Reclamation (Book One of the Art of War Trilogy), page 3
Two armed guards in full Mantix body armour flanked the door and permitted them access to the briefing room. Although no formal challenge was issued, John knew from his own experience that the software suites in the Mantix suit would have scanned him and Josette for threats a thousand times over in the space of a picosecond.
Inside was a wide, oval-shaped table of polished Terran mahogany atop a cream-carpeted floor. Three arched windows looked out across the flag-lined boulevard to the north, though it was lost to the dark and rain. The room was aglow with dozens of holos, each display different: sector maps, topographical scans, charts of information. Hardcopy dossiers sat in untidy piles on the table, and a haze of stim smoke filled the air.
Around the table were most of the key players. The President of the United Nations, Rick Aurelius, a wizened, hundred-and-fifty-year-old man, sat at the head of the table, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a stim dangling from his lips. Next to him was Roge Viersson, Undersecretary for Colonies Administration, a slight and easily animated man hunched over his dossier.
Two of the Joint Chiefs were standing next to each other around a revolving holomap of Uvolon, both gesticulating and note-taking and otherwise disagreeing. General Gordon Pike, head of the UN’s planet-based forces, was a bull of a man, barrel-chested and covered in thick black hair, dressed in breeches and a khaki shirt with red stock collars and epaulettes. Next to him was the altogether more slender, grim and raven-featured Fleet Marshal Varren Scarcroft, dressed in cream breeches and a midnight-blue jacket trimmed with silver braid.
The other occupants John was less familiar with: Alistair Frost, Director of UNIS and Josette’s new boss; and Karl Howarth, Commander of EFFECT, the executive arm of UNIS. Both were quiet, thoughtful men, dressed in plain dark clothing and engrossed in the information before them. The last of the staff was Xander McKone, the wizened and softly spoken head of the UN Diplomatic Ministry.
Interspersed between them were a number of more junior officers, aides and security personnel, bringing the total number of occupants to fifteen. Everyone looked tired and dishevelled, and the room smelled of stim smoke and sweat.
John and Josette moved into the room and went their separate ways, John towards the Joint Chiefs, Josette towards Alistair Frost. The doors were closed behind them.
‘Right,’ the President said, pressing himself to his feet. Perspiration marked his brow, despite the conditioning units humming unobtrusively above. ‘I think we’re all here.’ He pinched the bridge of his nose wearily and blinked a few times as if to try and clear his fatigue. He waved a holo on next to him, the print of his fingers glowing where his IHD synced with the briefing room’s processor. At the other end of the table, a small, revolving hologram of Uvolon appeared twenty centimetres above the desk.
He made a few quick gestures with his right hand and another holo sprang into life, this one showing a data stream still developing as they were fed information from the Vadian Mission Station. Smaller subscreens appeared, extrapolating the more important bits of information. He then brought his two index fingers together so that the two screens floating across the table became adjacent.
‘We have intelligence that the kaygryn have attacked Crusade Fleet Sixteen,’ he said without preamble and then sighed loudly. ‘That much I appreciate.’ He made a beckoning motion and the holo displaying the Vadian data enlarged to form a translucent screen a metre squared. ‘‘VMS, we have ten kaygryn clippers at Crusade Fleet Sixteen, they have engaged... CF-16 with phase and solid ordnance... provari heavy frigate destroyed.’ That’s what the transcript from agent Alec Horst reads.’
After further digital manipulation, a three-dimensional image of the provari heavy frigate Vosporia appeared, and an animation of its destruction, faithfully replicated from the Vadian deep space relay, played out in front of them. The room remained silent as Aurelius cancelled the holo and steepled his fingers.
‘We have been told by the Vadian Mission Station that the clippers were kaygryn, but they were not Uvolonese,’ he continued, more to himself than to anyone else. The room remained dutifully still. ‘Yet I am informed by... Station Commander Aryn Vance that a kaygryn corvette has been shot down barely a stone’s throw from Anternis by a provari cruiser, which, incidentally, is still holding orbit over Uvolon.’ He mopped his brow with a kerchief. ‘Obviously, this situation is unacceptable.’
He stood up and paced the room, his footfalls cushioned by the plush carpeting. All eyes remained on him. ‘From now on, until this matter is resolved, none of you are to leave this building. Whatever engagements you have, delegate them. Any other work must give way to this.’ He waggled a finger at the assembled chiefs. ‘At the moment this is a Code Cyan; I do not intend for it to become a Code Scarlet. God knows we haven’t had one of those for years, and with good reason.’
He moved towards the rightmost window and stood in silence for a few moments, looking out over the dark, rainy grounds of the UNSOC headquarters. When he turned back to them, his features were hardened by resolve. ‘So, the kaygryn and the provar are at war, or if not now, they soon will be. History has taught us that the kaygryn tend to fare very badly in wars. And to make matters worse, we have a colony in the middle of it all. Each of you undoubtedly has your own opinion on the best way to proceed.’ He gestured to the assembled staff. ‘So? Let me hear it.’
There was a short pause. John cleared his throat. ‘Where’s the governor?’ he asked. ‘Who’s our man in Anternis?’
Roge Viersson fielded that one. ‘Antoine Lefebvre.’ A picture of him dutifully blinked into existence. ‘He’s offworld at the moment, holidaying with his family in Theyde. He has been informed, and I believe he is due to return within the next three days.’
Fleet Marshal Scarcroft was the next to speak. ‘We do not have a Fleet presence around Uvolon, nor will we for another three months,’ he remarked, his eyes fixed on his IHD readout. To everyone else it looked as if he was staring into empty space. ‘The Fleet Auxiliary has a voidbreaker, the North Star, which patrols the sector throughout the course of a year. It appears that we do not regard the Upper Vadian Spiral as possessed of any particular strategic value.’
Aurelius offered a slight shrug. ‘It and many other worlds, no doubt. How soon can we have a Fleet presence over Uvolon? I don’t like the idea of this provari cruiser having the run of the place.’
Scarcroft offered a shrug in return. ‘I can put a quick-reaction force there within twenty hours,’ he said. ‘Though such a move might be… misconstrued by the provar.’
A murmur of agreement sounded throughout the room. Communicating with the other Tier-Three species was difficult at the best of times, but the provar were particularly obtuse. They participated in galactic affairs very openly under sufferance.
‘Then we tell them of our intentions,’ Aurelius said, unperturbed. ‘Anternis is home to four hundred thousand UN citizens. I will not have them unprotected while war is waged on their doorstep.’
General Pike cleared his throat and took a short step forward. ‘Not entirely unprotected. Aryn Vance has reported to me that we currently have one squadron of Interdictor-variant amrocovs based on Anternis on soft rotation. We also maintain a permanent battalion of troops there, as has been policy since Hadan’s Reach.’
Aurelius frowned and conjured up a hologram of an amrocov, a scale model of a two-and-a-half-metre, man-shaped suit of exoskeleton and heavy body armour bristling with weaponry and slaved drone pods. Above it in digital green lettering, it read ‘Advanced Mechanised Multi-Role Combat Vehicle’ and then ‘GV11b Goliath’ to give it its moniker.
Aurelius grunted as he studied the revolving model. ‘How many of these do we have?’
Pike looked slightly cross-eyed for a second as he consulted his IHD. With a ripple of his fingers, he transferred the data from his own screen to a holo on the desk in front of him. ‘11 Squadron is formed of seven Goliaths. They are captained by Ben Vondur. From his record, he seems to be a perfectly competent officer. The squadron saw action in New Carthage and sustained no casualties. At the moment they are on a peacekeeping tour in the Vadian Spiral.’
‘These Goliaths,’ Aurelius said, pursing his lips, ‘how useful are they in combat? My IHD has provided me with a small novel of data and schematics which no doubt makes for good bedtime reading, but I’d prefer to hear your take on it.’
Pike nodded curtly. ‘One Goliath is usually considered a force multiplier of a hundred. I’ve never piloted one except in controlled circumstances, but as assets to a force commander, their utility cannot be overstated. An entire squadron fully kitted could hold an area the size of Arrengate for six weeks before they’d need a resupply.’
‘Presumably that’s dependent on the enemy,’ Aurelius asked, although he looked suitably impressed. Pike nodded.
‘Yes, well, against a heavy frigate in orbit they wouldn’t do a thing,’ he conceded. ‘Though they do have orbit-capable weaponry.’
The President took a step back and then cancelled the holo. ‘Can we put these to good use? Vos’Shan is directly north of Anternis; I don’t want a million kaygryn pouring over the border seeking asylum.’
Pike nodded. ‘Of course, though we want to be careful not to incur civilian casualties, especially kaygryn casualties.’
Aurelius waved him silent. ‘Of course I’m aware of that. Frost, what’s our intelligence position on Anternis? Tell me we can at least see what’s going on.’
Frost nodded slowly. ‘We maintain a one-man mission station in the Tiberean Mountains, directly across the border and into Vos’Shan. We also have round-the-clock orbital surveillance, though that’s likely been junked if that provari cruiser is running LRIS.’
‘Fine,’ Aurelius said. ‘Prioritise any intelligence traffic coming out of Uvolon. I want to see a live feed running in this room as soon as possible. And General Pike, have your men move to the border and see that any kaygryn attempting to cross are turned back. Our first priority should be to protect the UN citizenry.’
‘Yes, sir,’ both men replied.
‘Fleet Marshal,’ Aurelius said, turning his attentions back to Varren Scarcroft. ‘What’s the nearest of these quick-reaction forces?’
‘We maintain a fleet muster at Navem Sigma, in the Coriolanus Sector. As I said, I can put three destroyers in orbit within twenty hours, if the order is given now.’
‘Do these destroyers have some form of evacuation capability? Could they recover substantial numbers of civilians from the ground?’
Scarcroft shook his head. ‘A destroyer couldn’t. They only have life support for twenty men. We do have contingency craft for supernovae and meteor strikes and the like, and I know that we keep at least one at Navem Sigma...’ He consulted his IHD. ‘… the Achilles. That has capacity for five hundred thousand, or a million in storage. It’s slower though; I couldn’t get it to Uvolon for twenty-five hours.’
Aurelius stroked his chin. ‘All right,’ he said, clapping his hands. ‘Put all of them in orbit. Give the orders now. The three destroyers and the Achilles. And initiate any naval evacuation procedures we have.’
Scarcroft bowed slightly and exited the room to make the arrangements. As soon as the door closed, Xander McKone spoke.
‘Might I make a suggestion,’ he said. His voice was smooth and soft yet carried undertones of considerable authority. The UN Diplomatic Corps had perfected the art of persuasion, and their maxim Verba pro Militia – Words before Warfare – was well known throughout the colonised galaxy.
Aurelius gestured to him. ‘By all means,’ he said, in such a way as to convey the fact that he had no interest in what McKone had to say at all.
McKone smiled warmly. ‘It is laudable, the desire to protect one’s own citizenry through force of arms. But there is always a diplomatic solution.’ His tone bordered on what could be described as benign condescension, yet it was in no way inflammatory. It was genteel and almost fatherly; indeed, some members of the Diplomatic Corps were artificially aged for precisely that reason. Though the Joint Chiefs were wise to it, it was easy for someone without the requisite training to become enraptured by such diplomatic personnel. For that reason, the Corps was still considered a weapon by many.
‘Quite,’ Aurelius agreed, yawning. ‘I don’t recall ruling that out.’
McKone inclined his head. ‘Might I suggest a summit? Considering the provar are, arguably, the greatest martial force in the known galaxy, if only numerically, it would be prudent to involve the other Tier-Three species at an early stage. The provar undoubtedly believe themselves to be above diplomacy, but even they can be curtailed if they are one against many.’ He smiled knowingly. ‘And if not, then at least we will have gained valuable allies.’
‘And what about the kaygryn? By all accounts it looks as though they started this,’ Roge Viersson said. ‘Why shouldn’t we be attacking them?’
John met Josette’s gaze very briefly.
‘When the dog bites his tormentor,’ McKone said, this time his tone laced with a hint of ice, ‘do you allay the tormentor, or help him kill the dog?’
The silence deepened. Viersson squirmed in his seat, until Aurelius came to his rescue.
‘I will call for a summit,’ he said wearily. ‘You are right, of course, Xander. Make the necessary arrangements. Let’s get the Exigency Corps on this, and call the Office for Xeno Affairs. Andrea Constance and her staff can tag along too. We’ll use Gonvarion as a venue. Tell the zhahassi.’
Xander bowed. ‘Of course. Very good, sir.’ Garrick had no doubt that everything the President had just said, McKone had engineered.
‘And make sure everyone knows of our intentions to place naval craft in orbit, especially the provar. Bloody write it down if you have to,’ Aurelius warned.
McKone bowed again and left the room.
Aurelius wrung his hands. He turned to John. ‘Mr Garrick. You will doubtless want to liaise with General Pike and Fleet Marshal Scarcroft. I’m sure we have strike contingencies for all Code Cyans. I want to see a list of my options in the next hour; give me targets and likely fallout. Include provar civilian targets as well for now, although not as a priority.’
John nodded, unperturbed. ‘Yes, sir. Right away.’
He turned to leave the room, catching Josette’s eyes one last time. Behind him, he heard the President dismiss everyone except her, Alistair Frost and Karl Howarth. That bothered him more than it should have. Junior officers and other personnel filed out behind him, and a small message flashed into existence in his IHD, informing him that the room had been audio blocked.
Once he was out in the corridor, he made for Pike and Scarcroft. They were both standing at the far end, as usual animated in their discussion. He turned back to the briefing room, but the door was shut. A sense of melancholy suddenly overcame him, and not for the first time in his life, he found himself deeply regretting his affair with Josette.
He ordered his IHD to flood his system with endorphins, and riding an artificial sense of happiness, he approached the two generals. They were both talking, though neither was making any sound, like watching a holo on mute. Once he was within two metres, the audio deadzone enveloped him as well, Pike’s IHD granting him access.
‘Gentlemen,’ he said with a smile.
‘Strike Commander,’ they both echoed, Pike with a grin, Scarcroft without.
‘Turns out I’m quite famished. Shall we breakfast in the mess?’
Pike assented with a nod, as if he too had suddenly discovered his own hunger. ‘Yes,’ he said, eyes flashing. ‘I always love discussing strategy over a good breakfast.’
EXIGENCY
‘The quorl of Kanthuba eat their tribal elders on the last day of the Sundering, a late summer festival on Vhorris honouring their war dead. They believe that by ingesting the flesh of those of such great fortune and martial prowess (to have never been defeated in battle), they too can gain such proficiency at arms. It is horrifying and yet… strangely alluring. Never before has cannibalism been so revered.’
From the journal of Ambassador Iyvan Geygrich, during the Long Insanity
Bedding women had become so contemptibly easy for Yano that he was half-considering moving on to men. Perhaps straight men, to make it even more of a challenge.
Like most members of the UN Diplomatic Corps, and despite many people believing it to be a myth, Yano had been cosmetically enhanced. Extensive studies commissioned by the UNDC had shown that people were much more responsive to – and thus considerably more likely to be swayed by – somebody more attractive than them. And while the old mantra ‘beauty is in the eye of the beholder’ still held some currency (he snorted at that), there was certainly a biological, evolutionary level of attractiveness which none could deny existed.
Of course, each cadet hoping to make it in the Diplomatic Corps had to be naturally possessed of certain qualities before they could be subjected to such enhancement. Yano had never been a handsome boy, but he had always had a sharp mind. The charisma he had developed, inexplicably to most, in his late teens had been of a brand which the Corps had found particularly appealing. He had been encouraged to apply for a job, had done so, and had been accepted into one of the most coveted occupations the UN Service had to offer.
He had taken to the training exceptionally well. As an awkward and unsociable boy, he had observed his peers from the peripheries, teaching himself to read body language, to second-guess thought processes and emotions, and had developed, piecemeal, his own brand of magnetism. His insightfulness in reading people enabled him, conversely, to conceal his own emotions. Where others were excited, he would remain passive. Where others were quick to anger, he would remain calm. When his IHD had been upgraded with the UNDC’s software suite, he had found that many of the programs simply reinforced what he already knew.
