Virtues of War (4 page)

He had earned a quiet living these past two decades, as a freelance journalist with extensive experience off-world. As an augmented cameraman, he wasn’t expected to be an on-screen presence, instead bringing back stunning visuals that were often sold to networks and private journalists on the condition that no credit was given to the source. The story had been plausible enough to get him work with no less than ANL, and the great inquisitor Chuck Merriman seemed to have accepted it without question.

Although he would never let himself relax while on a mission, Kete allowed himself a small twinge of satisfaction that he had succeeded so far. He was inside Terran society and, as the last few weeks had shown, he was well-placed to move about unnoticed—because no one ever noticed the cameraman.

Next he needed to become a cancer.

Getting clearance to become a cameraman inside the high-security zones was another matter altogether, and Kete knew his fabricated life as Kit Moro left way too many unanswered questions. He could never have applied for top-level security and maintained his cover.

No, the only option had been to get his hands on a legitimate Terran ID that had already been cleared. Terran cyber-security was in most ways laughably simple, but when it came to military encryptions, it was surprisingly robust. Kete had even taken the precaution of capturing a chip from a person who held the same profession as his alter-ego. Thus, his target had been an unfortunate young cameraman doing contract work for ANL.

As he lifted up the stolen chip, Kete’s mind had already begun to analyze it. Several days, perhaps even weeks, would be needed to track down every nuance of the security protocols contained within, and then replicate them in his own, Centauri-designed chip. This operation required patience, he knew, and great care at every step.

At least he wasn’t alone. All across Earth other Centauri agents were quietly slipping themselves into the fabric of Terran life. Although they would never meet on their foreign world, they shared a singular vision and worked together toward a simple goal.

War was coming to Terra. War and vengeance.

The true soldier scorned the media, nosy parasites who did nothing but make trouble. If given the chance, said soldier would quite happily muzzle every last reporter in Terra, or at least banish them to reporting local bake-offs and school track meets.

Yet, as Thomas Kane approached the entrance to the military gala, he saw the crowd of reporters jostling for position behind the velvet ropes, and forced a smile to his lips. After twenty years of working to improve his station in life, he knew that the media were tools like any other. If neglected, they could become a blunt object that swung wildly in all directions, but if handled well they could be sharpened to cut with surgical precision.

Anything to do with the military was a hot news item right now, with the recent rebellion in the colonies still sending repercussions through politics and the economy. Rumors of a colonial terrorist threat here at home had been ruthlessly quashed, but journalists had an annoying way of ignoring what the military told them. The recent trial of that Corps officer had stolen the spotlight and tonight’s gala was, in Thomas’s opinion, an obvious attempt to draw the public’s attention away from the negative aspects of the conflict.

Still, who was he to disobey explicit orders to treat his new wife to a black tie event?

Soma Kane craned her neck. “Do you see any of the major networks?”

“A couple, I think.” He offered his arm. “This gala’s bigger than I thought.”

She wrapped her delicate, jeweled hand around his forearm and smoothed her gown. Most of her day had been spent getting ready for this evening, and it showed. Barely as tall as his shoulder even in her heels, she carried herself with the regal assurance of the Jovian elite. The rich colors of her dress brought out the deep lustre of her dark skin and complemented the beads worked into her long black hair.

It was a short walk up to the imposing entrance of the Astral Force Headquarters, ambient lights creating the illusion of daytime over the deep-blue carpet that flowed like a waterfall down the center of the broad, marble steps. Fully armored soldiers stood in the shadows just beyond the light, but otherwise it was a scene of glamour and style. Thomas instinctively glanced down to check his dress uniform.

His high-collar blacks sported shoulder boards with twin silver bars plus star—indicating his rank and appointment—and his breast gleamed with the accomplishments of two decades in the service of Terra. Qualification badges for Fleet warfare director, Corps infantry commander and Joint fast-attack spoke to his breadth of training, and five medals heralded his experience and dedication to duty. His eyes lingered on one particular decoration, the Distinguished Service Medal, which he had earned during the… recent troubles.

A few cameras focused on Thomas and Soma as they ascended the steps, even if no reporters spoke to them. He stole another look at his wife and appreciated anew how beautiful she was. A colder part of his brain assessed that together they were quite a media target, and he wondered if they might merit one of the supporting photos on a “society montage” in one of the tabloids—a tall, decorated veteran and a beautiful, wealthy socialite. Mixed-race marriages were all the vogue right now, so that alone would probably earn them a place on a media spread.

They passed through subtle security at the entrance to the building and were politely directed into the vast open room that could serve as a parade ground, a sports arena, or even an execution site, but tonight had been beautified into a ballroom. Banners of every major military command hung between the pillars, the bright lights at floor level fading upward into the clever illusion of a starry sky overhead.

Hundreds of guests already mingled on the polished floor, and at the far end of the room an entire array of machines from both the Army and the Astral Force were on display. His eyes automatically sought out the dark, sleek, and familiar shape of a fast-attack craft, but after only a moment’s longing gaze, his attention focused again on his social responsibilities.

Tonight’s receiving line was high-powered indeed. And electronic security, while invisible to the casual observer, was omnipresent. A discreet scan of their personal, embedded identity chips—the thought of which naturally brought to Thomas the image of Soma’s perfect breasts, and the complete absence of an implant scar between them—had already identified them to the senior officer at the head of the receiving line, and they were announced.

“Lieutenant Commander Thomas Kane and Mrs. Soma Kane.”

Thomas kept his face neutral. Although his actual rank was lieutenant, as the skipper of a fast-attack craft he’d enjoyed the appointment to lieutenant commander. But since his ship was now little more than a cloud of shattered parts on a thousand-year orbit falling in toward the sun, he knew that his appointment was only a bureaucrat’s whim away from being removed. The less attention brought to this fact, the better.

Sure enough, the Fleet Marshall glanced at Thomas’s shoulder-boards. He kissed Soma’s hand, introduced his wife, then looked again at Thomas.

“How are you settling into your command, Mr. Kane?”

This wasn’t the way an ambitious young officer was supposed to meet his supreme commander—returned from battle having lost the first vessel entrusted to him—but media training had taught him to turn difficult questions to his advantage.

“She was a fine ship, sir,” he replied confidently, “but she was lost in the breakout from Centauria.”

“What ship?” Exactly the right follow-up.

“
Rapier
, sir.” It was too easy.

The Fleet Marshall’s predatory glare softened. Down the receiving line, other very senior officers looked over with sudden interest. Apparently the entire Astral Force and even the Army had heard the name of the little ship that had unleashed Terra’s newest weapon.

As Thomas introduced his wife along the line to a virtual galaxy of military brass, he forced an expression of humility to lock down the smile that fought hard to split his features. No matter what else had happened during the troubles, his final mission had at least earned him some fame.

The air was cool and fragrant inside the ballroom, despite the hundreds of people and several teams of newsmen circulating, capturing the moment. Soma pointed at one media team that was focused on a particular Astral Force officer.

“Oh look! There’s Uncle Eric.”

There indeed was Soma’s godfather, Captain—no,
Admiral
—Eric Chandler. Resplendent in the gold-trimmed, high-collar blacks of a flag officer, he had his listeners enthralled. Above-average height, sharp featured with just enough gray to add distinction, Chandler was exactly the sort of hero the Astral Force needed right now.

An inspiration to Thomas since the days when they’d both been junior officers in the old destroyer
Victoria
, Chandler had kept a subtle eye on his young colleague for years—even arranging for Thomas to meet the lovely daughter of the richest man on Ganymede. Yet Chandler had sent his regrets to Thomas and Soma’s wedding. That spoke volumes of how much the relationship between mentor and protégé had deteriorated.

Thomas’s
Rapier
had been under the overall command of Chandler’s expeditionary force, providing an ideal opportunity for an ambitious junior officer to shine. In the long months of combat, however, there had been both good and bad times, and even now Thomas wasn’t sure where the balance lay.

Nevertheless, for better or worse, Chandler still provided his best hope for continued success in the Astral Force. Now that Chandler was an admiral, Thomas had dug around to discover the responsibilities of his mentor’s new position as an admiral. This was his chance to make the pitch. He followed in Soma’s wake as she glided across the floor.

Chandler noticed them and broke off his discussion with the reporters. He met Soma, kissing her on both cheeks, asking about the wedding and apologizing profusely for not attending. Soma laughed off his efforts and congratulated him on his recent successes. The entire exchange was captured by the hovering reporters. Finally, Chandler turned his gaze to Thomas.

His bright eyes were inscrutable.

“Good to see you again, Thomas,” he said warmly. “Congratulations on your marriage to this lovely girl.”

“I’m a very lucky man, sir.” Thomas shook his hand. “Congratulations to you as well, Admiral.”

Chandler nodded slightly and returned his attention to the reporters. Cameras clicked when he introduced Soma as the heiress of the Mehta family of Ganymede, and Thomas felt himself melt into the background. Hardly surprising, really, when he was up against a newly minted war hero and a Jovian heiress.

Looking around the room, he noticed another media grouping of sudden, intense interest to him. An entire family was being interviewed—two men in Army uniforms, one man in the dress suit of a retired Army veteran, two civilian women, and one woman from the Astral Force.

Katja.

His heart leapt. Her high-collar blacks sparkled with badges and medals, including the Astral Star for valor in combat, but her face was carefully neutral as she listened to another family member speaking to the reporter. Her small body was firm and smooth under that uniform, he knew, but he immediately shook off those memories. It was just good to see her.

Keeping half an ear on Chandler and his wife, he watched the Emmes family interview. It was fascinating to see the interaction, matching faces to the rare but colorful comments Katja had made about her family. And there was no mistaking the powerful Army man with the Cross of Valor on a ribbon around his neck. That was Katja’s father. Whoever happened to be speaking fell silent if Papa Emmes opened his mouth, and all eyes darted toward the patriarch at regular intervals.

All except Katja’s sister, he noted curiously, who instead seemed rather bored by the entire affair. She listened politely when Katja or their mother spoke, but otherwise was surreptitiously looking around the room. Her eyes met his for a moment, with the flash of a smile before she looked away.

Soma squeezed up to his arm again. “I’m going to get us some drinks,” she murmured. “I think Uncle Eric has something very exciting to discuss with you.”

In a gust of sweet scent his wife disappeared, and Thomas turned his eyes to his mentor. Chandler’s easy rapport, reserved for the media, was gone, and Thomas recognized the grim set of his jaw only too well.

“Thomas,” he said without preamble, “I’ve got a situation. The Fleet Marshall is launching a formal investigation into the way the Astral Force conducted the war.”

Instinctively Thomas glanced back toward the receiving line, and the man whose hand he had just recently shaken. A Fleet Marshall Investigation, he knew, was a rare and frightening thing.

“What’s being investigated, sir?”

“Basically, Parliament’s decided that somebody in the military has to pay for this war,” Chandler growled, his voice low. “As far as they’re concerned, the whole thing was a disaster for the State, and they’ve decided it cost us too much, both in terms of resources and prestige.”

Thomas nodded thoughtfully, mind racing even as he swallowed the bitter taste of betrayal by their political masters.

“I suppose the recent Astral trial was part of that?”

Chandler glanced around, further lowering his voice.

“From what I heard through the command channel, that officer was just a hard-working ape who did his best in a bad situation. I’m not surprised the lawyers got him off. The fact that he walked is even more embarrassing for the State, and the Fleet Marshall’s been ordered to ensure that the next trial doesn’t end the same way.” He looked as if he’d tasted something bad. “Parliament wants to know why it took so long to win, and why we took so many losses.

“They want someone to blame. And that person is going to die.”

Chandler’s blunt words seemed to chill the air between them. Thomas had only ever seen the result of one Fleet Marshall Investigation before, while still a cadet at the Astral College. He’d stood silently in his rank while an admiral was led out to the dais at the front of the parade ground and, in front of several thousand cadets, summarily shot. It had been a very effective lesson in obedience.