“We're 26 hours 43 seconds to target range,” Commander Povich reported from the data on his pad. “22 hours until our rendezvous with the Consortium ships that will be joining us.”
Captain Mingana nodded and looked at Duke Rassellin who requested...or demanded rather...that information.
The Consortium representative raised his feline head, but kept his eyes on Mingana. “Good. In five hours my technicians will begin the activation sequence that will power up the weapon. The weapon will be drawing a portion of its power from this ship. I know that you would prefer that life support not be compromised. I leave it to you to determine the systems you deem nonessential enough to afford power losses.”
“Thank you for the heads up, Duke.” Mingana turned away from Rassellin and faced Observer Helm. “I'll be in my office. It looks like I have some determining to do.” She walked away before Helm could voice or gesture his approval.
Four minutes later, Mingana shut her office door and tapped her desk com.
Lt. Winter's face popped on the wall screen.
Mingana tapped an encryption sequence before speaking. “Lieutenant, we have our timetable: 22 hours.”
“That's when we initiate?” Winter asked, anticipation radiating like twin spotlights from her eyes.
“No, not at that precise second.” Mingana rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “Just be ready. Wait for my word.”
“I will...and Captain.”
Mingana focused on Winter's image.
“I'm ready. I've been ready for this for years.”
“Me too,” said Mingana, her tone edged with iron. She cut the transmission and plopped down in her desk chair. For several minutes she tried to manage the churning fears and doubts that threatened to stay her hand, abort this mad endeavor. Because that's what it amounted to: madness. But someone had to do it. Someone had to challenge the Consortium in a way that it had never been challenged by humans up to this point. Mingana seized her trepidation and pounded it into impotence. Now, was not the time for second thoughts. She came this far. There would be no turning back.
***
Protests against authoritarian governments across the world were met with overwhelmingly brutal responses by regime forces. In Justine's own country, Cameroon, the government had instituted all sorts of legislation curtailing free speech and non-violent expression. The Consortium had no hand in how Earth regimes governed their nations. Its representatives were content to sit back and allow a privileged minority of humans a freehand to do what it took to safeguard Consortium interests.
In such tense times, Justine worried ceaselessly about her parents and brothers. After a four month run along the fringe of the solar system commanding a patrol ship, much needed leave time brought Justine and her crew back to Earth. An encrypted transmission showed up in her message feed. She read it and her heart jumped with excitement. After more than a decade, the Resistance had finally contacted her.
Very little had been heard from them since the U.N. crackdown four years earlier that resulted in the arrests and executions of over ten thousand suspected Resistance members, in addition to the destruction of hundreds of Resistance bases of operations across the system. Many times, Justine worried that her affiliation, if exposed, would result not just in dire consequences for her, but her family as well. Those were the moments when she reminded herself that most of all, that what she did in service to the Resistance, was for her family...not that she had done much if any service other than being a silent mole. Now, she had an opportunity to prove her mettle.
The message told her to arrive at a lake front restaurant in Chicago at 1300 hours. Justine arrived five minutes early. On the dot, the very admiral she met at the Resistance meeting years ago, sat at her table. Of course, he was no longer an admiral. Dressed in a fashionable button down shirt with creased slacks, Justine wasn't sure what kind of public face the man sitting across from her presented in his daily life.. James Casey volunteered nothing to sate her curiosity. Instead, he spoke without preamble. “Captain Mingana, we have a mission for you, a mission you may not survive, but if successful will do considerable damage to the Consortium. Do you accept it?”
“Hell yes. Need you ask?” Justine replied with bravado.
The former admiral's lips parted in a sliver of a smile. “First of all, you're being promoted to a new command. You'll be captain of the Horseman, a Hercules-class ship.”
Justine's brow rose. “That's no trivial promotion. Hercules-class ships are deep-space capable with practically no limitations in their warp capacity.”
“A vessel of that class could travel to the galaxy's core if need be,” Casey agreed. “Fortunately, you won't need to go that far. There's a city...an orbiting city...located in Calaar space. A conference is scheduled to be held at that city in three months. The entire Calaar leadership, along with the highest ranking of their military officers, will be in attendance. Consortium planners have hatched a plot to assassinate everyone at that conference using a weapon of mass destruction. The problem is, we have no idea what kind of weapon it is, only that its frightfully powerful.”
“Most weapons of mass destruction are,” Justine commented flippantly.
Casey planted his elbows on the table. “This one is uncommonly lethal I'm told.”
A waiter appeared with menus. The former admiral accepted a menu and ordered a glass of red wine.
Justine asked for water and waited for Casey to continue when the waiter departed. “U.N. Command has chosen the Horseman as the ship from which this Consortium weapon will be deployed. Two Consortium ships, each carrying a similar mass destruction weapon, are scheduled to join the Horseman. It seems it'll take three such weapons to destroy that city.” A nasty little smirk played across the Casey's face. “U.N. Command jumped like an over eager grasshopper at the opportunity to participate in a joint outing with the Consortium. They want so badly to prove our worth to our so-called masters. Success or failure, what you accomplish on this mission will reduce U.N. Command's credibility, in the eyes of the Consortium, to dirt.”
“What exactly will I be accomplishing?” Justine asked, intrigued.
The waiter returned with glasses of wine and water. The former admiral took a sip of wine and continued. “You're going to foil that weapon's deployment, neutralize anyone in your ship who gets in your way, destroy the two Consortium ships, make contact with the Calaar, and turn the weapon over to them.” He raised a finger. “And not to worry. I've arranged for Resistance members to join your crew. They'll occupy key positions on your roster. A good portion will be Shipboard Marines. Not as many as I would have liked, but enough for your purposes.”
“Why not warn the Calaar about this imminent danger to their leadership?” Mingana inquired.
“Because the Consortium controls all hyper-range communication in the solar system.” The former admiral set his glass down. “Not even the most boot licking of humans have that kind of access, and if we did try to send a signal beyond the system, it would be flagged and traced in an instant.” He gave the captain a grave look. “The fate of the Calaar's leadership and the lives of millions of innocents hinges on you.”
Justine sighed. “No pressure.” She leaned back in her chair. “When do I report to my new ship?”
Casey smiled. “When is your leave time up?”
Comments