Raising Caine - eARC (58 page)

Chapter Fifty-Six

Approaching orbit, and Shangri La subcontinent; Delta Pavonis Three

Commodore Steven Cameron, skipper of the Commonwealth cruiser
Valiant
, acting C-in-C for the Delta Pavonis system—and therefore, its glorified traffic control supervisor—frowned when his comm officer, Lieutenant Stephanie Souders, turned to him with a deep frown. She handed him the transponder code, tail number, and supplementary Commonwealth identifiers relayed by the incoming Wolfe-class corvette. He stared at the unfamiliar data strings. “What the hell is this? Or more to the point,
who
the hell is this?”

“I wish I could tell you, Skipper,” Souders replied with crossed arms. “Not on the list of craft that have entered Delta Pavonis. Ever.”

“Bloody hell,” Cameron muttered. And right at the end of his duty shift. Almost as if someone had planned it that way. Which gave him pause: was it possible that someone
had
planned it that way?
Bollocks, I’m starting at shadows now.
“Raise this, eh, UCS
Puller
, Lieutenant. Let’s hear their story.”

“Better be a good one,” Souders grumbled. “Line is open, sir.”

“UCS
Puller
, this is Commodore Steven Cameron, acting CINCPAV and captain of the UCS
Valiant
. Please confirm identity, and report mission and status.”

The flat screen brightened and revealed a vaguely familiar face sitting at the center of a patched-up bridge;
Puller
had evidently seen some action in the late war. “This is Commodore Caine Riordan, temporarily in command of UCS
Puller
on detached duty. Special operations. Relaying ops codes and authorizations now.”

Souders turned towards Cameron, eyebrows raised, and tilted her head at the supplementary screen where the new data and codes were scrolling in. Cameron put on his best poker face. “Commodore Riordan—” and then he knew why he recognized the face. “Commodore, are you the same Caine Riordan who presented at the Parthenon Dialogs last year?”

Riordan’s expression was a fusion of a smile and a grimace. “Guilty as charged.”

“A pleasure to meet you, si—Commodore. But your OpOrds are, well, most irregular. And incomplete.”

Riordan’s smile was amiable. “They sure are, Commodore Cameron. Wish I could share it all with you, but I can’t. Here’s the classification level for the redacted components of the op, and my own, er, non-Naval clearance level.” He nodded to someone off screen.

Souders’ frown deepened. “Commodore,” she muttered, “I don’t even recognize his code.”

“I do,” Cameron replied.

“What is it?”

“I was told that if I ever see this code and this classification level, I have one relevant directive: not to ask a damn thing about it. Run it through the black box; if it checks out, he’s got all the authority he needs to do whatever he wants.”

Souders waited for the secure cypher check to finish. “Comes back green, sir.”

Cameron nodded, glanced up at Riordan. “Sorry about the delay, Commodore: protocols.”

Riordan’s smile was broad, easy. “I fully understand, Commodore. Do I have permission to initiate descent to the Shangri La on DeePeeThree?”

“You do, but before you dip your nose into the cloud-tops, I wonder if you could give me a broad picture of what to expect?”

Riordan raised an eyebrow. “Pardon?”

Cameron leaned back. “Commodore, you’re about to head dirtside to the same place where you made first contact. You might say, to the source of all the troubles we’ve had since then. And from what I understand of your last visit, the Colonial Development Combine was not particularly enamored of you when you left.”

Riordan’s smile became rueful. “You have a talent for understatement, Commodore Cameron.”

“So I’ve been told. What I’m asking is: should I be prepared for a firestorm on Shangri La or elsewhere?”

Riordan steepled his fingers. “That is an excellent question. I wish I had an excellent answer. Part of why we’re going in unannounced is because we don’t really know what we’re going to find. Sure, we get groundside reports, but those are from civilian observers who could be very, very bribable. That’s why the cloak-and-dagger approach, Commodore.”

“Which raises another question: just how did you get here at all? I’ve no record of
Puller,
or any Wolfe-class corvette, deploying here.”

“That’s because we were containerized for security purposes before shift, then were cut loose in our container shortly after we were carried in-system.”

“Carried in-system by what carrier, Commodore?”

Riordan smiled. “Wish I could tell you.”

“Does that mean you can’t or you
won’t
tell me?”

“Both, actually. As you can see, various elements of our full orders are classified, including our assignment to this detached duty. Fleet didn’t want any CoDevCo stooges inside our ranks to be able to pass along a warning that we’re about to show up to run a compliance check here. So everything pertaining to our reassignment and transport to this system was kept under wraps. But frankly, I couldn’t tell you who gave us the ride even if I was allowed to. Naval ops boxed us up, let us sit, and then some shift-carrier came and picked us up. It never identified itself. We were handled by an intelligence cell, not the skipper of the ship, and those folks didn’t share out any info. Once we got here, we were told to lay doggo until our secure mission clock ran down. That happened three days ago. And here we are.”

Cameron frowned. “That’s a lot of skullduggery for a visit to a corporate compound.”

“Sure is. On the other hand, site intel suggests CoDevCo may have resumed hunting down the locals—who are soon to be recategorized, definitively, as exosapients. And you know what that means.”

Cameron nodded. “Murder charges. Very well, Mr.—er, Commodore Riordan. Down you go, and we’ll keep a channel open. I imagine they might not take very kindly to your visit, and we’d be all too happy to lend a hand if you need it.”

“I just might, Commodore Cameron. Thanks, and we’ll keep you posted.”

The line closed. Souders frowned at the screen. “He’ll ‘keep us posted’ in a pig’s ass.” She looked ready to spit. “I think I believe just slightly less than half of everything he said, sir. And I don’t care
who
he is.”

“That’s as may be,” Cameron temporized, “but his clearance code and authorization string checks out as legit. You think
those
are false?”

Souders’ frown deepened. “No,” she admitted finally. “I just don’t like being lied to by people with big ranks and bigger clearance ratings.”

Then you’ve chosen the wrong line of work, Steph.
“Keep that channel open, Lieutenant. I don’t think we’ve heard the last of Commodore Riordan on this matter.”

“Hell,” Souders sighed, “I suspect that was just the opening act.”

* * *

“It must feel strange, being back here.” Bannor Rulaine ran his targeting binoculars over the CoDevCo complex a kilometer away.

Riordan, waiting for word that
Puller
was in position, shrugged. “That’s not what’s on my mind right now.”

“No? Seeing the locals again, maybe?”

Riordan shook his head. “No. Lying. I had to lie to Commodore Cameron to get us down here.”

“Well, you knew that was coming.”

Riordan shouldered his liquimix battle rifle, jacked it into the HUD on his helmet, watched it pick out targets based on thermal signatures and silhouette analysis. “Knowing you’ll have to lie is different than doing it. I’m not saying there was any choice; not saying the stakes aren’t high enough. Just saying it disgusts me, particularly when I have to do it to someone wearing the same uniform.”

“Yes,” Bannor agreed. “That’s the worst.” He raised his head slightly. “The stragglers are starting to run back into the compound, now.”

Caine nodded, swept his scope over the familiar facility. Almost two and a half years ago, he had walked those dusty lanes, dined in that refectory, swum in that executive pool. It was all a bit shabby now. After the Parthenon Dialogues, the then-World Confederation had suspended all operations other than petrochemical prospecting with vertical drilling. The Hague had also tried to mount an investigation into the willful extermination of the local population of Pavonians, now known to be regressed Slaasriithi, but was stymied by procedural challenges. Then the Arat Kur and Hkh’Rkh had invaded and everything other than speciate autonomy, and possibly survival, was set aside. Now, as some semblance of calm was returning, there had been inquiries into whether CoDevCo’s Site One facility had remained in compliance with the suspension order. No direct answer to the question was ever received. However, much verbiage about soliciting advice of counsel before vouchsafing a reply was sent in its place. Which, Riordan was sure, meant that the moment CoDevCo had no longer been under direct official oversight, they had returned to their rapacious ways.

Close passes by
Puller
confirmed it. Digging around the archaeological site reminiscent of a half-sized Acropolis had clearly resumed, and thermal sensors showed a number of small teams up near the hidden valley that was the preferred refuge of the Pavonians. Whether CoDevCo’s henchmen had resumed hunting them to extinction or were simply containing them was unclear, but it was an absolute violation of the restrictions that had been placed upon their activities.

As
Puller
had swung around to make its initial approach, missiles had swarmed up out of the jungle at her. Melissa Sleeman had knocked them all down. She had become a pretty fair hand running the lasers in the point-defense fire mode.

Karam had lowered
Puller
on its vertifans, dropped off the Slaasriithi autonomous munitions platform, and fired a few beams into the bushes. That had sent the SAM teams scurrying back toward base, where they were finally arriving. And where CoDevCo was likely to either make a last stand or capitulate. But Riordan couldn’t give them much time to make up their mind about which; whatever incriminating evidence existed at the facility would already be earmarked for speedy elimination.

Bannor ran through a radio check. “Everyone’s ready for the show to begin, Commodore,” he reported. “Time to provide some pretext for pacification.”

Riordan leaned towards his own collarcom. “Melissa, shift over to the ROV controls.”

“Got it.”

“Advance the Slaasriithi AMP to waypoint two and hold position.”

“Acknowledged. And Commodore?”

“Yes, Melissa?”

“Is Tygg there with you?”

Riordan suppressed a smile while Bannor rolled his eyes. “No, he’s about three hundred meters to our left, Melissa.”

“Oh. Well, tell him to be careful. Please.”

“Will do. Stand ready to activate the PA system we’ve rigged on the AMP.” Riordan leaned down over his CoBro eight millimeter’s scope. Site One was relatively quiet; the fleeing SAM teams had repositioned themselves around the central marshalling area where a defunct fountain stood bleaching in the unrelenting yellow-amber sun. There were two prepared positions flanking the open ground, which had already been there when Riordan was an unwanted guest at the facility. Their relatively basic rocket launchers—tripod mounted, simple guidance packages—had been swiveled around to guard the main approach. Perfect. Just enough illegal ordnance to crucify CoDevCo in court, but not enough to really be a bother today.

Caine’s collarcom crackled. “Commodore?”

“Yes, Melissa?”

“The AMP has now reached waypoint two.”

“Good. Advance to waypoint three and hold.”

“Do you want me to activate the PA system yet?”

“No, but I’ll be calling for it soon. Riordan out.”

“And there’s our spider-monster, right on time,” Bannor announced.

Sure enough, the much heavier, hexapedal Slaasriithi autonomous munitions platform emerged from the tree line and advanced toward the marshalling ground at a leisurely pace.

From the windows of the refectory, one of the more solidly build structures, small arms barked like a pack of warning dogs. The AMP did not stop, showed no effect. Riordan saw hints of what might have been loading and target tracking movements in the two defensive berms flanking the open ground, but none of the hurried motions consistent with an imminent attack.

The AMP came to a stop just the other side of the fountain.

Riordan leaned his mouth towards his collarcom. “PA, please, Melissa. And please activate the AMP’s PDF system.”

“You are live on the mic, Commodore. PDF coming up.” The back of the radially symmetric automated weapons platform segmented, extruded a pintel-mounted tube, resealed around it. “PDF coil gun is armed and ready. Go ahead, sir.”

Bannor grinned at him. “Show time.”

Riordan nodded, did not smile; he’d seen evidence of too many atrocities against the Pavonians to feel anything other than the heat of an anger he’d had to suppress but which had never guttered out. “This is Commodore Caine Riordan of the United Commonwealths and Allied States, acting on behalf of the Consolidated Terran Republic. You are hereby ordered to lay down your weapons, quit your positions, and present yourself for detention until such time as your individual culpability may be determined in the matter of any and all violations of Emergency Action Order 12509-C, issued by the World Confederation and transferred by political supersedence to the appropriate administrative agencies of the CTR.”

A single shot rang out from the refectory, spanged harmlessly off one of the AMP’s legs.

Riordan did not pause at all. “Failure to follow these instructions will be taken as an indication of continued hostile intent. You have thirty seconds to signal your intent to comply.”

A rocket sped at the AMP from the left-hand berm; the PDF tube swung toward it with eye-defying speed, hissed briefly. The rocket detonated half way between the berm and the Slaasriithi ROV, the explosion shattering half of the facing windows in the refectory.

“Seems like a pretty clear signal to me,” Tygg drawled over the open channel.

“Hold your fire, everyone. We’re going to give them the full thirty seconds.”