Fire with Fire

Chapter Twenty-Nine

MENTOR

Richard Downing waited patiently while the lieutenant-big, wide-eyed, and increasingly florid-shouted at him.

“No, sir, I don’t have to recognize your authority. And to hell with your cosmic clearance level. We’ve been on patrol in the Belt for six months now, bypassed twice for rotation off this god-forsaken boat. I’ve got a wife and kids back in Syrtis City, a mother dying on Earth-”

Downing closed his eyes. “Lieutenant Weuve-”

“-and now you just want me and my whole crew to obligingly pop ourselves into the emergency cryocells with no explanation why, and no guarantee of when-or if-we’ll wake up in this century? Not on your life-sir.”

“Lieutenant, I’m sorry-but this is a matter of national security. Actually, it’s a matter of global security: I’m here at the express orders of the World Confederation.”

“I don’t care if you’re here to announce the Second Coming, Downing. Neither I, nor my men, are hopping into the meatlockers on your say-so. I want more verification.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t accommodate that request: this must remain an entirely compartmentalized operation. No external communications, not even by encrypted lascom.”

“Then you’re out of luck, Mr. Downing.”

“Then I am afraid I must relieve you of your command, Lieutenant.”

Weuve’s shock became a smile, then a smirk. “Oh, really? Didn’t see you bring a Marine detachment on board with you from the other ship.”

“That’s because they are also, along with the rest of that crew, in cold sleep now. Besides, I don’t need any Marines.”

“No? Why’s that?”

“I think I can handle this myself.”

Weuve’s eyes went wide again, then narrowed. “Mr. Downing, I think you’ve seriously overestimated your authority and your combat power on this hull. Mister Rulaine,”-the lieutenant hooked a finger in the direction of his security chief-“please take Mr. Downing into custody and place him in the brig.”

Rulaine-tall, spare, silent-produced his NeoCoBro liquid-propellant sidearm. “Are you sure you want to do this, Lieutenant?”

Weuve turned to stare at the query. “You may be new here, Chief, but on this hull, you don’t question your orders: you obey them.”

Rulaine shrugged. “Yes, sir.” He quickly raised the gun-but aimed it at Weuve’s cheek.

Who took a drift-step back in the microgravity. “Hey-”

The NeoCoBro uttered a weak cough-consistent with the low propellant setting used for nonlethal rounds-which sent a gel-capsule splatting against the side of Weuve’s face.

Who was shouting: “McDevitt, Gross, get-” Weuve’s orders to his first pilot/XO and second engineer slurred into a groan and then a rough sigh; his feet drifted up off the deck and he floated slowly toward the bulkhead, already senseless.

Downing breathed again. “Those new tranq rounds work rather quickly.”

Rulaine nodded as he steadied his own recoil-induced drift with one hand, trained the gun on the other two bridge crewmen. He nodded at them. “Are we going to have any trouble with you two?”

McDevitt swallowed and shook his head. Gross was actually smiling. “Hell, no: I’d have been happy to pop the CO myself.”

“That’s insubordination, mister: your CO was out of line, but he’s still your CO. Be glad I don’t put it in your record. Now, take the lieutenant, and get the others ready for cold sleep.”

“Yessir.” The two of them skim-trotted off the bridge, towing Weuve. As the bulkhead door started sealing, Richard heard McDevitt ordering the ship’s complement to gather in the galley.

Downing put away the Executive Orders that Weuve had-erroneously-dismissed as forgeries. “Very well done, Captain Rulaine. Obviously, you roused no suspicions when you replaced their ‘ailing’ security chief a week ago.”

“Guess not, sir. But I have to say this is the strangest assignment I’ve ever been given: what’s it all about?”

“I can tell you what some parts are about, Captain. But I can’t tell you what it’s all about-as I suppose you have already surmised.”

“I suppose I have, sir.”

Glancing at the green beret’s patient hazel eyes, Downing wondered what unusually gifted recruiting sergeant had seen beyond the insubordination of Rulaine’s undergraduate years, and had instead discerned a spirit that would not only accept the practical dicta of a military life, but would thrive under them. As an OCS candidate, Bannor Rulaine had not been the average shave-tail-and afterward, he had not been given average assignments. To date, his battlefield choices had been frequently unorthodox and overwhelmingly successful. More importantly, his discretion was legendary, having brought him to the attention of intelligence chiefs, and hence, to Downing.

Downing shrugged. “What I can tell you about your part of this mission is that we will be consigning this hull and its complement to the care of another ship once we reach Mars orbit. From there, we will make planetfall at Syrtis City, where you will be responsible for overseeing the protection of ten extremely important persons. It is not merely their lives that you must protect, but the information that they will soon have: they must not be buttonholed, seduced, drugged, kidnapped, or otherwise made susceptible to any kind of debriefing or interrogation. Any questions?”

“Just ones you can’t answer, sir.”

Downing wondered how much Bannor’s unconventional brain had already answered on its own. Certainly, he had inferred the extreme sensitivity of the mission from the outre secrecy precautions he was witnessing. Downing had arrived via a special military clipper, its crew put into cold sleep before docking with Weuve’s patrol boat. A third craft-a navy transport-would soon make rendezvous and, after depositing Downing and Rulaine on Mars, would then tow the other two ships to an outbound shift carrier. Which, upon arriving at Alpha Centauri, would inter their crews in a secure facility for a long, secrecy-assuring sleep. Hardly standard operating procedure.

Rulaine glanced at the internal monitors, frowned when he saw some of the crew becoming restive in the galley, turned up the sound: surprised complaints, but nothing mutinous. Yet. He turned back to Downing. “Not to rush you along, sir, but-orders?”

Downing nodded. “Seal the bridge. Route all controls directly through here. Engage the antitamper failsafes, if they are not already active.”

Rulaine double-checked the control panels. “Already active, sir. Switching all control to bridge; auxiliary is now deactivated.”

“Very good. And be sure to keep one eye on the crew.”

“I’ll keep both eyes on them, sir.” Rulaine drifted closer to the monitor. Without looking back toward Downing, he asked, “Sir, am I allowed to know the identity of the ten persons I’ll be babysitting?”

“Eventually. But right now, we need to focus on the one who’s likely to attract-and possibly cause-more trouble than the other nine combined.”

“A rabble-rouser, sir?”

“Nothing of the sort. But he does resent me-and for good reason.”

ODYSSEUS

Caine pried open the malfunctioning door sensor he had removed: hair-thin fiber-optic connectors coiled around chips that should have been called “specks.”

The doorbell’s secure tone announced a recognized “friend” rather than an “intruder.” Opal breezed into the suite, then his room-and stopped, surprised. “Is that sensor busted again?”

“Yep, which is damned odd, considering it was just repaired. This time, I’m running the diagnostics myself.”

Opal frowned at his tone. “Do you think that someone has been tampering with it?”

Caine smiled. “No, probably not. As Napoleon said, never ascribe to malice what which can be adequately explained by incompetence. But either way, the only way to be sure the sensor works is to fix it myself.”

“Can I help?” she asked brightly, sitting down very close to him.

He looked at her. “You’re very cheery. Too cheery. So I’m guessing today’s news is bad.”

Opal’s smiled faded. “Well-yeah. Just as we expected; the Scarecrow will be here soon. Sorry.”

Caine went back to examining the sensor. “It was only a matter of time before Downing came sniffing around. And with Nolan’s memorial being held on Mars, he has the perfect excuse.”

Opal responded in the flat, utterly reasonable tone that signified she was digging her heels in. “Well, just because Scarecrow is almost here doesn’t mean we have to waste the afternoon. I was thinking that, before he takes our lives away from us again, perhaps we could-”

“Yes?” Caine looked up, trying not to look hopeful or lecherous or shallow.

“I was thinking that we could get in one last visit to the dojo.”

“Oh.” Caine tried to sound enthusiastic. “Sure. Great.” Not the direction I hoped our activities would take during our last day of privacy.

But that hope was, Caine admitted, pure fancy. After months of uncertainty regarding where his relationship with Opal was headed (if anywhere), it beggared belief that she’d initiate a change now, in a few final hours.

When they’d left Earth, Caine had hoped their traveling together would segue into their being together. But the frenzied rush of their departure hardly set the tone for budding romance. Getting off Earth had meant getting through security before Downing-or anyone else-thought to red-flag their IDs. Fortuitously, the back-to-back deaths of Nolan and Tarasenko had generated enough chaos to prevent that.

Or so Caine had thought. But he began to question that hypothesis when they made the journey to Mars without interference or even a message from Earthside. It wasn’t as if they had vanished without a trace: they’d had to use their own IDs to get to orbit, and then to book passage to Mars. So maybe Downing had left them alone because he couldn’t risk sending orders through his leak-prone intelligence net. If so, that might explain why he was now coming himself.

But for what purpose? To coerce them back into the cloak-and-dagger webs that he habitually spun? No way. IRIS was a magnet for death: Nolan’s demise, Tarasenko’s, and three attempts on his own life were all the proof Caine needed. And if his efforts at filling in the one hundred hours missing from his past were proceeding slowly, at least no one had tried to kill him, either.

He mustered a smile for Opal. “So, when should I meet you at the dojo?”

“Sixteen hundred hours sidereal. We’ll work on releases, maybe a few throws, then kumite.”

“Ugh.” He smiled more broadly. “Sparring.”

“You don’t like getting a workout?”

“Oh, I like the workout. But getting my ass kicked every time does deflate my ego.”

Opal’s own smile faltered a bit and she turned quickly-even awkwardly-and strode into her room, apparently suppressing a wistful sigh as she did.

MENTOR

Downing checked his watch. “Mr. Rulaine, we need to establish contact with two of the other people on your security list. Nolan Corcoran’s children-Trevor and Elena-are on Mars presently, for their father’s memorial ceremony.”

Rulaine raised an eyebrow. “Admiral Corcoran’s memorial is being held on Mars? That’s a little-remote-for a person of his stature, isn’t it, sir?”

“That’s partly why it was chosen. His children are expecting me, but I’m a bit ahead of schedule, so we’ll need to call ahead. Please contact Comm Ops at Syrtis Major Naval Base and have them locate and collect the Corcorans.”

Only a few moments passed before Rulaine responded. “Syrtis Major confirms that the contact orders for Corcoran’s children are received and being acted upon, sir.” Pushing back from the commo panel, Rulaine slowly and carefully unfolded himself into a standing position: only three weeks in zero-gee, and he already moved like a seasoned professional.

“Very good, Captain. It also seems like the disturbance in the galley has died down.”

Without looking sideways at the relevant monitor, which showed the crew going through preparations for cold sleep, Rulaine nodded. “Seems so, sir.” Rulaine evidently had impressive peripheral vision, as well.

“Then let’s start reviewing-”

“Sir, before we get to that, I have one more question about Riordan.”

Downing nodded.

“Beyond his resentment of you, is Riordan going to be present me with any-problems-that I have to take into consideration?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, sir, there’s a rumor in the news-and elsewhere-that Mr. Riordan was not exactly a ‘fellow traveler’ when given his mission to Dee Pee Three.”

Downing kept from working his jaw. “He was not a completely willing recruit, no.”

“Then, sir, do I expect that he’ll cooperate, or be-problematic?”

Downing considered avoiding the question, redirecting it, even lying outright, but instead he turned to look at Bannor Rulaine and said, “I wish I could tell you, Captain, but I don’t know the answer myself. You see, when we activated him-”

“Mr. Downing, I’m sorry to interrupt, but I’ve got a response from Syrtis Base regarding the Corcorans.”

“And?”

“There’s a problem, sir.”

“You mean the Shore Liaison Office doesn’t have them in hand, yet?”

“No sir; I mean that, according to the SLO, they’re not in Syrtis City-or anywhere else on Mars.” Rulaine looked straight into his eyes. “They’re missing, sir.”