Honor Bound dhp-2 Page 2

  “We had an observation post in a system near the inner frontier,” Shannon told them quietly. “They were checking out a habitable there, fourth out from the primary. They’d been checking in every two months with a regular military patrol, then, about four months ago, the patrol cruiser found this.” She pulled a tablet out of a thigh pocket and touched the screen, bringing up a video feed, then turned it around so Vinnie and Jock could see it.

  The picture was a recut and remixed video that started in orbit around the green and blue planet, then descended with the lander through a thick, stormy atmosphere to circle above a tall, old-growth forest. The trees were subtly different from terrestrial flora, yet similar in a way that convergent evolution had, they found, made almost inevitable. Here and there, as the shuttle passed lower above the treetops, the two former Marines could see a local flyer, aloft on four wings. Finally the picture dissolved in a cloud of dust and fire as the lander came down on VTOL jets, and then the view switched to the helmet camera of a Marine, walking point in a wedge formation of other grey-and-black camo’ed, body-armored ground troops.

  Their rifles swung back and forth in a constant scan as the trees slid by on either side; tall, broad-leaved plants tugged at their weapons and harness and once in a while an out-of-focus flitting dot spoke of swarms of flying insect-like life. Then the trees gave way to a wide clearing, the darkened ground speaking of the recent clear-burn that had established the base. As they moved into the clearing, video cut together from different helmet cams showed several domes sprayed from buildfoam, linked together with walkways lined with flat, local paving stones.

  Even from more than a hundred meters away, Vinnie and Jock could see the scorch marks on the outer walls and the jagged edges where the doorways had been blown in with some sort of explosives… but no smoke. Whatever had happened was long over. As the images grew closer, the pockmarks of bullet impacts became clear, and on the paving stones leading to the door of one of them was an all-too-familiar dark red stain.

  When the image moved to the interiors of the buildings, it was more of the same: bullet holes and blood, but no bodies and no equipment other than some cheap, plastic furniture. Vinnie was about to ask if that was the end of the video when the view swung downward, to a glint of brass wedged behind a broken table. A gloved hand reached down into view and pulled the object free, revealing a spent brass cartridge casing. Vinnie’s blood froze in his veins. No one had used brass-cased ammo in over a century. No one except…

  “There were no bodies found,” Shannon told them quietly, switching off the picture and stuffing the tablet back in her pocket. “Every piece of electronic or mechanical equipment, every weapon, every vehicle, everything useful was stripped away and missing. There were a couple dozen of those cases found, mostly buried in the dirt.”

  “It’s Antonov,” Vinnie murmured. “The son of a bitch is back.”

  Chapter Two

  Staring at the rat-faced, slicked-back lobbyist across the desk from him, Daniel O’Keefe wondered idly why he had ever wanted to be President. It was all he had dreamed of since the time he was nine years old and had watched a documentary in school about Calvin Elliott, the first President of the Republic, the man who had brought the whole planet away from the edge of the abyss of the Sino-Russian War. He had worked his way up from a volunteer for a Provincial Commissioner to running for that office himself after graduating college, to the Republic Senate… and now for the last three years, he had been the leader of all humanity

  Usually it felt like a sacred responsibility combined with the most thrilling experiences ever—a sort of cross between the Pope and a fighter pilot. But at times like these, it felt like a neutronium anvil hung around his neck and he understood why every president he could remember looked so much older when they left office than when they were elected. He looked at his grey-haired, open-faced reflection in the display on his desktop and wondered if the new lines he saw around his eyes were just his imagination…

  “I understand what you’re saying, Mr. Fourcade,” O’Keefe said slowly, trying to keep the perturbed sigh out of his voice, “but I can’t change Republic immigration policy based on the needs of the mining consortium. The colonists on Inferno do not exist to make your multicorp more profitable.”

  “The issue isn’t our profitability, Mr. President,” Fourcade insisted, frowning through his neatly trimmed mustache—he was less adept than O’Keefe at hiding his frustration. “The issue is the future of the Republic’s economy, and the hundreds of millions of jobs dependant on supplies of raw materials from the colony worlds. If we can’t make a profit from resources in the colonies, it will not be worth our effort and investment to keep extracting them.” He spread his well-manicured hands. “You’re going to have inflation, shortages of products we all use… it will hurt the less-affluent more than anyone else. Tax revenues will dry up and you will not be able to fund your… generous incentive packages for emigrants to the colonies, which will make the labor situation even worse.”

  “Many of those resources could be produced in space-based facilities right here in the Solar system, Mr. Fourcade,” suggested Svetlana Zakharova, his Finance Minister, from the chair to the lobbyist’s right. She was a tall, broad-shouldered woman with blond hair and pleasant, matronly face, her business suit subdued but expertly tailored. “In fact,” she went on, “if it weren’t for government infrastructure on some of the colony worlds—laser launch systems, for example—paid for by the taxpayers, you couldn’t profitably produce in the colonies at all.”

  “The situation has hardly been one-sided,” Fourcade shrugged. “The government couldn’t have built the fleet that helped save our planet a few years ago without aid from the multicorps. As for space-based resources… yes, there are asteroids in the Belt that hold minerals that we can and do exploit, but the Belt facilities are, as you well know, highly unionized. That greatly increases production costs. And the safety requirements for a space-based facility often offset the transportation costs for a planet-based mine.” He sat back, crossing his arms. “But that only applies to resources available from asteroids and the various moons… iridium, nickel-iron, fissionables, water ice, for example. But there are resources that just can’t be had except on a planet—petroleum for one. Drilling is obviously illegal here on Earth and without the oil from Inferno, our chemical industry won’t last a year and you,” he directed that at Minister Zakharova, “damn well know it.”

  “It’s clear that we do have a problem, Mr. Fourcade,” O’Keefe acknowledged. “But that problem will not be solved by forcing the underclass to move off-planet so that you can use them as cheap labor. Those days are gone. We will work with the multicorps to come up with an alternate solution; that one is off the table.”

  Fourcade sat back, steepling his hands thoughtfully, as if considering his words carefully before he continued.

  “There is,” he finally said, “one option that would satisfy our needs and your requirements, Mr. President. I hesitate to bring it up, because I’ve heard of your opinion on the matter… but Senate Measure 1143B has the potential to provide us with a ready and problem—free labor force without exploiting the masses, as it were.”

  O’Keefe took a deep breath, trying to keep it from turning into a shudder as he gathered his thoughts to make a coherent objection rather than the vehement “Fuck no!” that threatened to burst past his pursed lips. He fought back nightmare images of superhuman soldiers hulking in camouflaged battle armor and of pale, blue faces with black, shark’s eyes.

  “I am uncomfortable,” he finally said, “with the idea of creating a possibly intelligent slave race out of human DNA.”

  “We’ve been working on sentient computer systems for decades,” Fourcade pointed out. “I haven’t seen any angst over the possible use of those for our needs. If our labs were given the go-ahead to experiment with the creation of the sort of biomechanical constructs that the Protectorate used against us, they could make certain that th
e results weren’t sentient by restricting the amount of brain tissue we used. Sure, we would be working from human tissue samples, but we’re not talking about cloning human beings… these would be meat robots, basically.” He shrugged. “They would just be much cheaper to make and maintain than ones made from artificial materials.”

  “And if the technique for producing these… things,” Zakharova said with distaste in her voice, “becomes widespread, we could wind up with someone trying to do the same thing Antonov did and using them as a ready-made army. There are some huge ethical, legal and practical considerations to this sort of enterprise that you are oversimplifying.”

  ”Any solution to this problem will be complex and problematic,” Fourcade shook his head. “But the problem won’t go away because we don’t like any of the possible solutions. We need those resources and if we’re going to maintain an interstellar civilization, we need them as cheaply as possible. If we don’t get them… well, sir, you will be remembered as the President who oversaw the retreat of humanity from the stars, because the colonies will wither on the vine.”

  “Mr. Fourcade,” O’Keefe stood, prompting Zakharova and Fourcade to do likewise, “I am sure that we will be able to solve this problem and prevent that from happening. We will be sure to keep the lines of communication open and perhaps I can task my science advisors with finding out how feasible the limitations you mentioned can be.”

  “Thank you very much for your time, Mr. President,” Fourcade shook his hand, taking the hint. “I’ll relay your concerns to the board of directors and possibly we can come up with some ideas of our own.”

  “I’ll walk you out, Mr. Fourcade,” Zakharova offered, putting a guiding hand on his shoulder and leading him out through the ornate wooden door.

  O’Keefe sank back into his chair, feeling infinitely weary. Taking a deep breath, he touched a screen set into his desktop.

  “Send in Colonel McKay.”

  O’Keefe’s expression didn’t quite brighten when McKay entered the room—he knew why the officer was visiting and it wasn’t pleasant news—but he did feel some of the weight lift from his shoulders. McKay wasn’t quite a friend, but he was certainly an ally and whatever their philosophical differences, he knew that he could count on the man to do his duty, no matter how heavy the responsibility.

  “Mr. President,” McKay shook his hand. “Thanks for seeing me on such short notice.”

  “I’ve seen the video you sent over,” O’Keefe said with a nod, waving McKay into a seat. “So, he’s back.” O’Keefe allowed himself a moment of vulnerability with the military officer that he couldn’t with the lobbyist and rubbed his eyes tiredly. “You thought he would be, eventually.”

  “Yes, sir,” McKay said, a frown passing over his lean, squared-off face. There had been quite the debate five years ago, just after the war, when he had pressured then—President Jameson to mount an all—out search for Antonov’s headquarters. He knew that as long as the former Russian dictator was at large with access to the nanotechnological factories from the alien ruins on his headquarters world, he wouldn’t rest until he had come back and finished the job of conquering Earth. Antonov’s cosmonauts had discovered the wormhole gateway to the ruined alien world by accident, during a mining mission to the asteroid belt, but five years of searching for it had produced no results.

  “So, the question becomes, how do we respond and how long do we have?”

  “I’ve been researching the area of the frontier where the attack occurred,” McKay said. He gestured towards the star map projected in a recess of the back wall behind the President’s desk. “If you wouldn’t mind?”

  At O’Keefe’s wave of assent, he stepped over to the projector’s controls and brought up a section of the Republic’s inner frontier—towards the galactic center rather than away from it. “Here’s the system where the observation post was attacked,” he indicated a main sequence star in the near center of the sector. “We don’t have any manned bases farther in than this, but we have done surveys in a few systems nearby, both manned and unmanned.” He traced an arc of stars in a half-circle around the original one. “There’s a couple with habitable worlds and the early indications are they’re rich in natural resources. I’m wondering if he isn’t working one or more of those worlds for resources and wiped out the observation post so we wouldn’t get wind of what he was doing until it was too late.”

  “So it may be too late to catch him,” O’Keefe muttered sourly. “Damn, I hate having him out there like a Sword of Damocles.” His eyes narrowed and he looked at McKay suspiciously. “You could have told me all this via videoconference from Fleet Headquarters. You’re here because there’s something you wanted to ask me in person.”

  “Yes, sir,” McKay admitted, looking him in the eye. “I want to go out there. I need to supervise this personally.”

  “McKay, in case you hadn’t noticed, you’re the head of the Fleet Intelligence Service,” O’Keefe couldn’t help but smile. “You have people to do this sort of thing for you now.”

  “I do, sir, and I trust them, but this isn’t a question of proper training or judgment… this is a question of experience. I know Antonov better than anyone else in the Republic military… I’ve looked in his eye, and I have a feel for him that no one that works for me does. I could get a sense for the data from reports, but that runs up against the time lag. If there is something further I think needs investigating based on findings from a report, it will take months to get that new investigation on the ground. I have a sense that we don’t have that kind of time.”

  “Yes,” O’Keefe nodded slowly. “I see where you’re coming from. Very well, it will raise some eyebrows, but the hell with them. You’ll be on a cruiser to the frontier as soon as you’re prepped. Is there anything else?”

  “Yes, sir,” he said. “I want to take Colonel Podbyrin with me.”

  O’Keefe raised an eyebrow. “The Protectorate officer you captured during the war?”

  “Yes, sir… we captured his ship in the Belt and used it to board Antonov’s flagship. He knows exactly how Antonov thinks. I believe he could help us.”

  “Where the hell is he, anyway?” O’Keefe blurted. “In prison?”

  “No, President Jameson was lenient with him because he cooperated with us. He was under supervised house arrest for a year for evaluation, then he was given some land and a start-up grant on Loki. He has a cattle ranch there, selling beef to the multicorps’ cafeterias and company markets.” McKay shrugged. “From reports, he’s pretty content there.”

  “You’re going to be burning a lot of antimatter on that trip,” the President mused. “But I don’t think anyone will praise my frugality if we wind up being invaded by Antonov’s things again. Our economy barely recovered from the first time and it wound up costing Greg Jameson his job.” He glanced up at McKay. “I know it’s not your area of expertise, but I’m not sure our economy has actually recovered… or that it will. It was the right thing to do to end the forced exiles, but combined with the war, it’s left us with inflation that might prove to be runaway unless we do something about it.”

  “Do something like what, sir?” McKay asked cautiously.

  “Have you heard of a bill in the Republic Senate to allow the use of biomech technology in private industry?”

  “Christ no!” McKay blurted. “Are they serious? Sir.”

  “That was my reaction as well, though as a politician, I had to be a bit more diplomatic about it,” O’Keefe said, chuckling softly. “The thing is, though… I may not have a choice in this. If things get much worse, it will get passed and if I veto it, it will be overridden. There are things I can do to try to derail it… but if I fail, I will have used up one hell of a lot of political capital for nothing and possibly made myself the first Republic president to be a lame duck for over half of his term.”

  “So, what can you do, sir?”

  “To stop the bill? Perhaps appeal to the people. There’s enough residual fe
ar from the invasion that they might pressure the Senate to vote it down. About the economy?” He shook his head. “I wish I knew. But that’s my problem. Yours is Antonov. You solve yours and I’ll try to solve mine while you’re gone.”

  “Maybe you should talk to Valerie and Glen sir,” McKay suggested.

  “That’s not a bad idea at all,” O’Keefe admitted. “Have a safe voyage, Colonel,” the President offered his hand and McKay shook it… but O’Keefe held onto the hand for a moment, looking him in the eye. “Find Antonov, Jason… find him and kill that son of a bitch.”

  “I’ll do my best, sir,” McKay nodded, then he left the office.

  Was it his imagination, McKay wondered, or did O’Keefe look older?

  Chapter Three

  McKay stared at the empty duffle bag sitting on the bedroom chair and wondered what he was going to pack. It had been five years since he’d left on an interstellar voyage and the last time had been as a Captain in charge of a grand total of five people, including himself. Now he was a Colonel, probably due to be promoted to General soon, the head of the whole damned Intelligence Service, and he was about to go gallivanting off to the edge of explored space.

  “What the hell are you thinking, McKay?” He muttered to himself.

  “You’re thinking, ‘I hate being behind a desk and thank God for this excuse to get out in the field again,’ that’s what you’re thinking,” Shannon’s voice whispered in his ear as her arms slipped around his waist. He could feel the tickle of her fire-colored hair against his face, the warmth of her bare skin against his back and he smiled with satisfaction.

  He turned, putting his arms around her and pulling her into a kiss.

  “We start doing this again and you’ll never get packed,” she teased him.

  “Well, I am going to be gone for several months,” he raised an eyebrow. “Gotta leave you something to remember me by…”