By Other Means (4 page)

She could do that.

It was about then that Sorilla realized that she wasn’t even considering refusing the mission, the thought literally hadn’t crossed her mind. All considerations of leaving the military had been wiped away in an instant with no thought whatsoever.

Sorilla took a deep breath.

Yes, she could do this.

*****

Alexi Petronov glanced up, mildly surprised to see the familiar form in his door. It wasn’t just that she was on the Soc, however, it was the familiar uniform she wore. SOLCOM ground forces wore black dress tunics and pants, conforming tightly to the wearer, and she wore it well. The only nod to her previous career in the United States Military was the green beret with the Special Forces emblem seated proudly on her head.

He could only nod, recognizing that she’d made her choice.

“When are you shipping out?” He asked, a soft smile on his lips.

“Tomorrow,” Sorilla answered, smiling back. “I’ve been assigned to the Ambassador’s protective detail.

It was really all he could do not to outright laugh in her face at that.

Honestly, assigning Sorilla Aida to a protective detail was akin to use a nuclear bomb for point defense. That cover was so thin it was invisible to anyone who knew her, or even those who might recognize the beret resting on her skull.

Aliens won’t know that, I suppose,
he thought,
or she could just take off the funny hat.

This time he did laugh, mostly at the image of what she’d do to him if he called her beret a funny hat to her face. He wasn’t stupid enough to make those images come true, of course, which was the
only
reason they were funny.

“Yuk it up, Ivan.” Sorilla told him dryly, clearly misinterpreting his amusement.

He didn’t disabuse her of the notion, it was better for his health that way.

“So, bodyguard duty, then?” He asked, still smirking at her.

“It’s an important job,” She told him, teeth clenched.

“Oh, no doubt, no doubt,” He agreed, now grinning like a loon. “So, we celebrate tonight, da?”

Sorilla took a breath, then nodded, “Da.”

“Good, shall I call your friends?”

“No, thank you, I’ll arrange it.”

Alexi nodded, “As you say then. Is there anything else?”

Sorilla smirked back at him this time and stepped into the office, letting the door close. “I have a little time.”

“Well, I do love a woman in uniform,” Alexi grinned, now cheerfully as he keyed the door lock.

“You’d look good in one yourself,” She shook her head pityingly, “Better than these drab coveralls.”

“Bah, horrible things. Gives me hives. Best you let me get you out of those before it gets you too.”

Sorilla laughed, rolling her eyes as he caught her around the waist and pulled her in. “I thought you loved a woman in uniform?”

“Love you better out of uniform.”

It was probably very good that SOLCOM ships were built so solidly, Sorilla reflected as the buttons on her tunic came undone. Thermal insulation made for excellent soundproofing.

“Welcome, Sentinal Kriss. I trust you’re fully recovered?”

Kriss nodded stiffly from where he was standing, “Yes Commander.”

“Good.”

The Parithalian commander was one of the highest military authorities in the sector, high enough that Kriss rarely have even seen the Pari, let alone spoke to him. It made the Lucian both slightly nervous, something he’d not admit of course but no Lucian enjoyed dealing with non-Lucian officers, and excited.

Being there, in the open air of the Pari’s office, meant that there was an assignment in the making. One that was clearly of some import.

“The Terrans are sending another envoy shortly, Sentinal, are you aware of this?”

Kriss shrugged very slightly, “Only in the most general terms, Commander.”

That was the straight truth, he didn’t follow such things unless there was an alert that hostilities were expected to commence. That wasn’t the case here, however, not yet at any rate. The Terran species seemed to have little interest in reigniting the war, and the Alliance certainly didn’t want that. Not until they’d worked out what the
singularity
happened to their expeditionary fleet at the very least, and probably not even then.

“It’s expected that we’ll sign a basic truce agreement,” The Commander went on, “Nothing too involved, but it is in the Alliance’s interest to see it go through with no problems at the moment.”

Kriss was starting to get a sinking feeling that this wasn’t the sort of assignment he’d prefer.

“Commander? I don’t believe this sounds like a task for Sentinels…”

“We believe that the Ross will attempt to interfere with the truce agreement,” The Commander continued, ignoring his objection.

The interruption, as well as the words, stopped the words dead in Kriss’ throat. He silently considered the information before speaking again.

“The Ross are not the sort to act on their own,” Kriss said finally, with some uncertainty.

“More than you know, but in this case we expect them to act through intermediaries. They’re not strong enough to incur the full displeasure of the Alliance, and they’re well aware of that fact.”

“So, probably through Kirlan agents then,” Kriss said.

“Possibly, but there are other possibilities.”

The Kirlan were a musclebound species that had been linked with the Ross for as long as anyone knew, some speculated that the Ross had raised the Kirlan up from some primitive world to use as slaves, but there was little evidence of that.

“Most concerning would be the Kaylan,” The Commander said, “They’ve been in open revolt for some time and, while we’ve kept it under control, it would be in their interests to spark another war in this sector.”

Kriss nodded, “This is true, however the Ross are not known for their diplomatic skills. I find it hard to believe that they would be able to manipulate something of this nature without it being blatantly obvious.”

The Commander deflated slightly, “It is possible that they also have some help from within the Alliance worlds themselves. Several defense corporations are keen to pick up new contracts, and these Terrans have proven quiet clearly that they’re more than capable of causing a keen level of attrition. Analysts suggest no risk of the Alliance losing a full scale war, but the cost in terms of both serving sentients and equipment would be… atrocious. Unless, of course, you own the corporation responsible for replacing said equipment.”

Kriss hissed at that, not that he was against a nice little war with the Terrans but because of the treachery involved. The Lucians, Sentinels especially, lived for conflict. It was what he’d always wanted to do, and honestly the few skirmishes he’d had with the Terrans had been some of the best fights he’d known.

Oh, not all of them, of course. Most seemed to be little more than your average militant species, soft and technology dependant. However, their technology
was
impressive on a one to one level, and they had their own Sentinels.

Few species truly had those.

He’d barely survived encounters with the Terran Sentinels on at least three occasions, each of those were exhilarating combats that he’d already logged with the Lucian archives. The last time had nearly resulted in his
capture
, when he barely escaped the retaking of the Terran ship after being cut off from his team.

Starting a war for
money
however, that was below contempt.

Most combatants weren’t Lucians, and they weren’t Sentinels. Kriss understood the other species well, they served to protect their people rather than to thrust themselves into war for the sheer joy of it. To start a war for money was to spit on their service, and that was something no Sentinel could stomach.

“So we don’t know who will attempt to spike the reactor, then?” He showed his teeth, “Well, that makes things interesting.”

“Indeed. Find them, eliminate them.” The Commander ordered, “We cannot have another war with the Terrans so quickly, it would almost certainly destabilize the entire sector.”

“Understood. What will be tell the Terrans?”

“nothing.” The Pari Commander said coldly, “You’ll just be part of the security detail.”

“Very well, I understand my orders.”

*****

Master of Ships Reethan Parath had mixed feelings about his new assignment.

It was to be expected, he supposed, that he be pulled back from the frontier somewhat, considering the events in what was now disputed space. The loss of ships, including an entire expeditionary force and at least one unaccounted for Ross cruiser, had to be put on the shoulders of someone. Since he was the only Master of Ships to come back, well he was appointed the task.

Still, it wasn’t total oblivion for his career, he had too much experience and general knowledge of the new species to be consigned to some obscure corner of Pari space and forgotten. So instead they made him a Master of Station at the primary jump point junction in the sector, conveniently where the talks between the Alliance and Terrans were taking place.

Ostensibly it might even be called a promotion, but only by someone with little knowledge of Parithalian military politics. A Master of Station was, indeed, a higher rank but it also held no authority over any Ship’s Master in the system if the presence of a Master of Ships was present, and there was always at least one Master of Ships near the Junction system of Piran.

That left him the highest ranking Master in a system where his power began and ended with the station he now commanded. There were worse things that could happen to a Parithalian Master of Ships, he supposed, but few of them didn’t involve enemy action.

Parath stepped out onto the command floor of the station, a truly immense space that felt more like the open air of his homeworld than an artificial bubble in space. It was one of very few perks to the change in his position, but he would enjoy it all the more for that very reason.

“Report.” He said calmly, approaching  the central command area.

“All ships are proceeding as ordered, no deviations, Master.”

“Good. When are we expecting the Terrans back?”

“Not for some time, Master, twelve full cycles at the minimum estimate.” The sub-prentice offered. “Shall I have you informed when they enter the system?”

“Yes.” Parath ordered simply. “I should like to be on floor for their approach.”

“Yes sir, I understand they’re very dangerous.”

There was a softly hidden question in those words, something that didn’t surprise Parath really. The Terrans had earned themselves something of a legend in Alliance space. Not even the Ross had ever made an entire Expeditionary Fleet simply
vanish
. The total lack of any trace had done far more to spook people than the destruction itself ever could have.

Fleets sometimes were lost in combat, that had happened, but they were never simple
lost
.

Parath himself felt a familiar shiver just at the thought of it, after all he could have been with them under slightly different circumstances. He got a hold of himself, however, and snapped out of the reverie when he noticed the sub-prentice looking his direction.

“Yes, Shir,” He told her, “They are dangerous, but no more than we or any other member of the Alliance, and they are
respectable
ship handlers. Do not fear them for what we don’t know, respect them for what we do.”

“Yes Master.”

He watched her return to her work for a time, then refocused his attention elsewhere.

The Piran system was a busy trade hub, deep enough inside Alliance space to be well protected by more strategically controlled stars, but close enough to Terran controlled space to make a very attractive meeting area.  It was a spectacle intended to wow the Terrans, he suspected, with almost literally uncountable planetary
masses
of materials being exchanged and transported through every cycle.

The system was of little to no strategic value beyond the trade strength, however, since it was far enough inside Alliance space to make the junction system of little use to military ships. Only slower and less powerful merchants needed the local jump points, so there was little in the way of security value or Alliance secrets here for the Terrans to dig into.

As far as such things went, at least.

Parath wondered sometimes how the Alliance envoy was handling his station in the Terran sphere. It was information he was not privy to, but he suspected that must be a very
interesting
position, in every sense of the word.

May you fly interesting skies, and surfaces never touch.

The Parithalian Master of Station for Piran couldn’t help but think that ancient blessing and curse was uniquely fitting for his life now and, in all likelihood, into the future.

*****

“Are things in place?”

The speaker was seated in a darkened room in the heavy gravity section of the station, cast in shadows not out of intent to conceal but because his species had developed in the light cast by a brown dwarf star and had little love of brightness.

“Yes, we’ve prepared the necessary people and shifted equipment around.”

“None of it can be traced back to us?”

“No. The Ross themselves moved some of the weapons into the area, and you know how impossible it is to track their shipments.”

The slender figure nodded, just visible in the low light. It was true, the Ross were infamous for being able to shift cargo, illicit or otherwise, through any and all attempts at blockade. No one had been able to determine how, and no customs inspector had yet managed to catch them at it either. It was an enviable record, particularly among those species who made significant portions of their wealth in the more grey parts of the interstellar trade.

“Excellent. So, we wait now, for the… what are they called again?”

“Terrans, Sir, or Humans.”

“Well, whatever, we wait for their return.” The slender figure snorted humorlessly.

“What is it, Sir?”

“Just an amusing thought occurred to me,” was the response, “After all this investment, it would be rather annoying if something happened and they broke off negotiations on their own before we could encourage it.”