BLACK SITE DEIMOS, DEIMOS
POV: Amelia Waters, Terran Republic Navy (Rank: Admiral)
The Ace of Hearts stared at the interrogation videos with feigned disinterest, but she wasn’t fooling anyone.
Amelia turned the tablet around. “So?”
“Fake videos,” Ambre said dismissively, but there was a raw edge to her voice that Amelia didn’t need a mind reader to understand. “Blatant deception. My sons are dead. And their blood is on the hands of your people.”
“After his capture, we rehabilitated Thomas. Took years of court-ordered therapy in prison to undo all the hatred you poisoned him with. And restitution. I was there when he met the families of the spacers and that dockworker he murdered and—”
“Rep brainwashing!” she screeched.
“That Red Zone operation was over by then,” Amelia recounted. “The Resistance was scattered, and the Senate stopped the raids. But afterwards, Thomas told us everything he knew about you before we released him to witness protection.”
“Lies! My sons were proud martyrs of the Resistance. They would never break! Not Thomas— not my Thomas. My Thomas would never have—”
Amelia could hear the exact moment her heart broke. The moment the Ace of Hearts broke.
“That’s how I knew about your… condition,” Amelia pointed at her head. “And that his first pets’ names were… Bubbles and Brightly, two Budgie parrots specially bred for the outer planets, if I remember right.”
The elderly prisoner said nothing, her head now dredging up all kinds of memories. Memories she clearly didn’t know she still had. How the most irrelevant details could betray decades of conviction and—
“Thomas told us everything, Ambre.”
“No son of mine is a collaborator,” she said, looking away from Amelia.
“I wonder how he is now,” Amelia said. “Probably still around somewhere, if I had to guess. He’d be what… forty-three now?”
“Forty-four. What do you want from me, Lieutenant Commander?” the Ace of Hearts asked, futilely restraining details from rising to the top of her thoughts.
Amelia pulled up the picture of the first operative on her tablet again, her face more serious. “The Ace of Diamonds. Where is she?”
“Nice try,” the Ace coldly sneered at her with rage and hard concentration on her face, sweat dripping down her cheeks.
“I’ll trade you,” Amelia offered.
“What?” she looked at her interrogator with confusion.
“You heard me. I’ll trade you. Information for information. It’s only fair. You give me the location of the Ace of Diamonds. I’ll look it up and tell you where Thomas is. A current picture. You must be at least curious how he’s doing. Or maybe I can even get them to arrange a visit… if he wants to. I’m guessing you’ll want to explain some things to him before Republic prosecutors show everyone the monster you are in court.”
“No! He’d understand why— I won’t collaborate over some grotesque fabrication of my— my dead son.”
But her wavering voice betrayed her.
Amelia looked Ambre in the eyes. Even the old woman didn’t believe her own denial, and Amelia didn’t need a mind reader to tell. “You don’t have to say anything, Ambre. Just visualize the answers in your head. It’s that simple. No one can blame you for a small moment of temporary weakness. Temporary humanity. Nobody will even know. All you have to do… is break your concentration for a second. Just a second. Now, where is the Ace of Diamonds? Think of your son. Think of Thomas. Wouldn’t you want to see him again?”
“Never!”
“Well, there’s no need to be hasty. Think about it on your own for a bit,” Amelia said casually as she stood up and stretched her arms. “I’m going to go get some coffee. And talk to my contact in witness protection. I’m sure I can find Thomas; I’m pretty good at this sort of thing…”
The Resistance Ace grunted with effort as she continued to focus her thoughts against the rising temptation. “You— you— Rep bastard.”
The old mother didn’t stand a chance.
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TRNS CRETE, SATURN (0.8 LS)
POV: Baedarsust, Malgeir Federation Marine Infantry (Rank: Head Pack Leader)
Aida pointed to the map of the civilian station on the screen. “Roland Station. High value target. Very high value target.”
“Who is it this time?” Baedarsust asked.
“Ace of Diamonds,” Aida read. “Accountant. Financier. She’s in charge of their money.”
“By the Malgeir! The one with her picture on your playing cards?!”
“The same one. We get her, we can roll up their whole funding network. Equipment, operations, salaries. Starve the whole Resistance out.”
Baedarsust nodded. “She have any military training? Any known or registered firearms?”
“None that we know of, but assume nothing.” Aida pointed back at the screen, highlighting several locations on it. “She lives in the residential sector. We don’t know exactly where. But we know she moonlights as one of the station maintenance techs. Based on that and the other information we have, we know she must be living in one of these four dorms. We’ll go in at night, standard station raid. Hit all four rooms simultaneously.”
“Wait a second. Shouldn’t this be a mission for one of your infiltrators? Something less conspicuous than a few squads of Marines?” Baedarsust sniffed.
“Lucky for you,” Aida smiled sweetly at him. “Your unit’s stellar record caught the attention of the higher ups. And we want to hit her as quick as possible before she realizes she’s been made. So, no time for surveillance. And you’ve been volunteered, along with a few other fellow Malgeir squads on the Crete. One for each of the possible targets. Then a couple covering the hallways and the other parts of the station, in case one of you screws up.”
“Great. It’s one of those missions again,” Spommu complained.
Aida looked at her. “We wouldn’t send you on these if we thought you couldn’t handle it.”
“And you wouldn’t send us if you didn’t think there was some deadly risk either,” Baedarsust pointed out. “Or you’d use your own people.”
Aida nodded slowly. “She is… what we call a true believer in the Resistance.”
“As in she’s ready to blow us all to Malgeiru if she sees us coming,” Baedarsust interpreted.
“She won’t get a chance to,” Aida promised. “That’s why we’re doing it at night. Not even a Resistance Ace sleeps in their suicide vest. Not usually anyway. And if she does, your suit’s electronic warfare devices might still work. Hope they haven’t upgraded recently—”
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“Well, that’s utterly reassuring. Have you considered becoming a motivational speaker?”
“Like a Marine drill instructor? I’ll keep your recommendation in mind.”
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Baedarsust and his squad stacked up right outside the target residence, their weapons ready.
He held up three claws on his non-dominant paw. Then two claws. Then one.
Wordlessly, Quaullast activated the room door with the master key card. It opened silently, and the squad filed into the room.
It was a standard utilitarian station residence, exactly as they simulated: a bed, a closet, and a bathroom.
The cozy-looking bed was empty.
And the closet.
“Clear,” his squad members each calling out from the corners they were assigned to.
Baedarsust strode over to the bathroom, poking his rifle in through the shower curtains to push it aside and verify its interior was unoccupied. “Clear.”
Spommu pointed at the messy blankets on the bed. “Damn, looks like whoever this was, they left in a hurry.”
Frumers touched the bed. Then, he held up a paw, making a gesture across his neck with a single claw. He turned off his suit translator, and the rest of the squad did the same.
“Bed’s still warm,” Frumers explained in Malgeirish. “Someone was just here.”
“I wonder how she got past us,” Spommu complained. “We have the whole station sealed up like a can of—”
“Shhhh—” Frumers shushed her lightly. His ears wiggled twice. “They’re still here — Terran heartbeat — and shallow breathing.”
The four of them quieted down, each listening carefully with their sensitive ears. Frumers sniffed the air a few times with his nose.
After a few moments, Baedarsust heard the light thumping too. “Under the floor?”
Frumers nodded in agreement. He slowly walked around, his paws testing the rigid aluminum floor lightly as his ears strained to hear the difference.
Suddenly, he stopped and pointed to where he was standing with his paw. He whispered and pointed, “Under here. Hollow. Small compartment.”
“What do we do?” Spommu mouthed, aiming her rifle downwards. “Maybe we can shoot through the floor.”
“We’re supposed to capture her alive,” Baedarsust reminded her quietly. He pointed at Quaullast and a small circular gesture.
Breaching charge.
As noiselessly as he could, Quaullast slowly pulled them out, ripped off their tape covers, and gently stuck the blocks of explosive devices in a circle on the floor.
“Give Spommu the fun gun,” he instructed Quaullast in a whisper, who wordlessly handed the high voltage gadget to her.
Baedarsust switched his suit translator back on. He talked in a louder voice, trusting the translator to broadcast it in the local Terran dialect, whatever it was. “Dammit, Sunray, our intel was off again. This is a dry hole. We’re heading back to the ship.”
He held out three claws on his non-dominant paw.
Then, two claws. Then, one.
Quaullast triggered the charge, the thermite instantly burning a red-hot circle into the floor. He gave the middle of it a heavy shove with his rear paw, and the circular piece of metal fell into the compartment below with a loud clatter.
They heard a woman yelp in alarm and pain below. Spommu stepped up to look into the hole, took aim, and—
Bzzzzzzzttttttt.
As the squad scooted over to look down, their suit flashlights illuminating the dark compartment, they could see their target still spasming on the floor below, a short handgun dropped uselessly next to her body.
“Alright, turn that off and fish her out before she passes out,” Baedarsust ordered as he zoomed in to her face to verify it against the intelligence.
It came back positive instantly.
Then, he turned up his suit loudspeaker in case the woman in the compartment couldn’t hear. “Ace of Diamonds, you are under arrest. You have the right to remain silent against self-recrimination. Anything you say from now on can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to talk to a lawyer before we ask you any questions. You have the right to be questioned with a lawyer…”
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MNS OENGRO, GRUCCUD-4 (3,000 KM)
POV: Grionc, Malgeir Federation Navy (Rank: High Fleet Commander)
Grionc sighed as Loenda strode into her office. She thought she knew what it was going to be about again. “Take a seat, Loenda.”
To her surprise, the alpha leader did, settling herself into the chair.
“What can I do for you today?”
Loenda looked at her, obviously happy about something. “I’ve just been briefed by our reconnaissance captains. Plorve just reported in.”
Grionc tilted her head. “What’s going on over there?”
“The system’s empty.”
“Empty?”
Loenda leaned in. “They’ve pulled out everything except a small skeleton squadron. Just twelve combat ships and some static defenses. This may be the gap we were looking for.”
Grionc shook her head. “Might be a trap. Priplae—”
“Priplae is empty too,” Loenda reported. “Same thing. They’ve pulled most their ships out of there.”
She sat up. “Uidquu—”
A dangerous glint entered the squadron leader’s eyes. “Emptied too. Only two squadrons defending the shipyard. Ask me about Pomniot.”
“Is that empty too? Hold on, hold on,” Grionc said, waving her paws. “This smells exactly like a trap. Don’t forget what happened over in Sconcans—”
“Pomniot has been emptied too. What trap could there be? There are no more mass formations of Grass Eaters within Federation space.”
“Have we reported all this to our friends?” Grionc asked.
“Not yet,” Loenda shook her head. “But we can do this operation ourselves. We’ve been preparing to take these systems back for months now. I’m sure they’ll agree once—”
Grionc held up a claw. She brought up her datapad and dialed a communicator. “Hello? This is High Fleet Commander Grionc. May I talk to Admiral Amelia Waters at Atlas Naval Command, please?”
It only took a few minutes for them to verify her identity and location. The face of the familiar Terran admiral appeared on the screen. “What’s going on, Grionc?” she asked. “Kind of busy with something over here.”
“There has been a strange development on the frontlines. The Znosians have left Plorve very lightly defended.”
Amelia looked at her impatiently. “Yeah, Grionc, look, I think we’ve explained it to your Admiralty. The Buns’ fleets are going to come and go. That’s how they keep you on your paws, right?”
“No, this is different,” Grionc insisted. “They’ve left all the known systems in the Federation with only one or two squadrons in each system.”
Amelia froze. “Wait. Uidquu?”
“Two squadrons only.”
“And it’s like that in all the remaining occupied Malgeir systems?”
“All the ones you’ve told us to recon.”
There was no reply on the call for a few seconds.
Grionc prompted, “Does this mean we can go on the attack now? We’ve been running simulations and exercises of the campaign…”
Amelia said nothing.
“Hello? Amelia? Still there?”
“Hold on, Grionc, I’m just thinking — something’s not right,” the Terran said slowly, evidently worried.
“What is wrong?”
“I can’t tell right now, but something is wrong. This isn’t in any of our projections. There may be a trap waiting for you, or something far worse.”
Grionc felt the fur on her back rise. “What should we do?”
“Raise the alert level across your fleet. All your fleets. Double your reconnaissance. And send some ships into occupied Granti territory,” Amelia recommended, still deep in thought.
“Occupied Granti territory?” Grionc asked. “I’ll need authorization for that from our Admiralty. What is it for?”
“I think the Buns are about to strike. Full scale offensive. Somewhere. And we have no idea where it’s going to be.”
“We are prepared to hold Gruccud system, no problem,” Grionc assured her. “The new space mines we have in place thanks to your people’s designs — they won’t see it coming.”
“Good. Stay vigilant, Grionc. Do what you think is necessary. I’ll try to see what I can do from here.”
The Terran hung up.
Grionc looked at Loenda nervously.
“Heh. Grass Eater paranoia, maybe?” Loenda asked hopefully.
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TRNS AMAZON, GIONLU (1,200 LS)
POV: Kiara Agarwal, Terran Republic Navy (Rank: Commander)
Commander Kiara Agarwal looked at the screen with concern. “Yes, Amelia, we’ve been scouring deep in the south Pomniot cluster behind enemy lines. They’ve got nothing here. Just orbital ships holding these systems while they process the occupied planets. Say… if the Malgeir don’t get back in here soon, there might not be much left for them to liberate.”
Amelia buried her face in her hand. “We’re back to nothing, then. Grionc is saying they’ve pulled out everywhere near her.”
Kiara frowned. “Another offensive then, you think? Gruccud or Stoers?”
“Gruccud is more of a pain in their ass that they want to remove, but Stoers is an easier target by far and we all know it.”
“Hm,” Kiara contemplated. “I can move back to Stoers pretty quickly. But I can’t do much with my one ship, and you know the Puppers over there—”
“Yeah, don’t remind me.”
“How many squadrons do you think the Buns can put together?” Kiara asked. “They’ve surely got other enemies in their Dominion they have to ‘pacify’ right?”
“Maybe fifty?” Amelia speculated. “Fifty full combat squadrons? Maybe more.”
Kiara whistled. “Six hundred ships. Well, if you think they can pull that many, they’ll take Stoers, no problem.”
“Yup, that’d open up their whole center axis like a can of tuna. Three additional core systems under threat and no more real shipyards for the Puppers. They’d be at the gates of Malgeiru in less than a year.”
“What do we do, Admiral?”
“I— I don’t know.”
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META
After he was reformed in prison and fully cooperated with the Republic, Thomas (new name: Lionel Marin) was resettled in Quebec and started a mildly successful Saturnian-cuisine restaurant (online rating: 4.6/5 stars). He tested negative for the incurable, rare degenerative neurological condition his mother had and donated most of the profits from his business to a charity that funds earlier detection and research for more advanced treatment.