A Little Rebellion (Crimson Worlds III) Page 27

  “Sir, Captain Jantz is on the line.” Thomas’ voice was cracking and tentative. He was a veteran officer, but no one in the Alliance navy was prepared to handle an assassination attempt against an admiral on her bridge.

  Great, Compton thought…Jantz is a martinent; I’m going to have a problem with him. Unfortunately, Jantz was also the senior captain in the fleet and the next in command after Harmon.

  “Yes, Captain Jantz?” Compton snapped out his best command voice. It was as much for the benefit of the other officers listening in as it was for Jantz.

  “Per Admiral Garret’s orders, I hereby demand your immediate surrender.” Jantz sounded just like Compton expected. He was sure Jantz practiced barking orders into the mirror when he shaved in the morning. “Please acknowledge your compliance immediately.”

  “Captain Jantz, both Admiral Harmon and I concur that the order in question is suspect and cannot be obeyed.” Compton was speaking again to the other officers – he knew Jantz would never back down. “I therefore maintain command of the Second Fleet.”

  Jantz cut the line to the flagship. A drama began and played out as the officers of the fleet chose their sides. Captains made their own decisions then tried to maintain control of their ships, sometimes successfully, sometimes not. Officers argued and debated, and on six vessels there was fighting before the issue was resolved.

  When it was over, the shrunken Second Fleet remained on station at Columbia, with Admiral Compton in command. Captain Jantz led the rest, about a third of the original strength, and took position between Columbia and the YZ Ceti warp gate…out of immediate combat range, but close enough to be menacing.

  For the moment, there was an uneasy peace in the system, but as long as Compton could maintain control of the bulk of the fleet, the rebels were safe from bombardment. How long that would last was anyone’s guess.

  Chapter 23

  Martian Confederation Grand Fleet

  Epsilon Eridani System

  Inbound to Carson’s World

  The Sword of Ares bristled with might. The flagship of the Confederation’s navy was the pride of Martian technology and industry. She was brand new, the largest ship in space, vaster even than the Alliance’s Yorktown class monsters. Admiral Steven Wells sat in the control center of this behemoth, directing the operations of the largest fleet the Confederation had ever put into space.

  The Alliance fleet that had been stationed here was gone; they’d transited the YZ Ceti Warp gate two weeks before. It had been a risk stationing the spy ships in the system, but Martian ECM was the very best, and the intel they provided was essential. Wells had his orders, and that was all he needed. Still, he wondered how the high command knew the Alliance ships would leave. They must have known - it was too much of a coincidence otherwise.

  He’d have gone in against the Alliance fleet if he’d been ordered to, but he’d done the mental calculation in his head, and he wasn’t sure which way that would have gone. If they had a Garret or Compton leading those ships, he had serious doubts his fleet could have prevailed; against a lesser commander, he felt he had a good chance. It was immaterial anyway, since the Alliance force was gone. Wells didn’t know it, but his orders were coming from Roderick Vance, and Vance had no intention of sending him to attack a major Alliance fleet. The Confederation was playing a dangerous game – a necessary once, Vance felt – but it wasn’t about to provoke a major war. Not unless absolutely necessary.

  There was a small flotilla still on station at Carson’s World, but all of the heavy ships were gone. Wells had already recorded his message, and now he sent it out, uncoded and in the clear. “Attention Alliance vessels. This is Admiral Steven Wells of the Martian Confederation.” He’d paused there, but listening now he became impatient with his own recording. “We are here to take control of this system and to hold it in trust for all of the people of Earth, Mars, and the colonies.” Another pause. “We have no wish to engage your forces, however we will defend ourselves if fired upon. We do not require that you surrender your vessels, only that you peacefully leave this system. Stevens out.”

  It would be an hour before the message reached the small Alliance squadron, and another hour before a response could return to Wells’ ship. “Put the fleet on yellow alert.” The Alliance ships had no chance to defeat his massively superior forces, but he wasn’t about to get careless and suffer unnecessary casualties. His orders were not to fire unless fired upon, which greatly complicated his tactical options.

  He couldn’t imagine the Alliance ships would put up a fight; it would be suicide. But he was worried about the ground forces. He didn’t know what the Alliance had down there waiting, dug into prepared positions. The transports with his fleet carried the cream of the Confederation assault troops, and he was worried they would have a fight on their hands. The ground forces were under the same orders as the fleet – fire only if fired upon. They would offer the Alliance troops repatriation, but they would fight back if attacked.

  Wells sat quietly in his command chair. There was nothing to do now but wait and see what happened.

  Roderick Vance sat in his office, a palatial suite built right against the central dome of the Ares Metroplex. On one side there was a panoramic view of downtown; on another the rugged red Martian landscape, slightly distorted by the clear alumina of the dome. The Confederation’s capital wasn’t a large city, not by Earth standards. But its seven domes were entirely devoid of the seething, crumbling slums that plagued terrestrial cities.

  The nascent Confederation had faced the challenges of taming an inhospitable world, one on which it was difficult for men to survive, but it was free of the legacy problems that affected the Superpowers of Earth – poverty, decrepit ghettoes, and crumbling infrastructure. The founders of the Metroplex were able to design a modern city from the ground up rather than building onto the confused results of centuries of disorganized growth and civil strife.

  Vance had been genuinely surprised when he got the communication. His visitor wasn’t the last person he’d expected to see walk through his door, but she was close to it. It won’t do to keep her waiting, he thought. “Show her in.” He spoke to his AI, which transmitted the order to his assistant in the outer office.

  A small figure, not much taller than a meter and a half, came through the door, wearing a hooded cloak that obscured her face. She stood, silent and still, until the door closed.

  “Welcome, Minister Li.” Vance rose from his seat, motioning to a plush chair set against the dome. “Please have a seat. May I offer you a drink?” Vance was walking toward a small enclosed bar. “Bourbon, I believe?”

  “Thank you, Mr. Vance.” Her voice was soft but strong, even ominous. It was clear she was used to being listened to and obeyed. “I must commend you on the accuracy of your dossiers.” She slowly pulled back the cloak, revealing the lined face of an older Asian woman. “Some bourbon would be most welcome.”

  Li An was the First Minister of C1, the CAC’s external security agency. Smart and ruthless, she was Gavin Stark’s only real competition for the most feared individual on Earth. Though similar in more ways than either would care to realize, Li and Stark were bitter enemies. Stark had gotten the better of her in the final stages of the war, turning her meticulous plans into a disaster that lost the conflict for the CAC. It might have cost her everything – her power, position, even her life. But she knew enough secrets to discourage anyone from making any serious moves against her. Li An was a survivor, and she had proven it once again.

  Li had spent the five years since then reestablishing her power base and helping the CAC rebuild its shattered military and economy. But most of all, she plotted her revenge against Gavin Stark. The Alliance’s intelligence chief was no easy target; a genius, he was paranoid as well. It took a long time, and an enormous amount of money, but finally she had the information she needed. It was beautiful, downright poetic…she was going to pay him back in kind. She was going to destroy his own carefully constructed
plan, just as he had done to hers.

  Vance poured two drinks and walked across the room. He handed one to Li An and sat down in one of the other chairs. “I think you will find that a very special bourbon.” He took a sip from his own drink, which was just seltzer on ice.

  Li An took a small sip and gave Vance an approving smile. “Indeed, Mr. Vance, your taste in bourbon is commendable. Thank you.” Then, looking at his glass: “You’re not drinking? You aren’t trying to gain an edge on me now, are you?” She smiled, though an expression that would have been pleasant on most people was just unnerving on her reptilian face. “Because it will take more than this glass to achieve that.”

  Vance returned the smile, producing a more reasonable imitation of genuine humanity. “I’m afraid my stomach is not what it used to be, Minster Li. These days I am forced to take it rather easy, at least this early in the day.” In truth, Vance was never much of a drinker. Except for a partiality to certain very expensive red wines, he mostly stuck to water and the occasional iced tea and rarely drank hard liquor. He looked over at his guest inquisitively. Don’t underestimate this woman, he reminded himself silently. “So what can I do for you, Minister?”

  Li An took another drink and smiled. “To the contrary, Mr. Vance. The question is what can I do for you?”

  Vance was silent for a moment, waiting for Li An to continue. When she remained silent, he asked, “And what is it you propose to do for me, Minister?” The CAC’s spymaster did nothing without purpose, Vance knew that much.

  “Well, Mr. Vance, as we both know, your government is assisting the Alliance rebels in their fight against the federal authorities.” She raised her hand just as Vance was about to object. “Please, Mr. Vance, we need not play games. Let us speak hypothetically only.” She smiled again, a gesture that made the hairs on Vance’s neck stand up. “I have information that would be extremely useful were your government involved in aiding the rebellions. Indeed, it is something that could be extremely dangerous in many ways if it is not addressed.”

  “And I suppose, Minister, that you came all the way to Mars simply to share this with me.” He was looking directly into her eyes; he’d swear it dropped his body temperature at least a few degrees, but he kept the stare constant. “In return for what? Nothing?”

  She took another small sip, setting the glass down on the exquisitely-crafted side table next to her chair. “Let us say that while we are not in a position to intervene, we are quietly wishing the rebels success.” She paused, letting her eyes drop to her glass. “But if propriety compels you to offer something in return, I would welcome a case of this excellent Bourbon.”

  “I do enjoy exchanging pleasantries with you, Minister Li.” Vance was getting impatient, though his voice betrayed no hint of it. “But perhaps we can move to the matter you have hinted at so cryptically?”

  “Certainly, Mr. Vance.” Her voice was serious now, deadly serious. “You are familiar, of course, with Rafael Samuels, are you not?”

  Vance was surprised…confused as well, but he’d be damned if he was going to let her see either of those reactions. “The Commandant of the Alliance Marine Corps?”

  “Yes, that is one of his positions.” She took another drink, draining her glass, savoring what little she could detect of Vance’s well-hidden suspense. “But he is also Number Four on the Alliance Intelligence Directorate.”

  Roderick Vance had a great poker face. Unemotional by nature, he found it relatively easy to remain calm and unreadable even in desperate situations. But not this time. “What?” He stared at Li, knowing his face betrayed his stunned surprise. He was normally skeptical of everything, but something told him she was telling the truth. Indeed, Samuel’s defection would explain a number of things that had been puzzling him.

  “I daresay you heard me, Mr. Vance.” Li had a self-satisfied grin on her face. She was thrilled to be divulging Gavin Stark’s big secret, and she knew Vance would use that knowledge to thwart Stark’s plans. Payback is a bitch, she thought, isn’t it Gavin? “I believe that General Samuels has been working with Alliance Intelligence for at least five years, though my confirmed intel does not verify a start date.” She extended her arm toward Vance, handing him a small data chip. “You are too much of a gentleman to question my assertion directly.” She knew he was nothing of the sort – if he didn’t think she was telling the truth, he’d have let her know. “Nevertheless, I believe the evidence on that data chip will provide you the comfort level you need to take the…shall we say…appropriate actions.”

  Vance took the chip from Li, looking at it quizzically. “Thank you, Minister. I will review this immediately.” He looked up at Li An. “This will prove extremely useful.”

  Li An stood up, straightening her suit jacket as she did. “Then I will take my leave, Mr. Vance. As much as I would enjoy a longer stay, I believe that both of our interests are served by maintaining the secrecy of my visit.” She extended a hand toward his as he rose from his chair. “My ship is ready to leave orbit as soon as I return.”

  Vance took her tiny hand in his. She has a firm handshake, he thought, for a woman so small. “I agree, Minister. Discretion is called for.” After a brief pause: “Perhaps on another visit we will have more time.”

  “That would be most agreeable.” She nodded and walked briskly to the door, turning just before she left the room. “Goodbye, Mr. Vance.”

  “Goodbye, Minister Li.” He watched her leave then went to his desk and plugged in the data chip. Rafael Samuels had just become his top priority.

  In the hallway, Li An strode toward the bank of elevators, pulling her cloak over her head. And now, she thought, we shall see how badly Mr. Vance and the Confeds can damage Gavin Stark’s agenda. She stepped into an empty elevator car with a self-satisfied smile on her face. And Roderick Vance owed her a favor. That was just a little bonus.

  Chapter 24

  Western Alliance Intelligence

  Directorate HQ

  Wash-Balt Metroplex, Earth

  Gavin Stark was livid. He had been even colder and more intractable since Dutton’s death, but this was a new level of fury, the likes of which no one present had seen before. There was a bandage wrapped around his shoulder and upper arm, his expensive suit sliced open to accommodate the dressing. His normally perfect hair was disheveled, and he hadn’t shaved – the first time any of them had seen him less than perfectly groomed. He was in considerable pain, and it was doing nothing to improve his mood.

  The Directorate of Alliance Intelligence was assembled, but none spoke - none dared speak. They silently watched the drama unfolding in the room. Standing against the wall were two men and a woman, all shackled and clad in white coveralls, the ones worn by inmates in the dreaded Sub-Sector C. They tried to stand straight up, but none of them managed it - they all shivered and slumped in terror.

  “You do understand that your woefully inadequate security measures allowed Erik Cain and his damnable Marines to break into this building and rescue a prisoner of extreme importance, don’t you?” Stark’s tone was mocking, but it was deceptively gentle as well. He wasn’t yelling, but there was a coldness like deep space in his voice. “He didn’t penetrate your defenses and assassinate a target. No…he broke in, found a specific prisoner, and then walked out again, taking the captive with him.” He glared at them as he spoke.

  “The three of you were responsible for onsite security, and on your watch we suffered the greatest humiliation in the history of this organization.” His voice was still measured in volume, but the menace in it was overwhelming. One of the men fell prone, his legs giving out on him. “The consequences of your incompetence are staggering, and they affect operations of crucial importance to this organization and the Alliance as a whole.” He looked at them, pausing for a few seconds to glance at each, watching the terrified captives wilt under his withering gaze. “It is hard for me to imagine a punishment to match your crimes.”

  Stark touched the small communicator clippe
d to his collar. “Send him in now.” The door slid open and a short, squat man walked into the room, followed by six armed guards. There were gasps around the table, and the three prisoners sank to their knees sobbing and begging for mercy. Everyone present knew who Antonio Vento was. Alliance Intelligence had many interrogators, experts in every manner of information extraction. But that isn’t what Vento did. Gavin Stark’s hand-picked jailor, Vento was a true psychopath who plied his trade only when the chief of Alliance Intelligence wanted to send a message. His expertise was more punishing than interrogating, and he was a master of the art.

  “I don’t want to see them again, Antonio.” Stark didn’t even look over at his prisoners as he condemned them to a horrible death.

  “Understood, Number One.” Vento made a motion to the guards, who moved toward the groveling and sobbing prisoners. There was silence from the Directorate members as the three unfortunates were dragged, howling and crying, into the corridor. Stark had made a point to all those assembled.

  “Now we can move on to other business.” Stark’s voice remained calm, which was somehow more unnerving than when he yelled. “Number Three, were you successful?”

  Alex Linden was the only one in the room who didn’t look scared of Stark. It wasn’t because she didn’t fear him; anyone with even a shred of sanity feared Gavin Stark. She didn’t delude herself into believing he wouldn’t dispose of her as easily as any of the others…he would. But she’d managed to flawlessly execute every assignment he’d given her, and with Dutton gone, she was the closest thing to a confidante Stark had left. “Yes, Number One. Though I was pressed for time to make this meeting, and I didn’t have time to dispose of the body.” She was a little disheveled, and her face was slightly flushed. Stark admired the poise it took to come to a meeting right from a high-profile assassination and look as calm as she did. “I was going to dispatch a cleanup team, but I thought you might like to make special arrangements. He’s in the usual suite at the Willard.”