When the Stars Fade (The Gray Wars) (14 page)

             
“What freedoms am I taking away
?
”

             
Arthur spoke first
.“
How about the right to not have to serve in the military? There are more than twenty-nine billion citizens in the colonized systems, and fewer than one-in-a-thousand serve. What are you going to tell them when they realize all their plans have to be put off for three years while they risk their lives against an unknown, unmeasured threat
?
”

             
“But how can they sleep at night, not knowing wha
t’
s coming next
?”
Donald looked out the window, watching the lights of the tunnel whip past at unimaginable speed
.“
As I said, i
t’
s a hard call. I ca
n’
t say if i
t’
s the right one, but I would have done the same
.”
He shifted in his seat, adjusting the holster under his arm
.“
You know what the Chief of Staff will say
.
”

             
“I ca
n’
t please everyone
,”
Alexander said, settling into his seat and closing his eyes
.“
I guess
I’
ll settle for pissing off as few as possible
.”
He settled back in his seat, hoping for an hou
r’
s sleep before the flight.

*              *              *              *              *

              He sat in a darkened den, smoke drifting lazily from the cigarette in between his fingers. The leather couch on which he sat was cracked and worn, older than most of the men who used it. Piercing blue eyes watched the glowing screen showing the High Chancello
r’
s speech. Political pundits tore the politicia
n’
s words apart, finding meaning and flaws to suit their statio
n’
s agenda. It was almost funny.

             
“Alec, Alec, Alec
,”
the man said. He drew the name out with a faint southern drawl
.“
Yo
u’
re making it too easy for me
.”
A young woman approached from the  back, offering a bottle of beer. The man took it with a smile, handing the pretty girl a folded credit note. She tucked the bill into her bra, winked, and went to serve more drinks
.“
He celebrates Reformation Day by reinstating an Imperial edict
.”
The man turned to share his little joke, but no one paid him any attention.

             
Around the room, groups of men busied themselves with various tasks, mindful to keep their noise down while their leader watched the TV. Some cleaned rifles, others played cards. Mostly, they sat and thought about the week to come. The mission had taken almost four years of planning, months of preparation, and now could crumble with the smallest slip. Not that they worried. They were never to concern themselves with failure, or the possibility thereof. Only the mission.

             
The man could
n’
t help but smile. If he could have met himself from fifteen years before, he would
n’
t even recognize what he had become. There was
n’
t a proper word for him. Rebel? Terrorist? Monster? Hell, h
e’
d be fine with disillusioned soldier, but the media loved to portray him as some kind of anti-establishment nut job. No matter. The hour of judgment approached so rapidly that he rarely slept anymore, lest he miss it.

             
From inside one of his many hideaways, the man known as Jonah Blightman waited for his moment of triumph. Soldiers of the Red Hammer had waited too long for vengeance, but now that time was at hand. He looked down at the sprawled notebooks on the coffee table and began to go over his plan, beat by beat. It was complex, but not overly so. Contingencies were in place should any step go awry. And, in Jona
h’
s experience, plans like this had a tendency to stray off the intended path.

             
If they succeeded, they would undo the damage of the past ten years in a single hour. An entire galaxy of people would know the extent of the lies told by the Federate. Jonah knew that the odds might fall against him, and that this would be his last trip out, but the time for doubt had long passed. So instead, in a chilly bar in Toronto, he prepared for his hour of glory. Looking over the plans for the attack, he felt a familiar numbness growing.

             
While Jonah looked at the reports from his various cells, one of his veterans approached. The old man smiled with a scarred face and placed a small tablet in front of his leader.

             
“Everything is set, and the delivery boys are in place
.
”

             
“Good
,”
Jonah said
.“
Now le
t’
s talk about Buenos Aires. The casualty estimates still feel too low
.
”

*              *              *              *              *             

              The small scout ship slowed as it entered a suitable orbit speed. Neither pilot paid much attention to the nearby planet; it was more or less just a colorful distraction. They had seen hundreds of gas giants in the years scouting for the armada. A tone sounded and the computer took over control, allowing the commander and navigator to unhook and move toward the rear of the craft.

             
At the far end, near the engine compartment, a small computer flickered to life. The commander stared into the ether, reading the report from the external sensor array. Under his polarized faceplate, it was impossible to tell if he liked what he saw. The navigator went to a large control panel and pulled at a lever. Below deck, metal ground against metal as a hatch opened.

             
“Ready to release
,”
the navigator said.

             
“Not yet
.
”

             
The subordinate nodded. He fidgeted, restless. It had been a tedious task, dropping the packages, but every moment was terrifying. Each box transmitted a particular signal, and there was only one ear tuned to that frequency. If they lingered too long...

             
“This is suitable
,”
the commander said
.“
Drop the pod
.
”

             
The navigator pulled a second lever and the scout ship rocked from side to side. A small sphere, no larger than a melon, popped out from a holding clamp in the cargo area and drifted into orbit over the gas giant. In seconds it was thousands of miles away.

             
“Pod is away
.
”

             
The commander shut down the computer
.“
Quickly, we need to leave
.
”

             
They shuffled to their seats, strapping down as the navigator gunned the engines. Blue light flooded the interior of the cockpit as the small craft leapt into the Blue, disappearing in an instant.

             
Left behind, the orb drifted lazily in a sea of swirling gasses. As an automatic timer ticked down, the pod began to transmit. Wire and antennae slid out from hidden pockets, and a tone began to sound. The message was shot in all directions using powerful FTL relay boosts. But without the right decoder, all it sounded like was white noise with the occasional nav tone.

             
Tim...Tim...Tim...

-                           
II                            -

November 15, 2236

              Kilo Squadron was preparing to turn back in before the signal appeared. They had reached hour three of their patrol without incident, and fuel was too precious to waste. The twenty Phoenix III fighters, combat veterans from the TFC
Gettysburg
, had received an analogous contact during a routine sweep of their carrie
r’
s sector and been sent to investigate. Battle Group Tallus occupied the massive corridor known as the Valley of Giants. Made up of six enormous gas planets, the Valley led straight to the heart of the Venetian System. On one end of the path, the twin stars Romulus and Remus battled for position in a beautiful dance that took almost a full two years to complete. On the other end was the amber planet known as Tallus, the only habitable rock in the entire sector.

             
With only one planet and a few mining outposts to guard, Tallus group was understandably small. TFC
Gettysburg
, a second-class carrier, only housed two squadrons of fighters and a flight of Seed bombers. Escorted by the destroyers
Cambridge
and
Cape Cod
, the three-ship strike force existed as a deterrent to the odd rebel group or pirate raiding party, nothing more. On most tours, the twin missile frigates
Tigris
and
Euphrates
would be on the flanks, but both were down for annual services. The crew all agreed that this was the worst time to run short-staffed.

             
Tallus lived on the edge of Terran space, far removed from the safety and security of New Eden or even the tightly contested Colorum Belt. Tallus Node paled in comparison to her progenitor near Earth. With only seventeen connected tubes, the station was barely big enough for her crew of twenty. Most of the civilian workers commuted rather than live aboard, favoring a lengthy flight each day over sleeping in space. Despite years of scientific research, most of the civilized galaxy remained convinced that gravity was essential to a safe nigh
t’
s rest.

             
In the silver-striped Squadron Commander ship, Captain Frank Dunham took point on a sweep of the Valley. He shifted his large frame in the chair, trying to work out a kink in his back. At forty-three, he was long-passed his prime for piloting, but Tallus was short on officers. He stifled a yawn and began a slow banking turn to port. Over his shoulder he could just make out a winking light.
A little longer
, he thought,
and w
e’
ll be back aboard the bus.

             
Gettysburg
had detected radiological disturbances coming from Venetian Four, the mammoth green orb in the middle of the planet-lined pathway. Given Chief Officer Rodrigue
z’
s warnings about a possible reprisal from the Boxti, every anomaly had to be investigated fully. Almost at the end of their fuel capacity, and far beyond the limit of their patience, Kilo wing was about finished.

             
“Kilo, this is one
,”
Dunham said
.“
Send me your SitReps
.”
He pulled at the straps on his flight suit. The armor was sitting tighter on the chest than it used to. There was
n’
t much to do aboard the aging carrier, so Dunham spent most of his time at the gym. He smiled.
Could be worse. Could be tight around the middle.
He leaned over and bit down on his water line, taking a large mouthful and swallowing it down. Chimes sounded on his console and situation reports from his wingmen filtered in.

             
Still nothing.  Somehow that made it worse.

             
Word of the attack over Luna spread fast on the FTL network. There was
n’
t a man or woman in the galaxy who had
n’
t watched the video feed. Everywhere in the universe, a cloud of dread hung over the populace. For some, it was fear of this new and unknown threat that had invaded their galaxy without any sort of warning. For others, it was plain xenophobia for these ne
w“
allies
.”
A month without any sighting of the enemy had quieted the tension only so much, and the Nangolani were regarded with more and more suspicion.

             
On Earth, activist groups marched daily outside the offices of the Council, calling for the removal of all alien vessels from human space. Out on the rim, Tallus was yet unaffected by such events, but the uncertainty pervaded the system like a plague. 

             
“Overwatch
,”
Frank said over the net
.“
You picking up anything
?
”