“We’re being illuminated,” the AAW director called out.
Ten minutes earlier one of the Space Guard cutters had broken from low orbit. Now it was closing on Moore, and had just activated its fire control radars to closely track the interloper. Yet the second cutter had not been baited, and was stubbornly sticking to its patrol pattern. The lone frigate in orbit had just started to move out of its geostationary perch.
With all of Moore’s active sensors on standby they were building the tactical picture based purely on passive input. It made for an eerie quiet.
Well, Thomas decided, so much for the cutter.
“Take hostile zero-three,” he ordered.
There was a flurry at the controls over his right shoulder in AVW, and then four dazzling orbs appeared in space outside the hull, blasting away from Moore in a slow spread before angling inward on their target. The Centauri cutter was so close that he doubted they even had time to activate defenses. The four missiles smashed into the bright hull, tearing through the frame as fires gasped through the escaping oxygen before dying in the vacuum. The wreck spun wildly, breaking apart.
The encounter lasted barely thirty seconds, but now Abeona knew there was a warship in orbit. Passive sensors all across the bridge sphere lit up as tracking radars bloomed to life on the planetary surface, filling a quarter of his view. On the local display Thomas saw the vectors of the remaining cutter and the frigate both increase, and they turned toward him.
Dead reckoning placed the silent Singapore a good ten thousand kilometers away and approaching the first inbound traffic lane—far enough to be clear of close combat, but not so far as to be out of Moore’s reach. Ideal.
“Go active on all sensors,” he ordered. “Target the frigate first and fire as soon as it’s in maximum effective range.”
Moore’s powerful search sensors came alive, flooding the displays with new information. Symbols burst to life across most of the starscape, computers and operators frantically trying to assign and classify all the objects. Two red symbols were immediately obvious ahead—the two fighting ships now accelerating to intercept Moore—but otherwise any identification was lost amid the sea of civilian craft. Including Singapore.
“Get an ID on Raffles,” he barked. “I don’t want to lose her in that mess.”
“ASW will track Raffles,” Micah called out, earning an appreciative acknowledgement from the anti-vessel warfare director. Thomas nodded. John had to maintain that track—and the less the other warfare areas knew, the better.
“Hostile zero-four is launching weapons,” called AAW.
Wow—their range was longer than intelligence thought. Thomas rechecked his own display. At this distance even Moore’s long-range missiles would fall short, running out of fuel and becoming mere ballistics.
“Vampires are not locking on!”
The enemy missiles were still distant, but as they approached their relative bearing took them clearly to starboard. They weren’t closing Moore at all. Thomas sat back in his chair and watched. The plan had called for the operatives to spoof the Centauri defensive systems. It appeared as if Jack and Katja had succeeded in their mission.
“Stay sharp for a small, inbound contact squawking Special Forces ID,” he shouted for the entire bridge to hear. “Our operatives will be trying to approach us at some point in the next two-zero minutes.”
At least, he hoped so.
His display indicated that the Centauri frigate had moved into missile range. At his order, long-range weapons loosed from their launchers embedded in Moore’s flanks, and rocketed into the darkness. Given the range, and against such a sophisticated enemy, scoring a hit was unlikely, but it would help to focus an entire world’s defenses on one ship. His ship. Thomas felt a rush of adrenaline. For the next five minutes, he and his cruiser were taking on the entire rebellion.
A blue symbol appeared on his display, just aft of the port beam. It was nearly lost in the swarm of civilian contacts.
“Positive ID on Raffles,” Micah announced. “She’s increased speed and is closing the launch point.”
Thomas checked the distance to Singapore. The gap had opened.
“Get us within eight thousand k of Raffles,” he said to the officer of the watch. “Maneuver as required to protect the ship, but stay inside that boundary.”
“Yes, sir.” Overvelde gave the order to turn Moore to port. On his display he created a sphere around Singapore to indicate his new zone. Thomas watched the relative vectors begin to converge, then turned his attention back to the battle.
“Status of our long-range strike?”
“Hostile zero-four knocked down all our missiles.”
“Re-engage hostile zero-four, salvo size eight.”
More weapons flashed free, the glow of their rockets quickly lost against the looming orb of Abeona. The first planetary missiles came blasting up through the atmosphere, but their aim was scattered by the Special Forces spoofing.
The sphere around Singapore enveloped Moore at the center of the display, and Thomas felt the faint accelerations as Overvelde weaved the big cruiser through a series of defensive patterns to throw off enemy targeting. Thomas glanced back to John, who gave him a quick thumbs-up, face grim.
Ten minutes to H-hour.
* * *
Katja peeked down through the grate. The Centauri ops center was crowded with people. Most were in uniform but four civilians stood out from the rest. The four were scattered along the rear of three rows of consoles, each hovering near a senior officer who clearly commanded a different area of warfare. The mood among the military personal was professional, but agitated. Even as Katja lifted the grate she heard the nearest senior officer curse in frustration as he slammed the back of an operator’s chair.
“Why are we not hitting anything?” he demanded.
Katja lowered herself through the opening and dropped to the floor of the ops center with a soft thud.
“Because you’re being spoofed,” she declared.
Dozens of heads snapped over at her voice, shock and confusion blossoming. She met the eyes of the nearest civilian woman, who was without question one of the agents, and placed her hands on her head.
“I surrender. Now let me save your planet.”
The agent stared back at her, not speaking—at least, not out loud.
“She’s a Terran operative! Take her down!” Down the long row of consoles she saw Valeria Moretti leap into the air, clearing half a dozen operators as she broke into a run. Katja dropped to her knees, hands firmly on her head.
“I surrender,” she repeated, imploring the nearest agent to listen to her. “We are all going to die unless you listen to me.”
The agent threw up an arm to block Moretti’s charge. All around them, military weapons were raised, and Katja flinched as every barrel was aimed at her.
“Speak, Terran,” the agent said.
“Your network is being spoofed by four disruptor pods placed two floors up in this building.” She rattled off their frequencies and locations. “If you can spot those signals, you can deflect them and get a clear picture of orbit.”
Moretti met the eyes of her fellow agent in a Cloud exchange. Moments later, the imagery on every display in the ops center jerked and reset.
“There is a Terran cruiser engaging your forces,” Katja said, her voice carrying through the room, “but it is not your target—it’s the distraction. Your target is another Terran warship which is moving silently through your civilian traffic, closing Abeona.”
“No. Probably a destroyer.”
“Why?”
“Because it can slip through your defenses more easily than any other kind of warship, yet still keep the brane picture crystal clear.”
The senior officer spoke into his handset, and Katja heard voices raised further down the line of consoles. The general din of an active ops center returned, but Katja watched as the two agents conferred again, both staring down at her.
“We know who you are,” Moretti said finally.
“And I know who you are,” Katja replied, fighting the aggression which boiled up in her veins. The time for fighting was over, for many reasons. She felt the anger slowly drain out of her taut muscles, and grasped for whatever might take its place.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
Moretti’s face hardened like stone. Behind her, operators reported a suspect vessel in descending orbit at the edge of the traffic lanes, less than eight thousand kilometers from the Terran hostile currently engaged in close combat with their frigate.
“That vessel,” Katja said, “is carrying a Dark Bomb, and its target is your planet’s core. That vessel is coming to destroy Abeona.”
She glanced at a nearby clock.
“You have four minutes to stop it.”
* * *
The Centauri frigate pulled back, reeling from Moore’s last barrage. For a small warship it was putting up a good fight, but Thomas could tell that he’d battered it into submission. As it turned and retreated he let it go, thankful for the pause in the action.
Unhooking from his chair, he floated swiftly over to John at ASW. The director’s face had an ashen coloring, but he met his captain’s eyes.
“Are you still solid in tracking Raffles?” Thomas asked.
“Yes, she’s here”—he pointed—“at speed and heading straight for the launch point.”
“Are you sure this contact is Raffles?” Thomas subdued a wince at the sudden tightening of his gut. “We can’t be wrong about this.”
John nodded, bringing up a side screen with a list of detailed characteristics for the contact.
“Every vessel has a unique gravimetric signature, caused by shape, mass, and certain pieces of equipment. We’ve been recording and analysing Raffles’ signature for the past day, and this is definitely a match.”
“Okay,” Thomas said, pushing away from ASW. “Keep me posted.”
“Yes, sir.”
“AVW, captain,” he called out. “Status of hostiles?”
“The frigate’s in retreat, sir. The cutter is rising in orbit but not closing us.”
“Very good.” He reached the second officer-of-the-watch station and touched Hayley’s shoulder.
“System status?”
“All vital systems operational,” she declared loudly, for all to hear.
“Very good.” He picked up a handset and tapped in a particular number.
“Port forward countermeasures,” Chen responded.
“This is the captain,” he said very quietly. “Is the package loaded?”
“Yes, sir. Tube six is loaded with the package and ready.”
Thomas scanned the tracking info on Hayley’s tactical display, noting that Moore’s sensors were easily pinpointing Singapore—even through the immense clutter of orbital traffic—as the destroyer raced for its launch point. He saw that countermeasures tube six was indeed showing green status, and John had assured him that his tweaking of the Centauri microtorpedo meant it would respond to the launch commands of a Terran ship.
The command—which Chen had pre-programmed with help from John—was to track down Singapore and destroy its bridge. When that weapon fired, Thomas knew that both his mentor and one of his oldest friends would die.
Hayley’s hand was near the launch button, and she looked up at him in dread-filled questioning.
He motioned her aside.
“Thank you, sir.” She glided to the other end of her console, busying herself with other duties.
“Captain, sir, AAW! A new wave of planetary vampires has launched—assess thirty or more!”
Thomas glanced up. “Time to intercept?” His finger still hovered over the countermeasures fire button. There was a pause from AAW, and Thomas turned his focus back to the personal mission. He rechecked the firing solution one last time, then reached for the button.
“Sir! The vampires aren’t aimed at us—they’re firing at Raffles!”
Thomas moved his hands away from the console, staring up at the symbols moving across the face of Abeona on the forward half of the bridge sphere. A swarm of red hostiles were coming up from the planet, and he could see that both the frigate and the cutter were vectoring toward the blue symbol of Singapore.
“Flank speed,” he shouted. “Engage hostiles zero-four and zero-five with missiles—salvo sizes six!”
The volleys of missiles launched forth, and the Centauri frigate maneuvered wildly as it launched countermeasures and engaged its defenses. The cutter was farther away, and didn’t seem to notice the sudden attack until almost too late. The frigate survived the assault but continued to drop toward lower orbit, no longer attempting to close Singapore. The cutter took the brunt of the missile strike, and despite the distance Thomas saw the visible explosions momentarily light up the sky.
He felt a moment of grim satisfaction, then realized the absurdity of it. Was he going to protect Singapore from enemy fire, just so he could destroy her himself?
“Raffles is maneuvering,” AVW reported. “Looks like she’s trying to evade the surface missiles.”
Thomas noted the clock. It was sixty seconds to H-hour. If Singapore appeared to be doomed, Chandler might very well fire the Dark Bomb early, and hope for the best.
He slammed his hand down.
The console lights shifted to indicate that the package had launched.
“Captain, sir, AVW. We’re tracking the Special Forces craft on approach.”
The planetary missiles swarmed Singapore—she had no chance, and there was nothing Moore could do to save her.
“Recover the Special Forces craft,” he ordered. “Break for open space and then prepare for jump.”
The view on the sphere shifted as Moore turned away from Abeona, but Thomas spun around to keep his eyes on the single blue symbol of Singapore as she fought valiantly against the overwhelming attack. As his friend Sean Duncan fought to survive, and his mentor Eric Chandler tried to impose the will of Terra on all of humanity.
The blue symbol flashed, then winked out.
Thomas dropped his eyes, unsure whether he wanted to scream, cry, or vomit. His insides churned and sweat soaked his uniform beneath the emergency suit. He noticed Hayley hovering near him, the subbie’s pale face fixed on his.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Hayley whispered. “We did our duty.”
Thomas forced himself to nod, then pushed back over to his command chair. Hooking in, he automatically surveyed the tactical situation around him. His crew was entirely focused on keeping Moore safe, and even as he watched a pair of anti-attack missiles fired from the after launchers, taking down a lone Centauri missile that was chasing the cruiser.
Otherwise, though, it seemed as if the enemy—no, the Centauris—were willing to let him go.
“Have we recovered the operatives?” he asked.
“Yes, sir—now inside the hangar and secure.”
“ASW, any gravimetric changes to Abeona?”
Beside him, Overvelde cast him a curious look.
“No change, sir,” John reported.
He assessed the tactical situation once more, assuring himself that there were no immediate threats.
“All stations, stand by for jump to Terra.”
Moments later, Overvelde nodded. “Ready for jump, sir.”
“Start the countdown.”
“One minute to jump,” Hayley announced.
Thomas watched the retreating tactical situation, telling himself over and over that it had been the Centauri missiles that had destroyed Singapore. Very likely his efforts had contributed nothing to the mission’s failure.
“Thirty seconds to jump,” Hayley said.
“Jump coordinates locked,” John said, “projector ready.”
Thomas looked back over his shoulder at the brilliant orb of Abeona, wondering if he’d ever see it again. The planet would survive, but Thomas wasn’t too sure of his own fate when he returned to Terra. He saw Jack Mallory entering the bridge and hooking to an anchor. His friend pulled his way forward to stare grimly up at Thomas.
“Welcome aboard, Mr. Mallory,” he said. “We’re just about to head home.”
“Sounds good to me.” Jack looked ten years older, his features drawn and haggard. Yet if there was anyone in the universe Thomas knew he could trust, it was this young pilot. He could guess at the reason for Jack’s somber look, and realized that he might have a cure for it.
“I need to debrief you on the mission,” Thomas said, leaning in close. “And I might need your help in… correcting a bit of data on board.”
“Yes, sir.”
Thomas suddenly realized Jack’s partner hadn’t appeared.
“Where’s Katja?”
Tears appeared in Jack’s eyes. Thomas felt his own heart wrench.
No… He pulled Jack close against the command chair, wrapping an arm around the young man’s shuddering form.
“Three… two… one…” Hayley called. “Jump!”
* * *
Katja watched the tactical screens on the walls, translating the Centauri symbology and tying it to the snippets of reports she could hear nearby. She was still on her knees, hands clasped on her head, but beyond assigning a pair of guards to flank her, the Centauris didn’t seem in much of a hurry to deal with her. Their attention was still very much on the orbital situation. As was hers.
To their credit, the Centauris had acted on her words, and without delay. The second Terran ship had been exactly where she’d directed them. Indeed, their military response had shocked her with its speed, accuracy, and strength. From what she could make out, the ship had responded effectively at first to evade the attack, but was quickly overwhelmed by the missiles.
Seven different observers confirmed that the Terran vessel had been destroyed.
There was discussion about launching a system-wide alert to hunt down the Terran cruiser which was even now fleeing Abeonan orbit.
“Don’t bother,” Katja said. “She’ll be gone within the hour.”
“We’ll find her,” the senior officer growled.
“No, I mean she won’t be here anymore. She’ll have jumped back to Terra.”
That got their attention.
Moretti turned to Katja, crossing her arms.
“So, Lieutenant Operative Katja Andreia Emmes, why are you telling us all this?”
“Because this mission was wrong. We all do a lot of bad things in war, but nothing can justify what Terra was about to do. I had to stop it.”
“A Terran operative with a conscience? That’s a first.”
Katja looked around at the gazes turning once again in her direction. There was some doubt, still some fear, but most of all an overwhelming hostility. She doubted this day was going to end well—but at least it would end.
“They don’t want us to have consciences,” she said, “and for a while I didn’t. Or at least I ignored it. I can’t do that anymore. Now, because of what I’ve just done, I can never go back.”
“So what,” Moretti scoffed, “you’re switching sides?”
“No. I just want to make you an offer.”
The agents exchanged glances, all four of them gathered around Katja.
“We’re listening,” Moretti said.
“I have the ability to erase everything in my brain—all the classified data, all the plans, all the State secrets with which I’ve been entrusted. We’re designed that way, in case we’re ever captured.” She took a deep breath, moving her eyes from one face to the next. “But I’m willing to give you access to all of it—everything there is in my brain—in exchange for one thing.”
“What?”
“When you’ve extracted everything, I want you to wipe my memories, so that I never again know who I was or what I’ve done. I want nothing to do with this life.”
Moretti’s fists clenched at her sides.
“So you want to just walk away from all your crimes? You want us to pretend they never happened?” The rage burned in Moretti’s eyes. The impotent rage of someone who sought justice, but found only empty vengeance. Katja knew the feeling well. She knew the abyss that hate could burn into a heart.
“Valeria,” she said, “there’s nothing I can do to change what happened. Yes, I killed Kete Obadele—and you killed Suleiman Chang. Yes, Terran forces killed your family in our attack on Abeona—and Centauri forces killed my father in your attack on Earth. We can keep this game going, but I hope you can understand that today, if it wasn’t for me, Terra would have played that game for keeps. Your entire planet would be gone.”
She turned her gaze to the other agents.
“I am willing to surrender all of my classified information to you, and I am willing to have your surgeons remove whatever implants they feel are necessary to render me forever harmless. All I ask is that you let me go in peace.” She remembered Kete’s words to her, when she’d held his life in her hands, and she took one last gamble.
“I’m surrendering myself to your mercy, and to the mercy of the Centauri state.”
Moretti swore quietly, turning away in disgust.
Katja watched the other operatives, and awaited their decision.