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22

ARCADIA

E
ARTH
A
LLIANCE
C
OLONY

C
OLONEL
M
ALCOLM
J
ENNER WAS STANDING IN THE MIDDLE
of four corpses and eighteen crates of confiscated TSGs, Daemons and EME grenades when the notice of new orders came in.

He motioned his second-in-command over. “I need to make a comm. Confirm all the crates are tagged, then start getting them out of here and loaded onto the shuttle. We don’t want to overstay our welcome.”

Major Grenier chuckled. “Yes, sir.”

Malcolm checked the room a final time to ensure it held no further surprises, then went to find a private corner.

He’d given up command of the
Orion
two months after the Metigen War ended in favor of leading a new special forces unit. The op on Romane, despite its bittersweet results, had reminded him of his preference for ground beneath his feet, for affecting events through his own physical action rather than merely issuing orders on a bridge.

He admitted to missing the
Orion
more than he’d expected, to missing the scope and power a ship such as it provided and the reliability of a steady crew. Maybe even the beauty of space—just a little. But he felt more at home leading a team, not flying a starship, and playing an active role in every mission.

Veronica hadn’t agreed with his decision, which was only one reason why the divorce had been finalized six weeks earlier. The war had changed his perspective on a lot of things…on the world, and what he wanted from it. It hadn’t taken him long upon returning home to realize what he wanted from his life was very different from what she wanted from hers or, it seemed, from his. And since another of the truths he’d realized was that life was too precious to spend letting others decide your own happiness, he’d walked away before the ugliness got serious.

He untucked his shirt and wiped some of the sweat and blood off his face, tucked it back in and sent the holocomm request.

Admiral Solovy was seated at a different desk with a different backdrop than when he’d last met with her in person. Had the new Headquarters opened? It had been over a month since he’d been on Earth, so he didn’t know for sure.

“Admiral. I received notice of a new mission and instructions to contact you for details.”

“Yes, Colonel. You’re looking…” she almost smiled “…busy. Are you in a position where you can talk?”

“Yes, ma’am. We’re post-op and have secured all the hostiles and the building. My team is wrapping up now.”

“Good. I’m afraid I have to ask you to head directly into another operation. You and your full unit will be going to New Babel.”

“Admiral?” To his knowledge it had been nearly a decade since the Alliance had conducted an incursion onto New Babel, and that last one hadn’t gone well for their side. The colony was under the complete control of the cartels, and the inmates were running the asylum.

“You heard me correctly. Yesterday at 1320 Galactic, agents of the Zelones cartel kidnapped an Alliance consultant, Dr. Abigail Canivon, as she was returning to EASC from Olympic Regional Spaceport.

“It goes without saying—though I am obviously saying it anyway—that the information I’m about to provide requires the highest level of secrecy. Inform your unit of what you think they need to know in order to carry out the mission, but no more.”

“Understood, ma’am.” He’d grown accustomed to the increased access to classified information which came with his elevated rank, and the secrecy accompanying it.

“Dr. Canivon is the person responsible for designing and implementing the Prevo technology.”

“Oh.” He canted his head slightly. “I understand.”

“We have reason to believe the Zelones leader, Olivia Montegreu, intends to coerce Dr. Canivon into performing a similar procedure, presumably on Ms. Montegreu herself. Your primary objective is to retrieve Dr. Canivon and bring her safely to Earth. Your secondary objective is, if possible, to prevent the completion of such a procedure by any available means, including the elimination of Olivia Montegreu, the Zelones Artificial or both.”

He pushed aside several bubbling concerns—including how exactly he was going to brief his team without disclosing the existence of the Prevos to them—to focus on the mission itself. “Do we have hard details on Dr. Canivon’s location and its defenses?”

“To some extent—enough for you to know where to find her. I’ll forward the files we have to you, but expect the defenses to be substantial. I’m working on obtaining additional intel, which I’ll also forward when I receive it, and there may be some external factors working in our favor.

“I recognize the level of danger such an incursion involves. I’m asking a lot of you and your unit—perhaps too much—but I’m working to give you every advantage possible. Your team exists because it’s the best, and I believe you can succeed in this mission.”

“Thank you for the vote of confidence, ma’am.” It wasn’t the first time she’d expressed it…and he supposed each time he’d met the accompanying expectations. So far. “Can I assume, given the location and nature of the adversary, any and all measures are authorized for the duration of the op, not solely for the secondary objective?”

“Not only are they authorized, Colonel, they are encouraged. This mission is designated Level IV Priority. I don’t need to spell out the serious nature of every aspect of this situation for you.”

“No, ma’am, you do not.” Honestly, he suspected he’d barely begun to fathom the extent of their ‘serious nature,’ but he saluted sharply. “We’ll be another forty minutes here, then we’ll head back to base, resupply and depart. We’ll take a full loadout and finalize the op details in transit.”

EARTH

L
ONDON

“Welcome home, darling.” Pamela Winslow kissed Jude’s cheek with pinpoint precision. “Dinner is almost ready, and we have guests this evening. Do join us.”

“Yes, Mother. Let me change first, and I’ll be right down.”

She held him at arm’s length to inspect him. “You do look half a disaster. What have you been up to?”

“Traveling, as usual. Go see to your guests.”

She raised a passing eyebrow at his unkempt appearance before departing, leaving him free to retreat upstairs.

Jude hadn’t planned on needing to perform tonight, no more so than he generally did for his family, but it came with the territory. After a quick shower and donning of fresh slacks and a sweater, he entered the formal dining room to find his parents seated with two men. He sized them up: properly tailored but conservative dark suits, perfectly coiffed hairstyles, false smiles and calculating eyes.

Politicians. So that would be the game tonight, then.

His mother gestured for him to sit next to her. “Allow me to introduce our guests. This gentleman is Defense Minister Hideyo Mori, and this is our Assembly Speaker, Charles Gagnon.”

He shook their hands across the table. “Nice to meet you both. Jude Winslow.” He settled into the chair. “Plotting the future of the Alliance over
som tam
this evening?”

The Defense Minister moaned with theatrical flair. “We can only try, and hope cooler, more reasonable heads prevail soon—like your mother and Speaker Gagnon.”

The Speaker wore a troubled expression. “I appreciate the compliment, Minister, but Brennon has not done a terrible job of managing the recovery in the aftermath of the war.”

His mother sipped on her coffee. “To outward appearances, perhaps. But his administration has been far too secretive. Clandestine operations, dangerous Artificial projects, under-the-table deals with the Federation. He is undermining one of the primary roles of the Assembly, which is oversight of the executive and military branches, and as a result we don’t know with any certainty what the state of the recovery or the health of our Alliance truly is.”

She brandished a smile as false as those worn by their guests. “But enough of work. I wish this to be a pleasant gathering.”

Oh, Mother. Your transparency astounds even me.

The kitchen servant brought the next course,
khao soi
, and Gagnon directed a measure of attention toward him. “Jude, what do you do?”

“Jude operates one of our largest charities, Sharing For Success. He’s a tremendous help to me.”

Jude bit back a crude retort at his father for talking for him and replaced it with a sober visage. “It’s been a busy, difficult seven months, regrettably. So many people had their homes and livelihoods destroyed by the alien invaders. We try to help as many as we can, but there are always more who need it.”

“You travel a lot, I assume?”

“I do. I’ve returned from Henan today, in fact. It was among the hardest hit, and there’s still a great deal of unrest. The colonists feel neglected, and rightfully so, as they languish far from the centers of power.”
So full of opportunities.

Mori nodded earnestly. “This is what I’ve been saying. Brennon and his crony Admiral Solovy gamble with all our futures by letting their unnatural human-Artificial hybrid monstrosities run loose, when they should be putting all our resources to work helping the masses. The people need our protection
from
such things, not the opposite.”

It was all Jude could do to keep a rabid level of shock off his face. “I’m sorry—did you say
human-Artificial
hybrids? Are you talking about the new type of Artificial rumored to have helped win the Metigen War?”

His mother’s voice was as sharp as a finely-honed blade. “Minister Mori was simply being rhetorical. Weren’t you, Minister?”

Jude did not miss the threatening stare she directed across the table as accompaniment to the question.

Mori shriveled beneath it. “Yes, of course. I only meant humans believing they can keep Artificials under control.”

“Naturally.” Her gaze swept over those present. “The Minister does have such a delightful flair for the dramatic. In any event, I’ve taken some steps in the last several days to reduce the threat. The military must be made to realize it is accountable to the people, through the Assembly.”

Jude buried himself in the food in front of him to avoid having to engage in further pleasantries.
Human-Artificial hybrids?
He wasn’t fooled by his mother’s swift cover. Mori, believing himself among friends, had evidently spilled a closely held secret—extremely closely held, as in seven months of trying Jude had been unable to learn it.

This explained a great deal, though, and made the work he did all the more important. In fact, this was likely to change everything.

The remainder of dinner passed in less exciting fashion, so far as he could tell with barely half his attention focused on it. He made a point to be gracious to Mori, for the man showed all the signs of being a potential sympathizer. He might come in handy later. Gagnon was far more reserved, and if this dinner was an attempt by his mother to win the Speaker’s favor, he wasn’t sure she succeeded.

The plates were being cleared away when he received a priority message from the founder of the Seneca cell, an Ulric Toscano—filtered through and forwarded by Faith, as, like most cell leaders, this Toscano had no knowledge of Jude’s role or even his existence. When combined with the information he’d just learned, the message took on a troubling connotation indeed.

He stood. “If you all will excuse me, something has come up I should handle. It was a pleasure meeting you both.”

His father shot him a look. “What’s come up?”

“Nothing you need concern yourself with—merely the usual complexities of running a charity which must be everywhere at once. Good night, Mother, Father. Gentlemen.”

Ivan Echols, the leader of the New Babel cell, materialized on holo three minutes after having been summoned. “Jude, what’s going on?”

“Time to rally your people, Ivan. Time for them to prove their dedication to the cause.”