Origins (11 page)

“Sidearm, sir,” he said.

“Is that necessary?”

“Sorry. Regulations. Only MPs are allowed to carry weapons in the Command Sector.”

I unholstered my sidearm from the webbing on my chest. It was my only weapon, but it wasn't much of one: a standard Berringer M-5. I felt a twinge of uncertainty as I removed the gun, but overrode the impulse and handed it over. That was what I'd become – hardwired to expect the worst. The idea of being unarmed
ever
… It felt uncomfortably alien to me. The big MP didn't seem to notice my reaction and placed the handgun into a lockbox beside the security arch.

“Your appointment is through here,” Nico said. “Follow me.”

The room had been converted into a dining hall appropriate for the senior officer cadre: several tables meticulously laid with metal cutlery, real ceramic plates and napkins. There were even stirrups to anchor the tableware, in the event of the loss of gravity – a layover from when Calico Base's gravity generator was less dependable. The empty lunar plains were visible through the windows that claimed one wall, and in a glorious display of bad taste an enormous fish tank occupied the opposite aspect: replete with multi-coloured aquatic life-forms that reminded me a little too much of the Krell.

An aide met me at the door, feet seeming to slide across the carpet as though he'd made a profession of moving around senior officers without causing disruption.
What a skill for a soldier to have
, I thought.

“This way, sir,” he said, leading me across the chamber.

Although the dining hall could probably accommodate a hundred personnel, there was only a handful of occupants. Several fully uniformed senior officers were sitting around a single table. The scent of proper hot food lingered in the air; the clatter of cutlery against plates. As I reached the table, proceedings paused. Eight pairs of eyes stared up at me. The brass evaluated me, and I could almost see the gears working behind their ancient eyes. Asking whether I was really the legend about which they'd heard so much, or whether they'd been sold a lie.

As they assessed me, I did the same to them: asked myself whether I had any allies in here. I found one possibility at the head of the table: General Mohammed Cole, looking every bit as exhausted as the last time that I'd seen him. That had been two years ago, during my briefing for the Damascus mission. Now he wore his formal uniform, but it was skewed and he looked uncomfortable in it.

The other occupants of the table were from a variety of military branches. Two Army, two Navy, a Marine, a Military Intelligence officer and a Science Division representative. All were high ranking, their uniforms carrying the insignia of generals, admirals, commandants, chief science officer. I swallowed. Realisation dawned on me. Faces and names tumbled through my memory: I knew these people, had seen their likeness on numerous military bulletins and holo-feeds.

What have I walked into?

The brass said nothing, because they didn't need to. This wasn't a normal briefing. This was High Command: the apex of the decision-making tree for the war. As I stared into the face of Command, I wished that I had come better prepared. For a grunt like me, it was like staring into the face of God.

“Welcome to this special assembly of the Council of War,” one of the officers grumbled. To the aide: “Thomas, commence recording and ensure that the door remains locked.”

“Of course,” the aide replied.

“Do sit, Colonel,” came a voice from the table.

The speaker was an elderly male dressed in the long white smock of a Science Division officer. He waved at the aide, who had appeared ghost-like at my shoulder.

“Serve the colonel some food,” the Sci-Div officer said, adopting the persona of a kindly old man, his coiffed silver hair falling in strands over his balding scalp. “Calico might not be known for its delicatessens, but this is mostly imported. The steak is really quite good.”

I was too stunned to turn down the offer of food, and, although I didn't see what, the aide served me with something. Everyone else sat over plates of steamed meat and vegetables. Not substitutes, by the smell, but real food. Given that food was fast becoming a scarce commodity, acquiring anything that wasn't out of a ration-pack was an impressive feat.

“You don't need to know everyone's name,” Cole said gruffly, “because several of High Command are here in a purely observational capacity.” He glared around the table, and a few of the attendees shrank back, obviously primed that they would take no part in the discussion at hand. It seemed that not all members of Command were created equal. “I'll introduce those that matter.” He pointed out the science officer. “Dr Storemberg, head of Science Division.”

With my track record for destroying Artefacts and Shard tech, I predicted that there would be friction here, but Storemberg gave a restrained nod and said, “It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Colonel. I am most grateful that you managed to retrieve Professor Ashan Saul from the hands of the Directorate.” His smile hardened. “His presence will be important to the war effort in the coming days.”

Cole pointed across the table at the next officer. “Fleet Admiral Sunsam.”

Sunsam was a bona fide five-star Naval officer, and the chest of his Naval dress uniform was weighed down with a plethora of medals and other rank insignia. He'd been recruited from Azure, had been in service when I'd lived on that planet. This man alone commanded sufficient firepower to obliterate most of the Milky Way Galaxy. He said nothing in greeting.

“Commandant of the Marine Corps,” Cole said, “General Leonovich.”

Leonovich was middle-aged with a bad haircut, maybe in the fashion of the moment for whatever Core World she'd crawled from. She was smoking, ethereal swirls rising from an ashtray in front of her.

“Good evening, Colonel,” she said. “I too am glad to meet with you.”

Cole waved a hand at the rest of the gathered personnel. “I'll introduce you to the others as necessary. As I said, many of our members are here to listen rather than participate.”

“Understood, sir,” I said.

“We have been reviewing your recent debrief material,” Dr Storemberg said. He spoke with a Germanic lilt, his intonation difficult to follow. “What happened in Damascus Space has us all very concerned. Would you say that the operation was a success, Colonel?”

“No,” I said. “I would not. There are numerous intelligence leads that remain live.”

“You mean the discovery of the
Endeavour
?”

Just mention of the name set me on edge. “Yes, sir.”

Leonovich leant forward, feeding herself a sugar beet from her plate. “What you found in Damascus – what you did there – might be the key to ending this war.”

“And that is why we have called you here today,” Cole suddenly broke in. “You're obviously aware of the loss of
Liberty Point
; and you know that it went down due to a Krell war-fleet.”

A holographic projection sprang to life in the middle of the table. It was a bizarre effect; cutting through plates of steamed vegetables and rapidly cooling meats. Military aides jumped from their hiding places around the dining hall and quickly moved aside the plates.

“This incursion,” Admiral Sunsam picked up, “is the end of things. The end of us.”

There was silence as all parties absorbed the imagery. What the map showed was far worse than we'd encountered during the First Krell War: the Krell were moving in a ragged mob – disorganised, unpredictable – into Alliance systems. As the animation progressed, glowing markers disappeared beneath the tidal wave. Each represented an outpost, a world, a star system: billions of lives lost to the Krell.

“This map demonstrates the movement of Krell forces across the Quarantine Zone,” he said. “As you can see, we have lost substantial territories in the Van Diem Straits and several star systems bordering the Asiatic Rim. The Krell seem to be attacking in far greater numbers, with greater ferocity, than was previously the case. They have no clear line of attack. This has made anticipating their advance difficult. Impossible even, in some instances.”

“That,” Dr Storemberg said, “and the obvious fact that the Krell seem to be evolving at a hitherto unknown rate. Their ships are becoming faster, their ground troops more resilient, their weapons more effective.”

I'd been a first-hand witness to that. There had been a time when the hulking tertiary-forms were a rarity – employed only when the Collective needed a hammer to shatter resistance. Now, as on Capa V, they were appearing with most Collectives.

“We have even received unconfirmed reports of so-called ‘quaternary-forms',” Storemberg said. “Quite what they are evolving into, and why, is anyone's guess.” He shrugged. “For another time, perhaps.”

Markers shifted across the map. Red represented Krell forces, and green Alliance. Calico sat on the new frontline; probably just months away from the Krell advance.

“Putting it bluntly, we don't have sufficient forces to repel them,” Sunsam said. “We've already evacuated several of the more remote listening posts, and we have started moving non-essential personnel back to the Core.” He sounded less than happy about that. “All available resources are being fed into the war effort. As I'm sure that you can appreciate, Colonel, time-dilation is a significant issue when synchronising an operation of this scale.”

“There are additional, political considerations as well,” Storemberg said. “I am, technically, a citizen of the nation-state once known as Germany, a constituent of the European Confederacy.” He tilted his head. “Of course, my family connections are with Tau Ceti, but that is hardly the point. You may be aware that certain elements within the Alliance wish for another peace treaty. The Confederacy has been most vocal in expressing this intention. There is much discussion in Congress as to the possibility.”

Cole sighed and shook his head. “It's tearing the Alliance apart, Harris. This war is fracturing what we have left, and the politicos and pen-pushers can't decide on our response.”

“So I'd heard,” I said. It was hard not to pick up on these things; the civilian news-feeds were filled with hackneyed opinions on the Alliance's continued viability in the face of the Krell threat.

“Here we are,” Leonovich said, sucking hard on her cigarette, “facing extinction – or some reasonable facsimile of it – and all we can do is argue.”

Storemberg gave that saccharine smile again. “Such it is now, such has it always been. General Cole has touched on the loss of
Liberty Point
, and the Krell's involvement, but what else do you know?”

“Only that it was destroyed by the Krell,” I said.

“And?” Storemberg probed.

“I hear a lot, Doctor. Not all of it is reliable.”

Cole cut to the chase. “The Asiatic Directorate appear to have launched a raid on
Liberty Point
in the hours before it went down. They had people inside our structure. We've been compromised, and with access to the Next-Gen Project, they could be anywhere.”

I was hardly surprised by any of this. Rumours were rife as to Directorate involvement, but it was the sort of scuttlebutt Jenkins peddled and none of it had been officially confirmed. The idea that the Directorate had somehow caused, or encouraged, the fall of
Liberty
was certainly consistent with their actions at Damascus.

One of the unnamed Military Intelligence officers slipped a plastic sheath from an envelope, slid it across the table in front of me.

“You've probably heard of Director-Admiral Kyung,” he said. “The so-called ‘Assassin of Thebe'.”

It was a moving tri-D image; a long-distance spy-cam shot of Kyung, taken from some unidentified warzone. The woman wore full ghost-plate, specially adapted anti-detection armour. I noticed that her face was marble-like, features unblemished. Whatever had caused the horrific scarring to her face – as I'd seen from Loeb's files – must have happened recently.

“It has been confirmed by multiple intelligence sources that Kyung is currently working with the Swords of the South Chino Stars,” the Mili-Intel officer said. “She heads their Xeno-Tech Acquisitions Division.” He looked over at me, eyes fixed on mine with peculiar intensity. “She was Dr Kellerman's handler on Helios, Colonel. She orchestrated the attacks in Damascus. The attack on
Liberty Point
? We believe that was her doing as well.”

“It started with Thebe,” Storemberg said, “but if this woman gets her way – if the Directorate gets its way – then she will see the Alliance burn.”

Did they know?
I wondered. My connection to Kyung was far more personal than any of this. The imagery on the holo-desk shifted. Displayed something bone-chillingly familiar, something that I hadn't seen for a very long time.
The Shard Key.
A tri-D graphic, spinning, analytical data scrolling alongside.

“We have unconfirmed, largely anecdotal, reports that the Directorate may have seized the Key from Damascus,” another anonymous officer said. “Quite how that is possible,” he continued, shrugging, “is currently unknown. The cost in blood must've been phenomenal.”

Another officer leant across the table. “To think of it: you've beaten Kyung the Assassin twice now, without even knowing it. That's quite some achievement, Colonel.”

Cole snorted. “Although it's not much to be proud of. She's purpose-built, a slave-organism, and her kind don't take kindly to failure. We've multiple reports that she has been driven to the edge of insanity.”

The Mili-Intel man nodded. The ghost of a smirk played on the corner of his lips, as though he found it funny that the pinnacle of Directorate bio-tech could experience madness. “The official line is that she has overstepped her authority within the Directorate, that she's gone rogue. Notwithstanding what the diplomats have to say, we believe that she is in fact acting with the full authority of Director-General Zhang himself.”