“Operation Kidd has three objectives,” she added. “The first is to scout the area and draw up a rough outline of their operations within the border systems. We have some idea, but our data is very limited and often quite out of date. The second is to establish a secret operations base within the sector, one that can support a small squadron of light units. The third is twofold: first, to raid their ships and damage their supply lines, and second, to make each of them think that the other is responsible for the raids. Hartkopf’s reputation goes ahead of him and he’s precisely the kind of person who assumes that others have the same low motives as himself.”
“Let’s you and him fight,” the Marine Major General said.
“Precisely,” Arunika said. She paused. “Does anyone have any questions?”
“Yes,” Roman said. It had occurred to him the moment she’d mentioned raiding their ships. “It strikes me, commodore, that they will think the only people who actually benefit from the raids are us, the Federation itself. They may not be fooled by us, whatever IFF signals we use…”
“That actually works in our favor,” Arunika assured him. “If they don’t realize what we’re doing, that’s great—they will break off relations and perhaps even go to war, which will give us the chance to crush the winner when he finally emerges. If they do realize the truth, they will have to divert scarce ships and resources to protect their convoys, a task that will require capital ships rather than light units. We win either way.”
“I have a different question,” the Marine said. “What are we going to do about Hobson’s Choice?”
“For the moment, nothing,” Admiral Drake said before Arunika could speak. “I know; we need to do something about them, even if it involves flying a battle squadron into their system to convince them to see reason. For the moment, however, the Senate has vetoed all operations against the world. They feel that it would set an uncomfortable precedent.”
Roman frowned and accessed his implants. Hobson’s Choice was barely rated as habitable and had only been settled because the founder had discovered the planet, claimed it and then realized that no colony developers were willing to buy the rights to settle there, on the grounds that hardly any colonists would willingly choose to emigrate. Even the Involuntary Settlement Department—which ran the hell-worlds the Federation used as a dumping ground for serious criminals—hadn’t been interested. The founder had bought some tools, convinced a few of his friends to help out and established a small settlement. He’d styled himself a King and written a very loose body of laws; three hundred years later, the independent world had a thriving and thoroughly illegal economy as a base for smugglers, mercenary outfits and probably pirates. It was not, technically, a Federation member world, but that wouldn’t protect it if the Federation Navy decided to come knocking.
The Senate’s reluctance to move against the planet was odd. Perhaps some of the Senators had hidden interests on the world?
Admiral Drake cleared his throat. “We will proceed as follows,” he said. “Captain Garibaldi will take his ship into the sector and start scouting. Admiral Mason and Task Force Kidd will follow him within a week and base themselves at FAS-382674, at least until they can locate a proper location for a base. Once the shipping routes have been charted, the Task Force will commence operations against their shipping.”
Roman kept his face blank by force of will. Serving under Mason’s command was not his idea of fun. He wouldn’t put it past Mason to insist on flying his flag on the Midway…no, he couldn’t, not if the Midway was intended to precede the main body of the fleet. If the truth were to be told, he wasn’t entirely happy with orders to play pirate, even though he saw the underlying logic. Turning two of the Federation’s enemies against each other would save lives in the long run, even if it meant going near The Hive. Mason would probably insist on using The Hive as a base of operations, the bastard. He wouldn’t be gripped with the almost supernatural fear that pervaded the Federation. The Hivers were dead and gone, but the trauma they’d caused would never be forgotten.
“I have a question,” Mason said flatly. He sounded as if he’d just bitten into a very rotten fruit. “You are talking about operating on the end of very long supply lines. How long do you expect us to keep even a relatively small task force up and running before we have to withdraw from the region?”
“For the first part, we will be sending a large Fleet Train with you,” Arunika said. “For the second part, you will have to purchase supplies from Hobson’s Choice. They will be happy to sell anything to you; they never have problems supplying Outsiders, or rebels, or even aliens. Uzi and his team will handle that part of the operation.”
Roman frowned. Mason was right; he might be an asshole, but no one could call him incompetent. Relying on Hobson’s Choice as a source for supplies struck him as absurd, even though the files backed Arunika up. The planet’s natives would be happy to sell anything to everyone. There was no law or order, apart from a loose agreement not to fight in orbit around the planet.
He turned to look at Uzi and started in surprise as he saw the man’s eyes. Uzi was enhanced, almost a cyborg. Fully-enhanced humans were rare, even on the most advanced Federation worlds; the RockRats were the only culture to embrace enhancement on a regular basis. Apart from The Hive…
“There is no reason to fear,” Uzi said. He had a gravelly voice that reminded Roman of the first Instructor-NCO he’d encountered at Luna Academy. It was easy to see some of the enhancements flexing under his skin as he spoke. “We have operated in that region before. Obtaining the supplies you require will not be difficult.”
“I don’t have to remind you,” Admiral Drake said softly, “that preventing the two warlords from linking up is a priority. If all of the warlords, or even most of them, learn to work together, the Federation is doomed. Consider that while you’re preparing for this mission.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Military-grade encryption is, of course, banned for public use in the Federation. Naturally, attempts to prevent its dissemination have all failed. Everyone from the Senate to the poorest peon on a barely-settled world wants private communications. There is a thriving underground trade in encryption protocols and an ongoing battle between their creators and the various counter-intelligence agencies in the Federation.
FNS Magnificent, Boskone System, 4095
“He has grown up a bit, hasn’t he?”
Marius nodded as he poured glasses of wine. If there was one advantage to being—officially, at least—in the Senate’s favor, it was that he was regularly sent gifts by people hoping to ingratiate themselves with him. Marius simply took them, distributed some of them to people who needed the gifts more than him, and never acknowledged any of it, hoping that the senders would get tired of wasting their money. So far, it hadn’t worked. They’d sent very good wine, though.
“He has,” he agreed, as he passed Admiral Mason his glass. He took his seat and tried to relax, even though it was difficult knowing that there was a hostile enemy fleet on the other side of the Asimov Point. Both sides had sent through recon drones from time to time, but neither had followed them up with a full-scale offensive…and nothing less would settle the issue. The defenses on Admiral Justinian’s side of the Asimov Point were formidable. Even if Marius succeeded in breaking through with his fleet, he’d be bled white. “And I noticed that he was a little wary of you.”