Fear the Future (The Fear Saga Book 3) (26 page)

He went on, “… but it has come to my attention that fringe parts of the Russian military machine, and more importantly its weaponry, may have … been allowed … to fall into the hands of certain Iranian factions.”

Jim caught his breath inadvertently, a rare lapse. Shit, he thought. What kind of weaponry?

“May I ask,” said Jim, “if you might know what weaponry we may be speaking of?”

“I cannot be sure, Mr. Hacker,” said Peter, his tone confident, as if to say he was not holding back in this aspect, even if he must necessarily do so elsewhere. “I cannot be sure. Though we have seen signs that it is not limited to rifles or ammunition. Other than that I cannot confirm at this time.”

“Mr. Secretariat, my appreciation for your candor here cannot be overstated. I will look into this immediately. Out of respect for the voluntary nature of this call, I will leave it to you whether or not to report this discussion to the NATO observation team.”

“I appreciate that, Mr. Hacker.”

They would find out either way, no doubt. As would others. The call came to a close, and Jim was already acting even as he wrapped up the conversation with the obligatory niceties.

Jim:
‘¿minnie, did you get all that?’

Minnie:

She does, does she? Jim frowned. Jim had been focused on who in Peter’s government might be listening in. It appeared he should have been thinking the same about his own.

Jim:
‘i will, minnie, thank you.’

- - -

Five minutes later, Jim was indeed speaking with Ayala and her chief of staff, Saul. It took everything he had not to lose his temper at his having been eavesdropped upon, but he stayed his wrath, and focused instead on the task at hand.

Jim:
‘as for peter uncovsky, i think we have to assume his intentions are good. despite his affiliation with svidrigaïlov, my impression of him has always been of a pragmatist, if maybe more of a bureaucrat than a leader. either way, though, he has never struck me as conniving. he did not want this role, and i doubt very much that he is working for his own ends here.’

Saul:
‘my files show the same analysis. i would take this at face value. maybe even more so. he was clearly worried about repercussions from within his own leadership and may want to offer even more.’

Ayala:
‘yes, that seems clear. very well then, so we will assume that if anything he was forced to understate the situation.’

Saul called up a specific quote and sent it to them all [we have seen signs that it is not limited to rifles or ammunition].

Saul:
‘¿do you think there could still be tech ten units out there?’

Ayala:
‘that is the rub, isn’t it, saul. not limited to. that leaves a lot of room for interpretation.’

Jim:
‘¿may i suggest, ayala, that we try to help him out a bit?’

Ayala:
‘¿how so?’

Jim:
‘well, i won’t ask for details of whatever operation you and saul are no doubt going to mount to investigate this further, but maybe we could also consider helping mr. uncovsky out a little.’

Saul:
‘¿how, exactly, could we help mr. uncovsky out, jim?’

Jim:
‘well, saul, we could speak with the nato observers and tell them we have reason to think mr. uncovsky is suspect, and that we want to put a team of spezialists on him. not a big team, but enough to offer him some protection from whatever faction within his own government he clearly suspects of participating in this.’

Ayala:
‘i like it, jim. i like it very much. it will allow us to protect him should there be some power play, and also bolster his reputation within his own government by making him appear to be a problem for us.’

Jim:
‘and it will allow us to communicate directly with him via the team’s subspace comms, allowing him to share, in confidence, any further information he may have, either now or down the line.’

Ayala:
‘thank you, jim. that is an excellent idea. ok then, i believe that is all for now. with your permission, jim, saul and i will leave you so we can talk further about the more ‘involved responses’ which, as you say, you do not wish to know the details of.’

Jim:
‘of course, ayala. ¿you will let me know when the spezialists are in place with peter?’

Ayala:
‘you will notified immediately when they are in place, jim. he is your asset, after all. i will need you to work him.’

Asset. Work him. Jim had never had a taste for such terms. His appetite for them was not growing the more they became part of his daily routine. Neither was his appetite for working with Ayala. He understood the importance of her work, but sometimes he feared that her zeal bordered on zealotry, a semantic difference, perhaps, but an important one. Distasteful work was sometimes necessary. But you didn’t have to enjoy it quite as much as she sometimes appeared to.

Chapter 23: The Farm

Madeline:
‘quadrant m2 online. satyendra, please isolate control and set maintenance protocol.’

Satyendra:
‘quadrant m2 controls isolated, madeline. maintenance protocol uploading now.’

Madeline felt the flow of data. Satisfied that it was progressing as planned, she shifted her attention. That was the second bank established. They were empty for now but already the fifty pods in Quadrant M1 were starting to be filled. The progress from here would only accelerate.

She opened a channel, a line back to Earth. It would have to be old-time, and 2D, the larger, long-range subspace tweeter they were constructing here on the moon would not be online for another two or three months, at least.

“Good morning, Moira,” she said, as the line connected.

There was a long pause then Moira’s voice came into Madeline’s inner-ear, “Well, it’s good evening here, Madeline.” She was still a little meek, even if she had become something close to a preeminent mind in the field that she was now at the bleeding edge of.

“Yes, well, morning, evening, all starts to become a bit hazy after a while, doesn’t it?” she laughed a little and waited.

“Especially here. I haven’t been outside in a week, and not just because of work. William tells me it is minus twenty out there!”

Madeline snorted, “Well, I wish I could promise you better up here, but no such luck, I’m afraid. Right now the wrecker I am piloting is standing with its head in the sun and its feet in the shade. I’d love to tell you that means it is enjoying a lunar sunrise, but as it is standing on Malapert Mountain, the sun is really just spinning around the horizon forever, never rising or falling, which means my feet are freezing and my head is boiling.”

“Huh, that sounds … unpleasant. Though the view must be spectacular,” replied Moira, and Madeline did indeed take a moment to appreciate the sight through her Remote Construction Robot’s eyes, then she rewound the view over the past hours and watched the sun as it moved backward around the horizon. It was indeed a breathtaking sight.

“Yes, now that you mention it, it is actually. I had started to get used to it, amazingly enough, being outside all the time. Not that I am ever outside, you know, really. I am in a bunker steadily being dug out of a lava tube, if you can believe that. I haven’t opened my eyes in nearly twenty-four hours, even though I’ve been working nearly that entire time.”

After a moment Moira’s voice came through once more. Knowing that she was being redeployed to the moon, she had been studying up. “Malapert Mountain, near the Shackleton Crater, nearly permanent sunshine. Comms array location and main hangar location. So you know, your wrecker’s head is probably around 100
o
C while your feet are less than -170
o
C. Ouch! Makes Deception Island sound like heaven!”

Madeline laughed. “Yes, that sounds about right. So I doubt you’ll be doing very much strolling around up here, either.” Normally, perhaps, Madeline would have waited for some response, witty or otherwise, but the exigencies of distant laser-based communications encouraged longer statements rather than banter, and so she went on, “Which brings me to what I wanted to talk to you about. As you know, we are getting ready to ramp up operations here. We have our first ileminite mining platform at Mare Humorum nearly ready, and our water extraction works here at the South Pole are well underway. Which brings us to your part.”

She waited. Moira had been very busy in the many months since she joined TASC to replace the lost Birgit Hauptman. Now they were sending her off world as well, though this time in a less spectacular and far more deliberate fashion. She would be travelling with a smaller Exo-Atmospheric Light Lifter that was being designated for lunar operations and was very nearly ready for launch.

The EALL was already being dubbed the Cool J, rather predictably, a name that was helping put Moira slightly more at ease with her coming departure from the planet. But depart she must. A cadre of students she had trained would remain at Districts Two and Three, but with the last of the EAHLs and Big Feet already finished and in motion, attention was moving to actual weaponry production at last.

“Yes, Madeline,” said Moira eventually, her tone becoming more serious. “I have been reviewing the potential Helium-3 mining sites at Oceanus Procellarum. It is still too early to be absolutely certain, but it does look like we will be able to find a dual-use site there.”

She sent a file up through the multipurpose system they were speaking through. While their voices, and the minimal bandwidth they required, were able to be forwarded in real time, the data packet detailing Moira’s analysis would have to join a queue. They continued to chat regardless.

“That is great news, Moira,” said Madeline, “thank you. I will assign a Wrecker and a probe team to the potential site as soon as I get your data packet. We should have confirmation of viability either way by the time you are inbound.”

There was a pause and then, “That’s great,” said Moira, a touch meekly. Then with more verve, “And there are actually three potential sites, ranked by probability, in my analysis. I’ll leave it to you whether to assign more teams or have them look at each in order … of course.”

Madeline smiled. “I’ll take a look and make a call based on how strong the data is. But don’t worry about making recommendations to me. Once you are up here, Moira, this will be your baby. I am only here to supervise until the subspace link is established back to Earth. After that …”

After that, Moira would be in charge. In charge of the construction of the Lunar Missile-Mine Phalanx. Once they had production in full flow here, and on the recently tethered Hekaton, they would switch all available production on Earth to the making of its own mines for transport up its ever-growing number of elevators.

The moon, Hekaton, and Earth. Three massive phalanxes. Three massive salvos. Once combined they would form a tidal wave of self-propelling mass to launch at the coming Armada. They would continue production up until the last minute. Three years, four months, three days, five hours, and twenty-three minutes. Approximately. They would continue production until they knew that they had no longer: until they had to launch whatever they had in order for it to reach the Armada before the Mobiliei were close enough to make out the very real and massive changes humanity was making to its very world.

For just as the appearance of Hekaton had set off a chain reaction across Earth, so would the sight of its arrival signal to the coming Armada that all was not as it seemed at the terminus point of its great mission. Once it was close enough to distinguish the new moon now orbiting around Earth, the Mobiliei Council would know for sure that the satellites were dead, and that all was far from peaceful on the western front.

They had an estimated date when that would become physically possible, given John and Quavoce’s knowledge of the Armada’s sensors. Possible to see some evidence of Hekaton, that is, but nothing conclusive. They had another, later date when it would become all but certain. They would plan to hit them between these dates. Hit them with everything they could muster.

After they had launched their swarms of missile-mines, all attention would switch to building up the big guns: the fleet of Skalms to engage with their fighting craft, and the larger, fixed particle weapons to attack the Mobiliei fleet-craft. Then they would brace for the far closer, far bloodier combat that they knew would then come with whatever embittered and emboldened remnant of the Mobiliei Armada survived the first strike.

Chapter 24: Preemptive Strike

They had requested landing permission as a diplomatic mission well in advance, with all the accorded benefits that implied, and they had been summarily denied. They had sent the request again, through multiple channels, and again had been rebuffed. But the date of their arrival had stayed the same on every request, as had the language. They had not said they would like to come. They had said they
would
come.

And so they did.

The StratoJet came in at altitude. They approached from the north, from over the Caspian Sea, not so much to sneak by the Iranian Air Force but to limit the amount of time that force would have to react before they were over Tehran space.

They also came up on Iranian airspace at Mach 2, only slowing to more politically acceptable speeds once they had crossed the border proper, and the calls had begun.

“Unidentified aircraft. You have entered Iranian airspace. You are instructed to turn around immediately or you will be fired upon. I repeat. Turn around immediately or you will be fired upon.”

The voice had originally come through in Persian. After they had responded, also in Persian, and stated their purpose and intention, the voice had changed to English. It somewhat undermined their claim that the craft remained ‘unidentified’ despite their clear report as to their identity, but what was Jim to do? He was nervous. And he was all but alone.

This was not his normal purview. But he was not without recourse. In the cabin with him were five Phase Eleven automatons, fully armed and ready for bear. And the plane was being piloted remotely by none other than Banu herself. Should they actually fire upon him, she was more than capable of getting them out of trouble, in theory, anyway.

“Iranian air traffic control, this is TASC Diplomatic Mission. As I said before, I have formally notified the Iranian government of my visit on multiple occasions and will be coming in to land at Mehr Abad International Airport shortly. I request landing authorization, but if denied I will land anyway. I repeat, I will land anyway. I have an important message for the grand ayatollah, the president, and the Iranian Parliament, which must be delivered in person. I am an official representative of the Terrestrial Allied Space Command, and as such enjoy its full protection. I come in peace.”

He waited once more. He had said it three times now. The main difference being that the first two times there had not been three Dassault F1 Mirages on his tail. He glanced back at them with virtual eyes once more. He was strapped in to a gravity gel-couch, just in case Banu should have to do some close quarters maneuvering. But he was fully plugged into the plane’s sensor systems, as well as Minnie’s many eyes above, and it was through these that he studied the three fighters falling in behind him.

Minnie:

Jim went to speak, to pretend confidence, but Banu spoke up instead.

Banu:
‘don’t worry, mr. hacker. i have flown against far more enemies with far faster planes. they won’t catch us. and if you need me to, i can chase them down instead. i can take them so easily.’

Jim staunched a new fear. As bold as this maneuver was, Jim had not come here to start a war, he had come to stave one off.

Neal:
‘don’t worry, jim. banu knows this is not that kind of mission. ¿don’t you, banu?’

Jesus, but this was a strange conversation, thought Jim. Did Neal just use baby talk with the pilot of the plane? The most feared pilot in the world, at least until Amadeu and Minnie trained up a new cadre. Banu acquiesced, clearly a little bored with it all already. And hopefully it would remain beautifully boring for the rest of the flight, thought Jim. Hopefully they would be able to land without incident.

He studied the Iranian jets, aware that eyes far more trained than his were watching them far more closely. Watching for the slightest hint of action.

The voice blared out its warning once more, and as an emphasis radar-lock alarms filled the StratoJet’s systems.

Still they stayed their course. Jim repeated his Public Service Announcement. If they were going to refuse to acknowledge him then he would do the same. He was essentially daring them to shoot him down. It was a dare he would lose only if they didn’t fear the repercussions. He was making a gamble. Or rather Neal was making a gamble, with Jim’s life.

Either they would fire on him and miss, in which case TASC would lambast them in the world theater and demand an audience to avoid all out war. Or they would fire on him and hit, meaning they did indeed have tech ten capable units, in which case … TASC would lambast them in the world theater and demand an audience to avoid all out war, only Neal would also probably take the leashes off Banu and whatever Spezialist forces Ayala no doubt had roaming the Iranian countryside below, even now.

Or they would actually let him land. Once on the ground, the same three choices started all over again, only at closer quarters, right up until he either had some kind of dialogue with a representative of the Iranian government, or Neal forced the Iranians to give him the impetus he needed to kick things up a notch.

It was an ugly looking decision tree, and Jim sure as hell would not have deigned to climb it if he hadn’t have been the one who had come up with the whole scheme in the first place. It had been all he could do to offer an alternative to the ever more martial options being considered by the rest of TASC’s leadership.

He stared at the planes, focusing in on the tips of their missiles. Note to self, he thought, stop coming up with plans.

- - -

Far away, the various powerful players in the intensifying game watched the plane. They watched from the many eyes of Minnie and they watched from the eyes of Iran’s own capable military machine. As tensions mounted, the world began to tune in. The flight’s progress was being aired around the planet by Jim’s own people, with Wislawa giving a running commentary to any station willing to broadcast it.

But there were many other pundits interpreting the coverage, voicing wildly different opinions and predictions on how it would or should play out.

In Tehran, Ahmad Sayeedi’s eyes were glued to the screens in front of him, as they always were. “Switch to camera 2, zoom. Audio to Bayazid in three, two …”

Bayazid Kutty took the cue smoothly, speaking from a spot outside the Vikal Abad Palace that was one of the ayatollah’s main residences. It was far away from Tehran, in Mashad, in the far east of the country. It was a city that Shahim had once skirted with the fugitives Jennifer Falster and Jack Toranssen, before escaping north into Turkmenistan. It was a different time now, though. A different city. The countryside had been decimated by the plague, and the city now stood as a hollow shell of its former glory.

Only the palace, a resplendent provincial capitol, remained whole, corpulent even, nourished as it was by the public and private fortunes of its prime resident, the grand ayatollah.

“No word yet from the Supreme Leader’s spokespeople, though I am informed they are monitoring this illegal violation of our sovereign airspace closely. The world watches as the interlopers from the illegitimate Western military state known as TASC barge into our country, uninvited. Only the ongoing reasonableness of the grand ayatollah prevents them from being fired upon by the Air Force.”

The man waffled on, like other pundits around the world, expounding mandated opinions as though they were their own. He was not lying, per se, just omitting some minor points. Like the fact that it was not only ‘reasonableness’ that was precluding action against poor Jim Hacker in his little plane, but a very real doubt as to whether they were even able to take the plane down.

And then, of course, there was the swathe of information the reporter was not privy to, on both sides. The stratagems and hidden assets of both sides that were on the move. The plans that were forming and reforming as events unfolded. Tools being honed, blades being sharpened as the various factions braced for whatever was to come next.

No matter what the soundtrack was, no one could doubt that the eyes of the world were turning to the little plane, as had been the intention. The flight was being broadcast around the world. And in the end it would probably be that which would save Jim. A powerful spotlight was on him, and it would light his way all the way to Mehr Abad, banishing any militant intent like scurrying shadows fleeing the beam.

With the world holding its breath, the scene was bringing into focus the two main sides of the debate raging around the planet, as Neal had intended. For now, denial started to fade into the background as this very tangible sight penetrated homes, offices, and bars; computers, phones, and televisions.

It was symbolic of the greater dichotomy of thought around the world. And while the skeptics still shouted it all down in their call for … well, for exactly what they did not know, more and more people were coming to see these two more active sides as the real debate. Was this the beginning of humanity’s fight against the coming Armada, or its fight within itself to scour themselves of whatever alien influence was already present?

“I will stay here, as we hope you will all stay with IRIB News, reporting from across Iran on this incredible action by the Western interlopers.”

The voices babbled on, and far away again, a commander reached out to a supervisor.

“Mother, are any of them ready?” he asked.

There was silence as progress was reviewed against the supervisor’s understanding of the current situation.

“No, Commander, I am afraid not, not to intervene here. The first class will have graduates from Flight School to Fight School in a matter of days, but then we still have to see how they perform in the combat simulators. I have high hopes,” a ping appeared in the commander’s mind with statistics and performance data on four children as the supervisor went on, “but to send them into combat at this stage would be … unwise.”

The commander was disappointed, but not surprised. Nor was he angry. This must be done correctly. When they revealed themselves to the world they would have to do so from a position of overwhelming superiority. They would only have one chance. Either they would prove themselves indomitable or they would be obliterated. Very well, sighed the commander, they would have to see how this charade played out.

For now.