statement.” He shook his head. “We just have to hope that the
“There’s no use putting it off,” Nunez decided; McKay thought the man sounded grateful to have the decision made for him. He turned to the Helm officer. “Lt. Sweeny, plot us the fastest, most direct course possible back to the Solar System.”
“We’re going to need to hit refueling stations twice, minimum, sir,” the Helm officer told him after only a moment’s calculation. “That’s 41 days, 10 hours travel time.”
“Don’t waste time then… get us heading out of this system at one gravity acceleration until we get into the tanks. Lt. Mandel,” Nunez turned to the Communications station. “Sound the alarms. All stations secure for maximum acceleration, all personnel to the g-sleep tanks within the hour.”
The boost alarm sounded and McKay held onto the safety rail with practiced instinct as the acceleration brought them to the bridge floor at a one gravity analog. “If you don’t need me, Commander,” he said, “I’m going to make sure my people are squared away and ready to hit the tanks.”
“What do you think we’re going to find when we get home, Colonel?” Nunez asked him softly before he could step away.
McKay turned, fighting back a brief flash of annoyance. How the hell would he know what they were going to find? Then he realized that, even though Nunez was about the same age as he was, the man had not seen combat in the war and probably hadn’t had the opportunity since. And now he was thrust into command of the Fleet’s flagship in a situation he never would have imagined…
“Commander,” he said after a moment’s consideration, “there’s no way to say for sure, but I think we’re going to have to be prepared to sail into an all-out war. We also have to play our cards close to the vest: if the Protectorate got to Vice President Dominguez the way they did Admiral Patel, we may not even know who’s on our side.” He saw Pirelli’s head snap around at his words and he cursed himself: that might not have been wise to share with the crew just yet. At least the rest of the bridge crew was out of earshot for the quiet conversation.
“I can fight this ship, sir,” Nunez said, his voice even more subdued. “I’ve been trained for that and I think I can do it. But this… cloak and dagger stuff, sir, I don’t know. Admirals are trained to be politicians, I’m just a sailor.”
“Don’t sweat it, Commander,” McKay told him, putting more confidence in his grin and his voice than he actually felt. “That’s why I’m here.”
Chapter Thirty
Shannon Stark stepped off the ramp of the lander and into oblivion. The darkness swallowed her up and her helmet’s HUD switched futilely from infrared to thermal and back before settling on a computer mapping program that showed their target 10 kilometers below and over 200 kilometers north. She heard nothing but the slow hiss of her own breathing, felt nothing through her sealed helmet and armor, even as she fell at terminal velocity through the frigid night sky, her arms and legs spread in a stable X position.
“Report,” she said tersely into her helmet microphone, and the command was directed behind her via a laser line-of-sight antenna affixed to her backpack.
“Charlie Gulf Two deployed and nominal,” a male voice answered her command, a slight tremble in his tone as he tried to sound calm.
“Charlie Gulf Three deployed and nominal,” a female followed closely on his last syllable, full of eager excitement.
Ten more echoed the words, until finally she recognized Tom Crossman’s voice bringing up the rear. “Charlie Gulf One-Four deployed and nominal,” the senior NCO reported. “All elements deployed and nominal.”
“Engage wings,” Shannon ordered, tapping a control on the band around her left forearm. Paper-thin polymer wings swung out from her backpack and pushed her skyward as they immediately began to grab air. “Fire boosters.” A tap on a second control and she felt a rumbling whoosh from the compact jet engines that protruded from her flight pack, felt the sudden pressure on the straps that secured her into its harness as she began accelerating forward.
Her helmet’s HUD displayed the transponder signals of the rest of the unit and she could see them falling into formation behind her, their flight computers pre-programmed for the target landing zone. That done, she did a quick check by feel of her gear: her carbine and assault pack were strapped to her chest, out of the way of the flight pack and she quickly confirmed that everything had stayed in place through the jump.
She tried to go over the plan in her head, making sure there was no weakness to it, but she couldn’t manage it because she couldn’t overlook the glaring, obvious fact that this whole operation was totally fucked. The entire situation was fucked, and had been since that meeting with President O’Keefe two days ago…
“So now we know.” Daniel O’Keefe’s words had the grim finality of a death sentence, Shannon thought. They were back in his private office at the Executive Mansion in Capital City, far from the hectic, grimy danger of Houston ‘plex, but Shannon felt the coming threat just as gravely.
“Yes, sir,” she confirmed, sitting back in the chair across the desk from him, her hands folded in her lap. She was back in a dress uniform again, too, after days spent in
“But Brendan doesn’t know it,” O’Keefe mused, leaning forward, eyes focused on a thought outside the office walls. “I wonder what he would do if I told him?”
“Sir?” Shannon asked, eyes widening. “Are you suggesting that you actually do that?”
“I’m considering it,” he admitted. “The man isn’t a psychopath. He’s ambitious to the point of lunacy, but he’s not stupid. If he knows he’s being played, he might cooperate. Particularly if I give him immunity from prosecution.”
“You can’t do it, Daddy!” Valerie protested, coming to her feet from where she’d been sitting casually on the edge of the President’s desk. “He’s responsible for Glen’s death!”
Shannon felt a slight shiver go up her spine as she pictured Valerie plunging a knife into Riordan the way she had with the hired killer in Houston.
“He didn’t order Glen’s killing, honey,” O’Keefe pointed out. “That was Fourcade, and I am
“Sir,” Shannon interrupted carefully, “the problem is, what if he doesn’t believe you? If you spook him, he could have Antonov moved and then we might lose track of him completely.”
“What would you suggest, then, Major Stark?” O’Keefe asked her.
“We should raid the bunker and seize Antonov,” she declared. “We can interrogate him and find out everything we need to know.”
“Riordan already tried that,” O’Keefe pointed out. “Look what it got him.”
“If Fourcade was brainwashed or even replaced by Antonov,” Shannon countered, “they might never have actually interrogated him.”
“If you assault the bunker, they could just as easily kill him, or blow the whole place sky-high,” the President pointed out. “Or worse, the assault force could be detected and they could move him. Seems to me both ways have some serious risks, and we aren’t likely to think of a risk-free option.” He grinned sardonically. “Unless you’d like to order an orbital strike on the site.”
“I’ve thought about it,” Shannon said seriously. “But it gains us a hell of a lot more to find out what they’re planning, and for that we need Antonov alive. Fourcade too.”
O’Keefe shook his head, chuckling softly. “I suppose by now I should know better than to make that kind of joke where you’re concerned, Major.” He frowned. “You need a promotion, you know. You’re dealing with serious players here in Capital City; you should at least be a Lt. Colonel.” He squinted at her doubtfully. “Can I do that, without going through the Senate? I honestly don’t remember.”
