“I don’t have any more information for you. I’m sure the navy will send a task force to investigate.”
“That, General, is one of the things that concerns me. That system has no strategic value. Do you agree?”
“I do.”
“Then it must have some other value to the Merki. I can think of two options. One, it’s a diversion. Two, it’s a waypoint en route to the real target.”
Burgton nodded. “I don’t like either one of those. You have a theory?”
“It could be either, but I don’t think the pirate base was the target. I believe the system was just a convenient refuelling point. The Merki cleansed that world simply because it was there, and they had time. Destroying Commodore Walder’s ships was just a bonus.”
Burgton frowned.
“Sending the task-force to investigate means the diversion worked, but what are they diverting us from?”
“An attack obviously, but there’s no way to guess the target system...” Burgton’s eyes sharpened. “Or is there?”
Sebastian smiled, but shook his head. “I can make educated guesses, but that’s all they would be. I need more data.”
“That’s one thing I don’t have, but can guarantee you’ll get. As soon as they attack.”
Sebastian nodded. He wouldn’t be able to discern the Merkiaari’s strategy without more data, and that meant more deaths were inevitable. Perhaps many more.
He took his leave of the general, and coincidentally, Liz at the same time. He remained chatting with Michelle about various shows she liked, and manifested his avatar within the centrum of the Oracle Facility. In a very real sense, he lived there, safely protected by the armoured matrix column. He didn’t need his avatar; there was no one to see it, but on a whim he chose to use it again.
With a thought, he filled his centrum with stars. Another thought, and a control pedestal appeared to his right. He didn’t need either one, but it pleased him to use them like a Human would. He fashioned the simulation into a map of Alliance worlds, with the stars penned by concentric circles centred upon Sol. It was similar to the maps found in text books.
He touched the controls he didn’t need, and the various sectors appeared in brightly coloured lines. He zoomed the map upon the Beaufort Sector, and touched it to locate the pirate system. That star with its little huddle of planets, was a preview of what lay ahead for the Alliance.
He studied the nearby systems, and then turned his attention to the Shan worlds. So vulnerable that little red circle, all alone and separated from the rest of the Alliance. He pondered that star, and wondered. Why hadn’t the loathsome Merkiaari returned there to finish the job? He would have, if he’d been a genocidal xenophobic First Claw. Never mind; they’d done something else.
But what? There were so many possibilities.
He would create a portfolio of simulations, so that when the Merkiaari struck, he could match their attack with one of his make-believe assaults. With luck, the next attack would be enough for a match, but more likely it would take more than one.
He began building his simulations, and based them upon the data he’d received from the logs of Commodore Walder’s ships. The data were admittedly sketchy, but at least he had a rough idea of what the Alliance faced this time. He didn’t know current Merkiaari fuel capacities or drive efficiencies, but he did have historic data from the last War to draw upon.
He used the pirate system as his starting point, and assumed all of the ships had refuelled there. With full bunkers, and using the known max ranges of Merki ships taken from historic data, he plotted courses. Red lines streaked over the map like some kind of disease. That’s what he thought of the Merkiaari. They were a plague on the galaxy, one he would eradicate if he could. Each time a line terminated on his map, he saved the simulation, before building another. Each sim spoke of a catastrophe in the making, a world like his poor dead Kushiel.
He worked for hours, cataloguing one disaster after another. Beaufort gone, Arsenal gone, Faragut! If the Alliance lost Faragut, the navy would be seriously degraded. Its industry was needed that badly. He logged that simulation, tagged the Merkiaari threat as severe, and moved on to the next simulation. Possibility after possibility played out for him, making him heart sick. Kalmar gone, a serious but not a terminal blow. Arcadia gone… no loss. He didn’t understand the need for Humans to play at war, or sex, or a million other things using simulations, when they had reality. He watched world after world fall. Snakeholme turned red as it fell. That had to be a statistical error, but he couldn’t ignore the possibility. He tagged it as highly unlikely and moved on.
Something tugged on his awareness, and he reluctantly devoted some of his attention to it. A ship. In the arrival zone and manoeuvring. He interrogated the early warning network, and recognised the ship.
Harbinger was inbound.
* * *
13 ~ Homecoming
Garden of Remembrance, Petruso Base, Snakeholme
Burgton walked among the forest of granite obelisks, remembering the faces of long gone heroes. He’d known them all. He could attach a face to every name carved in the regiment’s memorials. His viper memory enforced perfect recall. He wouldn’t have it any other way. He carried his victories and defeats with him every day, and the consequences of them. His dead.
There were thousands of names on dozens of stone monuments. He stopped opposite one of the first obelisks planted in the garden, and traced the name he’d come to see with a finger. Capt. Tony Degas, Special Assault Group, 501st Infantry. He’d inherited Tony’s command when the SAG had been a small part of the 501st. The term didn’t become obsolete until the entire regiment went through enhancement later in the war.
Behind him, a few hundred yards away on the parade ground, First and Second Battalions were assembling to witness a hero’s final homecoming; a long delayed event. Why and how it had happened was much on his mind. Tony’s presumed death on Forestal, had in a very real sense, given him the opportunities he’d needed to guide the Alliance. His promotion to CO of Charlie Company, his greater access to information, his friendships with the upper brass through greater contact with them... he owed it all to Tony.
“The shuttle is inbound, sir,” Major Faggini said via viper comm. “ETA is nine minutes.”
“Thank you, Major,” Burgton replied. “On my way.”
He matched words to action, and left the memorial garden behind. He reached the parade ground, and stopped to study his troops. His vipers were a splendid sight. There’d been times when he’d feared never to see a full battalion of them again, let alone two.
Burgton took his place at the head of his men, and watched the sky for the shuttle when it appeared on the edge of sensor range. Unlike the last time, there were no civilians present to greet the fallen. Like him, his old friend had been focused on duty, not ceremony. A simple greeting like this suited him better.
The shuttle bypassed the landing field and hovered over the parade ground. Its tilt jet engines roared to arrest the shuttle’s momentum, before it landed gently. The engines powered down, and a minute or so later, the passenger access opened. Stone exited the shuttle first, followed by Richmond and Fuentez guiding a stasis tube.
Burgton and his men saluted as the three vipers, all wearing Class A dress uniform, slow marched past them, and into the tech centre. There was no other ceremony. No speeches, or flashy gestures of respect. Just the silence, and comrades’ salutes. All knew it might be them one day in that tube. It was enough. They held the salute for a few more seconds, and then lowered their hands.
Burgton nodded to Major Faggini. She saluted him and addressed the men. “Regiment! Disssss-miss!”
Her order was taken up by her subordinates.
“Battalion...”
“Company...
“...Disssss-miss!”
The orders echoed into the silence, and the men pivoted right-face to stamp the ground. The sound hammered the air; the crash synchronised with machine-like pr
ecision. The formations broke up, and the men drifted away, back to barracks or to training duties.
Burgton stood alone with his thoughts, long after the parade ground emptied. In the Tech Centre, certain procedures would soon render Tony’s body down to nothing but spare parts and memories. The procedure had shocked him once. Long ago that was. It no longer did. It was fitting somehow, and part of what it meant to be a viper. They were all the same in death.
He looked around, and the Petruso Base of today faded, replaced with his earliest memory of the base. He’d been a frightened recruit, learning what he’d volunteered to become, and Sgt. Jonathon Petruso was still very much alive. Petruso would have laughed to learn the “Hell-hole” would be renamed after him when he passed into history.
Camp Bolthole, AKA the Hell-hole, had been a single barracks and bunker in a forest clearing back then. The world hadn’t even been named, and its catalogue number was just one of millions. Unremarked and unremarkable. A hidden base out of the way, and remote from the Merkiaari advance.
Leonidas, a codename for a project to enhance soldiers who later became his vipers, had been so secret, that even the President of the day hadn’t known about it. A very good thing, because the dumbass would probably have tried to veto it. He’d been a stickler for the rules; rules like those set down in the Bethany Convention that outlawed neural tech, a technology vipers depended upon.
“George,” Hymas said over viper comm. “Do you want to see him before the procedure?”
“On my way,” Burgton replied, and headed for the Tech Centre.
Upon entering the building, he met Stone and his team as they were leaving. He took the opportunity to speak with them.
“Well done,” he said, including all three in his congratulations. “Gina, Alpha Company is shipping out tomorrow. Upload your logs asap. As soon as you’ve done that, report to Captain Penleigh for a briefing.”
Fuentez nodded. “I’ll get right on it, sir,” she said, saluted, and hurried away.
Burgton watched her go, and then turned back. “You two have time, but get your logs uploaded before lights out. Report to me at 0900 in the morning for debriefing.”
“Understood,” Stone said. “I’ll get caught up on what’s happening over at OSI. I’ll be ready with an update for you.”
“Good. Glad to have you back, Ken.”
“Good to be home, sir.”
Burgton smiled at Richmond. “Your personal issues are resolved, Katherine?”
Richmond stiffened. “Yes, thank you, sir. It’s all squared away.”
“Glad to hear it. Until tomorrow then.”
They exchanged salutes, and parted ways.
Burgton pursed his lips, watching them go. There was a story there. Something about what he’d said had worried Richmond. Stone’s expression had been bland; too bland to be real. He chuckled as he imagined the conversation they were probably having right now. He wondered how much of their logs would be accidentally blocked from their uploads. He shrugged and continued on his way. He trusted Stone with his life; more importantly, he trusted him with the regiment’s secrets. He’d done both many times.
He entered one of the labs, using his sensors to find the one Hymas had chosen. She waited alone with the body, gowned and ready to perform the extractions. As a concession to him, she hadn’t removed Tony’s uniform. The body was face up on the examination table. Above him, the robotic arms of the surgical rig hung quiescent, awaiting input. Hymas would use it to remove Tony’s backup memory module. His memories and data would be uploaded to the archive, and the crystals themselves would be added to the others in storage. Storing them was a sentimental tradition, not a practical one. Data crystals could be reused, but they never were in these cases.
“Do you want me to leave?” Marion said.
“It’s all right,” Burgton said. “I won’t delay you too long. I just wanted to see him again.”
Marion nodded and stepped aside.
Burgton approached the table. From this side, the body seemed intact. There were no visible injuries, but close up, he was able to see that most of Tony’s head was missing on the right side. The left hemisphere of his brain was hideously exposed.
He gently cupped his friend’s undamaged cheek. “Farewell, old friend.”
Turning away, he nodded to Marion and left the lab.
General Burgton’s office, Petruso Base, Snakeholme
Burgton was hard at work the next morning, when PFC Robshaw reported to him, coffee in hand. As he fielded the cup, his chrono changed to 0700 on his internal display, and he sipped the brew.
“Punctual as always, Raph.”
Robshaw smiled, and turned to leave.
“Wait a minute, would you?”
“You need something, sir?”
Burgton put the coffee aside. “Take a seat. We need to discuss your replacement.”
“Sir?” Robshaw chose one of the visitor’s chairs and sat. “Is my coffee that bad?”
Burgton smiled. “It’s time to rotate back to your unit. It’s an indication of the workload this office has handled, but two years out of training is too long. The regiment’s reactivation is well in hand. It’s time to hand your stash of coffee beans over to Ren.”
Raph frowned. “2nd Battalion, Alpha Company... that Ren? Ren Fukumoto?”
“Do you know another?”
“No, sir, but...”
“Go on.”
“I’ve heard she’s a fuckup, sir, begging your pardon.”
Burgton grinned. “I’ve read the reports. She’ll do.”
Ren Fukumoto was indeed a fuckup, but she wasn’t an irredeemable one. He’d dealt with far worse than racketeering and the black market in his time. She would find both hard to do on Snakeholme. Soldiers who felt the regs didn’t apply to them were no stranger to him. Like Stone or Richmond, they often made good undercover operatives. Ren would settle down or break. He was betting on the former, but he’d be ready with a replacement in case of the latter.
“Today, sir?” Raph said.
“No. I’ll need you to get her up to speed. Let’s say this coming Thursday. Use the next couple of days to show her the ropes.”
Raph nodded, and rose to his feet. “Should I inform her?”
“I’ll do it. Schedule me ten minutes with her for this afternoon.”
“Yes, sir,” Raph said, and left.
Burgton worked undisturbed, until his first meeting at 0800. Raph knocked once at the height of the hour, and opened the door.
“Captain Penleigh and his officers are here to see you, sir.”
Burgton nodded. “Send them in, Raph.”
Eric entered first, followed by his lieutenants. Burgton accepted their salutes, and indicated seats. Raph backed out and closed the door.
“Is everything ready?”
Penleigh took a seat beside his officers. “We’ll join the Company after this meeting.”
Burgton nodded. Eric was CO of 1st Battalion’s Alpha Company. The meeting was his final briefing. The SDF were providing transport to Pandora for his men in the shape of Hammer. A destroyer, not a troop transport, but she was more than sufficient. Shuttling a hundred and sixty viper units to a friendly world in the Kalmar Union, was well within her capabilities.
“Can I ask a question, sir?” Fuentez said.
“Ask away, Lieutenant.”
“What’s the real mission?”
Eric beamed approvingly at Fuentez. Burgton had to chuckle at the by-play. Eric’s scepticism was rubbing off on her. She was no Richmond yet, but the shiny had definitely dulled from her first days as a viper recruit. Lieutenants Brice, Dengler, and Dolinski looked on, keeping their silence on the matter, but they looked intensely interested.
“This is ostensibly a public relations exercise,” Burgton began. “The President contacted me in confidence, and asked for a little help with the Council.”
Eric shifted, and Fuentez darted a look at him. Burgton knew what Eric was thinking, but
this wasn’t that kind of intervention. No one would be hurt by what he needed done, except for maybe the bottom line of a few corporations.
“The DOD’s appropriations are up for review, and the Council is delaying by talking things to death.”
Lieutenant Dengler snorted.
Burgton smiled sourly. “Agreed. It’s no surprise. It’s what politicians were born to do. The President needs a little leverage, and the media on Pandora are the perfect opportunity. The Shan will attract them like bees to honey.”
“And our part in this?” Eric said.
“The games. Make a good show of it for the newsies. Be impressive. Show the people what their taxes are buying, and why they want to keep us around. Teach them why building more of us would be a good idea.”
Eric nodded.
“That’s the public mission,” Burgton went on. “The clandestine one is data gathering. Liz has a shopping list, and I have mine. I’ll upload them to you before you leave.”
Eric nodded. “So, a little walk in the woods, a little espionage on the side, and a nice restful trip home again. We can do that.”
Everyone smiled, and the meeting came to a close. Burgton sent his shopping lists to Eric, before he and his men left to catch their shuttle up to the station.
Raph entered the office with fresh coffee a few minutes later, and reminded him of a meeting scheduled for 0900. This time with Richmond and Stone. Burgton nodded, and sipped his coffee. He ignored the blinking toxicity warning on his internal display, and frowned as something occurred to him.
“You pencilled Ren in for this afternoon?”
“Yes, sir, for 1500.”
Burgton nodded. “That’s fine, but leave the rest of the day free. I need to visit Sebastian.”
“Yes, sir,” Raph said, and went back to his desk.
* * *
14 ~ Possibilities
Oracle Facility, The Mountain, Snakeholme
Sebastian watched SDF Hammer reach her jump point, and blink into foldspace. His attention remained fixed upon the spatial coordinates, long after the ship departed the system. A few seconds was an eternity to him.
Incursion: Merkiaari Wars Book 5 Page 10