Jaunt (28 page)

Pacing in front of the holograph, Dark Horse continued, “
Strela
isn’t the most powerful warhead ever constructed, at least by conventional means. But its unique destructive capability more than makes up for this short-term deficiency.”

Dark Horse tapped a button on his holobook, which stripped away an exterior hatch, unveiling a cross-section of the warhead’s nosecone. Another command magnified the interior five times, revealing the intricacies of the device’s construction; metal piping ran down a vertical shaft, which then connected to a larger, centralized compartment, complete with two very familiar parallel plates.

“Agents Constantine’s and McKean’s reconnaissance has allowed us to construct a rough schematic of
Strela
’s mechanics based on the holographs they downloaded. According to our best estimates, the warhead’s capability is based upon neutron fusion, utilizing the miniaturization of Casimir vacuum chambers to accomplish this.” He raised a finger. “Therein lies the insidiousness of this device.”

Gilmour shot a look to Constantine and McKean, then to de Lis and Waters;
Strela
’s Casimir plates were of the same construction as their hazard suits...too much so to be of coincidence. Did the Confederation stumble upon the Casimir’s extreme effectiveness, or...surely Dark Horse and de Lis weren’t blind to this?

“For those of you unaware of the potential of this weapon, allow me to give you an example. You may remember the volcanic eruption the Global Security Network detected from a previously unknown seismic basin in the Kamchatka Peninsula some thirteen months ago? The Confederation stonewalled the administration’s geological investigation into the incident. Thanks to two of our IIA special agents, what you are about to see is the reason why.”

Dark Horse punched another sequence of buttons on his holobook, shifting the
Strela
holograph over a half-meter, giving room to another holograph that then took its place. A flat plane evolved into a sculpted mountain landmass, adorned with hundreds of pine trees, accompanied by a rolling grassland from its base beyond. For several seconds it was a serene paradise until a series of flashes above the peak foreshadowed an intense burst of light so bright the photons casted silhouettes upon the gallery’s walls. Millions of metric tonnes of rocky crust from the mountain were instantly atomized, reducing the great edifice to a pitiful caldera. Superheated plasma, formerly trapped beneath the mass, quickly escaped into the atmosphere, blistering the Earth’s life-maintaining blanket.

Only silence emerged from the gaping mouths of the spectators.

Dark Horse wiped the devastation from the gallery. “Nine-point-one scale aftershocks shook the region for more than two weeks after this...demonstration. The DoD

estimates the Confederation detonated six warheads to produce this result.”

“Just six?” Gilmour asked, concerned. Reflecting for a moment, he turned to Rauchambau. “Solicitor General, do we have any agents inside the Confederation close to the manufacturing plants for these warheads? Specifically, the Casimir plates?”

“None near any of the manufacturing plants...almost all of our efforts have been concentrated around the quantum smashers.”

Gilmour stroked his chin. “Would it be possible to redirect at least one agent to the Confederation’s manufacturing base?”

“With some doing, possibly. We’d need to establish new credentials, and provide new accommodations. Arranging all that would be quite a challenge for our regional network in Irkutsk.”

“What do you have in mind, Agent Gilmour?” Dark Horse asked.

“Formulating the Solicitor General’s olive branch.” He looked to Rauchambau. “The IIA will infiltrate and, if possible, overwrite
Strela
’s Casimir transponder codes. You’ll recall, Doctor, that your initial attempts at scanning sent the first jewel specimens back in time?”

“Or the next best thing to it, yes.” De Lis paused to allow his mind to catch up to Gilmour’s. “Intriguing, Agent Gilmour. Eliminating all the jewels in the trench at once, upon detonation.”

Rauchambau’s eyes narrowed. “Pardon me, Doctor...I’m still two steps behind.”

De Lis explained, “Agent Gilmour’s plan will theoretically allow us to activate the jewels’ inherent properties—time travel—when the Confederation would send the transponder signal to detonate....”

Comprehension crept over the Solicitor General’s brow.

“...Rendering the warheads impotent, since the devices should be swept up into a spacetime sinkhole, taking their neutronic yield with them,” de Lis finished.

A flood of skepticism washed over Rauchambau’s face. “‘
Should
?’ Are you certain?”

De Lis crossed his arms, more out of defense than comfort. “It’s the only realistic chance we have of preventing war. Now granted, we did this on a much smaller scale—just a single jewel.” De Lis swallowed, then intoned, “I implore you, Solicitor General, an investment of a select handful of agents, behind the lines, will be much preferred to a million-plus men and women mobilized to fight your—” he censored himself, careful not to place blame, “a war of attrition, which this world cannot afford. Our century has seen too many sacrifices. Too many children fighting the wars of men, of nation-states, only to come home in bodybags. This is our opportunity to stop it, here and now.”

Everyone in the gallery stood mute, taken aback by his polemic; most of de Lis’

long-time colleagues knew that the doctor was not given to voicing strong opinions in private, let alone in public. His conviction was impeccable, and voice unwavering. How could they dissent?

“Nobody wants war, Doctor de Lis,” Rauchambau said. Remembering all of his reports in the years past that had stated de Lis’ strong support for many of Justice’s covert initiatives, Rauchambau mulled the team’s assertions, even those he considered less than affordable. He put a finger to his lips before asking, “How do we proceed?”

Shifting to U5-29 once more, de Lis, Dark Horse, Valagua, Waters, Gilmour, Constantine, McKean and Rauchambau took their usual seats. The lieutenant colonel produced a holobook and scrolled down its text, which he referred to before beginning.

“Secretary of Defense McKennitt has made this meeting a top priority; at this moment, he is recommending a motion to the President and the Joint Chiefs, in the event of a national crisis, to secure the North Pacific with military forces. Our job is to make sure that won’t be necessary.”

He tapped a button on his device, highlighting a cartograph of Irkutsk, just a few dozen kilometers from Lake Baikal. “With Doctor de Lis’ direction, we are to provide our illegals in Irkutsk with reconfigured data codes. The mission for them won’t be easy...we’ve had a five-to-one failure rate over the past decade in this republic. Security is tight. It’ll be up to us to make it as easy as possible for them to retool the
Strela
s under the Confederation’s nose.”

“How are we to accomplish that?” Waters asked.

“That’s where Agents Gilmour, Constantine and McKean come in. Agents....”

Gilmour flicked a button on his holobook. “I’m sure this will look familiar to you all.”

The Irkutsk projection disappeared, replaced by a schematic of one of the flat black holographic projectors. Gilmour started, “In tandem with Javier Valagua, who has been putting in some of his own extracurricular hours, we have developed a method to synchronize our experience with that of the agents already in place, utilizing webbed holographic HUDs and modified holographic projectors designed for our hazard suits. By providing them with this live feed, we can instruct them on the spot on how to recode the warheads, while hopefully keeping their various covers as maintenance crew at the assorted neutronic facilities.”

Valagua looked to de Lis, Waters and Rauchambau. “It’s ambitious, but we think it’s the best way. Giving these agents a live feed without having to bog them down with minutia can only work in our advantage.”

“Then we will need to put in some more hours to fine-tune the projectors in time,”

de Lis declared. The doctor glanced over the schematic again and asked, “I gather that you have worked out the problems in miniaturizing the HUD components?”

Valagua gave Waters and de Lis a confident nod. “We’ve begun the corneal implantation trials, even as we speak.”

“You have a deadline of oh-five-hundred Tuesday, and not a moment later,” Dark Horse announced. “They’re to be dropshipped to the illegals with our weekly briefings, and we cannot postpone. Understood?”

Unanimous voices chorused, “Understood.”

“Good. Dismissed.”

With that curt ending, the assembled rose from the table and shuffled out, once more determined to beat another of their seemingly endless objectives.

“It has been over six weeks since your last communique! What is the delay?!”

“Security here has nearly neutralized my position twice!” the encrypted voice answered, with nary enough time to formulate a response. “I have had to triple-check every move and delay my latest reports. I apologize for my—”

“Enough with excuses! I expected to receive your intelligence on the three missions, but instead silence was my answer! If it wasn’t for the extraordinary measures I took to procure this assignment for you, you would have been eliminated long ago! Do you understand?!”

“Y-yes. Constantine and McKean were successful in infiltrating the Irkutsk and Magadan facilities...
Strela
will be compromised.”

“Compromised? How so?”

“The transponder codes. You must prevent the codes from being changed. They intend on resetting them so that the detonation will activate the specimens deep in the Kuril-Kamchatka Trench. If they succeed, the neutronic particles will not fuse, and you will lose all the warheads.”

“Impossible! There is no possible way to do this! The neutronic fusion process cannot be halted once detonation is activated.”

An angry sigh went into the line. “Please listen to me! It is possible, because the fusion process will not be activated if the codes are changed!”

The old man’s bones creaked as he wrapped his hand around the phone. “Then I will alter your mission. I am ordering you to prevent that from occurring. Sabotage the efforts of the Temporal Retrieve agents. Eliminate them before they can jaunt and change the transponder codes. Kill them now, if you so please.”

“It...it’s not that easy....”

“Why?!”

“The Temporal Retrieve agents aren’t involved. The IIA illegals working in your facilities will be performing the alterations.”

“There are no illegals in Irkutsk! Our purges have eradicated them from the
Strela
centers!”

“They were given false credentials and moved from quantum smashers across the Confederation. They are there, and they will do it.”

The old man paused, contemplating what could possibly have gone wrong between the issuing of his commands and the soldiers carrying them out. Perhaps he would order a series of executions; it was the only way to be certain this disgrace would not be repeated. But that still would not solve his ultimate problem.

“Then what is your solution?” the old man asked. “You are the one I am paying—

handsomely, I must add—to provide us with neutronic particles and the warhead technology...how do we put an end to this?”

“There...might be an avenue to disrupt the operation. I—”

A double click over the line, followed by loud feedback, halted the conversation.

“What...what is going on?!” the old man asked after several seconds of dead air.

“What happened?”

“I’m terminating the line! I can’t talk!”

“What is going on?! What do you think you are doing?!” he yelled, but to no avail; the dial tone told him all he needed to know. In anger he slammed the phone onto his desk, smashing the device. Taking a difficult breath, he glared at the suited man across from him. “HADRON,” he said, pulling a cigarette from his pack and lighting it, “has been uprooted.”

The suited man shoved his hands into his trouser pockets. Walking over to the window, he glimpsed the first descending snowflakes of the season. Cold, it was so wonderfully cold anymore. “His elimination is past due.”

The old man nodded. “By all means...end his game now.”

“Lionel, this report is half-finished,” Waters said, slapping the just-received holobook down on her desk. “You promised me Crowe and Ivan would have the QPU calculations three hours ago. Do you know how much Richard is going to berate me now?”

Roget rubbed his eyes before retrieving the holobook. “Listen, neither of them have left the lab the past two days...come to think of it, neither have I, except for the occasional commode visit. I just have too many things on my mind.”

Waters stood and looked Roget in the eyes. “I understand...but we need to maintain our united front, with all the departments at their peak. The more little discrepancies settle in, the less likely we’ll get those illegals out of there.” She walked around her desk and clapped his shoulder. “Can you try to get this finished? I’ll give Richard some excuse that I was too busy to retrieve it from you.”

He nodded his head, then exited her office. Gnashing his teeth, he thrust the holobook into Crowe’s hand, ordering him to redo the entire report from scratch, then left U5-1. His heels clacking along the ancient tile floor, Roget quickly bypassed the ubiquitous Marines, who, throughout the months they had been stationed here, admirably disregarded the eccentricities of the theoretical studies department’s denizens. Little wonder that Roget did his best to ignore the MPs in turn, so much so they were no more than indoor statuary.