24

“Just take us on a nice, slow loop of the yard,” Tepper told Wick, hunching over the pilot’s seat inside the cramped cockpit.

The younger contractor pumped the thrusters with his feet, easing the small tug out of its docking bay. Tepper kept his eyes on the yard outside the craft’s viewport, and ensured his visual feed was recording, for later analysis.

“How much did you have to pay the tug operator?” Wick asked.

“To let us borrow this thing? Only about five grand,” Tepper said.

“Shit,” Wick observed. “We could probably buy a tug for less than that.” He pointed the tug toward the far end of the shipyard and increased their speed, staying above the various spacecraft nestled in neat rows along the space station.

“There are the cruisers,” Tepper commented.

At the far end of the yard, three large capital ships lay alongside one another. A number of tenders moved over their hulls, conducting repairs in tandem with space-suited crews.

“It looks like they’re cannibalizing the middle one for parts,” Wick said. “Look – they’re decoupling that engine, and the cruiser next to it has a compartment open waiting for it.”

“That’s one way to do it,” Tepper said. “They must be in pretty bad shape to have to sacrifice one to get the other two up and running.” He pulled out his holophone, and activated the speakerphone. “I’m going to call their customer service line.”

“Okay. I’ll shut up,” Wick replied.

“Black Talon Enterprises, how may I direct your call?”

“Hi,” Tepper said. “I’m a defense consultant, and my client has asked me to evaluate service providers for an upcoming training exercise they’re planning. I was browsing your website, but I’d like to get some more details about your fleet’s strength and capabilities.”

“Absolutely, sir,” the man replied. “Let me transfer you to our sales desk.”

Tepper heard an electronic click, and then a female voice answered. “This is Deona, I’m Director of Sales for Black Talon – who am I speaking with?”

“Tomas,” Tepper said.

“Hi Tomas,” she replied. “I was told you were with a consultancy – can I ask who you represent?”

“We keep client information confidential,” Tepper told her.

“Of course, I completely understand. Well, what can I help you with?”

“Sell me,” Tepper suggested. “What does Black Talon offer?”

“Our main business is as an aggressor force supplier – we have a wide variety of spacecraft capable of playing adversary roles for a multitude of training scenarios. Everything from a small outpost raid, to a full-blown space-based invasion. Our pilots and crews are all top-notch, and a number of them have actual combat experience.”

“What size fleet can you muster?” Tepper asked, watching as the hull of an escort ship slid by beneath their tug.

“That depends on what you need,” she said.

“If I wanted the largest possible fleet, what would that look like today?” Tepper pressed.

“Ah … pretty sizable,” Deona said. Tepper heard her typing on a keyboard. “Our active fleet today numbers twenty-one vessels of mixed sizes.”

“I heard a rumor you guys have a few old cruisers,” Tepper said.

“We do – three, in fact. Well, two. But I’m afraid they’re not operational yet. They’re undergoing servicing and won’t be available for at least another year.”

“That’s a shame,” Tepper observed. The tug reached the end of the last cruiser, and Wick turned them in a tight circle, heading back toward their docking bay.

“Separate question,” Tepper said. “In the past, some of our clients have expressed an interest in hiring fleets for more than just training. Is that an option?”

“All of our craft have been demilitarized – weapons removed, in other words.”

“I see.”

“We’re eager to avoid any unwanted attention from the Federacy – our fleet’s fairly sizable, and you never know when they’ll decide to dust off the FRF,” the saleswoman continued, laughing nervously.

“Of course,” Tepper said.

“… but let me just say this: I imagine it would be possible to re-arm our fleet, if one of our clients needed us to do it. It wouldn’t be an overnight thing, you understand, and it would be a very costly endeavor.”

“I understand,” Tepper told her. “If I give you my email address, can you shoot me your sales materials? I’ll need to review them in more detail.”

“Of course,” she said. “And please give me a call back if you have any questions, about anything.”

“I will, thanks,” Tepper told her. He read her the email address he had set up for his cover identity, thanked her again, and then hung up.

“Shit, this spy stuff is fucking easy,” Wick said.

“So far,” Tepper agreed. “What do you think of the fleet?”

“I think she’s kidding herself if she thinks she can launch twenty-one vessels today. I only counted four that didn’t have major repairs ongoing.”

“Yeah, the whole thing feels like they’re still in start-up mode. This business is more concept than anything at this stage,” Tepper agreed. “I don’t see them as a threat at all.”

“No,” Wick said. “And don’t forget the personnel piece. There’s no way they can afford to pay a few thousand skilled crew members to just sit around on their asses, waiting for a client to hire them.”

“Right, they’ve probably got a small core of full-time pilots, and then they have to go find freelance crews whenever their ships get hired out. Even if all their ships could fly—”

“Which is debatable,” Wick pointed out.

“…which is debatable,” Tepper echoed, “they’d still need to spend a few months re-arming them, and finding enough people to man them.”

“Cross Lecksher Station off the threat list,” Wick said.

“Yeah,” Tepper said. “Let’s hope it’s always this easy.”

 

* * *

 

Paisen checked the time in her heads-up display, and then pushed her chair back from the patio table, where the majority of the Arclight team was enjoying breakfast in Bellislas’ balmy ocean air. Tepper caught her eye.

“Time?” he asked.

“Yup,” she said.

“Good luck.”

“Mm,” she said. “Talk to you in a minute.”

She crossed the garden and slid open the door to her private suite, taking a seat at the desk. She dialed the encrypted videoconference line on her datascroll, and then drummed her fingers on the wooden desktop.

After nearly two minutes, the screen abruptly came on, showing her the inside of a conference room. Lask and four other men sat facing her – she recognized them as the members of the Senate Intelligence Committee.

“Senators,” Paisen said, by way of greeting.

“Miss Oryx, it’s nice to see you again,” Lask replied. “You haven’t met my fellow committee members: Senators Campos, Herek, Laans, and our committee chair, Senator Tsokel.”

“Nice to meet you,” Paisen said.

“I understand you’d like to share the first Project Arclight report with us?” Tsokel asked. “I must admit I was surprised to hear it was ready so soon.”

“Yes, sir,” Paisen said. “My team works fast – the less time we’re on the ground, the less risk there is to all of us.”

“Well put,” Tsokel said. “What did your initial investigation into each of the Territories find?”

“In short, the media stories you’ve been reading have been leading you astray, sir. On five of the planets where we gathered information, the threat is minimal at best. I’m sending over detailed analyses, but the military forces we’re dealing with are more formidable on paper than in practice. A lot of this is intentional on the part of those Territories – they’re posturing, essentially, bluffing to keep their enemies at bay. But the ships they brag about are rusting hulks, their personnel are poorly-trained and ill-equipped, and from what we can ascertain, none of them have any plans to start offensive campaigns in the near future. They’re more concerned with defense, and rightly so.”

Tsokel shared a look with Senator Lask. “That’s somewhat surprising,” he said.

“As an example,” Paisen said. “On Lecksher Station, there’s a private company that has been acquiring old surplus spacecraft – what the press have labeled the ‘Black Talon Fleet.’ They have purchased a number of vessels, sir, but very few are serviceable. Most are still in dry-dock, none of them have their weapons installed, and the company’s main aim is not to start a war, but to rent out portions of their fleet to governments that need to train their own small fleets. It’s a business, and their only goal is to make money playing the enemy role in war games, sir.”

“I’m relieved to hear it,” Tsokel told her.

“You said five of the planets … what about the sixth?” Senator Herek asked, looking up from reading Paisen’s detailed findings on his datascroll.

“Yes, sir. That’s the good news. The bad news is there’s a notable exception, I’m afraid. My team on Jokuan reviewed all of the existing information you shared with us about Jokuan’s capabilities, and they tell me that we are severely underestimating the threat from that planet. Jokuan’s made a habit of arresting journalists since the civil war, and it appears that was quite intentional – they’ve been preparing for war, and have successfully kept that fact a secret until now.”

“Another civil war?” Lask asked.

“No, sir,” Paisen replied. “There’s very little chance of another civil war – martial law remains in effect, and the government has been quick to crush even the slightest sign of an uprising. It appears they’re gearing up for war with another planet.”

“They’ve been set on that course for years,” Lask said, sighing. “How bad is it?”

Paisen pursed her lips. “I’m not sure yet. I’ve taken the liberty of recalling my teams from the other five planets. I’d like to deploy them onto Jokuan, and focus our efforts there. We’ll be able to get a better read on their capabilities with more boots on the ground.”

“Approved,” Tsokel said. “Miss Oryx, if the threat is as dire as your agents claim, we’ll need solid evidence to that effect.”

“You’ll have it, sir.”

“The threat has to be against us,” Lask noted, turning to talk to Tsokel. “The Senate won’t approve activation of the Fleet Reaction Force if we can’t prove that Jokuan aims to attack the Federacy.”

“That’s a good point, C. J.,” Tsokel said. “Miss Oryx, you heard that?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Don’t fabricate something if you don’t find evidence of it,” Tsokel warned her. “We’re paying you to be an objective observer in all of this.”

“No, sir. You’ll just get the facts.”

“Good. Then we await your next report.”

The screen flickered and went black. Paisen turned off the datascroll and rolled it up. She walked back out to the garden, where the team looked up expectantly.

“Jokuan?” Tepper asked.

“Jokuan,” Paisen said. “It’s on.”