First Strike (3 page)

“They might join the war on the Hegemony’s side,” Joshua said. “Or put pressure on the Association to respond to the crisis.”

“They might,” Sampson said. “If you do this for us – and there are few others with the knowledge necessary to fit into the underside of Galactic society – you will be completely expendable. Should you be caught… well, you’re already an outcast on much of Earth. We’ll disown you and your crews. We’d much prefer it if you had alien crew members…”

“Or that we were never caught at all,” Joshua said. “Do you want us all to take suicide pills with us?”

“Implanted vaporisers,” Sampson said. “Ideally, there should be nothing left of you and your ships if they capture you. And there’s another problem.”

Joshua smiled. “
Another
 
problem?”

“I can't give you good officers from the Navy,” Sampson said. “We only have a limited supply of trained personnel and we’re going to need all of them for the coming war. I have taken the liberty of preparing a list of possible candidates for the operation, men who may be good at what they do, but have problems relating to discipline. Some of them would be better off in the brig than in space. Hell, some of them
 
are
 
in the brig. You can take as many of them as you want, but watch your back.”

He passed over a datachip, which Joshua took and pocketed. “It’s a shitty job,” Sampson admitted. “If you get caught, the Galactics will be merciless and there will be no way that we can defend you. This could easily turn into a suicide mission. We can't even give you enough supplies to keep your ships operating for long.”

“That won’t be a problem,” Joshua assured him. One advantage of the Association’s technological gifts to the rest of the galaxy was that most spare parts were standardised. The Hegemony produced the same equipment as the other powers, even if they placed their own stamp on their starships. “I assume we’re not getting much of a war chest as well?”

“We’ve got you some untraceable funds,” Sampson said. “Anything after that…”

“Piracy had damn better pay for itself,” Joshua agreed. He looked back at the Admiral for a long moment. “Can we actually win this war?”

“Maybe,” Sampson said. “I...have reason to believe that the Hegemony is increasing its efforts to penetrate our security. They believe in divide and conquer – it’s quite possible that they have been trying to make contact with one or more nations on Earth and offering them a deal that allows them to maintain their independence, as long as they help the Hegemony against Earth. We
 
think
 
that we have their networks under control, but we don’t know for sure. I had to take the plan directly to the world leaders and if a single word gets out ahead of time...”

Joshua nodded. He hadn't seen the strategic reports from the planners, but it didn't take a genius to realise that Earth’s forces were very limited. Any reinforcement of the stars near humanity could be disastrous – but then, the Hegemony didn't seem to take humanity seriously. Why should they when they’d bullied Terra Nova out of humanity’s clutches so easily?

He knew how the human race felt about the Funks; hell, he
 
shared
 
their attitude to the biggest bullies in the local sector. But it struck him that he was being asked to risk everything he’d built on a plan that might or might not work. He could leave and no one would be surprised, not after he’d been the subject of so many angry political broadcasts. Those politicians wouldn’t hesitate to throw him to the wolves if they thought they could get away with it.

And yet he knew that Sampson was right. There
 
was
 
no one else...and besides, the thought of poking the Funks in their bright red eyes was attractive. They deserved a sharp lesson in how they treated other races.

“I understand,” he said, finally. He’d do it, after taking a few steps to ensure that his people wouldn't suffer if he messed up. “No one will hear a peep from me until the shit hits the fan. How long do I have to prepare?”

“Two to three months,” Sampson said. “We’re going to be making preparations for the offensive over the next two months, before actually kicking off the attack. You have that long to get into position and prepare to start raiding.”

“Two months,” Joshua said. “It’ll take upwards of a month to even
 
get
 
there, assuming we can’t risk going near the shipping lanes. Even in quantum space, that’s one hell of a trip. It certainly won’t be long enough to make local connections.”

“Which will at least minimise the risks of betrayal,” Sampson said. “I don’t know if we dare risk waiting any longer than three months before launching the offensive. If they start reinforcing their battle-line anyway, our operation becomes much less workable.”

“Which would be disastrous,” Joshua agreed. “I’ll do my best to expedite my departure.”

Sampson stood up and held out his hand. “Good luck, Captain,” he said. “We’re counting on you.”

Joshua shook his hand firmly. “Just make sure that there’s still an Earth for me to come back to,” he said. “I do want to return home one day. There’s nowhere in the galaxy quite like Earth.”
 

Adrienne Lawson had one rule. No-one, bar no-one, was to call her after she returned home until the following day. She’d spent the last week in Saudi Arabia reporting on the provisional government’s attempts to hold the country together after the House of Saud had fallen due to the collapse in oil prices and sheer barbarity had thoroughly discredited the Islamic fundamentalists who’d seized power in the confusion. News services, even the increasingly online newspapers that pulled reports from all over the globe, still needed trained reporters and Adrienne considered herself one of the best. She liked to think that she was more famous than the President.

The sound of her cell phone brought her back to wakefulness in a hurry. She cursed under her breath as she sat up in bed and glanced around at the clock. It was morning and they
 
knew
 
not to call her on a morning following a trip overseas. Only her fellow reporters had that particular number, the only phone she kept on at all times. It was a policy she promised herself she’d rethink whenever she had a moment.

She reached for the phone, checked the caller ID to make sure that it really was important, and answered the call.

“This had better be important. I need to get back to sleep.”

“This is very important,” a droll male voice said. She would have recognised Owen Ward’s voice anywhere. Her immediate superior had a remarkable gift for getting the best out of his reporters, even though he hadn't reported himself since before First Contact. “The Federation Navy just put in a request for embedded reporters.”

Adrienne smiled, even as she rubbed her tired face.
 
Request
 
was a little too much, at least in her view; the military believed that it had no obligation to bring reporters along into the front lines, or at least as close as they could without putting lives in serious danger. Adrienne had reported from Prince Sultan Air Base, currently held by a multinational force intent on securing the oil wells and ensuring that there were no further oil shocks. Oil might be less important with fusion power, but it was still important for many requirements and Arabia held one of the world’s largest sources.

“And they asked for me,” Adrienne said. It wasn't a question. Reporters who put soldiers in danger or reported lies tended not to be invited back, no matter how important they considered themselves to be. Adrienne considered that she’d done a good job, striking a balance between being inquisitive and respecting military security. “What’s so important that it couldn't wait until the afternoon?”

Ward coughed. “Apparently the Federation Navy is planning a major exercise, involving almost the entire fleet,” he said. “From what little I was told, they’re going to be rehearsing the plans for defending Earth against the Galactics. You’ll be told more when you reach the Naval HQ. If you want to go, of course…”

Adrienne snorted. “If they asked for me,” she said dryly, “should I refuse them?”

“We could always send Alicia in your place.” Ward said. “Market Research says that she’s very popular among young males – and the military is largely composed of young males.”

“Of course she is,” Adrienne said. “Every time she looks like she’s losing viewers, she takes a deep breath and pushes out her rack.”

“You said it, not me,” Ward said. He chuckled. “But Market Research thinks that she has what it takes to interview people in the military. If you don’t go, I’m afraid that she’s going to go in your place. That wouldn't be very patriotic, would it?”

“I suppose not,” Adrienne said. “But then, Alicia is a bimbo who never had an original thought in her life. All of her viewers pray for another wardrobe malfunction…”

“No doubt,” Ward agreed. He returned to business. “You’re expected at Naval HQ tomorrow, so take the shuttle from New York Spaceport to Armstrong City this afternoon. The Navy will assign someone to meet you and escort you into lockdown…”

“But…”

“No buts,” Ward said. “It was quietly, but firmly made clear to me that every reporter on this mad junket was going into lockdown, with no communications in or out until the military sees fit to lift the lockdown. You breathe one word without permission and your next boyfriend will be a horny prison guard. The rules haven’t changed just because you’re going into space.”

Adrienne nodded, reluctantly. She
 
had
 
been on an extra-solar voyage, something that most of the population of Earth couldn't claim, but the colony established on Edo had been on a drab rocky world circling a dying star. The Japanese were shipping thousands of settlers to Edo every month, intent on turning it into a second home for their people. Rumour had it that large bribes had secured Federation support for their scheme. Adrienne had investigated, but hadn't been able to turn up anything beyond the fact that Edo enjoyed a population density in its domes that few other cultures would likely have been able to tolerate.

“Besides, it’s not as if you have anyone on Earth waiting for you,” Ward added. “Your father died a long time ago and your mother disowned you.”

“Enough,” Adrienne snapped. “I’ll be on my way this afternoon. Have Jenny book the tickets for me and I’ll pick them up at the spaceport.”

“Good luck,” Ward said. “Don’t forget that I will be expecting regular reports from you as soon as the lockdown is dropped. And don’t forget to get their agreement to regular reports in writing.”

Adrienne sighed. “I won’t forget,” she assured him. “See you in a few months.”

She put down the phone and looked into the mirror. The blonde girl with long hair and tired eyes seemed a stranger. She had a lifestyle many would envy, with a chance to travel the world and even fly through interstellar space to another world, but she was tired. Perhaps the lockdown wouldn't be such a bad thing. Maybe there’d be a chance to relax. Reporters tended to get star treatment unless they embedded in frontline units.

Shaking her head, Adrienne returned to bed after setting her alarm. The spaceport wasn't that far from her apartment, after all. There’d be enough time to catch forty winks and then take a taxi to the spaceport. Ward could hardly complain if she slept in a little after she’d agreed to go straight out again on assignment, could he?

* * *

Topsham was a pleasant little country town in Devon, England, on the east side of the River Esk. Sergeant Conrad McDonald had fallen in love with it the first time his Royal Marine platoon had driven through the area to attend a wedding in nearby Torquay, and it had been an easy choice to decide to have his own honeymoon there. Transfer to the Federation Marines – who had been crafted along the same lines as the Royal Marines – meant that he couldn't leave the country without special permission, if only because the Federation Marines were kept permanently ready to go into action within 48 hours.

He looked over at his wife of three days and smiled at her. The wedding had been a brief service in a nearby church, followed by a dinner at a countryside lodge in an area of natural beauty. Conrad had been posted to Clarke and seen video of Terra Nova, but the English countryside was still the most beautiful place in the world to him. Some of the old Bootnecks, the ones who had fought in Afghanistan, claimed that that shithole of a country was remarkably beautiful, but Conrad wasn't inclined to agree. Having someone taking pot-shots at him from a distance or placing IEDs along his path wasn't his idea of a pleasant day out with his wife. Afghanistan was now even more of a shithole than ever, particularly since the NATO forces had been pulled out with indecent haste after First Contact.

“Fancy a beer?”

“I could do with one,” Cindy agreed. She was the daughter of an older Royal Marine, now retired and tending a pub in Portsmouth. Her father had threatened all sorts of things, just to see if his prospective son in law could be deterred, before cheerfully standing beside Cindy to give her away at the altar. “Just don’t drink too much or you’ll be paralytic in bed tonight.”

“Nag, nag, nag,” Conrad said. He leaned close to kiss her, and then reach down to her chest, stroking her breasts gently. They were getting into heavy petting when his bleeper went off. “Oh shit!”

“Ignore it,” Cindy said. “There isn't time...”

Conrad shook his head, not without regret. All of the Bootnecks – the slang for Royal Marine had transferred into the Federation Marines – knew better than to ignore their bleepers. No one became a Federation Marine without a perfect service record in their national militaries, if not Special Forces experience in combat. Conrad had taken part in operations in Jeddah five years ago, working with American and French soldiers. It had been enough to get him into the qualification course for the Federation Marines, but sheer determination had taken him the rest of the way. Even hardened SAS blades and Paras had been known to blanch when confronted with the Federation Marine training course.

He picked up the bleeper – he was supposed to wear it on his wrist, where it also served as a watch – and scowled at the tiny screen. REPORT ASAP, it ordered, nothing else. At least they hadn’t used any of the code words that warned of imminent invasion or emergency services under MACA rules. The rules were clear enough; he should take a train from Topsham to the Federation Navy base at RAF Waddington, where transport would be laid on to get the Bootnecks to Luna. Being late would result in anything from a bollocking by his CO to being marked down for dereliction of duty. It might be an exercise – hell, it was
 
probably
 
an exercise – but they had to treat it as if it were real.

“I have to go,” he said, reaching for his socks. They’d rolled under the bed in all the excitement. “Listen… you can enjoy the rest of the…”

“Don’t be silly,” Cindy said. She was the daughter of a Royal Marine, after all, and knew what happened when duty and personal life conflicted. “Do you think I can stay here while worrying about you? I’ll speak to the owner and get them to take something off the bill before I get back to Portsmouth. Dad will want some help when everyone comes off exercise.”

Conrad nodded, reluctantly. He’d never understood why some Bootnecks found it hard to come back to base after visiting their wives and families, until now. “Just remember not to flirt with anyone,” he teased. “You’re my wife now.”

“I have that big poster of you up on the wall to keep them quiet,” Cindy agreed. “Don’t you worry about me. Just get back home safely and I’ll see you when I see you. Email me when you have a moment, all right?”

“All right,” Conrad said. He leaned forward to kiss her. “I’d better get over to the station now.”

“I’ll come with you,” Cindy said. “I can kiss you on the platform until the train gets here.”

* * *

Archimedes Penal Colony held ten thousand human criminals, around nine thousand of them serial killers, mass murderers, paedophiles and terrorists. No civilian was sent to the Penal Colony unless they had been sentenced to life imprisonment, without hope of having their sentences cut short. Volunteer convicts performed dangerous tasks on the Luna surface, in exchange for better food and drink, but none of them would ever be allowed to escape. There were no spacesuits or pressurized vehicles in the colony to provide safety from the airless vacuum outside. A convict who opened one of the airlocks would merely be committing suicide.

The remaining prisoners were military personnel who had committed offenses severe enough to justify incarceration, although most of them weren't sentenced to life imprisonment and were kept separate from the general population. Their crimes tended to range from minor, but persistent misbehaviour to more serious offences, ones that merited more punishment than receiving a Bad Conduct Discharge. The Federation Navy had largely copied the Uniform Code of Military Justice from the United States, although there were some minor additions from other countries.

From above, there was little to see as the flitter dropped down towards the mounds of lunar rock that had been piled over the dome to provide some protection from solar radiation. Joshua had spent the time reviewing the files Admiral Sampson had given him, looking for military prisoners who might be interested in serving with the small squadron under his command. He had never had any formal military training, but he did have experience with selecting and recruiting crew for his ships. Some of the personnel were beyond redemption, others were clearly unsuited to the mission, but the remainder… most of them might be usable. Their files agreed that they had potential; they’d just never made use of it, or they’d abused it. The Supply Officer who’d gamed the system to ensure that his ship received the latest updates before anyone else was particularly interesting. Someone with that sort of background would be very useful. Another had been finally put in the brig for repeated racial statements directed against the Funks, the Hegemony’s master race. Joshua couldn't understand why he’d been punished when such sentiments were widespread until he looked at the specifics. The spacer had made them in front of the Galactic news networks.

The Prison Warden’s android met him as he entered the airlock. For safety – and to make taking hostages impossible – all of the warders interacted with the prisoners through remote-controlled androids, each one almost impossible to destroy with nothing more than hand-powered tools. Joshua looked up at the towering android, shaped in an exaggerated parody of humanity, and shook his head. The androids would have little difficulty restoring order if the prisoners decided to riot – or, perhaps, they’d let the prisoners kill a few of their fellows before intervening. No one cared what happened to the prisoners in this complex. The civilians had been permanently removed from society and sent here to die.