres port. “We have,” she continued, “a freighter fleet of ninety vessels leaving Ceres right about now. They’ve been equipped with all the requisite comm traffic as well as the visual signature of a group of warships.” As she said this, the ninety freighter ships morphed into battle cruisers.
“Visual signature?” asked Lu.
“Yes, Captain Leh,” she answered, purposely slurring the pronunciation in the hope of getting the name close enough not to dishonor the man she was addressing. “Between actual tacked-on parts and some very nifty software, those freighters appear for all intents and purposes to be battle cruisers.”
Cordova nodded and flashed a menacing grin. “So they’ll take on our sixty ships here,” he said using one fist to represent the real fleet, “while our other ‘fleet,’” he then added using the other fist to represent the imaginary ships, “is too far away to offer us any real help.”
“Precisely,” answered J.D.
“Still,” said Lee, “rather than take on our entrenched fleet with another supposed ninety on the way, the enemy could just turn around and go home.”
“Oh no, they can’t,” answered J.D. with churlish delight. “Our dear Admiral Diep is under enormous pressure to win a ‘glorious’ victory. It appears that the Eros ‘conquest’ has left a sour taste in their mouths. Hektor has delivered a newer, shinier fleet and word is he wants it used.”
“Omad,” she said, “please continue with the outline of the plan.” J.D. took a seat as Omad got up and took the floor. He used the holo-pad to bring up the image of a single asteroid.
“We’ve jury-rigged a group of these rocks with basic thrusters and then bored large holes through their centers. The plan is pretty simple. We cower behind the adapted rocks in a ninety-degree arc and fire at will. If the enemy tries to go around us, we use the thrusters to reposition the rocks. At that point we can hit the enemy broadside before they can bring their main fixed batteries to bear.”
“Uh,” started Captain Lu, “what’s to stop them from blowing away our asteroids at long enough range?”
Before Omad could answer, J.D. interrupted with a look devoid of all concern and patient as eternity. “Why, nothing, nothing at all.”
Bridge of the UHFS Starblazer
“Admiral, it’s a call from Captain Gupta of the Staten Island.”
Diep sighed and put on a privacy bubble so her crew wouldn’t have to hear the former fleet commander get dressed down by his former subordinate. Diep had been ambivalent about using the demoted officer, especially when he’d had a court-martial pending, but the truth was, she was desperately short of officers for her ever-growing fleet. By putting Gupta in command of the four troop transports she was at least able to free up a captain who was actually good at combat. Diep was afraid that Gupta would be resentful of his much-diminished rank and prestige, but he’d been more than courteous and helpful. In fact, one of his first acts when he was restored to temporary duty was to publicly thank her for saving Mars and preserving her squadron. She didn’t notice that he’d left out that that was precisely what he’d ordered her to do, as that part had become fuzzy in her mind. Diep had even enjoyed the buzz she’d received about how gracious and effective she was in helping out an old and disgraced friend.
But now she was coming to regret her kindness. The first nit was the quiet but not hidden alterations he’d
been making to his four ships. He’d increased the hull plating on the left side of the ships, claiming that it was to provide better protection as the transports neared hostile targets. He’d proffered evidence to show how many lives had been lost in Eros because the soldier transports hadn’t been properly fortified against the Alliance battery fire. He explained that he was going to shore up all the sides when the current campaign was over and that at least the transports in their current state could approach from one side safely. There was nothing wrong with his logic, but Diep had been highly suspicious and felt she wasn’t getting the real reason. But as it was only an oddity and a captain had discretion as long as it didn’t impair fleet operations, she’d let it go.
What she had found unacceptable, however, was Gupta’s constant need to advise her about the impending battle. He so reminded her of the fleet’s other persona non grata, Samuel Trang, who’d had the temerity to message her from the 180 during the Battle of the Martian Gates. That nutcase had actually told her to attack the Alliance fleet while it was preparing a trap for her. Now she was starting to get the same nonsense from Gupta.
“What is it, Captain?” she asked, not bothering to make eye contact as she reviewed info on her DijAssist.
“Admiral,” he answered, respecting her choice of using rank over name, “we should avoid this fleet.”
“So,” she answered through her stiffened jowl, “you’re saying we should just go home without a battle?”
“Yes, Admiral, that’s exactly what I’m saying.”
“The President and the press would junk us,” she said, using the term for being relegated to junk bond status, “faster than—” She bit her tongue, though they both knew what she’d almost said—“faster than you were.” Instead she’d managed to blurt, “than Trang’s guilty verdict.”