Aurora Rising: The Complete Collection Page 7

  She was fighting a losing battle and she knew it. But so long as she held a position of any power, she would not fold. She dropped her chin and gazed slightly up and sideways at O’Connell, one eyebrow arched; the impression created was of a master disappointed in the ignorance of the student.

  “If I could predict the nature of the adversary, rest assured we would already be meeting the threat. You believe we’ve thought of everything. But the real danger is, as it has been since the dawn of history, the enemy we cannot predict. This is what I seek always to defend against.”

  Alamatto placed both palms on the table and pressed into it in an attempt to reassert control over the meeting. “You both raise valid concerns which we must weigh alongside other considerations.”

  He paused to grace the table with a smooth smile; the poised, confident yet nonthreatening countenance ranked as one of his strongest assets.

  “In my view the defense web is sufficiently strong for the time being, but mine is not the only opinion which matters. Are there any further observations, or shall we vote on the initiative?”

  DEUCALI

  EARTH ALLIANCE SW REGIONAL MILITARY HEADQUARTERS

  General Liam O’Connell barreled down the hall from the QEC room toward his office. His nods to the junior officers he passed, when they occurred at all, were curt. The base headquarters bustled with activity even on this most typical of days; nevertheless, the crowd unfailingly parted to let his tall, burly form pass unhindered.

  The Board meeting had gone well he thought. Personally he wasn’t all that worked up over the need for additional high-orbit defense arrays, but as a power play he must admit it was a shrewd maneuver.

  Fionava seemed to be genuinely concerned by potential dangers from the frontiers of space beyond its borders. This world wasn’t subject to those concerns to so great an extent, but he was more than happy to join their cause if it meant greater resources and increased influence would come his way.

  Deucali was one of the largest ‘Second Wave’ colonies, and its population continued to grow. With each passing year it exercised greater control over the smaller settlements in the Province. The colony’s star was on the ascension, no question about it. Without slowing he barked an order at a passing Lieutenant regarding the unfinished upgrades to the QEC room.

  Alamatto was a weak-willed pussy. His entire career had been based on nothing more than the military establishment’s respect for his father—but were he alive, the elder Alamatto would be mortified by his excuse for a son. Solovy could be a royal pain in the ass, but she was little more than a pencil pusher; if she had ever seen live combat it had been back in the Bronze Age. As for the remainder of the Board, they weren’t worth wasting energy over.

  At a crossway he abruptly stopped and pivoted to face the young man traversing the opposite hall. “Corporal, did your babysitter teach you to tuck your shirt in like that? Sharpen those creases before I lay eyes on you again, son.”

  “Y-yes, sir!”

  He had turned and moved on before the Corporal managed to stutter out the reply.

  Well, that wasn’t quite true. The Northeastern Regional Commander, Rychen, was an obstacle waiting to happen. He oversaw the region closest to Senecan space, which alone made him a significant player. Granted, he also had won numerous medals in the Crux War, was respected by his peers and by all accounts was a shining beacon of honor and integrity. The man was without a doubt dangerous. But for the moment their interests were aligned, so Liam played nice.

  He waved off a couple of officers trying to vie for his attention, strode into his office and closed the door behind him. In an earlier time it would have slammed, but doors didn’t do such things anymore. A shame, really.

  After a quick sip of water he shifted his focus to the series of flashing files on his desk overlay. He evaluated, assigned and dispatched them with brutal efficiency, pausing only to scowl at the status update on the construction of the new sim training complex. He personally preferred old-school live fire exercises—sim training produced weak-willed soldiers like Alamatto—but the decision came straight from the politicians. No actual action required, he sent it on its way.

  His scowl vanished at the next item; in the privacy of his office, it morphed into a smug smile. The Annual Founding Day Parade was next week. The entire 1st Deucali Brigade would be out in their dress blues, proudly showing what it meant to be an Earth Alliance Marine. It never failed to bring a tear to his eye to march through the streets at the head of his men. Though the Public Relations Staff Commander was responsible for the preparations, he had taken an active oversight role. He scheduled a meeting for 0700 the next morning to review the state of readiness.

  The voice of his secretary interrupted his train of thought. “Sir, Commander Bradlen has arrived for your meeting.”

  With a grimace he closed the various screens and straightened his jacket. “Send him in.”

  An upstart lad, Bradlen had risen quickly in the ranks due to an overabundance of competence. He returned the salute of the young Commander. “At ease.”

  “Yes, sir.” Bradlen sat down across the desk and opened a series of screens between them. “I’ve uploaded the latest supply reports and inventories as well as the shipment schedule for the next three months.”

  He paused while O’Connell accessed the files. “As you can see, we’ll receive a new shipment of test drones next week, along with the new ware for the existing high-orbit defense array. I heard a rumor we were getting another array soon, sir. Any chance it’s true?”

  Liam smiled thinly, the curl of his lips not otherwise impacting his expression. “I’m afraid that’s classified for now.”

  “My mistake. Um, about the ware for the array…Earth says it’s ready for deployment, but I assume you’ll want it tested thoroughly first, sir?”

  “You assume correctly, Commander.”

  “Understood. I’ll arrange for it to be routed through Configuration/Testing before Implementation Services gets their hands on it.” He cleared his throat and seemed to hesitate in uncertainty.

  “Spit it out, son, I don’t have all day here.”

  “Right. Sir, I feel I should draw your attention to a discrepancy in the inventories for our VI short-range missiles. There’s a report on it in the files. The discrepancy occurred in the middle of the transition to the new inventory system, so it’s probably just a glitch, but….”

  Liam snorted in clear disgust. “Goddamn warenuts. Every time they push out something ‘better’ it only makes things worse.”

  “I…yes, sir. I can have Support run some diagnostics, see if they can find the problem—”

  Liam shook his head in a manner which brooked no dissent. “Won’t be necessary. I will take great pleasure in informing Logistics Command they need to fix their crocked ware.”

  “Of course, sir. If there’s nothing else?”

  He had begun pulling up other reports; his head jerked in the direction of the door. “Dismissed.”

  Once Bradlen departed, he dropped the illusion of activity. He sat silently as an epoch passed…then reopened the Inventory Discrepancy Report. Seconds ticked by while he simply stared at it, as though the authority of his glare might melt it away.

  He didn’t know why he was hesitating. The decision had already been made; the deed already done. In many ways the decision had been made twenty-four years ago when he stood over his mother’s grave and made a vow, even if it had taken until two months ago for the opportunity for him to fulfill his vow to finally knock on his door.

  He had expected the discrepancy to be discovered. In this hyper-cyberized, always-connected world they lived in, it would have been impossible to hide it—so he hadn’t tried. Instead he’d made sure the materials vanished during the hectic, confused inventory system transition, thereby providing a ready explanation for their ‘absence.’

  Deucali Military HQ housed tens of thousands of armaments. Anyone who noticed a couple of dozen missiles unaccounted for
would merely nod in agreement at how annoying the ‘damn ware bugs’ were and move on with their lives.

  He swallowed hard, annoyed at the sudden dryness in his throat. No reason to become all emotional about it now. He had already sold his soul for a chance at vengeance, and there was no getting it back.

  He deleted the report from the system.

  5

  SENECA

  CAVARE

  * * *

  CALEB IDLY TOED THE PILOT’S CHAIR side to side while he stepped through the preflight checklist a final time, mentally verifying every component which was checked off deserved to be. He had one remaining item to acquire, but it wouldn’t be on any official checklist.

  Satisfied the systems were a go, the food stores stocked, the engines prepped and the weapons in working order, he killed the power and headed down the ramp. At the bottom he turned to give her one last glance-over.

  He had to give Division credit; they didn’t skimp on ships and hardware. One step removed from a fighter, the scout ship wasn’t luxurious or roomy but she was lean and fast. The weapons tubes tucked into the lower hull so as not to increase drag. The custom EM sensors had been mounted beneath the nose the day before.

  Yeah, she would do.

  He slung his pack over his shoulder and headed out to the government spaceport’s surface parking. Yet when he reached his bike, he hesitated.

  Traffic whizzed along airlanes overhead in the evening sky and beside him on the streets. Rush hour appeared well underway, which meant he was going to have a bitch of a time getting across the city to Mom’s house—which in turn meant he’d be late for his meeting.

  The devil on his shoulder whispered in alluring, dulcet tones that he should skip the visit home and head straight for the bar. She was fine. And it wasn’t like he’d be standing her up. Unless he showed up at the front door, she’d never know he’d passed through Cavare.

  But she was alone. With Isabela on Krysk for the year doing a visiting professorship, she wasn’t able to check on their mother nearly as often as usual. Mom might have had an accident, or forgotten to shop for groceries, or….

  But Isabela went by a few days ago.

  And won’t be back again for a month.

  He groaned aloud as a guilty conscience shoved the devil aside and reasserted its dominance. “Shit.”

  More than a little disgusted with himself, he swung a leg over the bike, revved the engine and floored it out of the parking lot. He swerved into a service alley. The least he could do was take a damn shortcut.

  “Oh, Caleb darling, it’s so nice of you to visit.”

  Yes, that’s exactly what he was. Nice. He hugged her, trying not to stifle within the desperate embrace. “Hi, Mom. I don’t have long, but I wanted to stop by and make sure you were okay.”

  “Yes, I’m just….” She ambled into the kitchen, wisps of dull brown hair falling out of a messy bun and to her shoulders. She pushed half-finished sketches off the table to the floor and gestured for him to sit. He complied, then watched her as she searched in the cabinets for tea to brew.

  He remembered when she had been a vibrant, smart, funny woman. For the entirety of his childhood that woman had been his mother. Now she was merely…pathetic. He knew this—he’d known this for a long time—but coming face-to-face with the stark reality still sent him for a loop. Old memories never die.

  “It’s okay, Mom. I’m good. Come sit with me for a few minutes.”

  She paused in the middle of the room, her unfocused gaze wandering across the kitchen. It was as if she had completely forgotten where she was. Seconds ticked by. Finally she jerked, a fleeting, erratic jolt of movement before her bearing returned to its former listless, empty state. She gingerly sat down opposite him. “How’s work, dear? Is the plant doing well?”

  “Absolutely. We’re rolling out a new line of six-person skycars, geared toward families. In fact, I’m headed off to Elathan tomorrow to oversee the ramp-up of the production line.” After years of practice, the lies rolled off his tongue more easily than truth.

  “How nice.” She nodded. It was an uneven, haphazard motion. Her eyes didn’t quite manage to meet his, which was just as well. “I’ve been talking to Federation Athletics about a design for their new regional office, so…we’ll see, maybe….”

  “That’s wonderful to hear.” It took all his considerable skill to inject a note of enthusiasm into his voice. Even so, he managed only the mildest cheer. She hadn’t completed an architectural design in at least fifteen years. This one would be no different—and there would be no value in him pointing it out. “So, you’re set then? You have everything you need?”

  “Oh, yes.” She gave him a vacant smile. “Glados and Meriva from the neighborhood association stop by once a week, we go out shopping and such.” The smile faltered. “I thought I saw your father the other day while we were at the syn-org market…” three seconds passed until she blinked “…anyway, everything’s fine. You go see to your shuttles and don’t worry about your mother.” She patted his hand to emphasize the point.

  Harsh, frustrated words rushed forth; he choked them back in his throat. “Okay, Mom. I have to go, I have a meeting—about the plant. I’ll try to stop by again when I can.”

  He prepped his most affectionate facsimile smile—but she had already drifted off, dreamily caressing the incomplete sketch of a low-orbital bio-friendly campus which had clung to the edge of the table.

  He nodded to himself and stood, leaving the house without looking at the wall of visuals in the hallway displaying a couple in love and a happy family at play. He definitely didn’t look at the largest visual, the one dominating the entryway. It portrayed a distinguished-looking man with close-cut black hair wearing a perfectly pressed suit, taken two months before his father had packed a bag, walked out the door and not come back.

  As he cruised into the lot behind the Crux Happy Nights Cantina, Caleb decided he was exceedingly ready for a drink—so much so he didn’t even cringe at the dreadful title. Granted, he didn’t laugh either.

  But the beer turned out to be quite cold and surprisingly crisp. He welcomed the assistance it provided in forcing away the darkness which never failed to haunt him after a visit home. Escaping the gloom was an acquired skill, and he had largely regained his form by the time Noah Terrage slid onto the stool next to him.

  He flung long bangs out of his face and dropped his forearms on the chrome bar. “Caleb, friend, how’s it hanging?”

  The first rule of undercover work, spying and black ops in general—okay, probably the third or fourth or perhaps even fifth rule, but it certainly made the list—was anyone who made a point to call you ‘friend,’ wasn’t.

  Still, Noah was a good guy, and he felt inclined to give him a pass. Despite the rebellious attitude which came as an almost inevitable consequence of the man’s upbringing, Caleb suspected an honorable soul resided somewhere beneath the bravado and shady deals and wild stunts. For one, it spoke in his favor that he had managed to overcome the fairly significant disability of being a ‘vanity baby.’

  Cloning remained legal on most worlds with the express consent of the cloned—new births only though; all attempts to grow a fully developed adult body from existing DNA had thus far proved horrifically disastrous. Clone clauses in wills were, while not common, growing in popularity for what might be understandable reasons. Vanity babies, however, were frowned upon in most circles and rarely worked out well for either party. Nonetheless, there always seemed to be another billionaire narcissist convinced he or she deserved one.

  A clone of his father, a wealthy business magnate on Aquila, like most vanity babies Noah had been brought into existence above all to feed the source’s ego. From early childhood he had been expected to behave precisely as his father saw himself, sit and learn at his father’s knee and grow up to become his father’s devoted protégé in the business.

  So naturally, Noah had run away from home at fifteen. Caught a transport to Pandora and neve
r looked back.

  He was a criminal, of course. A ‘trader’ in polite company and a smuggler everywhere else. And while the guy came off like the buddy you watched the game and drank too many beers with on the weekend, he possessed a skill bordering on magic: he could find anything. If it existed in settled space, he could make it appear in your pack inside a week—as with all things, for sufficient credits.

  In this instance he had far less than a week, but the item wasn’t a particularly rare one and the compensation generous.

  Caleb leaned over to shake his hand. “You know, just the usual—wine, women and song.”

  Noah laughed and took a swig from the mug Caleb had ensured would be waiting on him. “I do know it, man.” His voice dropped as he leaned in and casually passed over the small, unremarkable-looking yet very advanced communications scrambler. Caleb dropped it in his pack and just as casually returned to his beer.

  It wasn’t that he planned to engage in anything overtly criminal, much less traitorous to the Federation. In fact, he believed Volosk and likely the Division Director knew about and expected such things. Black ops were ‘black’ for a reason, yet they also fell under government supervision and oversight. A difficult quandary.

  Most things he did, most of the time, qualified as legal actions under Division’s mandate, if not always under civilian law. But every so often a mission called for actions which…weren’t. In such circumstances, his superiors winked and nodded and ignored the troublesome details, provided they had been sufficiently obscured. Hence the state-of-the-art communications scrambler—a necessary tool for those moments when even Special Operations didn’t want a recording of what was said or to whom.

  Noah’s voice stayed low and conversational, barely audible amid the din of spirited patrons and generic pub background music. “I guess you misplaced the last one, huh?”