Cassandra Kresnov 5: Operation Shield

by Joel Shepherd

  Surrounding GIs caught him as he tried to regather his wits. Not having expected this. “What the hell does this prove?” he snarled at her.

  “Not entirely there, are you?” said Sandy. Her calm was not that of disinterest, feigned or otherwise. It was deadly implacable. She advanced on him.

  “So you can beat him in a fight,” said Rishi from one side. “He's right to ask, what does it prove?”

  “You assumed command over me,” said Sandy. “Odd thing to do, for someone who's not as good a soldier.”

  Another flurry, this time Kiet brought a kick into play, but Sandy blocked with a raised leg, twisted an arm grip to cost him balance, reversed his counter to throw him completely off balance and into a humiliating arm lock. Kiet grimaced, forced down to one knee as Sandy applied simple pressure.

  “This isn't that hard,” she told him. “It's not that my hands move faster, they don't. It's that my brain processes everything you're doing with no blind spots at a much faster speed. You can't surprise me. By the time your brain has formulated a possible attack, I've already seen it coming.”

  She released him, and he backed off, flexing his arm and circling. Sandy followed.

  “But today,” she continued, “despite your disadvantages, you led good people into a fight against overwhelming odds. Once engaged, your focus of concentration became so small that I had to intervene to try and save the intranet, our last and only hope of saving those other GIs…”

  “I had to act because you weren't going to!”

  “I was waiting for an advantage.” She lunged, Kiet defended, only to find it was a feint as she went low and swept his legs. He fell with a crash, rolling quickly up, but she was already there. “We managed to put in a block against their killswitch without them knowing. That took time. We might have had other covert successes, we were starting to penetrate their networks, we could have found others on the inside and set up something planned, like what happened here with Rishi, only more thought out…”

  “We did that!” Kiet retorted. “We made contact. We started an uprising in several corporations, and it was working! It was then or never!”

  “And you did all that without telling me?”

  “Yes!” It should have hurt more than it did. She wasn't here to be loved by these people. It didn't even interest her. “We knew you'd never agree, and we saw our chance and went for it! You'd have waited until everyone was already dead!”

  “And now they are dead,” said Sandy with cool contempt. “Congratulations to all of you; with intellect and reasoning like that, the corporates are right, we deserve to get wiped out.”

  Deathly silence. All looked troubled. A few looked angry. Many were pale, upset. Some near tears.

  “We fought for freedom!” said Kiet with emotion. “We fought the good fight!”

  “No. You fought the bad fight. The good fight is where we get everyone out alive. That's not what happened. You didn't reason.” She put a finger to her temple. “You felt.” She thumped herself on the chest. “You thought with this. This isn't for thinking. This is.” Back to her head. Silence in the room. All were staring.

  “The thing with being a high-des GI is that you're not only smart, you feel,” she said. “You feel with such intensity that sometimes it can be overwhelming. But feeling is not thinking. You can't substitute one for another. Just because it ought to be true, doesn't mean it is. Just because you feel it, doesn't mean it's there.

  “Now I can understand how you'd all do something this stupid. But I want you to look around now, and not search for excuses, or point fingers of blame, but just consider what it's cost. I wanted what you wanted too. I wanted it so badly. But they're dead now.”

  A tear ran down her cheek. She hadn't thought she'd been speaking with that much intensity, but she must have been. Even past combat reflex, the emotion showed. She certainly was changing; a few years ago it couldn't have happened.

  “Now figure out why it happened, and how you might be led better in the future. I'm not volunteering, my loyalties are Federation first, and God knows I'm not perfect, sure as hell the Federation isn't either. But I'm Federation first for a reason, and I think my way does the most good. If you don't buy that, fine. But I think you all just ran out of options.”

  “You're going to use this as an opportunity to blackmail everyone into joining your Federation cause?” Kiet asked incredulously.

  Sandy gave him a look that could have melted lead. “You're lucky I let you live,” she said icily. “You're lucky they let you live.” With a glance around. “After what you just pulled, who would ever care again what you think?”

  She strode out. GIs made way for her, with deference. A caste system, Justice had said that day cycling in Tanusha. Herself at the pinnacle, a caste of one.

  Vanessa was surprised they let her on the bridge during an action stations alarm, but there was an observer station behind the captain's chair, squeezed against the rear wall and bulky overheads, and she slid in and did the straps. It wasn't like the movies, no flashing lights and blaring alarms, just a short alert message that had sent everyone sprinting with high-speed deliberation. And alerts on uplinks, not the yellow of General Quarters, but a blood-red action stations, accompanied on her internal vision with an instruction to hit the bridge.

  Reichardt said very little, just sat in the central Captain's chair and watched the steady flow of incoming information. With everyone strapped into stations along the narrow, bending length of the bridge, there was actually very little activity. People sat and watched their screens, plugged into all kinds of incoming data that was mostly passed from station to station in silence.

  Vanessa's observer post had three screens with various overlapping data displays that she could manipulate but not input. One showed Mekong's position, squeezed in behind Antibe Station in low Pantala orbit. Around it, trajectories of inbound Torahn vessels, mostly freighters, though suspiciously many and coordinated. The New Torahn united government had no navy as such, but it did possess a merchant fleet. Arming a merchant was a simple thing and was usually ineffective against genuine warships like Mekong. But Mekong was stuck sheltering behind Antibe Station, the only way it could maintain low orbital proximity around Pantala without Pantalan ground defences shooting it down. They were trapped down here, the only way they could protect the forces occupying Chancelry HQ. Reichardt hated it.

  A second screen showed incoming. There was no telling yet what it was, trans-radiation showed a jump arrival, mid-system and closing fast, Pantala its obvious target. Current position and trajectory indicated it had come from League space. And it wasn't transmitting IDs. A combat jump, yet not the most hostile approach it could have made.

  “Helm, thoughts?” Reichardt said after more tense seconds had passed.

  “Sitting duck here,” said Helm. Helm was always a starship's second-in-command. “But if we leave, Kresnov's dead.”

  “Worse, we'll concede authority,” Com added. “We're staking our position, we can't concede we've done anything wrong.”

  “Does us no good if we're dead,” Helm replied.

  “We don't know it's hostile,” said Reichardt. “League only know there's a Federation infiltration here, but they don't know its nature, and they don't want a new war any more than we do.”

  “And the locals normally won't welcome them any more than us,” Arms added.

  Listening to them, Vanessa wasn't certain any of them were arguing what they actually feared or believed. It sounded more as though each of them were taking a position for its own sake, making sure all the angles were covered. It impressed her.

  “Helm,” said Reichardt, “how long before elapse?” Elapse was the point at which their time ran out, before which they had to run or no amount of rapid acceleration could get them clear of the incoming kill zone.

  “Seven minutes, nine seconds.”

  Reichardt studied those trajectories, nodding slowly. “Didn't come in that hot after all, did they? Gave us som
e time.”

  “Triple option scenario,” said Helm. “Talk, run, or shoot.”

  “Last's out,” said Reichardt. “It's talk or run, or both. Commander Rice, the Federation perspective, if you please.”

  “Commander Kresnov found evidence that the League is entering a period of intense sociological instability, technologically induced,” said Vanessa, her mike carrying clear to everyone's ears. Also, she suspected, being recorded in the ship's log for later review by people who could probably have them all shot if it went wrong. Assuming they needed to. “This is evidence that a previous League scout tried to nuke Droze and kill a million people rather than let get out. If the League's about to fall apart, the Federation needs to know. I submit that protecting that data, and transmitting it to the Grand Council, is worth any sacrifice or risk at this point.”

  “Agreed,” said Reichardt, fast enough to surprise her. Fleet Captains were usually cagey where their vessel's security was concerned. “But if the scout was going to nuke Droze, what will these guys be willing to do?”

  “Taking out this station to get us would be a lot easier than nuking Droze,” Helm added.

  “Depends if these are regular League Fleet,” said Vanessa. “Do League Fleet captains usually know what their scouts are up to? The scout captain made a decision based on information these captains may not be privy to.”

  “Usually they'd not be aware unless…”

  “New entry, new entry!” Scan cut them off, the screen flashing once more as new points appeared on the system map. “Two four one degrees nadir by three two, AU point 86! Computer reads the size of that entry wave as three vessels, one of them a carrier.”

  “Getting serious now,” said Helm in a low voice. “That stagger pattern looks like an entire combat squadron.”

  Now Vanessa's mouth was dry. Hell of a way to learn appreciation for the scale of decisions Fleet captains had to make. Those incoming ships could have fired already, scan wouldn't read it. With this much velocity, incoming fire would get here real soon and destroy anything vessel or station sized it hit. But staying here and talking to them would not elicit a response for several minutes more, it taking that long for the light wave to travel there and back. Already the light delay was showing them only what these ships were doing, several minutes ago. And they, of course, were only seeing where Mekong was, a similar time before.

  “We're staying,” said Reichardt. “Open a channel.” Com did that. “League warships, this is Federation carrier Mekong. We are insystem on Federation business under Article 213 of the Federation charter. We are not hostile to League vessels, repeat, we are not hostile to League vessels. More Federation warships are inbound to this location, ETA imminent. Their intentions are not hostile, repeat, not hostile to League vessels. Awaiting your happy reply, Mekong ending.”

  “Nice,” said Com. “Real nice.”

  “Famous last words,” said Helm, to a snort of laughter. “Article 213 of the Federation charter? What's wrong with Article 98?”

  “Invokes direct threats,” Reichardt explained. “This is still technically League territory, they might take it wrong. The Commander knows Article 213, don't you Commander?”

  “Not a fucking clue,” said Vanessa. “Which means it's obscure, and they'll have to waste time searching for it, then figuring what it means.”

  “Creating indecision over implications,” Helm completed.

  “Real nice,” Com repeated.

  Several minutes later, League warships began cycling jump engines to shed velocity. But the real relief didn't start until they got an incoming transmission, thirty-three minutes later.

  “Hello, Federation carrier Mekong, this is League carrier Defiance.”

  “Defiance,” Helm muttered. “That's fucking Colou, wonderful.”

  “We are inbounds on League business in League territory, and you have committed an act of war by being here. Any hostile move on your part shall ensure your destruction. Defiance ending.”

  “She don't like you, Captain,” said Arms.

  “Howdy, Jess,” said Reichardt. “Say now, that's not very friendly of you. You see, problem is, we're expecting a whole big bunch of Federation warships jumping in here any hour now, and if they all come in with your attitude, you, me, and most of this system are all going to be little smoking pieces. So my suggestion is this—why not leave the technicalities of whose fault this is to the lawyers, and not come in swinging your dick and ruining everybody's day?”

  He disconnected and swivelled in his chair from amidst his encircling displays to give Vanessa a wry look. “Captain Jessica Colou, she's a mad old witch. We nearly killed each other a few times in the war.”

  “How nice,” said Vanessa. She wondered if the diplomats in League and Federation had adequately taken into account that out here, the first line of diplomacy was heavily armed Fleet captains whom the distances of space had empowered to make their own decisions, and who continued to carry all the grudges from a thirty-year war that had killed many of their friends, and seen the captains in question trying to kill each other on numerous occasions. “She's unstable?”

  “No, she's completely stable. But she's mean.”

  “Least she didn't shoot at us,” Helm volunteered. “That's a change.”

  Svetlana waited in the vacant room several doors down from Janu's headquarters. That was a dull corner building, apartments atop a drive-in podium, various vehicles parked on the broken pavement. At regular intervals a new one would drive in, and men would open the garage doors, offering a glimpse of dark interiors and a lot of activity. When loaded, trucks would exit on the opposite side of the corner. Other trucks or pickups would drive out empty.

  Janu worked in trade. Most of what he traded, the corporations didn't care about. And that stuff, Danya had once explained, worked as a cover for all the stuff they did care about, like weapons, pharma, biotech, and luxury stuff. Rumour was, a lot of his stuff was itself smuggled from corporation supplies, from people inside who were on the take. The corporations really didn't like that, because they hated having people in their own organisations who answered to the likes of Janu on the wrong side of the barriers.

  There was nothing in the room save peeling walls and empty sockets where electricity had once been installed. Svetlana entertained herself by listening on her earbuds and watching the skies with AR glasses. That was cool—even staring at the ceiling and walls she could see passing drones, as though she were outside. Danya had gone in alone and told her he could be some time, assuming Janu wanted to talk to him. Stupid for both of them to go in; this way if something went wrong, only one of them was at risk. If it went right, he'd call her on the earbuds.

  This was Aurangzeb, and it had taken much of the day to get here, hitching several rides, walking alleys and shadows the rest. It was a busy neighbourhood, dusty roads bustling, street stalls and flashing lights, food smell sizzling the air amidst the dust and diesel, and the acrid tang of recharge batteries. Peering back the wrong way down the street, Svetlana could see luozi being unloaded from the back of a pickup, legs tied, kicking as they were carried. A Muslim man in robes and skullcap accompanied the unloading, talking to the pickup driver—that was a butcher then, and the luozi would be killed halal. Somewhere near, the muezzin was calling the faithful to prayer.

  Svetlana liked it here more than Rimtown, but street turf here was all taken and newcomers were unwelcome. The richer the pickings, the more organised their protection, and Danya insisted the better living wasn't worth getting killed for. But Svetlana still thought that one day, when Kiril was grown up, they might try it. Maybe take someone else's patch for a change, be the aggressor rather than the victim. Nice change that would be. Danya scowled at her whenever she'd suggested such a thing, but maybe he'd come round.

  Damn, he'd been gone a long time.

  Word on the street was that League and Federation ships were arriving in system. Their booster hack on Home Guard transmissions had let them listen to vario
us guardies talking about how they'd fight League or Federation, make them wish they'd never come here. Laughable. Svetlana was ten, but she knew stupid when she heard it. Everyone here liked to talk—Home Guard, Companies, gang bosses. But in the end, if the other guy had a bigger gun, talk meant nothing. She'd seen big talkers get blown away like it was nothing, had known loudmouth street hustlers who Danya had said, he'd said, like he could see a vision or something, that guy won't last. Too much talking, he'll rub someone the wrong way and that'll be that. And sure enough, another month, another year, talk would reach them of the hustler in question, dead in some alley. No one asked questions, no one needed to.

  Sometimes Svetlana wanted to talk with the loudest of them. If she had the biggest gun, she could.

  She took the pistol from her backpack. Danya hadn't taken it, he'd said it wouldn't do him any good, he'd be surrounded by guys with guns who knew how to use them. Besides, the GI had given it to Svetlana, and the other stuff. The pistol was cold, black and heavy in her hands. Not very advanced as these things went, but simple powder cartridges were good for Droze, nothing jammed in the dust, and they didn't need to be recharged. She checked the magazine for the hundredth time, then smacked it back in firmly. And held it up, pointing at a wall, like she'd seen Sandy hold hers, briefly. Sandy hadn't liked handling guns around children. Sandy was from a place where children were always safe.

  It didn't interest Svetlana very much. Safe was something far outside her experience. Guns had always been too dangerous before, in case someone dobbed them in. Now, there was no choice, and Svetlana kind of liked that. A line had been crossed by having this cold, heavy thing in her hands. Now, the fear was not entirely on her side of the divide. With this, she could share it around.

  She peered out the window again. Between slats, she could see the usual men milling around the front of Janu's place, talking, leaning on crates, lighting a cigarette. No sign of Danya. He'd said he'd send her a signal on the earbuds if everything was okay. He hadn't. Well, she wouldn't panic. She didn't trust the earbuds as much as she trusted Danya anyway. Maybe Janu had jamming.