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"AZRAEL’S TEAR," SAID Radko.
Cortez at his side, he stood on the second level of the Vimy Ridge command deck looking out of the observation dome at the ship docked beside them. It was small – a quarter of the size of the Vimy Ridge – and its hull, cobbled together from several different types of vessel, was covered with angular plates of flat black armour.
"A pirate ship," she said, taking a sip of her water.
"Yeah."
With the Vimy Ridge on a down-cycle – not being on standby for the time being – Radko and Cortez were alone on the command deck. She had insisted on joining him, despite his insistence that she needed to rest. Though she was no longer part of his crew, having been re-assigned permanently to Commonwealth Naval Intelligence, he didn’t expect he’d ever stop feeling responsible for her and her well-being.
"That armour," she said. "Is that the LiDAR-masking plating developed by Cagliari Aerospace?"
"Could be. That would explain how easily the Azrael’s Tear came into Cagliari’s employ," he said. "And from a strictly objective point of view, she couldn’t have made a better choice, either ship or captain."
The Azrael’s Tear was a notoriously fast and agile ship and her captain, Jagat Sohal Singh, was just as well known for his shrewdness and skill in planning and executing his pirate operations. He was without a doubt the most famous of the pirates to accept the Commonwealth’s offer of amnesty in return for assistance with the war effort. With him on board with Cagliari’s plans, Radko estimated, their odds of success were increased by a fair margin. That didn’t make Radko’s own part in the operation any easier. Or what he’d have to ask of others. Putting his own career on the line was one thing – he had a tendency to do that every time he met with the Navy brass, though not always intentionally – but asking others to do the same was another matter.
"Duster’s Range has some pretty advanced security features," said Cortez, referring to a small notebook she carried, filled with tight, crisp handwriting. "A compliment of full-time security personnel – essentially ATC Castle soldiers – as well as some drones. Launching a direct assault like we did on the other ATC Castle facility would cost a lot of lives. However, I had another idea."
As she flipped the page, Radko smiled slightly. They had all changed, everyone who had been on the Vimy Ridge through the first stage of the war, but none more than Cortez. She’d been a nervous cadet then, thrown into the role of communications and intelligence officer because Radko didn’t have anyone else and she’d performed better than anyone could have expected. And now the field promotion he had given her to Sub Lieutenant had been made official, as had her assignment as an intelligence officer. The only part of it that Radko wasn’t happy about was that she’d been assigned to Thor’s Hammer itself and not the Vimy Ridge.
"The facility contains a medical research lab," she continued. "One dealing with all kinds of medical-related stuff, including infectious diseases. And probably biological weapons, though ATC Castle has never admitted to it. Here, have a look."
She handed him the notebook and Radko read through the plan, a slow smile spreading across his face.
"You can actually do this?"
"Yep. Cagliari’s inside man gave her the access codes. Once I’m inside the system, it’s easy."
"All right," he said, handing back the notebook. "I think we can pull this off. But I’m still not comfortable leaving it in the hands of pirates, amnesty or not. I want people I can trust."
"If we send Commonwealth soldiers, ATC Castle is bound to find out, maybe even before the operation starts."
Turning his back to the observation dome and the Azrael’s Tear, Radko looked down into the empty command deck, the heart of the Isaac Brock class frigate.
"Those untraceable comm channels you set up for me when I was still trying to bring the Soviets back into the fold... can you set them up from here?"
"Yeah, I can do that," said Cortez, nodding. "Do you want Kovalenko or someone else?"
"Actually, I don’t want the Soviets at all. I want a line to Icar Prime."
Cortez’s brows shot up, but she simply nodded and the pair headed down into the main part of the command deck.
Setting up the requested comm line took far less time than Radko had been expecting, but Cortez certainly knew what she was doing. Those transmissions used an encryption code of her own design and were bounced off so many relays – Commonwealth and Soviet – that not only would no one be able to tell what the transmission contained, but it would take them months just to determine its point of origin.
With the transmission active, it took only moments for an icaran face to pop up on the screen. His eyes immediately narrowed.
"What does the human want?" said the icaran, its voice transformed into the bland sound of the Commonwealth translation software in Radko’s earpiece.
"The human is Commander Finn Radko of the HMCS Vimy Ridge," he said, taking more than a little pleasure in watching the icaran's expression change at the mention of his name. "And I need to speak with Brigadier General Locaris of the Venator ICA Commandos on a matter of great importance."
The icaran on the other end of the line hesitated for a moment.
"Standby, Commander."
Radko nodded as the standby screen popped up.
"I saw that," said Cortez, smirking.
"Saw what?"
"The little twitch of a smile when he reacted to your name. Enjoying the notoriety, are we?"
He chuckled.
"It has its uses."
Their attention returned to the monitor as the standby screen disappeared and in its place was a familiar face, if not the one they were expecting.
"Captain Elgrapharr," said Radko.
"Commander Radko, I am pleased you are well. It appears today is my day for speaking with humans."
It wasn’t clear to Radko what the icaran soldier meant, but he pressed on.
"Likewise, Captain. I, uh, don’t mean to be rude, but I was hoping to speak with Locaris."
Elgrapharr bobbed his head in the icaran equivalent of a nod.
"I understand," he said. "I regret that communication between our peoples has been... lacking. Brigadier General Locaris was killed in action three months ago, defending an icaran colony from a ril-galas attack."
For just a moment, the news didn't register with Radko. But only a moment, and then it hit him, like a physical blow, as if he’d been punched in the stomach. He felt Cortez’s hand on his arm as she gently pushed him down into the chair and then simply stood beside him.
Locaris was dead. Locaris, who had agreed to put aside all the years of animosity between humans and icarans to help Radko along the entire turbulent journey to Thor’s Hammer, who had advocated to his own government the necessity of working with the humans to defeat the ril-galas. Somewhat egotistically, Radko had always seen four pillars in the beginning of the war with the ril-galas – himself, Alexei Kovalenko, Freyja Sigurdsson and Locaris. Kovelenko had been so mired in political backlash that he had been able to accomplish even less than Radko. Sigurdsson was injured and sidelined for who knew how long. And Locaris was dead.
"I’m sorry," was all he could manage.
"As am I. Icaran familial relations are... somewhat more complex than those of humans," said Elgrapharr. "But he often referred to you as aveyorn Radko."
When the translation failed to come through, Radko opened his mouth to speak, but Elgrapharr held up a three-fingered hand.
"Your translator will not find an appropriate substitute for the word in your language. The closest equivalent would perhaps be ‘brother in arms.’ He held you in great esteem, Commander."
"And I him," said Radko, blinking back tears.
There was a moment’s pause before Radko cleared his throat.
"I’m sorry, Elgrapharr, but I’ve come asking for help."
At the icaran’s head-bob of acknowledgement, Radko explained the problem presented by Cagliari, the benefit that could be gained by reacquiring the Argentavis fighters and the problems that he faced in trying to achieve the goal of getting a wing of advanced fighters into the war. And then Cortez stepped in and outlined her plan.
"What I am requesting," said Radko after everything had been laid on the table. "Is for a small number of icaran commandos to assist in the operation."
"You do not trust these... pirates that your acquaintance has retained."
"No. And believe me, Elgrapharr, I understand that given the situation right now between our governments that I am asking a lot of-."
"Of course."
"Sorry?"
"Of course I will help, Commander. Our governments may bicker like younglings, but we are not... shitheads, I believe is the word?"
"That’s definitely the word," said Cortez, grinning.
"I will lead the team myself," said the Captain. "Arrangements will need to be made here, in addition to details of transportation. I will also have specific requirements of personnel I will need to establish."
"Understood. We can send you schematics of the facility so your team isn’t going in blind."
"Excellent. Am I able to contact you directly once this transmission terminates?"
"No," said Cortez. "That would be difficult – government paranoia and all. I can arrange another encrypted transmission in two days?"
She glanced from Elgrapharr to Radko and both nodded their agreement.
"We shall speak in two days’ time, then," said the icaran.
"In two days," said Radko, then hesitated slightly before continuing. "Captain... does Locaris have family?"
"Yes. He is survived by a wife and four offspring, as well as a brother."
"Please, if you could, pass along my condolences. Locaris was... he was there for me when I badly needed a friend and an ally. His support... you know, we humans have an old, old saying that you don’t know what you’ve got until you lose it. I took a lot of shit from my government for standing alongside Locaris in this fight and I know he took shit for it when he got home, too. But I’d do it again in a heartbeat, because unlike those politicians and their yes-men, Locaris knew just like I do – just like you do, Elgrapharr – that sometimes you need to just swallow your pride and get down to the business of protecting people. It’s a trait I wish more of my own people shared."
Elgrapharr bowed his head. It wasn’t a motion Radko had seen before and was unsure at first how to interpret it.
"I served with Locaris for thirty-seven years," he said. "And he would very much appreciate your words. I shall convey them to his family. And I shall speak with you again in two days’ time."
Radko nodded as the transmission closed and Cortez’s encryption protocol automatically transformed itself into a targeted virus, wiping all trace of the call from the ship’s computer systems.
"That was really nice, what you said about Locaris," said Cortez, breaking the lengthy silence. "I didn’t know how much he meant to you."
"I’m not sure I did either."
Another long silence followed before Radko stood, placing a hand on Cortez’s shoulder. He hadn’t realised just how tired she looked – dark circles were beginning to form under her eyes.
"You should go get some rest."
"I need to work on some logistics of how I’m going to pull this off," she said, shaking her head.
"Please, Anna. That can wait a few hours. I need to confirm everything with Cagliari first, anyway – just take some time. Get some rest. The plan isn’t going anywhere without you."
"Okay. Okay, you’re right, I really could use some sleep," she said, rubbing her eyes and sighing. "I don’t have the energy I used to anymore. I think it’s the new medication. The side effects are a whole lot better than the last stuff, but I’m wearing out a lot quicker."
"Is there anything else they can try?"
She shook her head.
"The doctors said this was the only other stuff they had that would still do what they needed it to. It’s this or go back to the ones that made me nauseous all the time."
Radko sighed and it occurred to him that he spent a great deal of time these days sighing and he wondered what that said about his mental state. No doubt some psychiatrist would say it spoke to his feelings of helplessness in the face of circumstances out of his control, be it the immovability of the Prime Minister and his advisory committee or the cancer slowly killing Anna Cortez. A psychiatrist might even have prescribed him an anti-depressant. However, he hadn’t spoken to a psychiatrist, so instead he’d have to self-medicate.
"You can use my quarters on the ship if you don’t want to go all the way back to the station," he said. "I’m going to get a drink."
Cortez nodded, understanding, and he walked her to his quarters before heading back through the ship and onto the station, making his way to The Pub. It was a blessedly quiet night, only a dozen or so people in the place, which suited Radko just fine. Taking a booth near the back – the same booth where he’d sat with Sigurdsson the night before – he ordered a gin and tonic. Probably the first of many.
The alliance he’d built out of the ruins of the ril-galas attack had itself fallen to ruins.
Nodding his thanks to the waitress as she dropped off his drink, Radko took a long sip, thankful that despite all the problems mankind faced, they had managed to continue producing alcohol.
He silently toasted Locaris, the friend and ally he valued as both but didn’t know nearly as well as either as he would have liked. Tapping his glass on the table for all those who couldn’t be there, he thought about all the lives lost, but also about the splintering of his little group. Quon Li-Chen had, as promised and as Radko himself had recommended, vanished without a trace. And as much as her psychic abilities had helped and would have continued to help, they had both known that having been a part of Operation Nightwatch, at the very least she'd have been arrested on sight by the Commonwealth, if not simply shot.
He even mourned Harlan Gray. Though the man had tried to forcibly take command of the Vimy Ridge – resulting in his own death – he’d done it for the right reasons. Even when Radko had been staring down the barrel of the Colonel’s sidearm, he hadn’t been able to see the man as an enemy, not really. The war effort needed more men like Colonel Gray, not fewer. That had been the first thing he’d told Nasrin Khaifa upon meeting her. Certainly she’d heard from someone at some point the truth of what her estranged husband had attempted aboard the Vimy Ridge, but she had not and would not hear it directly from Radko. No purpose would be served by tarnishing the man’s reputation when he and Radko were just two sides of the same coin – both going to extreme measures to do what they felt right.
Though he hadn’t realised it, the waitress had already taken away his empty glass and brought it back refilled.
He was taking his first sip when Cagliari slid in across from him. In a bar where ninety percent of the clientele wore uniform, the owner of Cagliari Aerospace would have stood out even had her hair – now slicked back rather than spiky – not been vibrant blue. She wore a form-fitting sleeveless black dress and several gold bangles around each wrist that jangled with every movement.
"A reception," she said, explaining away her attire. "Hosted by the Prime Minister."
Radko grunted and sipped his drink.
"I miss lime."
Cagliari stared at him and blinked twice.
"Excuse me?"
"Lime," he said, swirling his drink. "I always liked a slice of lime in my G&T. We always had a hard time growing citrus off-world. Kind of makes you wonder if we’ll ever have limes again."
He took another sip, then downed the rest of the drink in one gulp, holding up the empty glass to get the waitress’s attention.
"A lot of things we won’t have again, I suspect," he said as the waitress whisked away the glass. "For all we know, this here is the new normal for humanity."
"Are... you all right, Commander?" said Cagliari, her left brow cocked slightly.
"No, not really."
Sitting back, she waited for the waitress to deliver Radko’s drink.
"I’ll have one of those as well, please."
Once the waitress brought the second drink and disappeared again, Cagliari leaned forward.
"Do you need to talk about it?"
"Not really," he said, swirling the ice in his glass. "Just spending a little time with some dead friends."
"Ah."
With a nod, Cagliari lifted her own glass and clinked it gently against his.
"I’ll drink to that."
They both sipped their drinks silently for a few minutes before Cagliari broke the silence.
"I was passed out after a three-day party."
Radko looked up at her and frowned.
"That’s why I’m alive and the rest of my family isn’t," she said. "I was passed out on a hotel bathroom floor, so I missed our flight back to Earth. Rich kid syndrome, I suppose, not growing out of the party lifestyle. Rich kid and a test pilot."
"Dangerous combination."
"Yeah. So I was saved by a hangover."
She stared at her drink for a moment and Radko saw a cloud pass over her expression. Gone was the bright-eyed young multi-billionaire, and in her place was someone a little darker, a little more driven, a little more dangerous.
"My entire family was killed," she said, her voice steady, but flat. "But I survived by virtue of being a self-absorbed shit. Now I’m left here alone, trying to make that worth something. Trying to make my survival mean more than just another cosmic toss of the dice."
She ran a hand through her hair, the gold around her wrist jangling.
"That’s why I wanted to talk to you about...," she paused, glancing around as if having forgotten where they were. "About what we talked about. It’s not about the company, it’s about doing something to make a difference."
First impressions, Radko had learned, were frequently garbage. He, Gray, Locaris, Kovalenko, Quon, they’d all misjudged each other based on first impressions and if they hadn’t been willing to let go of those first impressions, the Vimy Ridge might not have survived her ordeal. And so Radko felt no hesitation in admitting his first impression of Kestrel Cagliari – the sheltered little rich girl trying to turn Cagliari Aerospace into another ATC Castle – had been completely wrong. He let it go. He didn’t care enough anymore about his own ego to even feel chagrinned, he just admitted he was wrong and moved forward from the point where he saw into the real Kestrel Cagliari.
"One of my greatest allies is dead," he said slowly. "A man who could have been one of the most prominent officers in the war effort was killed trying to remove me from command of my ship; one of my strongest allies within the Commonwealth is essentially crippled and one of my best and most loyal friends through all of this shit is dying of cancer."
Setting down his glass, he rubbed at his face with both hands.
"And with the exception of the first one, they can all be laid at my feet to some extent or other."
"How can you say that cancer is-."
"Because it is," he said sharply. "A year and a half ago we broke the blockade and made this station the single most important strategic installation in human history and we have done fuck all with it. I have watched our fleet slowly grow as vessels that had gone into hiding make their way home and as we salvage others and get them back into fighting shape. I’ve seen enlistment in all branches go up as people become more willing to put their lives on the line to protect their fellow man. I’ve seen people sacrifice and go without in order to help their neighbour. But I’ve also seen politics drive a wedge between us at a time when we should be pulling together as an entire species. I’ve seen unrepentant xenophobia isolate us in the galaxy at a time when we desperately need friends. And we’ve all watched as we make smaller and smaller gains in outlying colonies while Earth burns. And I am tired of it, Cagliari. Fucking tired of it. We as a species are already being pushed toward extinction and every day we remain holed up here in our little fortress in the stars, we get even closer. Nobody seems to understand why the ril-galas haven’t launched a major offensive against Thor’s Hammer. They’re not afraid of us, they want us to feel secure – they want us to stay put, all warm and cozy, while they finish entrenching themselves in our star system."
He slammed a fist down on the table and Cagliari, who had been leaning ever farther forward, jumped slightly. Noticing a handful of strange looks he garnered from other patrons, Radko forced himself to lay his hands flat on the table, palms down, as he continued.
"We can’t go on like this and expect to survive. I refuse to allow Locaris and Harlan Gray and...," he trailed off, not wanting to say the next name as a foregone conclusion. "And others. I refuse to have those deaths be meaningless. Your family. My friends. Every sentient being who has died in this war. I intend to make sure the ril-galas remember us when they’ve been driven back to whatever shithole that spawned them. And your... your corporate assets are going to help make that happen. So yeah, I’m on board."
When he’d finished, Cagliari swallowed heavily and simply stared at him for what seemed like a very long time before speaking.
"We need to go to my place. Right now."