There was another scenario, however, of equal concern to MSD and the Confederation Council. The Alliance was experiencing considerable unrest in its colonies, and widespread rebellion was a serious possibility. If the Alliance lost its frontier planets it would be crippled; without the resources pouring in from those worlds, its economy would collapse almost immediately. A desperate and dying Superpower would be even more dangerous than a dominant one. A fatally wounded Alliance could react in disastrous ways, possibly even repudiating the Treaty of Paris and triggering war on Earth and in the entire Sol system. Total war between the Powers would be a humanitarian catastrophe of incalculable proportions; it was unthinkable to allow it to happen.
The Alliance colonies would fare no better in this scenario. They were populated mostly by a hardy breed of adventurers, but they would stand no chance as an independent entity, not yet at least. The firebrands even now standing up to federal encroachments tended to underestimate the role Alliance Gov had played in supporting colonial growth and defending the worlds themselves. If they hadn’t been part of a nation as strong as the Alliance, they would have been conquered long ago by the Caliphate or the CAC. It would take years – decades – to develop enough industry for them to stand alone without the support of an existing Power. And they were unlikely to get those years before the other Superpowers were picking their bones in an unrestrained feeding frenzy.
The Council had authorized MSD to ramp up its intelligence efforts. The Confederation was prepared to intervene in the developing situation to avoid an unacceptable outcome. But first they had to determine exactly what that course of action would be. For that, Vance needed much better information than he had. That’s why Thoms was here.
The two of them sat alone in a private dining room, a small dome attached to the main restaurant by a short access tube. Just outside the clear hyper-polycarbonate dome was the reconstructed image of the first extra-terrestrial landing site…part of a vessel that had been called the Eagle, and a flag that a history buff would recognize as that of the United States in the mid-20 th century. All of it was fake; the original remains had been destroyed by CAC forces during the Unification Wars, though that was not general knowledge, and most visitors believed they were looking at actual history.
The two of them spoke freely, if still in hushed tones. Vance’s jamming device was the best Martian technology could produce…which meant it was better than anything the other Powers could make to counter it. If there were listening devices near them, those at the other end would be disappointed.
“Do I understand you correctly?” Vance usually had a great poker face, but he was stunned at what Thoms had just told him. “The Augustus Garret currently occupying the office of Alliance Navy Director is an imposter?”
Thoms took a sip from his wineglass, savoring the deep flavor of the Pinot Noir. He fancied himself an expert on wines, and he was sure this was a natural Burgundy, though he’d never tasted one before. He couldn’t imagine the cost of this bottle – the Burgundian Pinot Noir grapes were extinct, killed off two generation before by a parasite mutation…another vestige of the bacteriological weapons used in the later Unification Wars. Genetically-altered hybrids had successfully replaced the natural species, but connoisseurs tended to feel the newer wines lacked the same depth. The few remaining bottles of pre-extinction vintages sold for thousands of credits, when they were available at all.
“Yes.” Thoms put down his glass and looked across the table. “He is a surgically altered agent. A double.”
Vance inhaled deeply. He tried never to underestimate Gavin Stark, but this was audacious even for the Alliance’s spymaster. “What happened to the real Garret?”
Thoms had just taken a large bite, but he answered anyway, earnestly, if not with commendable etiquette. “I can’t say for sure.” He paused to swallow. “My guess is they have him somewhere in Alliance Intelligence HQ, but I am not privy to that information. I only know about this at all, because I am supposed to be a backup contact for the operative.” He scooped up another forkful, but hesitated before he put it in his mouth. “It is possible Garret has been liquidated.”
Vance looked down at his own untouched plate. “No, I don’t think so.” His eyes panned up, focusing on Thoms. “Stark is too meticulous. He may need information or something else from Garret. He’ll keep him alive, at least as long as this masquerade continues.” After a brief pause he added, “Though once he accomplishes whatever he wants I suspect both Garret and the agent will find themselves buried in some swamp.” His face was impassive as always, but his voice betrayed a hint of sadness, a nuance noticeable only to someone more perceptive than Thoms. His thoughts were somber - Augustus Garret deserves better from the nation he’s served so well.
Vance was silent for a minute before he continued. “I need more information. Specifically, what is Gavin Stark up to with this imposter?”
Thoms looked up at him with a large mouthful of food, chewing quickly so he could answer. “I suspect he wants more effective control of the navy.” Thoms hadn’t managed to swallow everything he’d shoved into his head, just enough that he could speak intelligibly.
Vance sighed impatiently. “Thank you for that amazing insight. Is this why I’m paying you a not-so-small fortune every year?” He paused, staring right at Thoms for an instant before he continued. “Obviously, he wants control over the navy, but I want to know exactly what he wants to do with that. He knows he can’t keep a charade like this going indefinitely. Sooner or later a friend will visit Garret or he’ll meet with an officer who knows him well - something will blow the cover. And Alliance Intelligence can’t afford to get caught on this. The navy would go crazy.” He was thinking as he spoke, trying to imagine what his opposite in Alliance Intelligence was planning. “Stark knows there’s an expiration date on this scheme, so he must be planning specific operations he wants done soon.” He stared silently across the table as his own thought formed. “Or things he wants to keep the navy from interfering with.”
Thoms stared blankly across the table. “I don’t have that kind of access to Stark. How am I supposed to figure out what he’s trying to do?”
Vance’s eyes bored into Thoms’s. “You don’t get paid what you do because what your job is easy. I suggest you think of some type of business matter you need to discuss with the Naval Director. Perhaps you can get something out of this fake Garret.”
“That is a dangerous game.” Thoms’s expression had become nervous, tentative.
“You’re not paid because what you do is safe either.” Vance’s impatient expression turned predatory. “And your situation will still be less hazardous than if we lost our, ah, discretion about some of your activities. Wouldn’t you agree?” Vance generally lacked the malicious ferocity of his counterparts in the other Powers, but he disliked weasels like Thoms. They were a necessary evil in the trade, and he used them as he needed to…but he enjoyed making them squirm when he could.
Thoms looked over, weakly returning Vance’s gaze. “I will try to get what you want.” His voice was higher pitched, stressed.
“Try hard.” Vance scolded himself for enjoying this as much as he was. “And here…” He slid a data chip across the table. “This is an agreement to provide the ores GDL requires at an extraordinary good price. It should make you quite a hero in the company.” Vance frowned. “Another cost of this whole affair, and one I bear personally.”
Thoms reached over and took the chip. He opened his mouth to speak, but he couldn’t think of anything to say, and he just nodded.