as suddenly as Koenig’s image had appeared, it was gone, dissolving into a shrill hiss of white noise.
“Damn.”
“What happened?”
“The software … killed itself,” the interrogator said. “Electronic suicide.”
“It can’t kill itself if it’s not alive to begin with.”
But the interrogator wasn’t certain of that. Other iterations of Koenig’s software had switched themselves off when they’d discovered that he was tampering with them.
He loaded another copy.
“We’ll try again,” he said. “But I have a feeling it’s going to be a long night. …”
Koenig’s electronic persona seemed determined not to cooperate, and he could not figure out how to get past the program’s guardian aspect.
The interrogator was very good at what he did.
There had to be a way to break the thing. …
Chapter One
10 April 2405
In Alcubierre Space
Approaching HD 157950
98 light years from Earth
0840 hours, TFT
The star carrier America fell through darkness absolute.
Intense, artificially generated gravitational fields warped space tightly around the America, and no light could enter from the universe outside. While material objects like a spacecraft could not travel faster than light, there was no such prohibition about space. Indeed, in the earliest moments of the big bang, over 13 billion years before, newly born space had expanded with that initial burst of energy from two colliding branes considerably in excess of c.
And a ship embedded within that swiftly moving space could be carried along inside the gravitationally closed bubble at a pseudovelocity of nearly two light years per day.
America and her battlegroup had been traveling through the darkness within their separate bubbles for sixty-three days, now. And they were very nearly at the end of the first leg of their voyage.
Rear Admiral Alexander Koenig, the battlegroup’s CO, was seated in America’s command lounge. The room, broad and circular, projected the surrounding vista across the gently curved overhead when the ship was in normal space, showing the unmoving panorama of stars outside. Within the confines of metaspace, however, the interior of the fast-moving bubble of enclosed space-time, the lightless Void was at arm’s length. Currently, it was displaying the blue, cloud-scattered skies of Earth.
Two men appeared in the lounge entryway. “You wanted to see us, Admiral?”
Captain Randolph Buchanan was America’s commanding officer, tall, long-faced, with perpetual worry lines. Captain Barry Wizewski was the CO of the star carrier’s space-fighter wing commander, her CAG—an ancient acronym derived from “Commander, Air Group.”
“I did. C’mon in.”
“Staying off the record, sir?” Wizewski said, smiling.
“Yes, actually. I don’t expect to salvage my career after this, but I’ll be damned if I’ll give them the rope to hang me … or anything on the record to drag you into this.”
Anything discussed on either America’s main bridge or her flag bridge was recorded, as were conversations in the Admiral’s Office and all other working compartments on board ship. Virtual meetings held in-head were recorded as well by the ship AIs responsible for moderating all electronic communications.
“You’re doing the right thing, Admiral,” Buchanan told him, taking one of the low, round seats opposite Koenig.
“Thanks, Randy. But we both know the Senate’s never going to stand for this kind of insubordination. They can’t, not without looking like they’re not in control.”
“The Confederation Senate, no,” Buchanan replied. “Things may be different in Columbus, D.C.”
“Maybe. But it’s Geneva that’s calling the shots, and Columbus will have to go along.”
Koenig had never been entirely comfortable with his position as commanding officer of a Confederation Star Navy battlegroup. The star carrier America and her crew were USNA—the United States of North America—but they’d been reassigned along with most of the other ships of CBG-18 to the service of the Terran Confederation.
The problem, Koenig thought wryly, was that while the majority of Confederation naval officers—including the Joint Chiefs of Staff—were USNA citizens, the majority of the Confederation’s politicians were not. It was the Pan-Europeans, the Empire of Brazil, the South American EAS, the North India Federation, and others who were determining Confed policy in Geneva. Those nation-states that tended to support the USNA’s initiatives in the war with the Sh’daar were badly outnumbered—Russia, the off-world colonies, and Japan.
There were times when he was forced to walk an extremely narrow path between his oath to the Confederation … and his allegiance to the USNA.
“We’re … what?” he said. “Ten hours out from Emergence?”
“Yes, sir,” Buchanan replied.
“We don’t know if Giraurd followed us.”
“We don’t need him,” Wizewski said. “The USNA reinforcements are solidly with us. I think the Chinese are too.”
“I’m not worried about that,” Koenig said. “If the Pan-Europeans followed us from Alphekka, they might try to force the issue when we emerge.”
Buchanan nodded. “Giraurd didn’t seem all that happy when you told him off.”
“No. And his orders are to bring us back. But … I’m not ready to do that yet. We haven’t finished what we’ve started.”
“Do you expect a fight, Admiral?” Wizewski asked.
“It’s at least a possibility. And we need to be ready, just in case. No matter what Giraurd decides to do.”
“If he was smart,” Buchanan said, “he turned around and headed back to Earth to report. Tell them that we weren’t playing nice.”
“His orders might not allow that,” Koenig replied. “In fact, he may be under orders to take us under fire if we refuse to go back. He was certainly threatening as much when we started accelerating out-system from Alphekka.”
“Threats,” Wizewski said. “Blusters and bluff.”
“Maybe. But, as I said, I want to be prepared for anything. CAG, I’m going to have you put everything we have
