Jack Campbell (John G. Hemry) is the author of the New York Times bestselling Lost Fleet series, the Lost Stars series, and the “steampunk with dragons” Pillars of Reality series. His most recent books are The Lost Stars: Shattered Spear, The Lost Fleet: Beyond the Frontier: Leviathan, and the Pillars of Reality novels The Servants of the Storm and The Wrath of the Great Guilds. Later this year, Vanguard will be published, the first in a new trilogy set centuries before the events in The Lost Fleet series. John’s novels have been published in eleven languages. This year, Titan will begin bringing out a Lost Fleet comic series. His short fiction includes works covering time travel, alternate history, space opera, military SF, fantasy, and humor.

John is a retired US Navy officer who served in a wide variety of jobs, including surface warfare (the ship drivers of the Navy), amphibious warfare, anti-terrorism, intelligence, and some other things that he’s not supposed to talk about. Being a sailor, he has been known to tell stories about Events Which He Says Really Happened (but which cannot be verified by any independent sources). This experience has served him well in writing fiction. He lives in Maryland with his indomitable wife “S” and three great kids (all three on the autism spectrum).

SECTION SEVEN

John G. Hemry

Valentía looked beautiful from orbit, but then most planets did. Foster gave the world a weary traveler’s worth of attention as the lander glided down, reflecting that from a great distance you couldn’t encounter temperature extremes or rough terrain or the bites of bugs that wanted to eat you even if they couldn’t digest you. Not to mention encountering the people, who were always the source of the particular problems Foster dealt with.

The customs official barely glanced at Foster’s standard ID before feeding it into his desk scanner. A moment later, the ID popped back out onto the counter where he could pick it up.

“HaveanicestayonValentiaMr.Oaks,” the official mumbled before reaching for the ID offered by the next traveler.

Foster retrieved his ID, took two steps past the customs desk, and found himself facing a trio of individuals wearing dark uniforms and stern faces. One of the port police officers held out her hand. “May I examine your ID, sir?”

“Uh, of course.” Foster let his own expression show an appropriate level of surprise and a hint of worry as he fished out the ID again. “Is something wrong?”

The officer took the ID and slid it into a portable reader before answering. “Just a random check, Mr. Oaks. Valentia wants to make sure all travelers have good stays here. What brings you to Valentia?”

Foster smiled with the practiced enthusiasm of a sales professional. “I represent Inner Systems Simulations. You’ve heard of ISS?”

The officer’s responding smile was both polite and brief. “No. Sorry.”

“We make some of the finest entertainment software. Just in the Inner Systems right now, but we want to expand our market. If you’d like, I can show you some of our—.”

“That won’t be necessary.” The officer removed the ID from her scanner and returned it to Foster. “Have a nice visit to Valentia, Mr. Oaks.”

Foster smiled back with the same degree of professional insincerity, though his smile could’ve been genuine. Posing as a sales professional had numerous advantages, not the least of which was the ability to drive away questioners by beginning to offer a sales pitch. It never hurt to cut short an interview, even though his false IDs couldn’t be spotted by any scanner and his cover story was solid.

Outside of the port terminal Foster squinted against the brightness of Valentia’s sun. He hailed a cab by raising one hand in a gesture understood everywhere humanity had gone, directing it to the short-term rental business apartment complex where Mr. Oaks had his reservation. Foster didn’t bother looking around for anyone tailing his cab, since that would have been a tip-off he thought he might be followed. Instead, he watched the scenery roll by with every appearance of boredom.

Foster checked in, went up to an apartment whose interior decoration could’ve placed it on any of a score of worlds, and swiftly changed clothes. The Valentian styles in his bag hadn’t aroused any suspicion at Customs, since many tourists didn’t want to look like tourists. A few minutes later, he was leaving the apartment complex by a different way than that he’d entered through. A brisk walk took him to a restaurant, where he paused to examine the menu in the window while also checking the reflection for anyone following him. There weren’t any apparent candidates, but Foster took the precaution of checking for tails in two other restaurant or shop windows before entering an establishment promising authentic Italian cuisine using the finest native Valentian ingredients.

Like all sit-down restaurants, it had restrooms. And like most restrooms, these were located near a service entrance. Foster had no trouble leaving via that entrance, then criss-crossing further into the city before finally entering a hotel and registering there as Juan Feres using another one of his IDs. Only after reaching his room there did Foster actually unpack.

His data pad linked to the local net with some difficulty, causing Foster to frown. Once linked, he located the local classified ads and searched for the one he wanted, one advertising antique Beta videotapes for sale at prices too high for anyone to be interested. Foster called up on his data pad an ecopy of a venerable novel entitled Dykstra’s War and went to the page that correlated with the Standard Federation Julian Date. The prices and titles of the Beta tapes provided coded links to words on that page, giving Foster a phone number in the city.

The phone number was answered by a recording. Foster waited until the ancient sign of the beep sounded and spoke his message. “Juan here. I’m at the Grand Frontera Hotel, Room 354. I have a message from your sister Kelly on Innisfree.”

Then Foster waited. After a bit, he began wishing he’d paused long enough to pick up some of the authentic Italian/Valentian food. Room Service provided an overpriced and overcooked plate of ’authentic nachos’ which in addition to chips and cheese included some sort of small fish filets and what appeared to be a raw egg cracked into the center of the plate. Foster sighed, chewed some of the latest stomach calming medicines available in the inner systems, then ate carefully around the egg, or whatever it was. Dealing with local tastes in food was just one of the occupational hazards of his job.

A soft tone announced his room had received mail. He checked the message, ensuring its enthusiastic response included the counterphrase needed to confirm it’d come from his Valentian contact. Referring to Dyk-stra’s War again, Foster decoded the information in the reply to find an address in the city.

The local mapping system balked at working with his data pad, causing Foster to frown again. He finally got the directions he needed, saw his destination was too far to walk, and headed for the public transit system, carrying his bag along. It didn’t do to leave bags unattended in hotel rooms if you could help it. Especially bags whose shielded, wafer-thin concealed compartments contained a variety of false IDs as well as other useful materials.

Sitting on the subway gave Foster a decent excuse to idly glance around. None of the other passengers seemed to be suspicious, and none left at his stop. Foster nonetheless took a circuitous route to his destination, weaving back and forth along several blocks and checking unobtrusively for tails, before finally reaching the doorway of a private residence.

A nondescript man of medium size and build answered Foster’s ring. “Hello. Are you Juan?”

“That’s me. Wide and free from Innisfree.” Foster winced internally at the code phrase. He didn’t make them up, but he had to say them.

“I wasn’t sure Kelly had left Barbadan. Is she still engaged to Collin?”

Foster nodded. “Now and forever.”

Sign, countersign, and counter-countersign exchanged, the man let Foster in, closing the door carefully behind them, and led the way into the house, bringing Foster to a nicely laid-out library room and closing that door as well before speaking again. “I’m Kila. Jason Kila. Welcome to Valentia.”

“Gordon Foster. This room’s secure?”

“Tight as a drum. No one can see or hear us.”

Foster sat in the nearest chair and leaned back, relaxing for the first time since he’d arrived on Valentia. “Can you bring me up to date?”

Kila sat down as well and shrugged. “Not much has changed since my last report. Just more of the same.”

“I noticed compatibility problems with the local software.”

“Oh, yeah. They’ve got this operating system they claim is easier to use and more reliable than Federation standard, and also fully compatible. Some of the stuff in it is easier to use, other’s harder. I don’t know about the reliable part. I do know it’s less and less compatible every time they tweak it.”

“We’ll have to take care of that.”

Kila grinned, his lips drawing back to expose his back teeth. “You’ve got authority to act?”

Foster nodded. “Once I’ve heard everything. What else?”

“Here.” Kila fished in one pocket, then tossed a small object at Foster. “Local ammo.”

“Hmm.” Foster frowned down at the bullet. “It’s too small for 9mm and seems too big for 5.6mm.”

“Right. Good eye. It’s 6.8mm.”

“Six point eight?” Foster let exasperation show. “Why the hell are they producing ammunition incompatible with Federation small arms standards?”

Kila rolled his eyes disdainfully. “They wanted one round for pistols and rifles. So they picked something smaller than a 9mm pistol round and bigger than a 5.6mm rifle round. They call it universal ammo.”

“Universal?” Foster laughed. “They create a new ammunition type incompatible with Federation standards and then label it universal? I guess I should give Valentia credit for sheer gall.”

“Yeah. Between the operating system and the ammunition, we’ve got a slowly accelerating gap developing between Valentia and the rest of the Federation. There’s already talk about altering the mass transit gauge ’to better suit local conditions.’ It’s all in my report.”

“What about the Federation demarches to Valentia demanding conformity to standards? Has there been anything about those in the local press? Any public debate?”

“Nope.” Kila shook his head for emphasis. “The government’s sitting on the demarches. There’s been a few questions raised about diverging standards, but they’re very isolated. Most locals don’t see it as anything to worry about.”

“Okay. Valentia thinks they can sit in their own little corner of the Federation and do whatever they want.” Foster flipped the bullet back to Kila.

Kila snagged the shiny object and eyed Foster. “Pretty much. What do we get to do about it?”

Foster turned up the corners of his mouth in a humorless smile. “We get to mess with a few things.”

“Yee-hah. When do we start?”

“Right now. Have we got a software engineer on planet?”

Kila nodded. “Of course. Janeen Yule. She’s very good.”

“Give her this.” Foster slid open the heel of his shoe, revealing another shielded compartment, and removed a data coin. “It contains a worm called Black Clown.”

“Black Clown?” Kila took the coin gingerly, turning it over between two fingers. “What’s it do?”

“It makes things harder. Have Yule make any necessary changes to match it to Valentia’s new operating system. Once we introduce it onto the Valentian net it’ll propagate like crazy.”

“The Valentian firewalls won’t stop it?”

“No.”

Kila clearly wanted to ask more, but simply nodded. “I’ll get it to Yule. Are you sure you don’t want to hand it off personally? Yule might have some questions for you.”

“If she does, you pass them to me. I want to maintain tight compart-mentalization of this operation. I don’t need to know what Yule’s local cover is.”

“You’re the boss.” The coin disappeared into Kila’s clothing. “What about the ammunition?”

“I’ll need access to the fabrication module controllers in the manufacturing facilities. For the ammunition, and for the firearms the Valentians are building to use that stuff.”

Kila’s brow furrowed for a moment. “You’ll need to work directly with one of our on-planet people for that. Not Yule. Jane Smith.”

“Jane Smith?”

“Yeah.” Kila grinned. “Her real name sounds like a cover name. Jane’s burrowed into the Valentian bureaucracy. She can get you that access and not leave any fingerprints.”

“Cool. It’s good to have a friend in the bureaucracy.”

Kila smiled again, then looked at Foster questioningly. “Speaking of bureaucrats, I heard that rumor again. The one about our pensions and stuff not being honored because officially we don’t exist as Federation employees.”

“There’s no truth in that. We’re covered. Every one of us has an official and totally innocuous identity within the Federation government. I’ve personally confirmed that. Those identities have nothing to do with our real work, but they’re accruing all the benefits we’re entitled to.”

“All of us? Everybody in Section Seven?”

Foster frowned and held up a warning hand. “That doesn’t exist,” he reminded Kila in a soft voice.

Kila looked like he was trying to eat his last words. “Damn. Sorry.”

“Just don’t say it again.”

“I won’t. I never say it. I don’t know why I said—.”

“Said what?”

“Why I said . . . ” Kila finally got the idea. “Nothing. So, it’s a go?”

“Yes. I’ll stay at the Frontera a few more days and then shift hotels. Is the number from the classified ad good for contacting you routinely?”

“Now and then. Don’t worry about coming by here. It’s a mixed business and residential district, so there’s always lots of foot traffic. You won’t stand out.”

“Good location. Nice work.”

Foster met Jane Smith two days later at a public park. She wore nice but not flashy business attire which made her look more professional than attractive. “Tatya Ostov. Bureau of Inspections.”

“Pleased to meet you.” Foster felt a data coin slide into his palm as they shook hands.

“Yes. I understand you’ve come from the Genese Islands to help out in my branch. I appreciate your help, Mr. Danato.”

“I’m glad to be here, Ms. Ostov.”

“Your first inspection is set for tomorrow. Please report in to the Bureau front desk first thing in the morning. I’ll go over your schedule then.”

“Thank you.” Smith/Ostov left, and Foster made his way to the next-closest library to pop the coin into his data pad. It contained all the information he needed to memorize about his role as Julio Danato, facilities inspector from the isolated Genese Island chain brought in temporarily to help eliminate an inspection backlog at the bureau.

Foster appeared at the Inspection Bureau the next morning, where the security guard scanned his ID, then handed it back with a bored nod. Security forces on every planet fought to ensure all identification data was compiled in a single place in order to assist their investigations. That also meant only a single place had to have false information inserted in order to mislead security forces. Naturally, security forces always insisted their ID sites where hack-proof. They were always wrong.

Smith greeted Foster with cool politeness. As Ostov and Danato, they went over an intensive inspection schedule, covering a wide range of manufacturing facilities. “You need to check to make sure all equipment is operating within proper tolerances and all safety requirements are being followed,” she advised. “You have authority to access any equipment and systems necessary to do that.”

Foster nodded, noting as he did so the small arms and ammunition manufacturing plants buried among the other facilities he’d have to inspect. “I won’t have any trouble. This a pretty extensive list, though. I may have to work late a lot of nights to complete it in the time I have.”

Ostov smiled with patent insincerity. “You’re a salaried employee, Mr. Danato. It comes with the territory. If you have any questions or run into any difficulties, please give me a call.”

Foster started work the next day. While analyzing the list of facilities closely, he’d discovered Jane Smith had arranged it so that he’d be hitting all the places associated with arms and ammunition late in the day. He’d have to put in a special mention about her foresight once this mission was over.

Most of the facilities he inspected had nothing to do with his real task, but provided cover for the ones he needed to reach. He plowed through the Bureau of Inspections checklist at each location, grateful that the Val-entians hadn’t yet diverged from Federation standards on manufacturing equipment and related software.

By the time he reached the first targeted facility, the week and that day were drawing to a close. Managers eager to get on with their weekend waved him onward as Foster assured them he could conduct his checks without their having to stay late.

His work would’ve been considerably more difficult in early industrial days when physical jigs and forms were used to guide manufacture of parts. Instead, Foster accessed the controllers which would direct computer-guided fabrication of the parts for the new ‘universal standard Viper personal sidearm.’ Tolerances were tricky things. If they were adjusted just a tiny bit, everything would still look fine, and initially any test weapons would work okay, but within a short time parts wouldn’t work well together. It’d take awhile to figure out there was a problem, time during which manufacturers would inevitably claim operator error. If the controllers had a hidden worm cycling tolerance variances from part to part on a random basis, identifying the cause of the problem would be even more difficult.

Foster finished his work, closing it out without leaving any fingerprints within the controller software. He’d changed the master patterns and their backups, so the only way to eventually fix the Viper pistols would be to redesign them. By that time, they’d hopefully have as bad a reputation as Foster could hope for.

Another week went by, with another small arms facility and an ammunition plant included among Foster’s bevy of inspection sites. His dry, routine reports were forwarded to the Bureau and buried within its data files, though not before Smith in her supervisor’s job altered the identifiers on a few to make it look like someone else had inspected some of the arms facilities.

Foster was having a late lunch at a store cafeteria when he noticed an increasingly large and impatient crowd in the payment line. A heavy-set man at the front of the line was drumming his fingers on the counter as he stared at a flustered clerk trying to ring up his charge. “What’s the problem? I haven’t got all day.”

The clerk mumbled what sounded like curses. “Excuse me, sir, I’m having trouble getting the system to accept your data.”

The man glowered. “There’s nothing wrong with my credit status.”

“No, sir. It’s just not accepting . . . good, there it . . . damn! Now it’s balking at . . . ”

He leaned over to look at her screen. “No wonder! You’re using that crap the government’s been pushing. Shift over to the old stuff.”

“You mean the last edition of the Fed standard?” The clerk hit several buttons, waited a moment, then smiled. “It’s working! Everything’s fine, sir.”

The customer shook his head and looked around at the others waiting in line. “That government stuff is developing more problems by the day. Didn’t they bother testing it?”

Another customer nodded. “My entire office just went back to the Fed standard. It’s not perfect, but at least it’s not full of bugs.”

A chorus of agreement sounded, but one man went against the tide. “The government’s system is made in Valentia! Aren’t any of you patriotic? Don’t you want to support our government against the overbearing Federation?”

The woman who’d spoken earlier laughed. “The Federation isn’t messing up my work. The government is, with its worthless, bug-addled, slow, and lock-up prone system. I need software that works. That’s just common sense. Or do you want to stand in line forever while the government’s system chokes on ringing up your charge?”

The Valentian patriot subsided with a scowl, making no protest when his charge went through on Federation standard software.

Foster watched the little drama blandly, not showing even the smallest trace of humor when the woman declared the Federation wasn’t responsible for causing the system problems at her workplace. He’d seen more and more evidence that the Valentian software system was breaking down, displaying erratic and impossible to predict failures and slowdowns. As if it had never been properly tested. Or as if a Black Clown worm spread throughout everything using that software was mutating source codes in very subtle ways.

Another month passed. All of the facilities on Julio Danato’s list had been inspected, and he officially returned to the Genese Islands with a brief parting thanks from supervisor Ostov. Now Juan Feres sat in his hotel room watching the local news.

A skeptical looking woman gestured toward a video window beyond her. “Reports continue to be received of problems with the new line of universal standard ammunition and the firearms produced to use it.” The video window displayed a group of uniformed soldiers with angry faces, their hands slapping at their weapons. “Our sources tell us the rifles and pistols jam more often than they work. The ammunition is prone to misfires, and will sometimes jam the weapons as well. VelArms Manufacturing and Ares Ammunition, the primary suppliers of the universal standard weapons and ammunition, insist they have uncovered no problems in the factories and suggest users are failing to employ the new weapons properly.”

The video window shifted, showing a figure distorted so that neither facial features nor sex could be determined. The figure’s voice was also altered, hiding it as well. “We know how to use rifles! This stuff is junk. That’s all there is to it. Half the time you can’t even seat a magazine of ammo properly, and when you do you can’t extract it. Give the stuff time, we were told. We’ve given it time. It’s still junk. I don’t want to risk my life on a weapon that don’t work. What the hell was wrong with the Federation standard weapons?”

The skeptical newscaster spoke again. “Reports have also indicated that police forces in several cities which received universal standard firearms have abandoned them and gone back to Federation standard weapons. As one officer told us, ‘I won’t die with a jammed gun because some idiot bureaucrat decided to fix something that wasn’t broken.’ We will continue following this story and report on new developments.”

Another two weeks passed. Foster waited with growing impatience, which was finally rewarded during a brief visit to Kila’s safehouse.

Kila grinned. “Watch this.”

Another newscaster, this time a smug young man, faced the screen. “The Senate today voted to convene a special investigation into the universal standard ammunition and weapons fiasco. Hours later, the government announced that what it now characterizes as the universal standards weapons ‘experiment’ would be discontinued due to adverse performance issues and cost overruns.”

Kila shut off the screen. “Got ’em.”

Foster smiled and nodded. “I believe the operating system issue has already been resolved.”

Kila flopped into a chair. “That’s my assessment, too. The Valentian system now has a solid reputation as a piece of junk. Even the government has shifted back to Federation standard, because the Valentian system has gotten too buggy.” He eyed Foster. “That Black Clown is one mean little devil.”

Foster sat as well, feeling satisfaction rise and fighting it down. He wasn’t off planet yet. The mission wasn’t concluded. “You have to know you have a problem, then you have to be able to identify the cause of that problem. We created problems for the Valentians, and let them reach the wrong conclusions as to the causes.”

Kila’s eyes narrowed as the front-door bell rang. He opened the door and leaned into the hallway to check the doorway monitor. “It’s Jane.”

Foster grimaced. Coincidence, but still a bit unnerving to have three of them together here. “That’s all right.”

Jane showed surprise at Foster’s presence, then offered a bottle filled with amber liquid. “A toast to success?”

Glasses were filled and drunk. The liquor had a fiery, exotic tang that Foster enjoyed. Not all native foodstuffs were unpleasant.

Jane sank into her own chair and looked at Foster. “This is odd, isn’t it? We’ve won, but no one’ll ever know. We sabotaged an entire planet, and we, and our superiors, are the only ones who realize it.”

Foster smiled. “Sabotage is a loaded term. I prefer saying we introduced inefficiencies into non-standard elements.”

“And I’m supposed to be playing a bureaucrat! Why is this necessary? Why couldn’t the Federation have just ordered Valentia to stick to Federation standard software and small arms?”

“The Federation did send demarches,” Foster pointed out. “Which were ignored. Valentia realized the Federation could scarcely afford to force a member world to conform to standards. Not openly, anyway. What Valentia didn’t count on was that there are other ways than brute force to increase the price and trouble of non-conformity to Federation standards.”

Kila nodded. “Even I sometimes wonder why it matters so much. If the idiots want to diverge from Fed standards, let ’em. They’re the ones who’ll suffer.”

Foster sighed. “Initially, yes. But they wouldn’t be the only ones. Certainly, the initial effects of incompatible software and changes in manufacturing standards will be felt on the world which has more trouble and thus more expense in trade, as well as less market for its goods. Long-term, though, uniform standards are what hold political entities together. Humans love to innovate, to change. Once planets started diverging from uniform standards for software, manufacturing, and everything else, the process would just keep accelerating. That’d mean growing economic and social misalignment between worlds. Growing barriers to trade, exchange of ideas, travel, and so on. Eventually, that’d mean—.”

“No more Federation,” Jane finished. “You’d think people would know better. Just trying to introduce new standards here cost Valentia loads of money and effort, even if it had all worked.”

Foster smiled again. “If people behaved rationally all the time, they wouldn’t be people. And we wouldn’t have the jobs we do.”

“True. Never-ending jobs, from all I hear. Where are you going to next? Another assignment?”

Foster smiled with one corner of his mouth. “If it was, I couldn’t tell you. But I’ve got some vacation time built up. I’m going home for a little while.”

“Great. Where’s that?”

Foster met the inquiry with another twist of his lip.

Jane looked embarrassed. “Sorry. I just meant to be polite.”

“That’s okay. You understand there’s a lot of things we can’t discuss, even among each other, just in case someone’s cover gets blown.”

Kila gave one of his fierce grins. “You mean things like, is Gordon Foster your real name?”

Foster smiled again. “Are you two really Jane Smith and Jason Kila?”

They all laughed, but none of them answered the question. Foster sometimes wondered if Section Seven was really the far-beyond top secret title of his organization, or if Section Seven was itself merely a code name for some more heavily classified designation kept even from him. Wheels within wheels, and it usually didn’t make sense to try figuring out where if anywhere it all ended. If people knew Section Seven existed, what Section Seven did, it couldn’t function anymore, and the Federation would slowly start coming apart. Foster didn’t see any good reason not to accept things as they were.

Foster made his final goodbyes and left. He altered his way back to Juan Feres’ latest temporary lodging, checked out, then returned as Mr. Oaks to the short-term rental apartment. He plugged in his data port, watching as it seamlessly matched the Federation standard operating system now being employed by the rental agency. Foster completed checking out Mr. Oaks, then headed back down to the street to hail a cab back to the port terminal.

On the shuttle into space, he looked back at the globe floating in space. Foster had read of an early scientist who proclaimed he could move a world with a long enough lever. Foster’s secretive levers weren’t long, but thanks to their invisibility they moved worlds nonetheless. As Valentia fell away beneath the shuttle, Foster finally allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction.