Katz sat balancing the pen on the tip of fingers, watching it sway back and forth as he tried to keep it steady. No easy task in the drifting wash of the Siberian Nebula rushing and waning against the sturdy hull of his Storm Class Gunboat, the CPW-Social Credit.
12 hours and counting.
That was how long the Soc had been stationed in the middle of nowhere, waiting for orders, or any sign of the CPS-Moscow that was to relieve him of his precious but deadly cargo.
The leather pilot’s seat of the Soc was, like everything aboard the old ship, cracked and split. Repaired one too many times by duct-tape, but treated with the same loving caress that all the ships systems had been given. The Soc was a People’s warship, and a proud one.
Sub-Lt. Radoslav Borodin climbed forward between the two aft stations in the cramped command deck to hand Katz a cup of steaming tea, looking a little apologetic as he did so.
“I am sorry Kapitan-Lieutenant, but there is no coffee aboard the ship…” His large grey eyes looked a little fearful as he said it, as if he were expecting to be shot for relaying such dire news.
Katz dropped the pen into his hand, setting it aside on the dashboard instruments, and took the cup of tea gratefully.
“Don’t worry Rados,” Katz said trying to sound reassuring. “When we are next out Omicron Gamma way, we can stop a passing trader and see if we can get more.” He fumbled through his jacket pockets, pulling out his pack of cigarettes and banging one out as he lit it in a fluid and well rehearsed motion.
Borodin eyed the cloud of grey smoke that wafted from his Acting-Captain with an edge of nervousness, before he looked back into the depths of the small cramped gunboat. “The crew is nervous after we were… refused permission to dock at base.”
Katz lifted a boot and rested it against the edge of the low navigation console that sat between the two forward control stations. Leaning back into the pilot’s chair as he studied his first officer a moment, shaking his head.
“I can’t discuss it Rados, you know how Command gets around those who ask too many questions…” he gestured around him at the cockpit. “The bulkhead’s have ears Comrade. There is a GRE agent stationed on ever Coalition Warship to ensure… loyalty. And you can be assured that if we slip up, even once, this whole ship will be blown up by their sabotage.”
Borodin rubbed his jaw-line, too young to worry about daily shaving, he was far too youthful featured for his own good. His single golden star upon his shoulder boards spoke of his raw inexperience, fresh-eyed farm-boy from Volgograd.
Katz found his eyes moving to the dark RWR screen on the instrument panel in-front of him, seeing his own face, the dark lines under his eyes from a lack of sleep. The stubble that dotted his chin, and the hat that sat back on his head at an odd angle. Too young to look that old, he mused. The Four stars of a full Lieutenant on his shoulder weighing down far too heavily it seemed.
“Kapitan-Lieutenant,” Chief Petty Officer Byk stated from the hatch, “a moment, sir.”
Katz blew out another cloud of smoke as he stood, adjusting his hat. “You have the Conn Mister Borodin, please refrain from crashing into anything while we remain completely immobile… this time…”
Borodin looked sheepish, “Yes Kapitan-Lieutenant. I promise.”
Katz looked at the youth dubiously, before he shook his head, walking from the command deck, hands in his pockets and trailing smoke.
The Social Credit had undergone a major refit just before her last mission to recover the GZ-Codenamed Artifacts. Her bulkheads had been shored up by a significant armour upgrade, yellow braces supporting them, and heavy re-inforced blast plates welded to strategic places inside the hull had reduced the already cramped spaces inside the ship, drawing the six-man crew of the gunboat into even closer quarters.
He moved back, past his berth, a nook just behind the FTL-communications room that held his narrow bunk across from a sturdy wooden table that had been bolted to the floor, covered with maps and log books and a sturdy, if battered looking rugged laptop computer that contained the sensitive files Katz regularly worked on.
There was no need to secure the laptop, anyone attempting to access it without the Kapitan-Lieutenant’s permission would be seen and promptly shot by other members of the crew. Security lay in the fact that it was out in the open and thus inaccessible.
Further back was the crew head, and the small galley, backing on to the primary gun turret access hatches. Beyond which were the crew berths, little more than bunks set atop one another separated by curtains, two of the crew were there, playing cards on an upturned crate and drinking Vodka. They looked up as the Kapitan-Lieutenant and the CPO went passed, before they returned to their game.
Maintenance Specialist Ivanov, a scruffy looking bespectacled man with wild hair was working to repair the troublesome air-recycler, mopping his brow as he poked his head up from the small access hatch in the floor and reaching for a large monkey wrench.
“Don’t even start with me!” he stated waving his hands and refusing to look at his crew mates. “I know this was supposed to be fixed, I am doing the best I can. But I am not miracle worker, if I was I would be on Karl Marx instead of stuck here on this piss-pot…” he kicked a bracket.
Katz always thought engineers were supposed to love their ship, but Ivanov seemed to loathe the Soc, and the Soc stubbornly loathed the engineer in return.
“We are not here for you,” Pasha commented as he descended a companionway, leading Katz down into the cargo hold.
Pasha had been busy, building a small fortress for himself down there. His Deck-sweeper 8-guage shotgun had been set on a crate facing the main docking hatch. A small canvass chair dug out of the marine storage lockers set up to afford a good view of anyone stupid enough to poke their head inside unannounced.
Pasha took the job of guarding the GZ-Artifacts very seriously.
“What is it Pasha?” Katz asked, leaning on the companionway rail and looking at Pasha who had stopped, resting his hand on one of the crates.
“If I go insane, you will shoot me, right?” Pasha inquired to his CO and friend.
Katz frowned, his hand automatically dropping to the butt of his .65 assault pistol strapped to his thigh. “Why?” he asked, straining to keep the alarm out of his voice.
“Oye,” Pasha said, collapsing into the canvass chair. “I am sure they are talking to each other…”
“Who are?” Katz inquired.
“These… things…” Pasha said, kicking the crate containing the artifacts with the heel of his boot. “I can hear them whispering.”
Katz drew heavily on his cigarette, rolling it to the corner of his mouth, “they will be off this ship soon enough, and then they can talk all they want, right Pasha?”
Pasha looked tiredly up at Katz, “Sure, you don’t have to sit down here and listen to it. Though I have found one way to shut them up…”
“Oh?” Katz inquired.
Pasha pulled out a bottle of vodka, “typical Coalition solution to everything, drink more.”
He rested his head reverently against the ships outer bulkhead, his hands feeling the pitted and scarred outer hull where someone had, for the umpteenth time, decided to test the Gunships formidable armour package.
As usual, the Social Credit had proven how sturdy Socialist construction could be.
Order mechanics were moving about, looking apologetically over at the Gunboat Captain and his first Officer who were inspecting the damage a group of their over exuberant Bomber pilots had wrought upon an Ally.
Both Razin and Katz were very heavily armed in case of any repeat occurrence of their sudden, and abrupt, return to Toledo.
***
Hours earlier.
The wounded gunship slammed out of space in a wash of Order gunfire, trailing smoke and debris. He shuddered and started a steep nosedive towards the planetary surface, his deceleration thrusters engaging, trying to slow his decent and haul his nose up to prevent him burning up on re-entry.
The shields roared and cooked as the heat of the atmosphere boiled across the surface, and in the cockpit of the ship, warning alerts and sirens blared the danger.
“This was such a bad idea!” Razin muttered as he wrestled with his control panel, trying to coax a little more energy out of the failing systems.
“The time for debate is over, XO,” Katz bit out as he fought with the controls, the ship spinning around on failing VTOL engines, corkscrewing end over end. “We don’t have much choice left if we’re to make it out of this alive.”
“Yeah?” Razin turned. “So tell me, oh fearless leader, if we’re allies of the Order, why the hell are we burning up in the atmosphere of their main base, instead of getting a nice warm fruit basket reception?”
“I like you,” Katz said, as the deck began to vibrate and buck wildly under his feet. “Such faith in the chain of command.”
“Yeah,” Razin said, bouncing around in the command chair, his teeth clattering together as he spoke. “But we’re still going to need one hell of an engineer, what can you do?” He leaned forward. “Captain, get our nose up!”
“Sure, ‘cause it’s not as if I’m not trying to do that,” Katz called back. “Why do we always have to crash dive?”
“Because there’s so little left of the ship, we’re lucky to make it this far,” Razin said. His tone even as the ship fought for his life. “I’m reading multiple settlements on the equator, and a large mining operation… so far no one’s challenged us. I don’t know where the base is...”
“Right, specifics?” Katz asked.
“Let’s try not to die first,” Razin pointed out. As the warning alerts increased their ferocity, a crackle of shorting circuits snaking their way across the open access panel that Ivanov had jerry-rigged. Moments later all the controls went dead.
“Oh fark me!” Razin intoned, as the cockpit window erupted into flame, the glass bubbling and steaming as it began to boil away. The temperature in the bridge began to skyrocket, in moments they would all cook alive.
“I’m remotely activating the shield batteries,” Katz called, punching commands into his controls as he frantically grabbed both sticks again.
“Ivanov!” Razin called again.
“I’m trying!” Ivanov protested from back in the ship where he was frantically trying to re-engage the drives.
“Come on, come on…” Katz pleaded.
The Social Credit fired his bow thrusters, a Herculean effort from the crippled gunboat, as his nose came up. His ion drives disengaging as his VTOL drives took over. Causing the gunboat to stop dead, hovering in the air over a remote, snow covered field. Pieces of his hull raining down as he swung there, beaten and bloodied, but alive.
“I don’t believe it,” Razin said, standing up and staring through the cloudy-carbon scarred observation window at the crystal blue skies.
“Your ship loves you,” Commissar Harval said quietly as she patted Katz’s shoulder.
“Let’s just get to Toledo base,” Katz said quietly. “For all I know, we could be stranded here.”
Harval gave a cold, wicked smile, “I intend to have a good, long talk with the Order High Command about this latest insult… firing upon a diplomat.”
A group of men and women sat in a circle around a circular, very spartan, steel table, the only decoration being the medals that festooned one or two of their chests. More than half of these people flickered as they sat, their slightly transparent forms being holographic broadcasts as opposed to physical forms in this large but clandestine meeting room in the depths of Mykolaiv Research Station.
The Coalition's High Command sat in council, with the exception of the Grand Admiral, who was represented by several intelligence and Commissariat observers.
Saying that the atmosphere was tense would be the understatement of the century. Various ranking officers sat here, many egos, many utterly divergent opinions. One one side of the table sat the Hispanic Comandante o Jovem, next to him the semi-retired Admiral Dieter Zehn, a permanent scowl across his face. As well as the Fighter Corps' illustrious officers, there were also fleet officers, such as Captain Goldstein, and political representatives like Miroslav Baranov, Undersecretary of Security. Everyone important was here.
They had all been briefed beforehand regarding what was being discussed, being issued with the relevant paperwork and information. Various strands of thought had developed, with two main groupings standing out most. It was miraculous that the talks in High Command remained civil. Too much was at stake for this to go wrong.
Commissar Gorodetsky sat as the neutral chairperson of the debate, one of the few people that hadn't a strong opinion either way.
Admiral Zehn, a small, yet intimidating, figure, known for being utterly ruthless with the enemy, and not known for tact or diplomacy, was strongly suggesting that the captured technology be weaponised and used against the Nomads and the Alliance to crush them soundly, once and for all.
Disagreeing with him was Commodore Rokossowsky, the Coalition's envoy to Rheinland, saying that such a plan would be both against the ideals of the Revolution, and also far too dangerous.
Most sat between the two camps, frequently throwing forward points and observations, most agreeing with Rokossowsky on the element of danger that the artifacts represented, but buying into Zehn's proposal that they be used as a weapon.
Some, however, weren't sure if they were debating the right issue at all. Questions were asked about the artifacts, and why they hadn't been used by the Nomads in an offensive capacity. Others speculated that they currently were being used in an offensive manner by the aliens in a subtle manner, such as that shown during the Nomad War.
There was also questioning of the trust that could be put in a mere Lieutenant Commander, which was, surprisingly, shouted down for being irrelevant by Gorodetsky and the, usually friendly, Comandante o Jovem.
Totenkopt, more machine than man, nodded at the potential subtlety of the Nomads, he had fought in the Nomad War for the Order, and, in his time, had seen much more of aliens than he would have cared to. However, he was also aware of the effect played by the Proteus Tome and other artifacts in the outcome of the Nomad War. This was said in his metallic, inhuman voice.
The debate went on in the darkened room, the largest, yet quietest, meeting of the Coalition's High Command ever to have occured in Sirius.
Doctor Rene Altura brushed a strand of hair from her face
and sipped from the steaming cup. She cringed as she tasted the bitterness of it, the loose grounds mixed in.Ellis always made the coffee too strong, no doubt thinking that having a mild coffee somehow made him less of a man. Angela was weeping quietly in the corner,tears streaming down her pale cheeks. The girl had no business out here in the black, no doubt plenty sheltered in her life on Cambridge.Still, Angela had a keen mind, often noting things Rene herself missed.The staff was gathered in what passed for a dining area on the crowded vessel, and Doctor Pryce was screaming.
"What were you thinking Rene!? Were you thinking at all? You offer the services of my vessel, MY vessel, to..to an organization working to undo everything the Alliance stands for? Do you have any idea what those savages would do if they should decide to take this ship? Any idea what they would do to you and the other women? How DARE you make such a committment for the rest of us!"
Altura took another sip of coffee.Calmly, she considered the best way to respond. A extraordinary analytical mind, Rene was far young for someone with her qualifications.She resented the assumuption by many in her field that she had used her body to obtain her dual doctorates in Science and Xenobiology, the way so many at the University had.She unconsciously made efforts to hide her femininity, her clothing always a bit drab, her hair pulled into a severe bun; such did little to conceal the regal grace with with she moved,the body so many of the men at Cambridge had wanted, but never gotten. She briefly studied the weeping girl in the corner.If anyone on the ship had a reason to weep, it was Altura.
"Doctor Pryce, you know as well as the rest of us, had that ship wanted to take us, it would have done so already.As to who they are, what we should consider most is what we have seen ourselves, not what the Liberty or Bretonian news feed tells us.I admit that we must exercise caution, but I do not believe we can trust the history the Alliance houses have made for us."
David Ellis, who had been silent to this point, spoke up."You're wrong Doc, dead wrong.I seen a whole Bretonian fleet, your kin, get cut to pieces by a flotilla of ships run by the very same folk you want to pal up with.Killed every man and woman on every one of those ships.We need to stay clear of that bunch, or they'll kill all of us too.Doc Pryce is right to keep us away from this." He glanced briefly at the hatch at the far side of the room,behind which his new bride was monitoring the comms.
"Keep us away from the truth?" Rene spoke softly, so the others would quiet to listen.Long ago she had learned that quiet, logical reason would accomplish far more than shouts, more than misplaced emotion. "How many times have we been so, so close to unlocking something important, and been ordered away by Naval patrols, in places where no Naval vessels should even be? How many times have we discovered our communication was being monitored?" Do you realize the encryption I developed exceeds what the military uses? Why should that be needed on a vessel like ours?"
"Madness!" Doctor Pryce was scowling. "You've been out here too long Rene.I think you need to return to Cambridge, maybe find another field for awhile.You're not thinking clearly."
"How long have we been running in circles Doctor? Those people might be able to help us, might help us to get farther out into the black. They may even be able to protect us from those that have suppressed our work.The artifacts, Doctor, don't you remember?"
Doctor Pryce blinked. His expession changed, a vague appearance of surprise on his face.He really had forgotten.A little over a year ago, on their old Anki Class freighter, they had found a trove of the artifacts.Not hours after transmitting news of the discovery to Cambridge, they had been stopped by a Liberty Navy Crusier named Callinicus. A 'safety inspection" they had said.Their crew had been detained on the crusier while Liberty Marines boarded the freighter.They were released, and the Crusier went through a jump hole. The artifacts were gone.For weeks, they had petitioned the Libertonian Government for the artifacts return, citing their previous permission to research and investigate the artifacts in Liberty Space.The Government response had been "There is no vessel in the Liberty Naval Fleet bearing the name Callinicus."
Pryce blinked again.Altura knew she had him. She knew she would have to keep working on them all, but that they would eventually see it her way.She took another sip of coffee and began to speak again.
***Russian Roulette isn’t the same without a gun***
Dom Hryaka
Abandoned Research Station
Undisclosed location
He could see the Social Credit through the great station window where it was docked on the last still functional docking port to the station. The presence of his ship reassured him as he stood there in his pajamas sipping a mug of coffee while his crew took a much deserved break.
The calm before the rush of the storm to come.
Ivanov was somewhere below, in the bowels of the station trying to service the fluctuating power grid in an effort to make it more stable. Harval was back in Omega-52 issuing a full report on the results of her direct confrontation with the Order High Command. Pasha was somewhere, probably in the galley fixing food with the two junior crewmen. Leaving Katz alone to think.
His newly promoted First Officer, Lieutenant Razin… that would take some getting used to… was prepping his fighter for a recon mission. Brimming with pride, though he wouldn’t admit it, about the fact that he’d won a prestigious decoration to go with his new rank and status.
Katz smoked leisurely, glad of the break, wondering where Gabe was. Comrade Mao normally frequented the station, checking in on his growing-operation in the hydroponics bay. But the heightened alert status of Omega-52 in the wake of the dual attacks on Mykolaiv Research Station, Gabriel was probably on Alert duty.
He couldn’t help but yawn, feeling the exhaustion that wracked him. He’d been pushing an insane pace, running about putting out diplomatic brush fires, negotiating for scientists from Cryer and Interspace… add to that the missions to recover Alien Power Cells… it was a wonder he hadn’t resorted to stims just to stay upright.
Heavily he sat down in one of the over-sized armchairs Gabe had salvaged from a wrecked Spa and Cruise Liner that had been unfortunate to run across pirates after it had strayed too far away from the safety of the patrolled shipping routes.
He was trying his best to cope with all the stress, but he was reaching a point where everything he was being bombarded with was pushing him towards an edge. Every time he turned around, there was something that just didn’t feel right.
Add to that the fact that he had to watch himself in the SCRA ranks. Those that lived too close to the lines died when they were crossed.
There were times when he felt like he was playing Russian Roulette with an Automatic pistol…
“You need to eat,” Pasha said startling Katz awake from where he had drifted off to sleep.
He stood there with a steaming plate of something that smelled suspiciously like Beef Stroganoff. There was one thing that the Coalition didn’t abide, and that was Synth-paste. At least the food was decent.
Katz accepted the food gratefully as he sat upright. “How are the men Pasha?”
“Comrade-Lieutenant Razin has departed on his Reconnaissance mission,” Pasha stated. “Ivanov has a list of repairs as long as his list of whining. That should keep him busy for a while, and hopefully he won’t have time to get too drunk. The other two are asleep on the Credit, I felt it prudent that we keep someone aboard, in case we have to depart this place… in a hurry.”
Katz sighed, looking at the square jawed Polack with his back-to front baseball cap and reassuring eyes. Short but stocky, built to keep going no matter what. A damn fine Chief, and an excellent friend.
“Sit and join me Pasha,” Katz offered, gesturing to the seat across from him.
Pasha smiled, producing a bottle of Vodka, “I was about to turn in, Comrade-Kapitan.”
Katz stirred the beef and noodles in the bowl, and looked up. “I don’t know how many chances we’re going to get to speak openly after this. Things are about to become very dark, I fear.”
Pasha eyed his skipper a moment, and sank into the chair across from him. “You used to be… a very different man. I think this…” Pasha gestured across to Katz. “Suits you better. You are calmer… maybe a little wiser and definitely not so…”
“Naive?” Katz suggested.
“I was going to say, stupid,” Pasha grunted as he unscrewed the bottle and fished about for a glass. “But the way you are climbing the ranks… you are far from that.”
Katz chewed on his food, his eyes drifting to the windows and out to his ship. “Do you know how badly I wanted one of those?” Katz said, nodding to the Soc.
“We all did,” Pasha said, rolling his eyes at the vessel. “Too bad it is tin-coffin most of time. But Commissar Harval was right, ship must love you… or you are one lucky man to still be alive. And I guess I am lucky too…” he lifted his glass. “Chtob vse byli zdorovy!”
Katz lifted his coffee mug, “Indeed.”
Pasha immediately refilled his glass. “We succeeded in getting first Power Cell to Velebit, that is progress. And you and Commissar Rassid got scientists. We are doing well, no?”
Katz shook his head. “That’s classified now Pasha.”
They weren’t, not even close. They still have no idea where the last Artifact is, nor how to get the one the Order had tucked up in their secret labs. There was still the research to go… and two more power cells to get back to base. So far, they were so far away from actually being anywhere that they were closer to nowhere.
“And Comrade-Lieutenant Razin?” Pasha inquired.
Katz glanced up, “an excellent XO so far. Probably better suited to the task than Comrade Sub-Lt. Borodin was.”
Pasha nodded his head, “The men like him. He’s got an edge to him but still seems to understand the crew. A good balance to your… more diplomatic approach, he is a warrior.”
Katz frowned as his Comm. began to chirp for attention, popping the headset on, he turned it on. Reading the message, he sighed as he set his food down. “That’s a call from our contact, he has the second Power Cell. We need to go and meet him…”
“Should I rouse the crew?” Pasha inquired rising himself.
Katz shook his head. “This is just a short hop, let them rest, we’ll be back shortly.”
Pasha nodded, grabbing Katz’s jacket and tossing it over to him, the Lt. Commander sliding it on over his pajamas. The two men hurrying down to where the Soc was docked, quickly running through the Pre-flight and launching.
The stroganoff and Vodka remaining unfinished where they’d been left.
***
"This was admirably done..." Said the mechanistic voice of a man to his subordinates. The group of seemingly emotionless individuals stood observing a camera feed from the exterior of Kawada research station, a repair drone examining EMP damage and carbon scorring on one of the station's shield panels.
"These men were not Kusarian military nor paramilitary. That is obvious. It certianly does not surprise me that they could penetrate GC security, nor that they could escape undetected. What does surprise me is they would attempt to breach this facility in the first place."
The men were clearly neither GC nor Blood Dragons. But part of an investigation team from another, far more devious organization. Dressed in military fatigues and wearing gasmasks and full facial helmets, the men continued to monitor a number of screens set up temporarily in a cargo bay, used as a command center for their investigation.
---
Elsewhere on the station, the GC dockmaiden overseeing the station was at her communications console, speaking to the holographic image of another man.
"This is an invasion of our privacy, you're out of your territory. I want your people off the station or I'm alerting the Elders."
"Ma'am, this is out o' your league. The severity of this and the fact that we have every suspicion this was a non-Kusarian organization responsible has forced us to overwrite normal protocol under these circumstances." The hologram spoke in a Libertonian Texan accent, abiet a clearly metallic and mechanical voice.
The holographic man was himself encased in a full suit of Cybernetic armor, seemingly sitting at a desk in an office-like room surrounded by strange computer panels, bathing the room in an eerie blue glow.
"This is our base. Golden Chrysanthemum. The Consortium has no authority here. I'll have the elders alerted and you can kiss your docking permission good bye." The GC woman replied, clearly not pleased with the investigation.
"Ma'am, like ah said. I respect your desire for privacy, but under the circumstances, we have a clear and present danger to both our organizations security, and a missing' project which if your information is correct, poses a significant information comprise should it be discovered, and any information about it be released to the public."
"Then let us do our own investigation. We'll find who did this and..."
"And what? What if our suspicions are correct and this is a non-Kusarian entity?"
"The Outcasts will help, they can easily send people to recover the artifact and destroy whoever did this."
"Y'all can't rely on the Outcasts for somethin' like this. They ain't subtle enough, nor do they have nearly as indepth knowledge of this station as -we- do. And the Elders and the Kiretsu are too busy bickering amongst one another to have even noticed this. -We- were only informed when the call for repair parts came in.
What's done is done, ma'am. If y'all want your 'research' back and someone t' point a finger at, you'll co-operate with us. We have the reach and we have the covert network well in place for this kind of eventuality."
"Ugh..." the woman stood over her console, looking down, thinking... "...fine, you can have our sensor records. But your 'intelligence network' didn't do a whole lot to keep this from happening in the first place."
"We were never informed of the situation until we intervened ourselves, nor were we allowed to place our security teams on your facilities despite offering to protect from exactly this kind of infiltration.
Be that as it may, we're gonna need more then just sensor records. The body of the man we found and the EMP charge."
"Those are in the care of the sisterhood... *grrrr* ...fine! If it gets me that research back, fine. We expect you to do get it back quickly." The woman continued.
The Cybernetic man simply nodded slightly, and de-activated the holo-transmitter. The GC dockmaiden begrudgingly went and instructed her sensor technician to forward the information to the investigation team's computers. As well as release the body of the infiltrator who was killed by a faulty charge.
***
One hour later
The Consortium officers, unconcerned with the general distrust of the local GC to their presence, continued their work, amongst normal dock-crews and personnel. Security had been stepped up in the wake of the attack, though the sisterhood still refused direct Consortium assistance aside from the investigation team.
The technician-in-chief of the Consortium investigation team was busily transferring the GC sensor records into his database, while his peers examined the spent EMP charge.
"This is all commercially available hardware, none of this points at anyone in particular. The external panels were sent for fingerprinting and DNA analysis."
"I'm looking at these wire clusters... heavier gauge then normal. I want to see one."
The man seemingly in charge, James Dacker, pulled a pair of utility pliers and cut a small length of wire out of the charge, handing it to the man next to him. A mister 'Jenson'.
"Hmmm... This isn't your normal-grade wire for sure. I think..." Jenson leaned closer to the area where the wire was cut from "...it's part of a converter feed."
Jenson reached in, following the cut portion of wire, using another pair of pliers and trying to find where the wire went. "If this end goes into the transformer box... then this..." he found a small metal covering, attached with several screws. "...must be a signal input."
The two men worked for several minutes to open the device, and remove the input covering. Jenson pulled the input from the container, and examined it. The device resembled a small radio, with a keypad and number screen. Fairly nondiscript, except for one small detail...
"What's this writing on it?"
"Cyrillic. Not particularly common on modern electronics, only people who really use it are the Coalition remnants."
Dacker paused for a slight second, thinking... reaching into his own mind... and farther, into the Consortium's Neurocyte network for information. After a moment, he regained his composure.
"Most of this hardware is too obscure for our records database. I'll have to forward it to Intel-spike for further examination. Dosen't nessescarily mean the Coalition is involved, and we have no evidence to indicate they have any allies in Kusari. In the meantime, about those sensor records..."
The man sitting at the computer console gave the thumbs up. "I have the sensor records for the first refresh after the incedent..." The man spoke, pulling up the records on a screen.
Immediately, something caught the team's eyes. "That track in the nebula, 4454, what is it?"
12:21 AM - TrAnSpOtATeR-[rus] - Pirate Train (Moored)
12:37 AM >>>GENERAL ALERT SOUNDED<<<
12:39 AM - GC Raiders-6 - Blossom (Launched)
12:39 AM - GC Raiders-7 - Blossom (Launched)
12:39 AM - GC Defender-1 - Eagle (Launched)
12:40 AM - GC Defender-2 - Eagle (Launched)
12:40 AM - GC Defender-3 - Orchid (Launched)
12:51 AM - Osaka -Tridente Gunship (Launched)
12:53 AM - GC Repair-Drone-71 - Repair Ship (Launched)
12:53 AM - GC Repair-Drone-66 - Repair Ship (Launched)
"The track that launched at 12:51, Osaka, check it's records."
The computer technician quickly pulled up several datastreams and displays of individual ship histories.
"Records indicate it claimed to be a Science team. The dock crews didn't check their credentials properly or they forged them, dosen't go into detail. The ship docked, few hours later, the power failed, right before the ship left. Nobody figured out until later it was an attack..."
"It's direction and course, did it take it into the Takkinai cloud?"
"Checking... yes, it made a beeline for the cloud and nobody checked it in the confusion."
"Then I do belive we have our ship..."
"Sir, if I may speak freely. Are we sure the timelines match up?"
Dacker nodded to Jenson, who was still fiddling with the Cyrillic numpad input, having translated the symbols through his Neurocyte link.
"This was on a fifteen minute timer, and we know exactly when the EMP bomb detonated. And that was the only non-GC ship that launched in the timeframe. Either it was an inside job, or..."
"...Or we have our ship. Forward this information to Overwatch and Zeta Foxtrot. I want her to access the P-SATNAV grid, track that vessel. I'm heading to Ainu to oversee Blackwatch unit deployment. We're going to find that ship and we're going after it..."
Katz flipped the Soc about, giving Stenka a clear line on the hatch so that he can dock. "Come aboard, it might be more private here."
Stenka climbed aboard, smoothing out the creases in his uniform
"I much prefer my new Insurgent, did you know the new ships are welded together rather then just taped?" he said to Katz, smiling in jest
Katz chuckles as they move up through the cramped ship to the captain's table, wedged in behind the radio room. Katz gestures as he sets about making coffee in the galley next to it. Across is Katz's bunk separated by a small curtain, and forward is the Cockpit.
"You know I have found the thruster button is actually a button not a red spot of permanent marker!" Katz said, a broad grin on his face.
"Ahahaha, it amazes me how you keep this ship together Katz"
"Prayer, duct tape, and a whole lot of gum..." Katz chuckled as he brought two mugs of coffee over. "I am from Colorado, I have friend's who are Xeeners."
"Lenins beard that explains it all" Razin laughed, clapping his hand to his forehead. "but down to business, just what were we doing out there today?"
Katz heaves a sigh as he sits across the wooden table and wraps his hands around the mug. "Chester was dormant the last time I visited it, I wasn't expecting those ships. Much less to see the doors wide open."
"I was hoping to show you what we were facing, just not so directly..."
"Yes, it was certainly... interesting... though I'm still not quite sure what we're facing"
"I mean to say, how big this really is, how deep the rabbit hole goes"
Katz reached into a cupboard above his head and pulled out a fresh pack of cigarettes, opening them and offering one to Stenka.
"As far as I know it is everywhere out there, from Kusari governors through to... people I cared about. Which is important Stenka, they're going to use people against us. They could be almost anyone..."
Stenka takes a cigarette, lighting it and offering a light to Alvin "it has happened before, the people are more prepared then before, we're somewhat aware of the danger the question is, is the enemy more prepared then the last time?"
"They seem to be more adaptive this time, more willing to manipulate. They are steering everyone towards something... the problem is... are we a part of that great game of theirs, or are we acting alone?" Katz puffed a moment on his cigarette, and blew out a cloud of smoke. "Damn, I always hated games."
"Hmm, that's the big question, i dont think we have any way of finding out other then watching as event's unfold" Stenka mulled over the problem. "The most we can do is be prepared for what does happen"
"I've had a long talk with Pasha, and he is in agreement with you. We need a plan... in case things go horribly wrong."
Katz looks down the length of the ship to ensure the crew aren't about. He looks back at Stenka and rubs his face. "I'm going to be honest with you here... if this all goes to... if we've made a mistake. The Coalition Commissar's are going to have us killed."
"If we've made a mistake... from what Ive seen today, the commissar's are the least we have to worry about" Stenka pointed out.
Katz gestures with his cigarette. "True Stenka, true. But I want to be clear about what our orders are. And..." Katz looked troubled.
He started again, "if these scientists do something wrong, I am going to have to open fire on a civilian vessel. Irregardless of who is aboard it. That is my duty, if I fail that duty, it is your duty to... shoot me and carry it out."
"we have to remember these are Cryer scientists, not coalition. they're here for the pay, not for the revolution" Stenka took a long drag on his cigarette, exhaling through his nostrils. "I wouldnt enjoy shooting them, but they have had benefits over countless others in worse off conditions"
Katz inclined his head, "good. I need to know that the safety of Omega-52 and the whole of Sirius are taken care of. I doubt I would hesitate, but the more I will work with these... scientists, the closer I may get to them. I need you to keep a professional distance from them. And don't be afraid to challenge me if you think I am wrong. Some Captain's broker no dissent to their orders, but I need you to be my conscience in all of this Stenka... I've come to trust you."
"you're a good man Alvin I trust you also," Stenka said, clapping Katz on the back. "Dont let your past get in the way when dealing with these scientists, they're coalition as long as their contract lasts, then they're back to being the people who bought you here in the first place"
Katz put a boot up on the bench, and looks at the Lieutenant sitting beside him, smiling tiredly. "We need to be fully honest with each other, then. The aliens will use anything in our past against us. Friends, family, loved ones... anything to get at us." He tapped Stenka's temple with a finger. "Once you get Cap-8 in here, it's going to mean they have to go after us in other ways."
Stenka sat silently thinking to himself for a moment, we can only hope we wont be the target's then. Sacrifices may have to be made, but until we find out what they're after, we can only be strong and have faith in the people"
Katz nodded his head again, smoking his cigarette.
Finally he speaks up again, "I read some of your Father's pamphlets you know? Back when I was on Denver..."
Stenka leaned forward, interested, "my father is a great man, he is no pilot or agent of the coalition, nor is he well known, but he gives the people direction and inspiration when they need it most, he knows his place in the revolution and is proud of his workMy father taught me alot, it's why i'm here now, why i have faith in the people and the revolution, even when it seems we're making little progress."
"Well it was one of his essays... on why the Coalition follows MacIntosh He was brilliant, Katzs eyes lit up. He answered it like this. Why do we follow such a man? A man with darkness and stained in blood? Because he is good for the Coalition, he is good for his Comrades. He has made us strong, he has brought us out of the darkness and made us a power, a force. He unites us, now it is up to us to build upon what he has created. To reap the rewards of his revolution."
"MacIntosh is indeed a great leader, he laid the foundations for which the people could build upon, without MacIntosh, I do not know if we would be here today. Stenka smiled. I am glad my father's essays have inspired you as they did me, and maybe one day, all of Sirus"
Katz nods, "I'm glad to know where you stand on all of this, and I am glad you are here." He nudges Stenka in the ribs.
"Im thankful you're here, the people need more pilots like you Katz, and I need someone in a bigger ship then me to save my ass from time to time" Stenka smiles. "Now why have you only pulled out cigarettes when i know you have vodka stashed in here?"
Katz nods his head, gesturing to the foot locker. "You are going to get me drunk again, aren't you Stenka."
"Possibly" Stenka smiled innocently, "but this time we have pasha to fly us home instead of having another fight with Gorod docking control"
Stenka laughs and reaches into the foot locker, placing 2 shotglasses on the table and the full bottle of mirky Coalition vodka
Katz heaves a long sigh, smiling as he shook his head. "You are an incorrigible Rogue, my friend..."
Undisclosed Location
Kusari Space
Two Days later...
***
"What am I looking at?" Dacker asked, observing the large, 3-D holomap.
A soft, female voice, largely devoid of emotion, save a disheartened tone, spoke. "We have tracked the route of the anomalous contact implicated in the Kawada incident to the New Tokyo system, in proximity to the planet. Unfortunately, a Kusari destroyer patrol stumbled across our recon assets."
The holo-image zoomed in on the New Tokyo system, showing a presumed path of the tracked object, codenamed "Osaka".
"We cannot be sure if it is still there. Several of our sensor probes have been intercepted, and we will need to replace them. We currently have a large blindspot in this area..." The disembodied voice announced, highlighting the blacked out area.
"We're reasonably sure it hasn't yet departed. But we will need to act quickly in any case."
"We need eyes and ears on New Tokyo and the surrounding Airspace. We don't have time for sensor probes, and we need action teams in place..." Dacker paused, considering his options.
"I want 'Red Cell' activated."
"That requires direct authorization from Overwatch." The Voice... the Artificial Intelligence, replied.
"I was given Beta clearance for the duration of this operation. I have the authority. If nothing else, put them on Alert-1 until we can double check this with Watsas. And send him a message ASAP."
"Understood. Directives are being transmitted..."
With that, the 'Presence' of the AI Woman left the room, off to simultaneously inform the Consortium's leaders, and activate the Consortium's "Red Cell" units on New Tokyo.
***
Nondescript Industrial Block
Planet New Tokyo
Hours Later...
Several men, dressed in plain street clothes, made their way through the myriad of warehouses on one of the many lower plateaus of New Tokyo's dense industrial districts. Far from sight or mind of most lawful organizations, these men appeared little different then any other, lugging large duffel bags and backpacks. To most, they would appear as the night shift simply heading to work.
The men entered a particularly large warehouse building, with several civilian vehicles parked outside, some having been stripped for parts. A Door guard let the men in without so much as a word being exchanged. Indeed, these men were eerily silent... too silent... the only sound being that of light footsteps, and the whirring of some small generators.
Inside the warehouse, these men made a beeline for a back room... wherein the illusion of this being a simple warehouse evaporated. This was clearly a command center of some kind, equipped with extremely advanced looking computer consoles and set up like a Barracks, with much of the machinery starkly contrasting the building's architecture. Opening the duffel bags revealed strange combat fatigues and body armor, layered with electroluminescent polymers and nano-cameras. Essentially, wearable stealth suits.
Several other people were dressing in similar suits, and gathering an array of weapons, ranging from Blaster Pistols and Rifles, Shotguns, and Projectile Submachine Guns. Most of these weapons possessed computer-aided sights and similar stealth emitters on Picatinny rails, which acted wirelessly in unison with the suits.
Many other men, however, were donning standard Kusari State Police uniforms, and equipping standard KSP weapons and equipment. After almost fifteen minutes of preparation, and a brief test of stealth systems and communication hardware, the fully geared men entered the main hall of the warehouse-base. Sitting in the center of the room were several Wyrm class light fighters, with Kusari Police markings, as well as a Drone class freighter. The massive roof of the warehouse was infact a large door, opening to reveal the dark, cloudy skies above.
The Pilots, Stealth soldiers, and KSP disguised officers entered their respective ships, and the sounds of whirring engines reverberated through the Warehouse and beyond. This was of little concern to most of the others in the industrial district. Few even noticed as the small flotilla of ships flew skyward, in computer-guided formation.
***
The ships made their way out of the Docking ring and toward Roppongi. The local traffic was largely indifferent toward their presence. A KSP squadron en-route from a patrol, a convoy of DSE rhinos headed toward Okinawa, a strange Anki Freighter savaging an Interspace transport. The Squadron was unnoticed and unopposed on it's way to Roppongi.
The Wyrms patrolled innocently around, like normal KSP ships, while the Drone freighter docked on the station itself. The station's internal ship transit system moved the Drone into a maintenance hangar, bringing it to rest and locking it in place. Several of the KSP disguised agents left the ship, and moved to secure the hangar. A dockworker moved to investigate the presence of the Drone, when he was stopped by one of the officers.
"Excuse me, officer. Might I inquire as to what you're doing here?"
"Hai, sir. We are making a special delivery for the Police Garrison aboard. It's a bit heavy to lift, and this is the closest hangar to where it needs to be on the station."
"Okay... the dock master didn't mention anything about this, though..."
"We are going to talk to him in a minuite. This wasn't planned, but it's the most practical way..."
Several of the 'KSP' officers went off into the station, while others began offloading a number of crates and objects from the Drone's cargo bay. The Stealth-Soldiers inside activated their cloaks, and got into positions, awaiting the instruction to move, activating their comlinks and HUD systems...
"May I see what you have in here?" The Dockworker asked
"It is not important..."
The dockworker was beginning to become suspicious at this. "But Officer... I'd like to know what you're bringing through on such short notice..."
"Fine then." The 'Officer' replied, leading the dockworker into the ship to see. Realising the man was coming through their Neurocyte comms, the Stealth Soldiers hunkered down and activated their stealth systems.
The Dockworker took a quick glance through the cargo bay, seeing very little out of place. Crates labled 'Office Furniture', and a few Metal Tanks.
"Okay... this is Furniture?"
The Officer leading him strode over to one of the crates, next to one of the Stealth soldiers, and opened it. Inside was, indeed, little more then a disassembled shelving unit encased in packaging gel and bubble wrap.
"Hai, good then, I'll help you unload." The worker announced, getting ready to lift the crate and bump into the stealthed soldier, before being stopped by the officer in charge.
"First I will need you to sign this receipt, out here." The officer lead the dockworker out into the hangar, and better lighting.
---
Meanwhile, two other disguised KSP officers made their way toward the Dockmaster's office. Knocking on the door, the two men were granted entry easily. The Dockmaster was sitting at his seat, talking on a communication line, inquiring about the delivery.
"...Hai, hai, I was not informed either. Well... okay, hold on. They're here now, I'll ask them..." The Dockmaster said, de-activating the communicator, then standing and bowing, greeting the officers.
"Konnichiwa, Samurai-Police! It is a pleasant surprise that you have brought your presence here. I just wished to inquire as to why you are in the maintenance hangar instead of the main one?"
The officer's response was quick and clean. Both men drew their silenced pistols and shot both the Dockmaster and the two men in in the hangar controls. They then jammed the doors and de-activated the security systems, moved the bodies into a small locker, and taking over control of the room. One of the officers, once he was sure the security systems were offline, closed the hangar doors and gave a hang signal to the men on the hangar floor.
Immediately, the Disguised 'KSP' officers drew their weapons and gunned down the docking crew in the hangar. That was the signal for the stealth troops to move. The Tactical team made their way into an adjacent maintenance corridor and down into the station's sub-level infrastructure areas, where few would notice them. The Disguised officers quickly began to clean up the bodies, and set up the boxes they were unloading from the transport into a makeshift defensive position, just in case.
The Stealth team continued to tactically progress, encountering nothing but maintenance robots, their suits making them undetectable to any of the security measures on this level. Meanwhile, several Disguised officers from the station, as well as a small unit of those already on Roppongi moved out, to several strategic locations in the base, ready for their part of the rapid capture operation.
Red Cell was on the move, and as of yet, no-one had seemed to have noticed them...
Doctor Pryce made sure the chest was closed tight.
He and Rene had been quite intrigued with the item entrusted to them, had spent two weeks electronically poking and prodding it, running endless scans on the object. The data would take weeks to review fully. Excellent. But the item wasn't theirs. They had to return it.
Light seeped in through the billowing canvas tarps, rippling in the wind noisily. Katz opened his eyes, shivering in the chill air and snuggling down beneath the heavy fur blanket he had dug out the night before when he had arrived at the Dacha on Volgograd.
There hadnt been much time to unpack yet, the Dacha had been a reward for his faithful service in the Ontario situation. A chance for him to reflect and consider his options for the future. There were many that were anxious for him to rejoin the SCRA, others wanted him to consider a career in Intelligence, or the Ministry of Truth There were even letters asking him to teach at the SCRA Military Academy on the hypocrisy of Libertonian Politics
For Katz, it was a chance to gain a decent appreciation for the savage beauty of the raw Volgograd, capital world of the Coalition.
It reminded him of writings talking about the Canadian frontier, hulking pine trees scraping the sky around the craggy mountainside that the Dacha had been built upon. Obviously more a summer home than a winter one, Katz had almost frozen stripped down to bathe in a small stream, dumping buckets of water over his head.
He couldnt fight the dawn any longer and sat up, searching for a shirt and a pair of trousers, not really minding that hed put on a pair that hed worn the day before. It was growing colder on Volgograd and Katz began to worry a little about it threatening to snow. The open air was refreshing, and the tent structure was airy, but it would provide no protection come the snows.
In a few short minutes he was down at the brook with a fly-fishing rod in hand, lost in concentration as he stood in the water. The rod twitching and snapping back in a pair of expert hands as he paid out the line whipping it back again with a sharp sweep of the rod.
He was trying to catch trout, and Katz was aware of the pair of new comers that were watching him leaning on the rail of the Dachas covered veranda.
Katz glanced at them, panning out some more line as he flicked the fly across the surface of the water, barely quivering the cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. They were military Intelligence from the blue piping on their midnight black uniforms. Behind them, standing with his hands on his hips and smoking a cigar, Commissar Rasshid
At least they had the decency to let him finish fishing for his breakfast.
I mean it when I said I want a break, Katz looked uncomfortable.
The conversation had started when Katz had returned triumphantly from his fishing expedition. A pair of fat trout on hooks that he slapped down with every intention of cooking.
The kitchen was in the sheltered downstairs of the Dacha, open to a larger living room with a log fire that snapped and crackled after being lit.
Youre needed, Commissar Rasshid stated with a shrug as he sat on a high stool on the opposite side of the counter, watching Katz clean the fish,
Katz tousled his hair back, head tilted to one side as he gave the Commissar an incredulous look, as if wondering why they were so insistent. But he answered, what is so interesting? Working his filleting knife quickly, setting a pan sizzling as he gave the Commissar more of his attention.
We cant discuss it, The Commissar pointed out, pulling a rather thick SCRA file out of his brief case. But you have expertise in unusual scientific problems, and you also have a flair for diplomacy. All were requesting is that you give us some time, and take a look at our problem. Comrade-Citizen Katz.
Katz nodded thoughtfully, Youre trying to tempt me back with a puzzle why not just reactivate me?
Because Id rather have you working with us willingly, The Commissar said with a slight shrug his dark sunglasses flashing in the light menacingly. You wont like it once I stop asking nicely.
Katz nodded as he cooked, I was wondering when things were going to take a turn like that. He added some salt to the fish, looking up. Rasshid wasnt the kind of man to make an idle threat, but there was something that Katz liked about the man. In a way he looked up to the man greatly and so he was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. I will come, this time. But it doesnt mean Im reactivated, it is purely as a civilian for now.
Youre never a civilian, the Commissar reached across with his fork and skewing a piece of fish in the pan. Though it will be good to have you back, after all, it is doubtful you can stay here in hiding for too long. Youve always struck me as too whats the word Yuri?
Involved, Yuri supplied.
Indeed, the Commissar said as he popped the bit of fish into his mouth.