Coalition Defense Force Boxed Set: First to Fight

by Gibbs, Daniel

  "Yes, brother," Pavel replied.

  * * *

  The working dinner amounted to Tia bringing food from one of the station's eating establishments back to the Shadow Wolf. It was Hestian cuisine, itself a fusion of various Southeast Asian and European influences with a focus on some spice in the flavoring. Henry tried it gingerly at first and noted that the texture of the meat was consistent with vat-grown samples.

  Tia's bemused reaction brought a grin to Henry's face after he finished chewing and swallowed down the bite he'd taken, a chunk of roasted vat-meat—pork, perhaps—with a mild spice glaze over it. "You used to give me the stink eye," he pointed out.

  "Well, that was back when you had that spoiled Coalition palate," she replied before taking a bite of her meal, a combination of rice and beef with vegetables in a spicy sauce. The rice was station-grown as well.

  "I suppose a decade spent out here in neutral space did a lot to expand my horizons"—he chuckled—"without expanding my waistline."

  Tia almost choked in her attempt to laugh.

  Whatever further humor they might have shared was cut off by the tone coming from Henry's desktop computer. He checked it and noted it was an incoming call over the GalNet system, originating from Lusitania. That world was already taxing his patience, but with a sigh, he answered.

  Al-Lahim appeared, looking quite frustrated. "Captain Henry, I received your message, but things here have been hectic. Is everything okay?"

  "Our guest is," Henry replied, his tone careful. "We had to put into Trinidad Station for repairs."

  "It's not common for any of the Tash'vakal tribes to behave quite like that. I suspect they were paid."

  "Your guess is as good as mine." Henry set his hands on the table. "That's not the only reason you called, is it?"

  Al-Lahim sighed. "No, it isn't. Your passenger's situation is… complicated now."

  "In what way?" Henry noticed Tia was paying rapt attention as well. That was typically wise when an intelligence officer talked about "complications."

  "The New Cornish authorities are still running their investigation, but our sources have them suspecting a woman named Karla Lupa of being a pirate agent working for the Tokarevs. I've investigated and found that there are similarities in appearance. I'm afraid mistaken identity might come into play."

  The phrasing was understandable. The line was not necessarily a secure one, and al-Lahim wasn't about to admit to Miri's true identity, especially not with what he'd just revealed. Henry played along. "Well, we'll make sure to have her ID well in hand. There won't be any mistaken identity."

  "That is advisable."

  With that said, Henry decided to delve further into the matter. "So you're telling me that a witness shows up, and she's suddenly the suspect?"

  "Yes." Al-Lahim sounded almost weary at that point of agreement. "Unfortunately, New Cornwall's been particularly adamant about staying out of the war. They'd rather assume she was a pirate trying a frameup than consider whether she's telling the truth."

  "They're hardly the only planet to do so," Henry pointed out, well aware that half of his crew came from such neutral worlds. "Anyway, that's got nothing to do with us for the moment. I'll inform you when we're coming back in."

  "Don't expect an immediate answer. We're having another security threat assessment in the wake of the increasing domestic strife here on Lusitania."

  "More problems with the PdDN."

  "There've been arrests and mob attacks on the opposition, especially the democratic parties," al-Lahim explained. "Some of them come to us, seeking shelter."

  "Which only adds to the fuel for all of those nationalist groups accusing the democrats of being Coalition agents."

  "It does, but these are innocent people. It's not easy to turn them away."

  "It never is." Seeing Tia starting to eat again, Henry said, "I'll talk to you later. Shadow Wolf out." He let al-Lahim nod before cutting the channel.

  "Crap," Tia muttered. "It sounds like Lusitania's becoming a dangerous spot. Should we hasten repairs? If we really push, we could be out by tomorrow. Then we can get this over with and get away before Caetano starts a crackdown or whatever she's going to do."

  "No. Everyone got a scare in our escape from the Tash'vakal." Henry started gathering a bite of his cooling meal with his fork and spoon. "And if there's any trouble, we don't want everyone worn thin by repair work. We'll continue working at our established pace and leave in two days."

  Tia swallowed one of her last bites and nodded. "Sounds reasonable to me. That leaves the repair bill."

  Henry grimaced and nodded. "Yeah, let's get that finalized. Then we'll see how much trouble we're in financially."

  30

  Kepper arrived at the Sektatsh Spaceport with a light load. Most of his essential gear was already transferred to his ride, sparing him the need for more. All he had with him was a single suitcase of brown leather. He checked his commlink to verify the meeting place, an out-of-the-way terminal of the spaceport near one of the employee entrances. Without a ship coming or going from the dock at the moment, Kepper and his contact had the place to themselves.

  The contact was a human man of pale complexion, grizzled in appearance. He was at least ten years older than Kepper by his estimation. Wiry, corded muscle showed on his bared lower arms. "Hey, you're Li's guy?" the man asked in a nearly Cockney British accent.

  "Yep." Kepper didn't recognize the man or know his name. Nor did he care to. "My intel?"

  "Everything you need on Trinidad Station. Contacts, schematics." The man extended a hand, his skin even paler than normal, and offered a data disc. Kepper eyed the disc closely. "I feel bloody sorry for your mark."

  "Huh." Kepper looked at the disc then to the contact's face, grinning widely. "I'd think you'd have better things to feel sorry for."

  "Oh?" The man chuckled. "Like what?"

  Kepper's grin took an edge. "Yourself." His hands went into motion. One slapped the side of the contact's hand away, knocking the disc to the floor. The other hand pulled his pulse pistol out and leveled it toward the contact's head. The contact stopped moving, his face still full of surprise. "Drop it.”

  The small particle pistol in the man's other hand dropped to the ground. Kepper brought his right foot over and kicked it out of reach.

  The League contact's confusion became consternation and fear. "What's all this?" he asked in a low, insistent voice.

  "I'll admit, you had me going," said Kepper. "Li sounded just desperate enough. But I know how the game's played. I made him look bad to his bosses. Why send me to hunt someone across space when the League's got contacts elsewhere?" He chuckled. "Honestly, he'd have been better off never talking to me again and just sending someone to blow up my rooms. He'd still have failed, but it wouldn't be nearly as insulting."

  "Mate, I dunno—"

  "You're pale, especially your hand. But that's not a natural paleness," Kepper said. "The light we're in hides it a little, so I wasn't sure until I saw your hand. But it's from something else. I'm guessing the fungicide for jeklan?" He noticed the look in the man's eyes and felt a surge of professional pride. He had this poisoner. "The fungicide is slightly toxic to human beings. It slows the heart and reduces blood flow. Makes you really pale. Terrible stuff, but it's a great preventative if you're coating something with jeklan. Stuff gives people a buzz, but it's the last one a human being would feel before death. Am I right?"

  The contact swallowed. "It was nothing personal, mate," he said in a low tone. "Business. Boss tells me to off someone, they get the jeklan, y'know?"

  "Pays well?"

  "Pay's piss," spat the man. "My family's back on Croydon. I do the right work, External Security'll let 'em emigrate out of the League."

  Kepper nodded. Croydon was a former Coalition world that withdrew after the Saurian Wars over the costs of rebuilding Sauria. That hadn't been sufficient protection from the League, which had taken control of the planet in 2550 on the grounds of alleged
Coalition use of the Croydon system. He gave the man a bemused look. “You know you're a sucker, then? The League'll never let them go."

  Defiant despair showed on the poisoner's face. "Man's gotta hope. I got nothing else."

  "Hope's overrated."

  With that statement, Kepper lifted his gun and shot the Croydoner square in the middle of the forehead. The pulse blast scorched and blackened the pale skin there on its way through the skull and into the brain, which was flash-fried in the heat of the blast. His would-be killer fell wordlessly to the ground and did not move again.

  The grin disappeared from Kepper's face. Fury filled him. Not just at Li's decision to kill him—that was the way of business in his line of work—but at how he’d gone about it. The insult he'd offered by trying to trick him made it clear that he thought Kepper was stupid enough to fall for it.

  Before, his desire to kill Li had just been a fancy. Now, it was earned retribution.

  Kepper felt a shudder of anticipation at finally getting to drop his defenses and fulfill his urges. Chantavit Li was going to die, and die slowly, and it was going to be fun.

  * * *

  Being both Trade Minister and Culture Minister meant perks for Vitorino, perks he greatly enjoyed. They included contacts in the business world, the import and export trades so important to integrated interstellar economies like those of the Trifid Region's worlds, while the latter got him invited to all sorts of dinner parties and galas to celebrate the fine arts.

  Tonight was a bit of both for him, as he enjoyed the company of the elite of Gamavilla in welcoming the Tal'mayan Director of Cultural Exchange from that species' homeworld and unified government. As aliens went, the Tal'mayan were in the sweet spot of humanoid shape with alien features, given their colorations and slanted ears and the usual facial shapes, plus broadly belonging to the same mammalian kingdom as humanity did.

  The same was seen in their art. The school of art currently in vogue on Tal'pera had some aesthetic similarities to the twenty-second-century Romanticists of Sagittarian humanity's first generation, including Vitorino's personal favorite, Miguel Hakkaoui. He enjoyed the shapes and colors of the Tal'mayan artists.

  Beside him, the cerulean-skinned Tal'mayan minister, Drol Seja, was standing with his wife, Uwi. Her hair was verdant green, while Drol's was almost pearl white, richer in color than a human's natural white, given that it was not a result of old age and the damages it wrought. "I truly enjoy seeing how our species' aesthetics can match," Drol said. "I hope the people of Lusitania enjoy these pieces as greatly as my people do."

  "They will, Minister, I guarantee it," Vitorino promised, "just as they enjoy the njita fruit you so graciously export."

  "Well, we can hardly let people believe that sweet smoke is our only product!" The alien guffawed. His voice had a slight inhuman timbre to it, the product of physiological difference in Tal'mayan vocal cords. "We are fortunate that our species have compatible gastronomical sensibilities."

  "Very fortunate," Vitorino said, pondering the elegant taste of njita brandy and how well the fruit worked in a number of his favorite dessert dishes. "Did you enjoy the port?"

  "Quite so!"

  Their conversation continued amiably for a time before Vitorino eased himself away. He noticed Raoul approaching and moved to avoid any further conversation. "Yes?" he asked.

  "I thought you should know that Speaker Acosta will be calling the session tomorrow."

  "Ah. Good." Vitorino noticed Raoul’s facial expression. "This worries you? It's just a new trade treaty with the League."

  "The democratic parties have already protested and are trying to convince some of our people to reject it,” Raoul said. “I don’t doubt they’ll disobey the whip, but with how much Caetano’s been provoking them lately, I’m worried this might push them over the edge.”

  “The democratic parties protest everything,” Vitorino scoffed. “But they don’t do violence. They don’t have the stomach for it. They know it’ll just lead to them being rounded up by Caetano’s people.”

  Raoul shuddered visibly. Under Caetano, the police and security services were having all restrictions removed, at least when it came to preserving state security and so-called anti-constitutional activities. "I've heard the hardest criminals get treated better in prison than democrats," he said.

  "Ah, but criminals are just criminals. Democrats are threats to the Estado Novo," Vitorino remarked sardonically, already hearing Caetano say the same in his head.

  Raoul noted the wryness in his voice. "Either way, I sometimes worry about the future of our nation."

  "The future will tend to itself, Raoul." Vitorino clapped his man on the back. "Come now. There are lovely young ladies of society here, and your mother wants grandchildren, eh? Let's go meet some of them and get your mind on something other than work."

  * * *

  In the offices of the Lusitanian Defense Ministry, Caetano sat at her desk, reading quietly from a government-issued digital tablet. The daily reports from the security services and the military were always of high priority to her. Cravalho met her at the door with the secured digital tablet assigned for his use. "Admiral Fayed reports the fleet is ready for any trouble," he said, "although the Beja remains docked for her computer issues."

  "So long as the engineers are fixing it," she remarked. "It does us little good to have a capital battleship in the fleet if it is not available. We paid exorbitantly for it, and we must get our money's worth."

  "Agreed." Cravalho glanced at his pad. "The year's army call-ups are not matching census estimates."

  "Draft dodgers." Caetano eased herself into the seat behind her desk. "Have the recruitment and intake offices coordinate with State Security. Draft dodging is a serious offense against the state, whether from cowardice or anti-constitutional ideology. I want examples made."

  "Of course, Minister," he said. "I can coordinate with the Justice Ministry to ensure the sentences are firm."

  "We'll also run a new public campaign on the need to respond to draft calls," Caetano continued. She picked up her secured pad from her desk. "Appeal to the patriotism of the population in honoring the draft and refusing aid to draft dodgers." Her eyes didn't meet Cravalho's as she spoke, as she was focused on the reports her pad was downloading from his.

  "I'll send the orders out," he assured her. "But I'm sure there will be trouble. The democratic parties—"

  "—are irrelevant, and they will be more so when the next elections are held," she finished contemptuously. A small smile came to her face. "Perhaps the people of Zalain will even vote for someone other than that intemperate zealot, Ascaro."

  Cravalho flashed a smile in return. "Speaking of, her speech last night had several incendiary remarks that our people flagged as potentially subversive. Director Travada wanted me to give you his assurance that he stands ready to arrest every Assembly member from the democratic parties upon your orders. We can easily charge them with anti-constitutional activity, given their rhetoric."

  For a moment, Caetano seemed to consider the thought. Ultimately, she shook her head. "No. Her remarks are little different from her usual in the message, simply stronger in language. To arrest her now would confirm to others the truth of her accusations. That could destabilize our position in the government. For now, we watch and observe."

  "If the party faithful take matters into their own hands?"

  That won him a glance. Cravalho had a barely perceptible grin on his face, anticipating the idea of having the rank and file attack their opponents again.

  When Caetano spoke, it was with her usual control. "Demonstrations are welcome, obviously, to remind the populace that the PdDN is the best choice for their future. And we may be lenient in some cases of excessive zeal. But not all." Her words became harsh. "Such actions directed at government figures and their families, including Assembly members, will not be overlooked," she said sternly. "It would undermine the state."

  Cravalho stroked his chin. He wouldn't
say out loud that he would relay the message, but he didn't need to. Whether he recognized Caetano's reasoning or not, he would obey. When he spoke up, it was on a different matter. "Speaker Acosta is calling the Cabinet to tomorrow's session for the final reading of the trade treaty Minister al-Idrisi signed with Ambassador Salinas last month."

  "I will be there, of course," Caetano said, although she seemed to care little for the news. "Vitorino will undoubtedly be beside himself at yet more opportunities to enrich himself with his office."

  Cravalho snorted at the remark. The corruption of the Trade Minister was nearly an open secret in the ministries. After catching himself from laughing more, he continued with another report. "The surveillance of the Faith Outreach Mission is continuing. Inspector Travada is requesting permission for another search. His people identified local Lusitanians suspected of anti-constitutional activity entering the premises."

  "For now, they will continue to observe the Reverend Rothbard's mission," Caetano said. "He is to remain unmolested for now."

  "Understood."

  Caetano listened as Cravalho continued on to other matters, but her mind went to the question of the Reverend and his use to her. I grow impatient, Captain Henry. Your witness may be the key I've been waiting for, and I want her. For the sake of your friend, I hope you are not getting comfortable on Trinidad.

  31

  The numbers stared Henry in the face and brought a scowl to it. "Three million credits." He sighed.

  "The best I could do," Khánh said apologetically. She sat behind her desk with a clear look of sympathy on her face. The desk itself was a plain white plastic board on four gray legs with a holoprojector along one side to display the number that made Henry livid. "The materials’ costs and parts, I couldn't shave off as much as I wanted. And the labor costs are fixed by the dockworker guild."