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“This is where I observed the anomaly,” said Orion, bringing the dropship round in a lazy circle and marking the site on the map. “It matches the size of the stealth shuttle Indie recorded.”
“OK,” replied Johnson. “Take us down a safe distance away.”
She turned and peered around her seat into the hold.
“The combat units do the initial recce,” she said to Khan. “If they give the all clear, your team can go in and see what you can find.”
“I’ll get out of your way for now,” said Orion, before dimming and disappearing.
Johnson watched from inside the dropship as the combat units advanced on the anomaly’s location. Unit 03 took the lead, pushing through the undergrowth, its sensors pumping out radiation across a wide range of frequencies. Johnson recalled the last time she’d worked with that unit, back on Scragend. While Unit 01 made her think of a faithful Alsatian, 03 reminded her of a tenacious pit-bull.
Huh. I could swear it’s limping.
The robots entered a small clearing and paused. Unit 03 left two legs in the air, and wobbled slightly. Immersed in the sensor feeds, Johnson was overwhelmed; it was as if she were simultaneously blind drunk and suffering a bad hangover. Her brain, even with its augmentation, couldn’t reconcile what she was seeing.
She pulled out of the feed. Cutting the lights and screens in the cockpit, she closed her eyes and pressed her middle fingertips against the bridge of her nose. The pressure helped. After a minute, she dared to open her eyes. The remaining tell-tales on the dashboard sent sharp pricks of pain into her skull, but they soon faded.
As her eyes became accustomed to the dark, she was able to focus on the straight lines of the cockpit, willing the world to stop spinning. It slowed, and she realised she was snatching sharp, short gasps. She calmed herself, slowing her breathing and heart rate.
A bright blue light flared in the seat beside her, stabbing into her brain before she could screw her eyes shut.
“What the...” she started.
“I am sorry. Was that me?” asked Orion.
Johnson opened one eye, winced, and closed it again.
“Can you dim yourself a bit?” she asked.
The glare from the seat next to her diminished. Johnson tried opening an eye again.
“A bit more?” asked Orion.
Johnson nodded.
The light faded further, and she was able to open both eyes without too much discomfort.
“What happened?” asked Orion. “I lost the feeds from the combat units when they stepped into the clearing. My self-defence routines spotted an intrusion and closed the channels.”
“An attack?” said Johnson.
“Yes. I’ve never encountered anything like it. Something attempted to disrupt my processes through the sensor feed. It burnt out five of my relays before it was stopped.”
Johnson ran her fingers through her hair, massaging her scalp.
“I think it had a go at me too,” she said, and then with wide eyes “Where’s Indie?”
“He is OK. I can see him from up here,” said Orion, leaning forward. “He was watching the feeds too. I guess his receiver array got cut off as a precaution; I understand he erected some rather hair-trigger defences after someone tried taking him over through a comms channel.”
Johnson exhaled sharply. A couple of deep breaths, and she was ready.
“I wonder if they hit the Legionaries they took with something like that? Would explain the lack of distress signal from them.”
Orion nodded slowly. “They have my sympathy if that was the case.”
Johnson added her agreement. She certainly could not have fought off a physical attack while experiencing that mental onslaught. Even if all they did was jam the radio sets they carried, their EIS would not have had the range to call the base. She attempted to open a channel to Issawi, but a new flash of pain exploded in her head.
“I want a 100km exclusion zone placed around this position,” she said to Orion, pressing a knuckle hard against her eyebrow. “Let Issawi know that I want a backup team ready, but they are not to approach without direct authorisation from myself or Centurion Khan. Oh, and get Mustafa on the line, he may have some insight into this.”
Johnson closed her eyes and stole herself against what she knew was about to come.
^Unit 03, pull back,^ she sent.
It didn’t respond. She gritted her teeth.
^Any combat unit, this is Prefect Johnson. Pull back from the clearing.^
Nothing moved.
“It seems the combat units are stuck there until we can figure something out,” she said, and reclined in her chair.
“Can you hit it with something small?” asked Johnson after a few minutes staring at the ceiling. “Something that’ll just disable it?”
“Not from orbit; I don’t have anything below kiloton yield,” replied Orion. “The dropship has suitable weapons, but I doubt it could target the shuttle with those defences. Even if I sent missiles programmed to hit the location, it might be able to override their orders.”
“One of my men has rigged his helmet cam on a stick,” called Khan from the hold. “He reckons we could use it to test if the effect is still active.”
“That’s a good idea,” said Johnson. “Orion, could you set that Legionary up with a counter-intrusion routine? Something that could report an attempt but not allow it to get any further?”
“I will send one over.”
“Leaving the camera connected to our network would still be a risk,” said Mustafa, appearing on a viewscreen. “Perhaps a simple LED to show if it is being interfered with would suffice?”
“I’ll get him working on it,” said Khan, turning back to his console.
“What about the aerial drones?” asked Johnson.
“Same problem as the walking ones,” said Orion, shrugging.
“I could try sending in a Legionary with his EIS disconnected,” said Khan without looking up.
“Too risky,” said Mustafa. “It could directly...”
Johnson waved them both quiet. An idea was forming, but her mind was still sluggish. “How exactly did that thing attack us?”
“It flooded the sensor arrays of the combat units, and was passed on to us through the feed,” said Orion.
“Which sensor arrays, specifically?”
“Microwave, infrared, visible, ultraviolet; all the EM bands the robots use.”
Johnson frowned.
“What about audio?” she asked.
“I didn’t detect any intrusion attempts on that feed,” said Orion.
“The data transfer rate would be too slow to be useful,” explained Mustafa.
Johnson sat upright and banged her fist on the arm of her chair.
“Khan? Do you think your men could lasso me a combat unit?”
It took several attempts, and a lot of sweat, to snag and reel in Unit 03. Once it was out of sight of the enemy shuttle, Johnson strode up to it and looked it over.
“No sign of physical damage,” she thought out loud.
She ran her hand over its body, and released the armoured flap covering an access port. Deftly, she connected her pad to it, and ran a diagnostic. It came back clear; the robot had shut down to protect itself. Holding her breath, Johnson booted it up.
Unit 03 jerked back, its weapons scanning around.
“Shhhh. Easy there,” said Johnson, reaching out her palm in front of it. “You were attacked by some sort of invasive routine. We had to drag you out of the transmission range.”
The drone lowered its weapons back into the recesses on its back, and lowered itself ‘til its belly touched the ground. Johnson stroked it with one hand as she unplugged her pad and closed the hatch with the other.
“I need you to shut down all sensors and input feeds, apart from audio and tactile,” Johnson said, head close to the grey metalloceramic body. “We don’t think the target can insert using them.”
^Better get everyone to turn off their EIS too,^ she added to Khan. The pain was tolerable this time.
“I understand,” replied Unit 03. “What do you want me to do? I won’t be able to track any targets.”
Johnson looked up at it sharply. It was the first time Unit 03 had spoken to her like that. She had come to expect it of Unit 01, but the other Units had so far stuck to digital confirmations of her orders.
“One of the Legionaries will fire their weapon into the air every ten seconds, you should be able to form an image of your surroundings from the echoes. I want you to approach the shuttle and terminate the source of the transmission.”
“I assume you require minimum force be used?” Unit 03 asked.
“Whatever it takes to shut it off, but start small.”
The drone turned and walked confidently back towards the clearing.
“Are you sure it turned off its visual sensors?” asked Khan.
“Yes. It’s just retracing the steps it took last time.”
Unit 03 stopped at the edge of the clearing. Johnson connected to its telemetry, opening it in a window in her vision rather than fully immersing. The memory of the pain from last time was too vivid.
The first shot rang out, and the drone edged forwards. After the first minute, it moved more confidently, having built up a three-dimensional map of its surroundings. By ten minutes had passed, it had reached the shuttle.
Unit 03 extended a claw and tapped on the side of the vessel. For several minutes it tapped and listened, ran its claws over the surface and felt. Johnson reviewed the data as it flowed to her, getting her first impression of the shape and size of the shuttle. Stubby, with no atmospheric control surfaces, it was clearly designed primarily for use in space. It could probably hold ten people. Most importantly, it matched the images taken by Indie in Y6782a.
The drone pounced, ripping off a hatch in the side of its target. As the metal door clanged to the ground, finding a rock amongst the torn up earth, the drone reached inside. It felt around, then dragged itself half into the hold. Carefully, it pulled at the consoles in the cockpit, teasing them out of place and dumping them on the floor. When it had finished, it waited.
Johnson gave the thumbs up to a Legionary lying on his side by a large fallen tree trunk at the edge of the clearing. He nodded, and raised his improvised probe. The moment the camera on the end cleared the tree trunk, a red light flashed amongst a bunch of wires dangling from it. The Legionary shook his head, and lowered the camera.
“It’ll take me a minute to purge the memory and reset it,” he called over.
Johnson nodded acknowledgement, then cupped her hands to her mouth and shouted “No effect. Try again.”
Unit 03 clambered on top of the shuttle, feeling around with its front claws.
“No need to shout so loud, Ma’am,” said Khan from just behind her elbow. “It's got far better hearing than us.”
She metaphorically kicked herself then looked over her shoulder to him. He waved away her thanks before she could speak.
The sound of tearing metal brought her attention back to the shuttle as Unit 03 tore a dome off its roof. A representation of the antennae thus uncovered built up in her vision as the drone felt around them. Its survey complete, the combat unit ripped them out and tossed them after the dome.
Johnson raised her thumb again, and again the probe was lifted into position. She held her breath, letting it out between her teeth when the red telltale lit.
“No effect. Try again,” she called, this time without causing those standing nearby to wince.
Unit 03 continued its exploration of the shuttle. It didn’t find anything else worth tearing out, and retired a dozen paces. Johnson had just started to wonder if it had given up, when it deployed its rail gun. A half-second burst sent twenty depleted uranium slugs tearing through the air. Around Johnson, the Legionaries ducked for cover, bringing their weapons up and scanning around.
“Stand down,” called Johnson, the only one who hadn’t moved. “It’s just the robot escalating its attack on the shuttle.”
“Talk about using a sledgehammer to crack a nut,” muttered Khan, dusting himself down.
The camera was raised on its stick a third time. And this time the light did not come on.
“Unit 03,” Johnson shouted. “Wait, out.”
Khan stepped forwards.
“What now?” he asked.
“Now I go in,” Johnson replied.
Khan raised an eyebrow.
“I know,” Johnson said, steeling herself for another argument. “But there really isn’t another option. I’ve already survived one attack by that thing, I don’t know if anyone else could.”
“You could order Unit 03 to open its sensors.”
“And if the shuttle’s faking it we could lose him and be back to square one. Square zero, actually, as there aren’t any other units within reach.”
Him? Did I just call Unit 03 ‘him’?
Khan beckoned one of the Legionaries over.
“Fine,” he said, as a giant jogged towards them. “But you are going to be tied to one end of a rope, and Higgins here is going to have the other end.”
Johnson crawled up to the edge of the clearing. Wriggling out of her sling, she handed her pulse carbine to the Legionary lying behind his log, who promptly slung it on his back. She drew her sidearm, checking it was charged and set for maximum effect. She was glad she was in the habit of carrying a non-lethal weapon; if the shuttle’s defences somehow subverted her, she wouldn’t pose a threat to her own men.
Higgins shuffled into place to her right, lying on his back and bracing his feet against the log. He offered her a rope with a karabiner on the end, which she clipped to the back of her vest.
“Ready,” she called.
Everyone perked up, paying that bit more attention to their surroundings.
“If this goes south,” said Khan from her left, “we extract you and bug out. Orion will flatten this whole area from orbit.”
“Give Unit 03 time to get clear,” she replied.
He frowned. “I know we’re short of...”
“You give him time to get clear,” she said, enunciating very clearly.
“Understood, Ma’am.”
Johnson did one last check. She knew everyone was ready, but it covered for the moment it took to compose herself. Closing her eyes, she stood up.
When nothing happened, she peeked with one eye. No blinding flashes of pain.
She opened the other eye. Unit 03 stood a few metres back from the smouldering shuttle at the far end of the clearing.
“We’re good so far,” she said to the people lying at her feet, then sat on the log and swung her legs over.
It took longer than she’d expected to reach the shuttle. Broken branches littered the ground, some covering holes that could easily break an ankle. As she passed Unit 03, she thanked it for its efforts in a quiet voice. It dipped its body slightly.
Reaching the shuttle, she ran her eyes over the pock-marked hull. Several of the railgun rounds had melted their way through, leaving neat holes surrounded by heat-discoloured metal. The others had splashed, leaving craters.
She pulled herself up into the hold, coughing slightly in the smoke from burnt plastic. The interior was trashed. Some rounds had come in through the open hatch and bounced around inside, where they’d been joined by flakes of metal spalled off the interior where rounds had hit the hull.
She risked activating the electromagnetic field interfaces on her EIS, biting her teeth in anticipation. But the shuttle was dead; no currents flowed anywhere.
^Is everything OK down there?^
Johnson jerked her head up and stared into the sky. A knot she’d only be vaguely aware of released.
^Everything’s under control,^ she sent. ^How are things up there, Indie?^
#
Johnson entered the base infirmary with a mixture of trepidation and eager anticipation. One ward had been designated as the morgue; every time she’d had to attend an autopsy she was reminded of those she’d lost. At least this time it wasn’t anyone under her command lying on the slab. Or someone she loved.
She caught sight of the door and shuddered. Before she went in there, however, she had a more pleasant task to perform. In a small room off the main triage area, the rescued Legionaries were recovering. She knocked on the door and waited.
“Come in.” The voice was strong and cheerful.
She opened the door and stuck her head around.
“As you were,” she said before the two had a chance to react to her presence. “Is it OK if I come in for a moment?”
“Of course, Ma’am,” said the one in the nearest bed; the one who had called through the door. He reached over to put his pad down on the bedside cabinet, wincing slightly as he straightened again.
She squeezed past the end of his bed and paused by a chair. “Mind if I...”
“No worries, Ma’am.”
She looked at the occupant of the other bed. He was propped up with pillows, his eyes covered in a bandage.
“His eyes are fine,” said the Legionary. “He just can’t stand the light. Doc thought he’d be better off in here with me than in a blacked-out room by himself.”
Johnson felt a dull echo of the pain in her skull just after the attack.
“When they brought us in he was raving; he grabbed a scalpel and tried to cut into his own head. They’ve put him on something to calm him down. Doc says he can hear us but he’s a bit too far out of it to respond.”
Johnson locked her jaw; her hand squeezed her knee above the prosthetic. The flashback to the struggle in Indie’s recycling plant faded, and she worriedly shifted her gaze to the conscious Legionary. He didn’t look like he’d noticed her absence.
“Well, I’m glad you’re both safe,” she said. “I’m sure you’ll be back on duty in no time.”
“I hear that you led the rescue. You’d gone by I came round.”
“I happened to be in the area. I wouldn’t say I lead it; Centurion Khan was in charge.”
“Whatever, I wanted to say thank you.”
A prickly heat started to rise from her collar. She hastily stood and walked to the door. She stopped with her hand on the handle. “If there’s anything I can get for you?”
The man looked to his teammate and back to her. “Real food. I know it’s a big ask, but...”
She smiled reassuringly. “I’ll see what I can do.”
As she stood in the corridor, she made a note to have the last of the fruit she’d received from Clovis sent over to the ward.
The sound of a medic greeting Anson carried in from the corridor. It was time. Johnson couldn’t put off visiting the morgue any longer.
The medic guided them both into the room. Two bodies lay on tables in the centre, surrounded by imaging equipment. Johnson’s eyes locked onto the tables. She hadn’t expected them to be so similar to the one on The Indescribable Joy of Destruction, the one she’d woken on twice.
“They had brain implants, similar to our EIS,” said a man. Johnson snapped back into the present. The surgeon stood with his back to them, washing his hands in a metal sink.
“The one in the first individual was intact, though wiped. The one in the second has undergone some sort of explosive event; I suspect he triggered it himself.”
Johnson leant over one of the bodies, studying his face. With the beard shaved off, he looked about thirty.
“I don’t get it,” said Anson. “First the ship self-destructs before any escape pods get away, now he commits suicide.”
Johnson shifted her weight, and her finger bumped against a scalpel. She saw her hand hovering over the knives the first time she used The Indescribable Joy of Destruction’s galley.
“Don’t they know they’ll be well treated?” continued Anson. “Even pirates keep prisoners in good conditions in the hope of a better ransom.”
Johnson made a fist and withdrew her hand.
“Either they have something very important they want to keep secret, or they are used to fighting people who don’t follow the same rules as us,” she said. “Perhaps both. Either way, they fear being taken alive.”
The surgeon joined them, drying his hands and arms on a white cloth.
“I’ve passed the implants to Centurion Yang,” he said. “He reckons they might have shielding of some kind against the intrusive signals.”
“Anything interesting about the bodies themselves?” asked Johnson.
The surgeon sighed. “No. They were fit and healthy. Bone density suggests they were used to slightly above average gravity; 1.2g perhaps.”
“So clues to where they come from?”
“I’ve run isotope profiles on samples from their teeth. They didn’t match anything in our combined databases. I’d be able to match it to a water sample if you found somewhere you suspected they grew up.”
At least the lack of a match ruled out Congressional and Republican colonies, along with many of the major independents. They all kept comprehensive records for forensic analysis; knowing someone’s home planet tended to be the first step in identifying them.
“So, it’s looking like we have a new player,” said Anson. “Coincidence? Or is this linked to the Red Fleet?”
Johnson shook her head. “We don’t have enough data to confirm either way.”
She turned to the surgeon. “Thank you for fixing up Watson and Carré. What’s their prognosis?”
“Watson could be back on light duties now,” replied the surgeon. “I felt it better to keep him here, though. It could aid Carré’s recovery.”
“Is it bad?” asked Anson.
“No brain damage. It’s more psychological. He’s locked in, unable to consciously access the outside world.” The surgeon arched his back, pressing his spine with one hand. “There are things we can try. I’m sure we’ll get him back.”
Anson looked away awkwardly.
“Did you get anything from the shuttle?” the surgeon asked, looking to Johnson.
“The systems were a total write-off, so no luck on finding out how the intrusions were generated,” she replied. “But we did manage to work out how the stealth coating worked. More importantly, Mustafa spotted a weakness we could exploit.”
“You can track them?” said the surgeon.
“Yes. We’ve already swept the planet and the space around it. If any others are lurking out there, they’re a long way off.”
“So they were just two people who managed to escape?”
“Probably,” said Johnson, remembering her good fortune to be standing in the hangar when Repulse’s reactor failed.
#
Johnson and Issawi found themselves alone on the patio above the tea plantation. He looked to her, and she shrugged. She didn’t know why they’d been summoned either.
“I didn’t even know he was back,” she said.
Issawi guided her over to the table. As they sat down, a spread of cakes appeared, along with the obligatory pot of tea.
Johnson reached out for a slice of cardamom and lime cake.
“I’ve got something,” said Indie, materialising on the patio without his usual pretence of a pedestrian entry. “I was reviewing signals intercepts, and a report from a deep recce ship stood out.
“Tea?” asked Johnson, holding up the pot.
“I came across an odd entry,” continued Indie. “They picked up Republic drive signatures. Loads of them.”
“A raid in force?” suggested Issawi, accepting a cup from Johnson.
“Unlikely,” said Indie. “When I conducted deep recces, my crew were told about any Republic assets expected to be in the area. We avoided them; no point treading the same ground.”
“Did they say where the ships were heading?” asked Johnson. Her whole world shrank down to this one question.
“No, they couldn’t tell. But the jump point they were heading for is consistent with an approach on Concorde.”
Johnson paused mid-sip, looking at Indie over the golden rim.
“I thought we had another couple of weeks,” said Issawi, brushing crumbs off his shirt.
“Perhaps something happened and they moved things up?” said Indie.
They got wind of our attempts to get the word out. If it was one of those newspaper people...
Johnson opened a window in the air beside her and summoned a star map. “How long have we got?”
“There are a lot of factors,” said Indie, taking a seat opposite Johnson. “They might not go direct, they might stop to refuel, they might only be moving to a staging area.”
“Worst case?”
“Worst case, we have to leave within twenty-six hours. We’re lucky the jump topography favours us.”
“Are the ground forces ready?” Johnson asked, turning to Issawi.
“Ready as they can be. We can do final shake-downs in-transit.”
“OK, start prepping to load,” she said to Issawi, then turned back to Indie. “Where are Orion and Seren?”
“On their way. I took the liberty of recalling them.”
“Right. We leave as soon as they’re back and everyone is aboard. No point wasting time.”
“What about the guys who attacked us? What if they come back?” asked Indie.
Johnson thought for a moment. “We can’t spare forces to defend Robespierre; we’ll just have to take everyone with us and hope.”
Indie looked up into the sky. “Orion just jumped back in-system.”
“Great,” Johnson said. “Let’s get going.”
Issawi inclined his head to her, and vanished.
“I must go and, er, brief Orion,” Indie said, before rising and walking to the door. He glanced back, suit flowing into his captain’s outfit. He turned and drew himself up, before saluting Johnson. She sighed quietly and sat upright to return the gesture.
After he’d left, she took a look around the simulation. The gardens had grown again. A stand of strelitzia edged the patio, their orange and purple blooms like a flock of alien birds.
Johnson turned to leave, then stopped.
Oh, to hell with it.
She grabbed a wedge of triple chocolate fudge cake and took a bite.
The patio vanished and she was back in her bed. The wall opposite showed a starry sky, as if she were on the surface instead of buried hundreds of metres underground. In the distance, power surges coursed through her awareness as dormitory lights came on in quick succession.
At least I’m not the only one getting up this early.
She swung her legs out from under the duvet with a sigh. However well heated a room was, she always found it too cold when she first got up. She padded across the room, discarding T-shirt and pants as she went, and into the bathroom. It was only once the hot shower was cascading down over her head that she told the room to gradually bring the lights on.
#
Johnson dialled the speed up on the treadmill. Gravity on The Indescribable Joy of Destruction had been adjusted to match Concorde's two days into the journey and her leg needed to recalibrate.
^Indie? Are you sure the gravity is correct?^
^Positive,^ he replied. ^One point two standard. Why?^
^It normally takes me longer than this to adjust.^
^That’ll be your new implants assisting your balance and reflexes.^
Johnson brought up the schematics of her enhanced EIS. A representation of her head and shoulders appeared, slowly rotating. The tendrils stretching from the devices glowed blue, weaving through her brain and stretching down her spine.
^Are they really that integrated already?^
^When did you last use a menu?^
Now that he mentioned it, she couldn’t remember. Every time she’d interacted with a computer system recently, she’d only had to think of what she wanted and it had happened. Even things she hadn’t tried before.
The treadmill shifted under her, introducing an incline.
^You know,^ sent Indie. ^There are plenty of ways we could warn the people on Concorde of what is coming.^
Johnson kept running.
^I know you will have considered them, I just don't know why you have rejected them.^
Johnson hopped onto the sides of the rubber belt, and hit the stop button.
^Trust you to work that out,^ she replied.
^He wasn't the only one,^ sent Issawi.
Johnson dipped into the data streams, and removed the patch that Indie had used to hide Issawi's presence on the link. She sent a digital scowl in the AI's direction.
^He asked me if I knew anything,^ Indie sent. Johnson imagined him holding up his hands in mock surrender.
^I have spent a long time working in the grey areas on the edge of acceptable conduct,^ sent Issawi. ^Things occur to me that wouldn't to those steeped in traditional military ways. I am thinking that you have some experience of these fringe actions; that your thought patterns are a little less rigid.^
Johnson triggered a seat to grow from the floor. She straddled it, facing the wall, and reached for the handles in front of her.
^So,^ she sent. ^What do you believe I'm thinking?^
She pulled the handles out from the wall, and returned them. A quick thought increased the resistance for the next pull.
^You know you cannot stop the attack. You have seen every attempt to warn people blocked. You suspect that there are enough people in high places in on it that if we tried contacting anyone on Concorde, they'd alert the Red Fleet to our presence.^
Johnson winced as her shoulder protested, and dialled the resistance down a notch. ^All fair points. But what do you think my plan is?^
^You intend to use the public outcry, turn it back on the perpetrators.^
^And why would I do that?^ she asked, holding the handles against the tension trying to pull them back into the wall.
“You can’t get at the people who ordered it any other way.”
Johnson let go of the handles, and spun round to face Issawi. He leant against the frame of the open hatch.
“You think I’m capable of allowing millions of people to die, just so I can get revenge on the people who abandoned my crew?” she asked, keeping her voice as neutral as she could. She couldn’t stop the prickling sensation running up her neck.
“I never mentioned your crew,” Issawi said, detaching himself from the doorway, and walking towards her. “I was talking about punishing them for targeting their own civilians.”
He sat on the bench next to her and grasped a pair of handles that extruded for him. They settled into a rhythm, rowing together, the only noise the faint squelch each time the handles retracted towards the wall.
After a while, Issawi broke the silence. “You wouldn't be letting them die. We have all agreed that we are not strong enough to resist the attack. However, if the true details of the attack were known, the masses on both sides would be outraged. You want to use it as a way to get the powers talking to each other.”
Johnson resisted the urge to turn to look at him.
“That would be wonderful. But it isn’t likely,” she said. “We need to do something about it ourselves. Make sure everyone goes the right way. But we need more people, more ships, more influence.”
Issawi stopped mid-stroke. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him staring at her, evaluating her. This would be the crunch; would he continue to support her once he knew. His eyes widened. “You are using the attack as a way in! A way to get the people of Concorde on side. To build your power base.”
“This isn't about me. We'll be doing exactly the same things to help as we agreed. I have merely seen an opportunity to build something out of the ashes.”
“I take it this plan isn't for general consumption,” asked Issawi, releasing the handles back into the wall.
Johnson coloured slightly. “I am not proud of it, but I see that it is the best way forward. I don't think some of the others will be able to deal with it.”
Two naval Specialists strode into the gym, chatting loudly. They stopped on seeing Johnson and Issawi, leaving their conversation hanging. Johnson acknowledged their presence with a nod. They returned it, then settled onto exercise bikes on the opposite side of the room. Their conversation resumed, though at a much lower level.
^There is a risk that we'll be associated with the attack. Made scapegoats,^ sent Issawi.
^That's why I am going down to the planet. An actual face they can relate to.^
Issawi dialled the resistance up for both of them. ^Your presence could be misinterpreted. You could be seen as the face of an invading force.^
^I won't be armed. That will send a clear message.^
Issawi wiped his forehead on his sleeve and stood. Johnson counted out four more repetitions then followed him over to the punchbag he was leaning into. He beckoned with one hand, and she loosened her shoulders before launching a series of blows against the sack.
^Why would they choose to feature you over a representative of the Congressional Fleet?^ Issawi asked when she paused.
^I can't guarantee they will,^ she sent. ^But there is one thing that might make the difference.^