Operation Hammerhead - 16. Kin

Task Force Hammerhead

Saratoga

0700

“Now hear this. This is the XO. Begin morning watch. We will be arriving at our replenishment point this morning. Expect a layover of three days as the fleet fuels and loads munitions. I expect our replenishment teams to get us squared away soonest. The carriers are in the front of the line, so the sooner we get it done, the more time we’ll have for rope yarn.”

Danny logged into the master navigational console for the morning watch and sent a query through his neural implant: what is rope yarn?”

In the days of sail, one afternoon a week was set aside for the repair of sails. It was a day of rest for sailors while underway. The slang has survived from wet navies to indicate any period of crew rest while underway.

The computer signaled that the first jump equations were ready and Sokolsky said, “Conn, this is Plot. I have a valid jump solution for jump Master 22-1.”

Lt. Rankin said, “Jump computer has accepted your solution plot. Transmit to the fleet and start the jump clock.”

Dubois sent the jump equations to the fleet and said, “Jump clock has started.”

The rating manning the engineering console said, “Jump engines are charging nominally. All boards are green, sir.”

As the jump engines charged, his implant signaled the receipt of new messages.

TO: Daniel Sokolsky, Science Officer, Saratoga

FROM: John Gant, XO, Canberra

RE: please contact ASAP during stand down

TO: Daniel Sokolsky, Science Officer, Saratoga

FROM: Franz Muller, Captain, Fearless

RE: Would like to have a word with you

TO: Daniel Sokolsky, Science Office, Saratoga

FROM: Shawn West, Engineer 3, Renown

RE: Would like a moment during the layover

He immediately recognized the names. They were all members of a small group that shared his, Tom and Holloway’s genome ID. Time to meet the family.

Task Force Hammerhead

Raymond T. Burke

Captains Day Room

Captain Schmit and Chris Harrison were having a 2^nd cup of coffee when the long awaited virtual meeting began.

All the Command crews of the fleet transports were connected into the fleet network when Admiral Sam Stewart appeared on their monitor and began.

“Good morning gentlemen. I’m Admiral Stewart and my job is to protect your ships. We’ve been very tight-lipped about our specific plans because we are uncertain if our enemies can penetrate our firewalls and networks. Early in the war, there were some indications that they could until we deployed new encryption protocols. When it comes to security, we have to be very paranoid about their capabilities.”

“This morning, I’m here to fill in the blanks.”

“First - what you are carrying is a modular base. We will be deploying it in enemy territory to support our operations. It will provide facilities to fuel and munition our ships, repair battle damage and support our operations.”

“Second- as you are carrying mission-critical hardware, when we form up to jump after refueling at GC9882, each of your ships will get a close escort. Ships from Destroyer Squadron 5 will pair up with the transports to provide close escort. That is in addition to the protection of the rest of the fleet.”

“Third - once you have offloaded your cargo, we will form up a small convoy with a light escort and go home the way we came. The convoy will rendezvous with the pre-positioned ships at GC9882 and proceed to re-enter Alliance space in the Sagitta sector. You should all be back in friendly space in two or three weeks.”

“Finally - you will be shipping out empty with full fuel tanks on a speed run. Your chances of running into the enemy are virtually nil, but you will have all the ships I can spare to escort you home.”

“That will effectively end your part of the operation. Are there any questions?”

There was a brief pause and then someone spoke up.

“This is Captain Kent of the Elliott Jefferson, sir. I understand we will be arriving at our resupply point today. How long will it be until we are in position to offload our cargo?”

Admiral Stewart answered, “We expect to stay at GC9882 for three days. From there it will then be three days to the Carina Rim. We expect the base to be up and running in 36 hours. Call it just about a week. Is there anything else?”

This time there were no questions.

The Admiral said, “Very well. Once we establish our anchorage, the transports and their escort element will form up and jump for home. Your close escort will contact you before we form up to jump for enemy space. Good luck everyone.”

Delta 44-40 Heavy

Redeye Flight from Evergreen to Parliament

Special Agent Eric Fields had his computer pad on his tray table working. He picked at a stale Danish and cold coffee as he reviewed his case files.

Working Evergreen was always interesting. In fact, Fields had started out on Evergreen. Their Rangers were a highly regarded law enforcement unit that had to have a mix of skills and an understanding of the unique planetary ecology. After he mustered out of the Alliance Marines after the Corporate War, he had applied and worked as a Ranger for over a decade. The Ministry of Justice had recruited him for their investigative branch a few years ago. Now, Fields was Justice’s liaison with Evergreen.

After spending three fruitless days looking for Jeff Mason on Evergreen, he and his partner had been summoned back to Parliament. Max was useless on flights. He had the unique and priceless talent to sleep through them.

Fields could not figure out why Headquarters had assigned the Mason case such a high priority. The paperwork and warrants on the kid made him sound like the worst thing since MilTech’s cyborgs. Field’s gut told him there simply had to be more to it than he needed to know.

It didn’t matter what kind of cop you are: you deal with people. Damaged, broken and sometimes evil people but people nonetheless. With experience and instinct, a good cop becomes proficient at reading people, and Fields wasn’t buying Mason as a maniacal terrorist. Something else was going on here, and it had the stench of politics about it. For weeks the conservative coalition in Parliament had been telling everybody that would listen how dangerous illegals, or people conceived with illegal genetic enhancements, were supposed to be. They wanted to rewrite the Genome Protection Act and redefine their legal status.

There wasn’t a clue to Masons presence anywhere on Evergreen. Besides for the surveillance photo taken near the University, there was no sign of him on planet. No hits on facial recognition, no activity on his credit account. In the days after he vanished, no fewer than two hundred and fifty ships had been in and out of Evergreen’s orbital space, moving agricultural goods all over the core worlds and points beyond.

Fields brooded over the surveillance photo on his computer screen as his partner silently snored in the seat beside him. It was a short twenty-two-second piece of night-vision video in shades of gray. Mason appeared to be drunk or drugged, and two guys were - what? Helping him walk it off? No. Someone had given Mason Ketanol to remove his tracker-bug. Mason would have had all the fortitude of grape jelly.

The facial recognition software that had spotted Mason had drawn a blank on the two mystery men. They looked to be about the right age for college, but something about them rang alarm bells in Field's mind. It was the way they moved, their situational awareness, and the way they swept the area with their eyes. He had seen people who moved like that in his own Marine Force Recon training and later with the Evergreen Rangers.

Elite troops had a way about them. It wasn’t something they did out of ego. It is a way of thinking and acting that was very distinct, honed by years of experience and training. Those two young men helping Mason down the street were operators or Fields would eat his hat.

That raised another much more interesting question: whose operators were they?

Hotel Claremont

Parliament

Jeff woke to a splitting headache. He fumbled with the empty champagne bottle, which eluded his grasp and slid off the couch.

Marion looked up from her computer screens and said, “Good morning, sunshine.”

Jeff sat up and said, “My mouth tastes like sweat socks.”

Marion laughed and said, “You were always a cheap drunk. Look in my bag in the bath.”

Jeff wobbled his way into the bath that was still steamy from Marion’s shower. He fumbled through her makeup kit and found her breather mask. He turned it on and put it over his mouth and inhaled the unit's hangover relief mixture. Its effects were almost instantaneous as his head cleared.

He still looked rough, so he took a quick shower and dressed.

When he appeared, Marion was busy monitoring the progress of the teams as they made their way through the bowels of the city. She looked up from her work and said, “Better?”

“I’ll live. How is it going?”

She took a sip of orange juice and said, “So far, so good. The various security systems have all taken the passwords so far. Our boys will all be in position to install our surprises over the next hour.”

She said, “Anything inside the Parliament data network you’re curious about? We have the keys to the kingdom right now.”

Jeff pulled out a computer pad that he had and plugged in the new memory module that he had bought. He booted the system and connected to Marion’s subnet and gasped.

Marion smiled and said, “We’re inside the network and the security systems think we’re with CNET. We’ve got a level of access somewhere between a Cabinet Minister and a demigod.”

Task Force Hammerhead

GHJ-743146 System

Cygnus Rim

The task force emerged from jump in the Sandage system at general quarters. Tanaka’s carriers launched a strong fighter escort just in case the enemy showed up.

Tom Rivers and Crash McDonald were busy on the Saratoga’s PriFly (Primary Flight Control) controlling the fighter screen.

Commander Hayes said, “Done with navigation. Maneuvering has the conn.”

A watch stander repeated, “Maneuvering has the conn, aye.”

Danny’s navigation duties were done for the moment, but he stayed at his post watching the ballet the fleet's command crew was performing. Every ship was locked into a tightly choreographed dance, and it was impressive.

The only thing at all remarkable about the tiny red dwarf system was its placement on the edge of the galaxy. The Sandage Research Station had been placed there a short while after the Cygnus arm planets had been colonized.

For forty years the observatory had been used to study astrophysical phenomena in distant galaxies unobservable from the other side of the galaxy. Sandage Station had observed, cataloged and studied supernova, gamma ray bursts, active galactic nuclei, young and old galaxies. Now it was mothballed until the Alliance could evict their rude neighbors.

From over the fleet-wide channel, one of the officers aboard the Repulse voice announced, “The handshake with the StarCOMM relay was successful. Our data package is way.”

Admiral Bassett’s deep voice came across the fleet wide channel, “Hammerhead Actual to fleet, stand down to Condition 2. Be prepared to jump as soon as we get our reply and recover the CAP.”

It took a little under an hour for the reply to arrive. Sokolsky turned the key to enable the Saratoga’s computer to send the new jump coordinates to the fleet. He announced, “A new jump solution has been sent to the fleet.”

Another member of the navigation team said, “All ships acknowledge receipt of a valid solution.”

“Hammerhead Actual to fleet: before we jump to GC9882 to rendezvous with our tankers, this is the message we received— Great White Actual to Hammerhead. Mako, Bullhead and Leopard battle groups will begin operations immediately. Great White, Sand and Blue battle groups will begin in 48 hours. Good luck and good hunting.”

“It has finally begun, so we’re on the clock. Jump on my next signal.”

Parliament

Space Elevator

Jeff and Marion stepped aboard the space elevator just as the “New People’s” wave of “terror attacks’ began. A small amount of methane in the Parliament Dome gave the entire city an odor like a leaking sewer. Frogs in the fountains and Evergreen crickets chirping would be a nuisance for months until it was all completed.

Marion had spotted the one item that was not on their list: the fuel air bomb slowly filling the Parliament Building. That was an item Mason did not want his people to get credit for.

Parliament Station

Shuttle Landing Bay

As soon as Agent Fields and his partner’s Red-Eye landed and shook hands with the local network, his notepad computer chirped with incoming messages. Out of habit, he read the summaries and abruptly stopped at the username Jeff Mason with the subject line Urgent!

Task Force Hammerhead

GC9882

The Task Force jumped into the fringe of the small globular cluster, GC9882, two hours early. Located off the disk of the Milky Way and a little above, the view was stunning.

As far as globular clusters go, GC9882 was tiny. It was so small that it was only discovered during the first scouting missions out into the Cygnus arm over a hundred and fifty years ago. It was just a convenient place to stash a resupply convoy, which was orbiting a bloated gas giant fifteen light minutes out from a dim M class star.

The maneuvering watch took over on the flag bridge, for the next few hours the Task Force crept across the system to the rendezvous point and prepared to fill up their tanks with nice, clean refined fuel. Sokolsky stood at his station, stretched and headed off to the officer’s mess to get some food.

When he arrived in the mess, Holloway and Rivers were already seated with a number of pilots. Rivers said, “I can’t believe that they brought the Port Royale all the way out here.”

A senior pilot named Conway said, “They usually keep her around the Omicron Ceti corridor.”

Much to his relief so he wouldn’t have to ask, as Sokolsky sat, a junior pilot asked, “What is the Port Royale?”

Conway answered, “The Port Royale is a rebuilt liner that allows fleet officers and enlisted on deep deployment a twenty-four-hour liberty port. I’ve been aboard her a few times at Omicron Ceti, and she’s wonderful. It’s a huge ship, and it has every sort of diversion: games, a casino, live entertainment and restaurants that are just plain astonishing.”

Sokolsky asked, “Who will get to go?”

Conway grinned and said, “I’m pretty sure a light Commander could get a pass. It’s already on the ship-wide net. If you aren’t on duty for the replenishment, anyone can go.”

Tom grinned and said, “I’ve got to see that ship.”

Parliament System

Argus

As soon as Marian and Jeff were aboard, the Argus was cleared for departure. The little freighter cleared the station, took a fast departure lane and jumped away as soon as they were clear of the system's gravity well.

The happy couple and the returning covert operations teams were treated to a hero’s welcome and a small victory party in the passenger’s lounge. There was champagne and treats that had been purchased planet side. All in all, it was a good party.

Even the perpetually dour Sebastian Beck looked pleased. He had a quiet word with Marian and said, “Good work. I believe your work for us is done. On our next jump, we will put you on a shuttle with some money, and you can rejoin your family.”

Marion smiled and raised her glass to Beck. If it were true, she was done with this nightmare. If not, she knew how to play rough too.

Across the room, Gary looked at his brother Jerry, raised an eyebrow and nodded toward Jeff Mason. Jerry looked out the corner of his eyes and saw it too.

Jeff Mason did not look like a guy at a victory party. His demeanor was more appropriate to someone contemplating a terminal illness.

Task Force Hammerhead

GC9882 Anchorage

Saratoga pulled alongside the fleet tanker Atlantic Traveler and spent an hour filling her tanks. As soon as she was done, she pulled into a parking orbit with the other ships that had tanked up and began shuttling personnel for liberty over to the Port Royale.

Sokolsky and Rivers flew over on the twelfth shuttle off and were stunned when they got a good look at the opulent liner. The old ship had been designed and built eighty years ago to take many thousands of colonists to their new homes in the core system worlds. Once that was no longer profitable, the old lady sat in a boneyard for several decades until a senior officer from the Phoenix colony remembered her from traveling aboard as a child.

Port Royale was purchased for a song, given a major refit with modernized engines and fixtures and was run by a contractor that ran a line of hotels and casinos. She had spent most of the war serving as a liberty call in the Omicron Ceti slot. The Sokolsky equations, the new jump equations which were spreading to all Alliance shipping, had made her nimble enough to join the replenishment fleet that had been pre-positioned way the hell and gone in a globular cluster four thousand light years from her usual haunts.

As they followed the line to check in, Holloway intercepted them and handed them both a room card. Ten minutes later, they were in a heated pool with a few hundred other sailors who just wanted to get wet.

Parliament System

Parliament Building Sub-basement

Special Agent Fields watched as the last of the gas cylinders were removed from exactly the places that Jeff Mason had said they would be. Even the serial, lot numbers and bar codes were right.

His partner Max sighed and said, “Jesus, Eric. When is the last time you got an e-mail from a mad bomber that told you exactly where the bombs were?’

Fields said, “Something hasn’t been right about this from the start. Mason’s psychological profile just isn’t right for anything as bloody as turning the Parliament Building into a fuel air explosive.”

“Are you buying this conspiracy to flip the government with an engineered military disaster on the rim and high-profile terrorism in the core worlds?”

Fields looked down at the cylinder and said, “If the binary gas had mixed and been ignited, it would have killed at least half of the elected government. It would have forced special elections.”

Max finished his thought, “And after all that bad news, it would have certainly broken the ruling coalition. The pieces fit. Mason is a stalking horse for whoever this Bishop Kielor character is, but, Mason isn’t on their team.”

“I know exactly who Kielor is, Max. I was a Marine during the ConFed war. He used to be a Colonel who worked in an intelligence billet until he retired a few years ago. He got an Alliance Cross when his company got shot up at the very end of the war. He is politically savvy and has powerful connections. If there is one guy in the Alliance with the access to pull all the strings to make this happen, it’s him.”

Max shook his head and said, “This is huge, Eric. I don’t even know where to start.”

Fields said, “We start now. We’ve got to see the Director, and then we’ve got to get to Thrace. Come on!”

Task Force Hammerhead

Port Royale

GC9882 Anchorage

After a nice afternoon of goofing off, Sokolsky's implant pinged with an incoming signal.

TO: Daniel Sokolsky, Science Officer, Saratoga

FROM: John Gant, XO, Canberra

RE: Are you free for dinner? I think we need to talk.

Danny sat straight up like he had taken an electric shock.

Tom asked, “Are you all right?”

Danny said, “Yeah. I think we’re about to get some answers.

Sokolsky sent:

TO: John Gant, XO, Canberra

FROM: Daniel Sokolsky, Science Officer, Saratoga

RE: Yes. Where and when? I want to bring two others.

The reply came immediately.

TO: Daniel Sokolsky, Science Officer, Saratoga

FROM: John Gant, XO, Canberra

RE: Sooner the better. Grisham’s. I’ll have a private dining room.

Danny asked Rivers and Holloway, “Are you guys ready for an early dinner?”

Both nodded. Holloway said, “I’m even hungrier for some answers.”

They spent ten minutes getting ready for dinner, checked the ship's directory and headed off for Grisham’s Steak House.

They weren’t the only ones to have that idea. Grisham’s was packed and there was a line out the door. As they approached, a waiter saw their party and beckoned them in past the line. He ushered them in past the crowd into a private dining room.

The usher opened the door and said, “Enjoy your steak, gentlemen.”

Sokolsky entered first and failed at concealing his shock. Around a large table, there were a number of senior officers, starting with a Lieutenant Commander and going up to Captain. Their resemblance to Sokolsky, Rivers or Holloway was striking.

One of the men wearing the braid of an Executive Officer stood and said, “Welcome Lt. Commander Sokolsky, Lt. Rivers and Lt. Holloway. I’m Commander John Gant. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, and tonight you are going to get the answers you have quietly been looking for.”

Danny took one of the empty chairs, and the stunned Rivers and Holloway saluted. The most senior officer there, Captain Muller of the Fearless, laughed and said, “I appreciate the courtesy gentlemen but, tonight, we’re all just sailors. No rank in this mess.”

As Holloway sat, he asked, “So, what is going on?”

Captain Mueller said, “Most of what we’re going to tell you is a mixture of common knowledge and suppressed knowledge. I suggest that you be discreet with this, as there are people out there that hate and detest us on general principles. It’s a bit of a long story that goes back to before the Genome Protection Act, when it was legal in much of the Alliance for parents to have their children genegineered. I was one of the first generation of a line of people designed by a very talented geneticist named Ava Bruckner. As a matter of fact, I grew up knowing her. She followed the first generation's progress for years to make sure everything was working.”

Gant continued the story, “Dr. Bruckner was a genius. She wasn’t one of those hacks making intentionally low IQ workers or sex slaves for brothels that so disgusted and enraged the Alliance’s idealists. Her whole intention was to create people who would be gifted enough to face the challenges that humanity would face as we spread out in the galaxy.”

Mueller picked up the story, “You’ll notice that we’re all older than you. We were born before the Genome Protection Act was passed. We’re ‘legals’ and aren’t forced to jump through all the hoops that you younger people have.”

Sokolsky said, “And we’re illegals because we were born after.”

Holloway growled, “The tattoos, the registration with the Bureau of Genome Integrity— all of that shit because we were born after something we had nothing to do with.”

Gant nodded solemnly.

Mueller said, “All of that is unfortunate and reactionary on the part of grandstanding politicians, but you need to know the truth. Bruckner created twelve designs. Alphas and Betas were prototypes and were only simulations, but the next ten designs were gammas through mu. Commander Gant, I and you three are all thetas. Lt. West is an iota. The designs aren’t supermen, but we have advantages. We are rarely ever sick, we heal quickly when injured and tend to be highly intelligent. We are free of any inherited disorders.”

Sokolsky said, “Have you noticed how many of us are in this fleet?”

Mueller shook his head.

Danny said, “As I pretty much own the Saratoga’s computer, I did a database search on all personnel that have non-unique genome ID numbers. There are literally hundreds of us in the fleet.”

Mueller gave Gant a look and said, “Do you know about the Geminis? They’re all Marines.”

Sokolsky said, “No, I’m not familiar with that term.”

Gant said, “It goes back to the ConFed War. The Corporations were trying to create super soldiers. Everything they tried didn’t work until they grew them as twins and raised them from childhood. The ConFeds called them Gemini soldiers. They got what they were looking for. The Geminis have grown up to be outstanding soldiers, but they were just children when the Alliance Marines liberated them. It turned out to be a very lucky match. The Alliance Marines who liberated the kids ended up adopting most of them, and almost all of them eventually joined the Corps. There has got to be a lot of them on the transports.”

Sokolsky said, “I don't know about them, but there are ten other groups that have identical genome ID codes. I think I have an idea why this is.”

“Admiral Tanaka had me do some threat analysis and projection of what we’re jumping into. There are two different sets of numbers furnished by the Ministry of Defense and Fleet Intelligence. Both of those sets of numbers are much too low. The Ministry numbers are short by a factor of at least ten.”

Everyone around the table turned pale.

Sokolsky said, “I believe that this situation has been created with the intention of creating a military disaster for political purposes, but it’s going to backfire. We’re going to kick their ass.”