Into the Fire

^{CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE}

A few hours later, in Colonel Laurent’s office, Ky laid the plans on his desk. “These haven’t changed much in four hundred years.”

“True. And regrettable. I asked repeatedly for permission to expand the parameters, but was told there would never be an attack, that this was all theoretical. It would be a training exercise only and students could be told why it wouldn’t work.”

Ky shook her head. “Frustrating, I’m sure. Do you know who was behind the lack of planning?”

“Pure laziness and cost-cutting, I believe. We could use an engineering section, with appropriate machinery. But no. ‘Oh, no, we can’t have you making ruts in the roads or digging up the beautiful gardens.’ We could use a way to emplace anti-aircraft, but again, the sacred gardens. I’m not the first chair of the Land Force department to be told no, and I want to make clear that we all fought for better planning, but… this is what we have. Once a year, in the spring—the same date every year to avoid alarming civilians—we reserve some transport from the base, bus the two upper classes of Land Force cadets over there, and have them parade around the perimeter with empty weapons and practice peeking around the corners of the buildings. It’s Drill Day.”

“Not even the entire cadet corps?” It made no sense at all to Ky.

“No. Because the others will never need to know about land warfare, at least not until they attend Staff College later.” Laurent grimaced. “You would think the Unification War had been a little disagreement settled with shouting and sign-waving, something that could never happen again.”

“What is the presumed enemy for the drill?”

“Farmers upset about the price of fuel and a drop in the price of produce, played by senior school students from two private schools. They were always intimidated by the cadet troops and dispersed without actual contact.”

“I had no idea…”

“You wouldn’t. You were Spaceforce-designated. You were on your shuttle training flight.”

“And Kvannis knows these plans?”

“To the centimeter. He knows how far ahead you have to reserve the buses. He knows the exact coordinates of every room in every building.” Laurent looked at her quizzically.

“Do you think Kvannis expects these plans to be followed? In general or in detail?”

“Commandant, I must admit Iskin Kvannis and I were not particularly close. We had had… disagreements. His intent, he had told me, was to get rid of me for being, in his words, insufficiently respectful of his position once he became Commandant. Because I did not like him, it is possible that I have not fully understood his thought processes. And I have no idea what insight he had into your thought processes, or if he thought Colonel Stornaki would take over the Academy after he left.”

“Points taken,” Ky said. “Conclusion?”

“I think he expected Stornaki would be named interim, and Stornaki would do what Kvannis told him. Surrender the Academy, even. I’m sure he knows you’re the new Commandant. He knows you were trained for Spaceforce, and your experience was entirely in space warfare. He may expect you to follow the plan because you have no expertise in land warfare, or he might think you will do something different but equally inept.” Laurent tipped his head a little.

Ky nodded. “Then I think I should surprise him by doing something different and effective. Don’t you?”

He smiled at her. “Yes. Did you have something in mind?”

“Indeed. But if you have any ideas, I’d rather hear yours first.”

“The plan as it is could be improved by adding that engineer brigade and moving some dirt around, to the consternation of the Port Major Garden Club. Adding some artillery, air defense emplacements, surveillance drones… do we have any hope of getting such resources from the Joint Services HQ?”

“In other words, augment the current plan? With resources we almost certainly could not get within a tenday, let alone create real defensive positions?”

“That’s true. If we expect an attack that soon, about all we can do is evacuate the likely targets—the President, the senior legislators, the heads of departments—but we can’t. I raised that possibility and everyone acted as if I wanted to kidnap them and put them in prison—”

“Everyone is going to have to accept the necessity,” Ky said. “We don’t have the troops, equipment, or time to make that area really defensible, though we don’t know the actual time of attack. We know the other side has subverted part of AirDefense: they were able to send planes up from Ordnay to intercept an aircraft carrying rescued personnel.”

“What happened?”

“Better planning,” Ky said. “I regret the deaths of those pilots, but we got the survivors safely to Port Major.” He nodded and she went on. “We don’t know whether Sea Force has been subverted as well, so attacks from ships at sea, or troops transported by sea, could be involved, as well as Land Force units moving into the city. We would need much longer—and we don’t have it, because the other side has to move quickly; they can’t easily hide out for a half year. Now that they’ve started, speed is their ally.”

“So—how are you going to convince the government officials to leave—and where will you take them? And what about the damage the attackers will do to the buildings?”

“The buildings are less important than the people and the data—data transfer needs to start today. I need to talk to the President and the Council today without telling them more than they need to know. And we need to convince Kvannis that our plan is his plan because I—the idiot from outer space—can’t think of anything else. So we’re going to act as if that plan is our plan. There will be drills. We’ll get those buses, load ’em up, drive over there, and have cadets march around. We’ve got two small airfields—who’s reliable in AirDefense, do you think?”

“Well… there’s Basil Orniakos, but your aunt the Rector had a feud with him last spring. I’ve heard rumors he’s gone over to the rebels, but I don’t believe it. He was in my class here, and it’s my belief he’s rock-solid loyal, but could be pretending to defect.”

“AirDefense faculty here?”

Laurent looked down, frowning. “I can’t be sure. I don’t want to accuse anyone unfairly—”

Ky let out an exasperated hiss. “Colonel, I have to trust someone, and I’ve decided to trust you. So let’s deal with the loyalty due fellow officers as subordinate to the loyalty due Slotter Key as a whole. Is there anyone on the AirDefense track here that you trust unequivocally?”

“No,” he said, meeting her gaze. “Commander Vinima made… comments during the time you were in Miksland that indicated his lack of respect for former Commandant Burleson and his adherence to Kvannis. His second, I believe, transferred to the Academy when Vinima became chair of the department.”

“Then I will get in touch with Orniakos, through proper channels.”

“And the rest of your plan?”

“Remove the human and data targets, and appear to be following the old plan, in order to lure the opposing force into a trap.”

“There’ll be damage…”

“To structures. Which can be rebuilt. If we have the right combination of weaponry, damage will be confined to the government corridor, but evacuating the closest buildings would be a good idea.”

“That might actually work,” Laurent said. “But you still need to find a secure place for the President and the others.”

“I need staff,” Ky said. The plan was crystallizing now, and she could almost see how the parts would mesh. “We’ll need three different groups to pull this off. Command structure for each.” She felt the familiar excitement, energizing. “I’ll want your recommendations for the main group, and your support when I tackle Joint Services HQ.”

“It’ll take me the rest of the day—”

“Fine. I’ll see the President and the Rector. Keep in mind that this new plan is not for anyone else. No one, as this point, but you and me.”

“Yes, Commandant. But what about General Molosay?”

“I will inform him in person, but not via any communications device.” And not yet, she thought. They would be lucky if they had ten days, extremely lucky if something delayed Kvannis twenty days. She wished every meteorological and mechanical disaster on him and his forces.

By midnight, when she finally got to bed, Ky had talked to President Saranife, the Rector of Defense, and the few others she felt she must inform. She had a list for the next day’s calls as well. Colonel Laurent had prepared an organizational chart for the operation she’d outlined and they’d spent a couple of hours after supper refining it.

The next day Ky informed the entire faculty that the Academy’s traditional duty of protecting the seat of government might be called on, and advised them to be ready for sudden schedule changes.

“You mean someone might actually invade the city? Who?”

“Dissident elements of the military,” Ky said. “Possibly led by the former Commandant—”

“Are you sure he wasn’t abducted?”

“Yes,” Ky said. “We have evidence that he was plotting to overthrow the government and dissolve the union, restoring at least one southern continent to political independence.”

“That’s ridiculous; they can’t possibly expect to win.”

“Be that as it may,” Ky said, “General Molosay told me that in his opinion an attack is possible, and that the Academy would be expected to follow Emergency Orders Local and protect at least the two most important government buildings, Government House and the Presidential Palace. The Joint Services Headquarters expects to be fully engaged as well, so this is our problem, like it or not. Plans for this have been drawn up, as you know, and yearly drills held—”

“But nobody ever seriously expected an invasion to come—those plans were just an exercise for the seniors in Land Forces to learn from,” Major Parker said. “If it’s really an attack—” He glanced at Colonel Laurent.

“Colonel Laurent has already explained the plan’s shortcomings,” Ky said. “General Molosay has agreed to transfer a unit of combat engineers and their equipment; the President has agreed—reluctantly—that we can create some defensive barriers in the public gardens. That will start tomorrow; it will take most of the day to move the equipment into the city. I expect you to prepare the upper-division cadets for this, and avoid panic.”

“Do you know when the attack might come?” asked Colonel Dagon, chair of the AirDefense department.

“Not yet,” Ky said. “General Molosay’s assessment has been forwarded to your desks.” An assessment she had edited, with his permission, to mislead those faculty members who were part of the conspiracy. “It’s proving difficult to detect suspicious troop movements and concentrations due to the winter weather.” That much was true.

“I still think it’s a stupid plan,” said Commander Seagle, chair of Spaceforce division. “It’s a rectangle of relatively low buildings and open ground, and you’re proposing to build earthworks? The only sensible thing to do is evacuate the government—to space, for example, where these rebels can’t get at them—and wipe ’em out when they show up. One or two drone-mounted smart bombs would do it.” Seagle leaned back in his seat with the air of someone who had just said the obvious to a roomful of idiots and expected admiring applause.

“The President will not agree to that,” Ky said. “She feels that abandoning the Palace will be seen as abdication.”

“Well, she’s—” He stopped himself with obvious effort, and subsided, scowling.

“We’re going to have to go with what we already have. Colonel Laurent and I are working on more detailed plans. All cadets will participate in some of the drills we’ll be holding, but only the two upper classes will be part of the defense force should an attack come. I realize this will disrupt the usual class schedule, but our orders take precedence. At this time, cadets will be informed of the possibility of attack, and that drills will occur, but nothing more.”

Over the next ten days, Ky dealt with the Port Major city council and its agencies, none of whom were thrilled to have large construction machinery making dents in city streets and inconveniencing traffic… with the Port Authority, which resisted military “interference” tagging communications with incoming and departing ships… with the commanders of both the small AirDefense bases nearest the city… with a steady stream of questions, orders, revisions of orders, from the Joint Services Headquarters… and with the usual work of a Commandant.

She had seen Rafe only three times since his return, and Stella not at all, though she had talked to both of them daily, mostly about business. Rafe, Rodney, and Teague had moved back into the Vatta house, ostensibly to supervise the repairs. Ky trusted their intel reports more than those from Molosay’s office.

On the tenth day, Rafe contacted her with new information. “Rodney’s been following the shipping news at all major ports. A Quindlan freighter, Xonsulat, that had just loaded cargo at Makkavo dumped it back on the dock, then filed a new route to a Quindlan-owned facility—a private port, basically. No idea what they took on, but the ship then filed for Green Harbor—south coast here—and ultimately Port Major. We have it on satellite; it’ll be eight days to Green Harbor, minimum. Six to eight days more to Port Major, depending on how long they’re at Green Harbor. Xonsulor also diverted, and is due at Sunhome Bay on Cape Harmon in ten days.”

Ky tried to remember where Green Harbor and Sunhome Bay were, but Rafe went on talking. “Both those ports could be easily reached by troops from anywhere on the south coast. Kvannis could have started people moving in small groups—”

“Ship capacity?”

“We’re trying to find out, but I haven’t a clue how to convert gross tonnage and dimensions into passenger capacity.”

“Neither do I, but I know who does, roughly. Get Rodney to ask someone in Vatta’s sea freight division—”

“Got it. I’d have thought Kvannis would just use trucks, or fly them in—”

“It’s a possibility he’ll use all three. Ships can carry heavy equipment less obviously than trucks or trains.”

“So we don’t quit looking for more transports—”

“No. Any transport originating from any military facility—those can be cross-checked with orders from Joint Services Command HQ.”

Ky passed this information to General Molosay. Twelve to fourteen more days to prepare before the ships arrived—at least. Already the long park in the government complex had been dug up and reshaped by the combat engineer units, using their massive machines to create trenches, dugouts, and what the Port Major media insisted was a huge unnecessary mess. On the excuse that some of the necessary drills would involve live ammunition, government buildings across the streets that ringed the complex were told to evacuate rooms facing those streets, and the windows were covered with shields.

As the days passed, tension in the city oscillated between worry that a real attack might come, and annoyance that since nothing had happened, citizens endured traffic delays and detours for no reason. Ky kept the Academy running, insisting on classes being taught even if the schedule changed. Some faculty seemed to enjoy the challenge; others grumbled if asked to move a class a half hour, let alone from day to night. The second-year class, somewhat to Ky’s surprise, improved faster.

And day by day, the two Quindlan ships came nearer and nearer to Port Major. Each had spent two days in its intermediate port, and now they were in tandem, obviously intending to reach Port Major on the same day.

“I think it’s because they see the other classes also having hardships now,” Major Hemins told her one afternoon when she had stopped by to check on the second-years’ progress. “Also, the heavier schedule means their extra work isn’t punishment. The overall attitude has changed a lot since you chewed them out. Definitely class cohesion. I’m quite pleased with them now.”

“Good,” Ky said. “Because I have an assignment for them that they must not know yet, but you can.”

“Commandant?”

“The ships we think are bringing insurgent troops to Port Major are only four or five days away now, but this still remains a secret. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Commandant.”

“All right. Tonight, the President and her staff will leave the Palace and move to temporary quarters. Tomorrow, one-third of the legislature and their staffs will evacuate Government House, followed by another drill that explains the evacuation. Critical data have already been shifted to other servers; all the servers in the Palace and Government House will be wiped. The two senior classes, as in the plan, will engage the invasion force we expect, but the second class will be assigned to assist the honor guard in protection of the persons of the President, her second, her staff, and those seniors in the legislature whose positions might draw enough attention to attack their homes. I have looked at your assessments carefully; by tonight, I want your advice on choosing specific personnel for each assignment.” She handed him a data cube.

“You’re—you’re moving the President? Like Major Seagle said?”

“Yes, but it was important not to let potential traitors in the faculty know. You must not discuss it with anyone.”

Ky had just settled back in the chair at her desk when her skullphone pinged. Grace.

“Ky, I know you’re busy, but I wanted to warn you about what’s going on in the legislature.”

“The legislature?” The only thing she knew about the legislature was that they refused to leave the chambers “until the bombs are falling,” as one of them put it.

“It affects you slightly, but mostly me, for being Rector. The President and Council are planning to throw the situation with the Miksland personnel to the standing committee on military affairs. Did you know your survivors came from every continent but Miksland?”

“Yes,” Ky said.

“Well, it’s a mess. Continental legislatures are furious about what happened, as well they might be, but some of them are also divided. My neck is on the block, as far as some are concerned, and I can’t blame them.”

“You couldn’t have known,” Ky said.

“I should have known. I should never have taken this post. That’s tearing them apart, Ky.”

“It’s not all that’s coming apart. Nothing you did would spark something this big. Hiding the truth about Miksland began long before you were born.” Ky spoke harshly; Grace needed to get over her guilt trip and start thinking clearly about the present mess.

“You’re right about that,” Grace said. Ky could hear her sigh. “Right now what matters is spiking this incipient civil war, because that’s not going to help anyone, whoever wins it.”

“Good. Start with that. Admit that you didn’t know, it was a mistake and can be dealt with later, but right now—we’ve got the murders and the mistreatment of military personnel to cope with, and the conspiracy behind them. Start fast and keep going. Don’t let them talk over you.”

“You sound like me,” Grace said. Her voice was stronger now.

“No, you sound like you. They can cut you in pieces and fry you later, but right now they need to save the government and the security of the whole planet. Put that way, they’ll fall in line.”

“Unless they’re involved,” Grace said.

“And then you’ll know,” Ky said. “And so will everyone else.” She felt peculiar, giving advice to Grace, who had given so much advice to all the Vatta children.

“All right. I’ll do my best.”

“Do you want me to be there? As Commandant?”

“No, I don’t think so. The Commandant has always stayed away from the Grand Council unless invited. If you’re invited, though, I’d say come.”

Grace Vatta sat staring at the wall for a moment, thinking about Ky’s advice. Why hadn’t she thought of that herself? A tap on the door interrupted her.

“Rector, you have a visitor—in uniform—Commander Basil Orniakos.”

Grace just managed not to gasp. Orniakos, Region VII AirDefense, with whom she’d had that disastrous argument when the shuttle went down. Orniakos… she could not remember all the things she’d found out about him… why was he here? He was stationed on the far side of the planet.

“I’ll see him,” she said. She left the papers she’d been studying on top of the desk, and made sure her personal weapon was in reach.

The door opened; she recognized him from his image, loaded into her implant more than a half year ago.

“Rector Vatta,” he said; he stood stiffly.

“Please sit down,” she said, waving to a chair. “And forgive me for not rising to welcome you; this is my first day back in the office.”

“I was appalled when I heard you’d been poisoned,” he said, pulling a chair a little closer to the desk before sitting down. “Have you found out who stole the toxin from the military?”

“Not yet, though I suspect the instigator was Michael Quindlan. According to my great-niece, who had the message fairly directly, he intends to kill us all—me, my great-nieces still alive, and my other great-niece’s two children.”

“Rector, you may be wondering why I am here, and not contacting you in a more… conventional way.”

“I assume you have a good reason,” Grace said. “Besides showing that you, as well as I, could jump the chain of command. A mistake, in my case.”

A glint of humor flashed in his face, then vanished. “I hope this will not prove to be one. I believe I have information that should go immediately to this office.” He opened the briefcase he carried. “This is a letter I received shortly after our previous… encounter… from someone who believed I was ripe for recruitment to their faction. Their research was inadequate; though I was angry with you on that day, and sore about it for a week or so, in the long run nothing could turn me from a loyal officer to a traitor. However—I let them think I was tempted. And this is what I found.” He laid the letter and a data cube on her desk. “I have the names of what I believe are ringleaders in an attempt to restore Separatist territories. Miksland was to be the first. I did not know that until after the breakout there.”

Grace picked up the letter, looked at the signature, and looked back up at Orniakos. “Greyhaus?”

“Yes. I—one of the reasons I hadn’t contacted you, Rector, following that… disagreement we had was that I’d had subtle signals that if I was in your doghouse, someone else might turn it into a mansion. I waited, to see what would happen. And this came. Interesting, I thought, that it came from someone of the same rank, in another branch.”

“And it came as an actual letter, not electronically?”

“Yes. This is, as you see, a copy; the original self-destructed after an hour. So no fingerprints or other biological evidence, except—” Orniakos grinned, a feral grin, and laid down a photographic enlargement of fingerprints. “I had anticipated that real conspirators would take precautions. So there was ample time to copy this letter photographically under several filters. Now that Greyhaus is dead, it might be useful to compare the fingerprints that were not his and not mine with the military database.”

“It might indeed,” Grace said.

“The data cube has lists and dossiers on all the personnel I found whom I believe are associated with the plot. The further communication between us—Greyhaus was supposedly my handler—” Again, the feral grin. “—is also in that data cube, composed on a machine that has never been connected to any other. You will have to take my word for it, however, because I never received paper communication once they became sure of my allegiance.”

“Interesting, that they thought they had such secure electronic links.”

“Yes, I thought so. They disappeared about the time the second mercenaries were heading down to Miksland. What I did get then was word of a fire on a server farm somewhere on Dorland and another on Fulland.” He lifted one eyebrow.

Grace nodded. “Yes, such fires did occur. A less-than-perfectly-successful effort to disrupt communications between Pingat Base and the Black Torch mercenary company.”

“Rector, I can leave this information with you—or, if you wish, give you my summary.”

“Please do give me your summary. Are you willing to have another person—to whom I’d pass it on anyway, I must tell you—hear it as well?”

“Certainly. That would be Master Sergeant MacRobert, would it not?”

“I was thinking also of General Molosay.”

“Fine, if he can come here. I would rather not be seen on the base right now.”

“Where does your command think you are?”

“Somewhere else.” His look challenged her to figure it out.

“Give me a one-minute pitch while I contact them,” Grace said. For Mac she need only ping him and tap twice.

“Three families, eight organizations within the military, two possible choke points to prevent this thing blowing up too big. It’s going to blow—can’t stop it—but we can, if we move fast, have a controlled explosion in a confined area.”

By the end of the one-minute pitch, Grace had both MacRobert and General Molosay on conference mode. Several hours later, the conference mode had expanded, and Grace had agreed with Molosay that Orniakos should command the government’s forces on Dorland.

“There will be casualties,” Orniakos warned. “I’ll try to keep it confined to the actual traitors—the civilian population down there doesn’t want another war—but the butcher’s bill may be expensive.”

“If you can save the planet, I’ll pay the bills out of my own pocket,” Grace said. “Were you far enough up the chain that they showed you my file?”

He flushed a little. “Part of it, yes, Rector. In fact it’s the reason I trusted you enough to come to you instead of to the general. I understand combat trauma; easy to see how a youngster without training, caught in that mess, would be messed up for years. And how some things would rub you wrong later. But that’s beside the point. What we’ve discussed will hold the carnage to a minimum, although—in my day the Academy was supposed to protect the government centers. Your niece Ky—brilliant commander in space—does she know anything about surface warfare?”

“She has advisers,” Molosay said before Grace could reply. “And she is heeding them.”

Orniakos gave a half shrug. “Good. I have nothing against her.” He turned to Grace. “Quindlan really hates you, Rector—not only you, but all Vattas. And so do several others.”