Starcruiser Polaris: Nothing Left To Lose Page 6

 “I had a prolonged affair with Admiral Carpenter.” As Mike's eyes widened, she continued, “It became clear that I was to be discarded after a few months for being inconvenient, and joining the Political Directorate gave me a weapon I could use to prevent being thrown into the streets. As had happened to his previous paramour, I learned. We established what you might call a state of detente, instead.”

   Shaking his head, Mike replied, “I suppose I can't fault your honesty.”

   “Your turn.”

   “Fair enough. I don't like this mission. Of course I don't. The idea of being sent to hunt down my father, no matter what he's done, is...” He paused, sighed, and continued, “I am an officer in the Federation Fleet, and I've been in the uniform long enough to know that I'm not going to like every order I receive. That doesn't stop me executing them to the best of my ability.”

   She nodded, then said, “You wouldn't be human if you didn't have doubts about this mission. I'm sure we all have concerns.”

   “Not Lieutenant Schmidt,” he replied. “There's a human laser beam if I've ever seen one. Lances right to her goal with no hesitation. And I can't help but get the idea that as far as she is concerned, I've got a big target drawn on my back.”

   “She did have a chance at this command before your assignment,” Petrova replied. “And has served on this ship for some years. Admiral Yoshida had to pull a lot of strings to get you here. Some resentment is natural. Nevertheless, she has almost the highest possible Political Reliability Index.”

   “Almost?” he asked.

   “A second cousin suspected of subversive behavior some years ago. Nothing was ever proven, but the record remains on our file.”

   Shaking his head, he replied, “I've been on the frontier for too long. Out there, it isn't like this. We hardly ever see you blackjacks...”

   “Blackjacks?” she asked with a thin smile. “That's a new one.”

   “Black-Jackets.” He tugged at his uniform, and added, “You ought to wear butternut like the rest of us. Though again, I'm sure you do it because you want to stand out, look special.”

   “Actually, it's excellent at hiding dirt.”

   Against his better judgment, Mike chuckled, and said, “I'll be damned.”

   “You're surprised that I can have a sense of humor?”

   “Let's just say it doesn't seem to fit the usual profile and leave it at that. Most of the watchdogs I've seen have been the dictionary definition of stuffed shirt.” He paused, then asked, “Can I ask you a question?”

   “Certainly.” She sat straight in her chair, and said, “Commander, I have the ability to be one of your most useful officers. I will always tell you what I think, and if I believe you are making a mistake, I will tell you. In the correct way and at the correct time. Our loyalties are the same, and we have sworn the same oath, the defend the People from all enemies internal and external.”

   Nodding, he replied, “A ship in our squadron shot down a transport yesterday, possibly killing dozens of innocent crewmen. I was wondering how you felt about that? Quis custodes et custodes?”

   “Who watches the watchmen?” she replied. “Oh, if you think you have to go through hell when you take a Reliability Test, you can't imagine how deep they go for us.” With a frown, she continued, “To answer your question, it wasn't something I would have ordered. Not only for moral reasons. Interrogating the crew would have given us valuable information. You're going to have to watch Guerrero, I think. She's going to shoot first and ask questions later. Under normal circumstances, I don't believe she would have been considered for command.”

   “Let me guess. Nobody wanted the job.”

   “Would you? The commander arrested, executive officer killed, most of the senior staff and enlisted sent on a one-way trip to Triton? Putting the pieces back together on that ship would be a challenge even for an experienced officer, and I'm by no means sure that Guerrero is up to the task. Not that there was much of a choice. And she has supporters as well.” Looking at him, she added, “Admiral Yoshida himself is in a somewhat tenuous position. Others, such as my erstwhile friend Carpenter, have been attempting to push him out of his job for years.”

   “Naturally,” Mike replied. “Lots of opportunities for graft and corruption.”

   “Cynicism isn't a useful trait for a starship commander.”

   “Perhaps not, but realism is. I'm not blind to the flaws in the government that I serve, Petrova. If we're both putting our cards on the table.”

   “Anna, by all means,” she replied. “And I wouldn't trust anyone who claimed to be a blind patriot in any case. Better to have an officer who fights for the Federation because he has made a conscious decision to do so, rather than someone who does it because he doesn't believe there to be an alternative.” Sitting forward, she continued, “Would it surprise you to know that I volunteered for this assignment? In fact, that I went to some trouble to get it?”

   “Trying to make your reputation?” he replied. “If we pull this off...”

   “When.”

   “If. Overconfidence is one of the greatest weapons you can hand to an enemy.”

   “If we pull this off,” she conceded, “then you will be in a position to move swiftly through the ranks. I know that Admiral Yoshida has in mind fast-tracking you to Commodore, and this squadron command will assist with that.” Raising a hand, she continued, “And before you start questioning your age, you've got more command experience than most of our flag officers, and you and I both know that it is more a matter of political connections than service regulations.”

   “Granted, but I never really thought about it that way.”

   A catlike smile spread across her face, and she replied, “That's where I come in. There are other officers who have the same potential that you do, but you I think have the best chance of realizing it, and I believe that to be critical.”

   “To do what?”

   Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out her datapad, and said, “Your Reliability Index isn't as good as it should be. Sufficient for a ship command, true, but there are several notations about criticism of senior officers, lack of respect for higher ranks, and an aggressive willingness to do what has to be done to complete a mission, regardless of regulations. I might cite your plan to trap Polaris as one more example.”

   With a shrug, Mike replied, “With a record like that, I'm surprised I got this far.”

   “The Political Directorate likes officers such as yourself, Commander, though not for the way you think. We're engaged in a perpetual flight, half a dozen different groups struggling to take control of the Federation's destiny. Seeing that troublesome officers move up the ranks means that the Beasts of Admiralty are more concerned with suppressing internal dispute than the intrigues of the Directorates.”

   “I won't be a cat's paw for anyone, Lieutenant.”

   “Nor would I ask you to be. There are some of us who disagree with this attitude. We're meant to be serving the best interests of the Federation, and the constant intrigue is continually getting in the way of that.”

   “Careful,” he replied. “You're beginning to sound a little seditious.”

   “I would counter that those who put personal power and influence ahead of the people they're meant to be serving are the traitors, not I.” Tapping her datapad, she continued, “And this record suggests that you agree with me. That you're in the Reform Party, whether you know it or not.” The smile returned, and she said, “My job is to guide you to where you need to be, Commander. Where you want to be. Into a position where you can do some good. Admiral of the Fleet in ten years, instead of some political creature who would only use it to feather his nest.”

   “You're telling me that there is some sort of conspiracy at the heart of our government, one that I am being invited to join?”

   “Conspiracy is the wrong word for it. We consider ourselves more of a Star Chamber. Dedic
ated to the ideals of the Revolution, and determined to restore the Federation to what it was originally meant to be.” With a deep sigh, she added, “That's why it is so important to crush this uprising right away, before it can take root. There are already figures in Parliament calling for the imposition of a second Purge, and that cannot be allowed to recur.”

   “Maybe, but,” he said, pausing. He was gasping for breath, his eyes losing their focus, and he said, “Anna, do you feel it as well?”

   “The air,” she said, panting. “Sabotage.”

   Mike lurched to his feet, stumbling to the control panel, his hands fumbling over the controls. Someone had disabled the life support systems and engaged the pressure lock on his cabin, sealing the two of them inside. The telltales continued to insist that everything was normal, but one breath told him that the pressure had been turned down, oxygen drained from the atmosphere. He reached for the emergency controls, cursing as he tried the switches, all of them disabled.

   “Communicator,” Petrova gasped. “Knocked out.”

   “Wait,” he said, staggering over to the bed, knocking a half-empty cup of coffee to the deck in his haste. He reached up to his command console, a secure link, and grunted with satisfaction as it responded to his commands. He tapped in a ten-digit code, clearing it twice as his fading memory struggled to recall the sequence, and as the ringing of sirens exploded into the air all around him, collapsed to the ground.

   Death wasn't what he'd expected. Certainly not the smell of plastic over his mouth, a low whirring in his eyes, as his eyes flickered open to see Dietrich staring down at him, a pair of medics on the far side of his cabin seeing to Petrova. He reached for the mask, but his weak hands couldn't surpass Dietrich, his palm keeping the respirator in position.

   “She's going to be fine, Lieutenant,” one of the medics said. “We'll get her down to Sick Bay for a full check-up. The Commander should come as well.”

   “In a minute,” Dietrich said. “I've got this. On your way.”

   “Yes, sir,” they replied, pushing the unconscious Petrova into the corridor on a gurney. The doors slammed shut, and Dietrich took off the respirator, oxygen hissing into the air as the seal broke. With an effort, Mike struggled to rise, Dietrich's arms helping him to sit up.

   “Easy, there,” he said. “You cut that pretty damn close.”

   “You got my message, then,” Mike replied.

   “Just me and everyone else. You scared the hell out of everyone. Though for the record, your unexpected battle stations drill timed out at a hair under three minutes. A little better than Fleet average. I've got Kenyon up on the bridge.”

   “Not Schmidt?”

   “Hell no. She's down in the life support systems. I figured we'd be safer with her out of the way for a while.” Gesturing at the controls, he added, “You realize that this required a command-level authorization. As well as skills that not that many people possess.”

   “Meaning that somebody on this ship is out to kill me, and with a limited number of possibilities.” Mike frowned, and said, “Under normal circumstances, I'd suspect Petrova, but given that she damn near died as well...”

   “Not conclusive.”

   “What?”

   “Damn it, Mike, you know how the Blackjacks work. They'll play any games they want. I wouldn't be surprised if she had some way out of this.” Glancing at the door, he added, “Those medics were on the way here already. I joined them before they came inside. Both of them just happened to have access codes. To your cabin. Interesting, huh.”

   “I find it hard to believe someone would set themselves up to commit suicide, Sam.” He paused, looked up, and said, “We both know who the prime suspect is, and she's running around the lower decks right now.”

   “With a couple of people I trust watching every move she makes. I'll make sure she doesn't pull a fast one. The only question I have is whether she's working with anyone else.” Shaking his head, he said, “Bad enough that we've got a bunch of rebels fighting us. Now our own side is out to get us as well.”

   “You're assuming Schmidt isn't a rebel.”

   Dietrich's eyes widened, and he said, “That hadn't occurred to me. Killing you would put Death-Or-Glory Morrison in charge, and she'd have less chance of riding herd on Guerrero than us.” With a frown, he added, “This is getting worse all the time.”

   “No kidding.” Looking up at the clock, he said, “I'd better get down to Sickbay. Get up to the bridge and keep an eye on everything. I'll be up as soon as I can. We should be at the rendezvous point soon. And once this battle is over, we're going to sweep this ship from stem to stern until we find out what the hell is going on here.”

  Chapter 8

   “I've checked four times,” Moretti said, “and I still can't find anything about Saxon that proves your theory.” Stabbing controls on the security console, she added, “Yes, she was a ColSec officer, a senior one, but I can't find any contacts with the Political Directorate, and while she was pretty damned corrupt, there's nothing here that suggests anything out of the ordinary. Just another low-level functionary.”

   “She killed Keranos,” Cordova replied. “Or at the very least, ordered his death.”

   “The man was a bastard of the highest order,” the engineer replied. “You see his record? He's the sort of scum we ought to be fighting against, not making deals with. Slime sticks, remember. We're going to get a reputation if we work with bastards like that.”

   “We don't have the luxury of a clean conscience.”

   “Are you sure that it's such a luxury, rather than a necessity?” With a sigh, she said, “Look, you don't have to like her, but you're going to have to get used to the idea of working with her. Commander Curtis is right about something. We're going to need defectors if this is going to work, and we're going to have to take them where we can get them. Right now we've got a fighter pilot working for us who launched a strike against Polaris the day before yesterday.”

   “She's too eager to support him,” Cordova replied, shaking her head. “Every time, she's just a little quick to back him up. And he listens to her.”

   “You jealous?” Moretti asked, raising an eyebrow. “She spent more than a decade on the station we're planning to attack. He'd be crazy not to learn everything he can from her, but I don't think he really trusts her. Any more than he trusts you.”

   Turning to the engineer, she replied, “Now what the hell do you mean by that?”

   “Precisely what I said. The only one he really trusts on this ship is Felix, and he didn't even bring him into the loop on this mission until the last minute.” Frowning, she added, “Maybe Kani. Though I understand that. He doesn't have a dog in this fight, and he's made it quite clear that he's along for the ride only while it's in the interests of the Commonwealth. As long as we're weakening the Federation, that's enough. But that's it, Gabi, and you know what? He's right.”

   “I still don't like it,” she replied.

   “You wanted a tactical genius. Someone who could use this ship to defeat the Federation and bring about a second Uprising, take down the tyranny. Well, you found him, and he actually wants to do it, and strange as it sounds, I think he actually has a chance of pulling it off.” Shutting down the display with the flick of a switch, she added, “His heart and his soul are in the game. In a year from now we might be talking about finally winning this war. And it will all be because of what we do right here today. I'm afraid we're going to need Saxon and creatures like her to do it.”

   “You were the one talking about not getting stuck in the slime.”

   With a shrug, Moretti replied, “As ColSec Administrators go, she's downright tame. A crooked cop. That's about as far as it goes. No acts of brutality, no oppression of sedition over and above normal routine, and she's got a couple of notations for non-cooperation with the Political Directorate. Hell, she got stranded out here on the frontier. Someone must hav
e been worried enough about her loyalties, and that's good enough for me.”

   “Then you think I should go along with this?”

   Frowning, she replied, “I don't know if you have a choice. Not any more. You've unleashed a pretty wild beast, and he's running free. Most of the crew would follow him if you pushed a decision. Norton would, Rojek, the fighter pilots.”

   “And you?” Moretti looked down at the deck, and Cordova continued, “I see.”

   “Damn it, Gabi, we're in this game to win, and you're one of the best field commanders I've ever seen, but you don't know a damned thing about space combat, and he spent twenty years at it before they threw him into the gutter! If we were talking about another raid on Triton, hit-and-run on a ground installation, you'd be the expert. This is space warfare. Not the same thing.”

   The door slid open, and Saxon walked into the room, an enigmatic smile on her face as she took a vacant chair, saying, “You really need to work harder on your internal security. I was able to set up an monitoring program on Polaris' database surprisingly easily. Naturally, I have already informed the Commander of the weakness and recommended some software updates. These systems are, after all, twenty years out of date.”

   Turning to her, Cordova said, “Every move you make just makes it harder for me to trust you.”

   “Probably as it should be, though to be fair, the reverse must also be true.” Gesturing at the monitor, she added, “Out of interest, Lieutenant, do you genuinely consider that I can be trusted?”

   “Not a chance.”

   “Good. I should hope not. I don't trust either of you.” Her smile grew, and she added, “None of us dare to take the risk, and Commander Curtis is the most paranoid of all, but then certain inquiries that I have made of late suggest that he has good reason to be.”

   “What does that mean?” Moretti said, the engineer missing Cordova's nervous glance.

   “The Major knows. And she's just confirmed my suspicions. For a resistance leader, Major, you don't lie worth a damn. That's a skill you're going to have to cultivate.”