Tales from the Inbox: A Turncoat’s Penance

2950-07-26 – Tales from the Inbox: A Turncoat’s Penance 

This week, we return to the interrupted description of events given by Ramiro W. Obviously, Naval Intelligence has been over this material, but their approval to publish it does not mean that it is factual. I am aware of no public information corroborating this story, and if there really was a leak of the severity described, or if a defector was really involved, I doubt they’d let me publish it so readily. 

[N.T.B. - I am not so sure. I can certainly think of reasons Intelligence would want a story like this to be told, true or not.] 

Ramiro stumbled on the file that had Livia so worked up just before shutting off his tablet for the night. No lights glowed on the other side of the thin privacy divider bisecting Jen Daley’s small secondary cabin, but he knew she was still awake all the same, listening. He did his best to give her nothing to go on. 

The mixed-media file, protected by Livia’s master encryption key, was named only with a twelve-digit number, and buried in a sub-reference folder for one of her small, half-hearted early ideas for a con. Despite this, it bore clear marks of being regularly accessed, as often as twice per week, and it contained more data than any simple addendum would merit. It had last been accessed only hours before they left Maribel. 

Careful not to take an audible deep breath, Ramiro checked the autopilot status and security feeds, then opened the file. At first, he saw only a scrolling mass of text and numbers, occasionally interrupted by inset images. No pattern emerged; it was a mess of disconnected shipping records, industrial production estimates, technological specifications, personnel dossiers, and other data from a hundred sources. 

Though certain that this was the file Livia had been concerned about him reading, Ramiro could make no headway with the flood of information, save that all of it seemed to detail economic activity in the Galactic West. Whatever this was, it was something she regularly accessed, reviewed, and updated. Perhaps it was the big score she was working on, but this seemed unlikely. 

When the first set of ship schematics scrolled past his eyes, Ramiro froze and held his breath. Carefully, he dragged the file backwards until the schematic re-appeared. In the image of that sleek, elegant frigate, a vessel that was, according to the document, being fitted out at a Philadelphia orbital station for the Confederated Navy, he saw the real shape of what Livia had compiled. 

Realizing that he was looking at contraband information that could get him thrown into a BCI lockbox and forgotten, especially given the scrutiny around ships departing Maribel, Ramiro whisked the schematic away, only for his eyes to fall on high-fidelity images of titanic ship-frames being assembled in an orbital dock. The images were horrific proof that Livia Farran did not only use her wiles for her own profit. 

“I didn’t want to do it. God, Ramie, I didn’t.” 

At Livia’s words, Ramiro started and almost dropped his slate reader. He had no idea how she’d guessed that he’d found her file. 

“It seemed so harmless at first. Corporate production figures, that sort of thing.” Livia went on, her words coming out in a rush. “They paid so much for so little, and it seemed so harmless. Now they pay nothing, but...” 

“You’re in too deep.” Ramiro blanked his tablet screen and stood up, making his way to the end of the privacy screen more by feel than by sight in the darkness. “Who are they?” 

Livia sat up in bed, a bluish light from her wrist unit casting her face in ghoulish contrast and showing how sheer her loose sleepwear was. “Who else?” 

Ramiro stared blankly for a moment, then he realized what she was referring to, and his heart fell. “Nate.” Had he really been working with a traitor this whole time? Had their close-call swindling the Ladeonist insurgents on Bettendorf been arranged just to throw suspicion off a prized agent? 

Livia scowled. “Dammit, Ramie. Don’t look at me like that. I’m not a-” 

“You’re selling Confederated secrets to the enemy in wartime.” Ramiro shook his slate reader. “How else am I supposed to take it?” 

Livia’s shoulders dropped. “I handed it off before we left Maribel. It’s done. They’ll give me a month, maybe six weeks, before they make another demand.” 

“Is that why you were so interested in getting me to run this passenger circuit? Because you needed to contact your handler?” 

Livia shrugged. “Couldn’t send it. BCI monitors the hypercast network.” 

“What do they have over you, Liv?” Ramiro entered her side of the compartment and sat on the foot of the bed. “They’re not paying you anymore, so why keep working for them?” 

“I can’t...” The muscles in Livia’s neck twitched. “I wish I could tell you. It’s not... Damn. Can’t even...” , She shook her head helplessly. 

“Look, that can wait until we get rid of your passenger.” Ramiro hurried back to his bunk and drew his handgun. “He’s one of Nate’s own, isn’t he? One of those half-machine freaks?” 

Livia followed, shivering in the cool air without the benefit of her bunk’s blanket. “Yes. BCI was setting up to grab him. But even-” 

“Stay here. I’m going to see how well he spacewalks.” 

Livia threw herself between Ramiro and the door, shaking her head. “No, you don’t understand. And I can’t... He's not... Ramie, he’s my way to level the damned scales. Don’t you get it?” 

“No.” Ramiro lowered his gun slowly. “Liv, I don’t care if it’s bad for you later, I’m not putting an enemy agent down in the Allenden system.” 

Livia reached out and put a hand on Ramiro’s chest. “I wouldn’t ask you to. The poor bastard’s been trying to switch sides for nearly a month.” 

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Tales from the Service: The View from Headquarters, Part 7

2950-07-19 – Tales from the Service: The View from Headquarters, Part 7 

Though it has taken far longer than anticipated, I was able to arrange an interview with Colonel Nerea McKee, the newly-arrived representative of the Confederated Marines on Admiral Venturi’s staff.  

Those closely following this conflict may recall the interservice issues seen after the loss of Margaux and its garrison; as you will see, Colonel McKee certainly seems to have no interest in propagating this needless drama. She arrived at Maribel only two days before sitting for this interview, and so we shall see if her actions match her words once she finishes getting situated in coming weeks. 

Colonel McKee’s prior posting was to the staff of Marine Commandant Matsushita, and she has also been the chief administrator of the infamous Camp Cactus. 

As is usual for interviews conducted by this embed team, the audio recording can be found on the Cosmic Background datasphere hub.   

D.L.C. - Duncan Chaudhri is a junior editor and wartime head field reporter for Cosmic Background.      

N.T.B. - Nojus Brand is a long-time explorer, datasphere personality, and wartime field reporter for Cosmic Background.     

M.I.K. - Captain Martin Kovac is the Naval Intelligence attaché to Admiral Venturi, a post which he has assumed only in the past few weeks. Previously, he served as the Naval Intelligence liaison with the theater commander for Sovereign Security Solutions. 

N.A.M. - Colonel Nerea McKee is the representative of the Confederated Marines on Admiral Venturi’s staff, and a former subordinate of Marine Commandant Matsushita. 

 

[D.L.C.] - Good morning, Captain Kovac and Colonel McKee. Thank you for agreeing to this interview. Given the changing situation, it couldn’t have been easy to find the time. 

[N.A.M.] - No trouble at all, Mr. Chaudhri. I’ve been following your coverage from the Core Worlds for many months, and couldn’t miss an opportunity to meet you in person. 

[N.T.B.] - Will you be less eager after a few tough questions? 

[N.A.M.] - It won’t be any trouble, Mr. Brand. I’ll confess I found your habit of pressing Captain Kirke-Moore in these interviews quite interesting, and I hope I’ll stand the pressure almost as well as he did. 

[D.L.C.] - Perhaps we should start there, then. Admiral Zahariev and Captain Kirke-Moore departed without a word; do you think that their departure represents an improvement in Fifth Fleet’s fortunes? 

[N.A.M.] - I don’t- 

[M.I.K.] - In answering this question, Colonel McKee can of course speak only for her own perspective, and not for either the Navy or the Marines. It is the Navy’s position that Admiral Zahariev executed his duty to the best of his ability, and that the situation would have been far worse by now had any lesser officer been in charge. 

[N.T.B.] - Is that a direct quote from last week’s official statement? 

[M.I.K.] - No. 

[N.T.B.] - Are you just paraphrasing- 

[N.A.M.] - My opinion is that Admiral Zahariev and Captain Kirke-Moore, and all the other departing members of their staff, did their jobs well. They were the right people for the job at the time. As tragic as Margaux was, as frustrating as it seemed to be to watch world after world fall, they did not fail to engage the enemy many times, and they inflicted numerous losses while preserving the fleet’s offensive firepower. They made mistakes, as anyone would have, but their mistakes did not result in the loss of the fleet or its base. I think history will see them favorably, though perhaps not until after the histories are written. 

[D.L.C.] - That is hardly the opinion most of our audience expects you to hold. 

[N.A.M.] - I would expect so. I too have heard the rumors about the Commandant offering her resignation after Margaux – they came as news to me, and I was on her staff at the time. There were some heated conferences, to be sure, but nothing as drastic as the media prefers to believe. What disagreements between the Admiralty and the Marines were created by that tragedy have largely been addressed by changes to the doctrine of both services. 

[N.T.B.] - What about the F.D.A.? 

[M.I.K.] - In answering this question- 

[N.T.B.] - Just her opinion, yeah, yeah, we know. 

[N.A.M.] - I have yet to meet with my associate from the Frontier Defense Army, so I have no opinion whatsoever. I would expect that their level of unhappiness with the Navy is also overblown, but only because I’ve seen the media’s sensationalism related to my own service. 

[D.L.C.] - Did you know that the F.D.A. has primarily been moving its forces on mercenary and contractor ships since Margaux? 

[N.A.M.] - I am aware of this, yes. Since they had no transports assigned directly to them in Naval service until Henriikka Langenberg arrived at Maribel only five days ago, this doesn’t necessarily mean what the media wants it to. There simply aren’t enough troop transports in Fifth Fleet to meet the needs of the F.D.A., current or projected, and most of those are permanently assigned to Marine units. It would take an entire armada of Naval transports to move them to the systems their generals want to reinforce, so their budget to hire outside transportation is quite large. 

[N.T.B.] - You said that the generals are making the final decisions about F.D.A. deployments? 

[N.A.M.] - They may be a young service, but they are still an independent service, and they have the final say. As far as I can tell their deployments are generally consistent with all Naval and Marine plans for defense and offense. 

[M.I.K.] - The F.D.A. has a number of very good Intelligence officers working as liaisons to their headquarters and to each of their field commands.  

[N.T.B.] - And their mercenary hirelings as well, I’d imagine. 

[M.I.K.] - The largest auxiliary and contractor organizations merit their own liaisons, yes. It is no secret that I was one of these liaisons until last month, Mr. Brand. 

[N.T.B.] - Forgive me for distrusting anything Sovereign touches, Captain. 

[M.I.K.] - While I understand your distaste for particular organizations, I am aware of no serious unresolved complaints against the mercenary outfits assisting Fifth Fleet. Sovereign is paid well, but their fee is less than the cost of lacking their assistance. 

[N.T.B.] - Perhaps because they might take payment from the other side if we didn’t pay them first? 

[M.I.K.] - You do not know them very well, if you think that is a serious concern. 

[N.A.M.] - I’ll confess I don’t understand the dislike for Sovereign, except that they are the largest and wealthiest mercenary company in existence. 

[D.L.C.] - Returning to topics closer to your own experience, Colonel McKee, do you anticipate a shakeup of the Confederated Marine command chain here on the Frontier? So far, I haven’t seen many generals or colonels being replaced. 

[N.A.M.] - I don’t control the staffing of the independent Marine units in this theater, but I shouldn’t expect many to be reassigned and replaced. Unlike the Navy, the Marines tend to promote replacements directly upwards from lower ranks, and we trust our officers to know when age or other factors render them incapable of further leadership. 

[M.I.K.] - This is not to say that the Marine officers involved in recent battles are being held blameless for ground-side defeats, just that the Marines have a different tradition than the Navy. 

[N.A.M.] - Yes, of course, that is correct. We are also a smaller service with few rear-area high-ranking officers to rotate into field command on short notice; replacements need to be trained, and that takes time. 

[M.I.K.] - Unfortunately, I must cut this interview short; I’m being told we both have a high-priority staff conference session to attend within the hour. 

[D.L.C.] - Before you go, Colonel, is there anything you want to tell our audience? 

[N.A.M.] - Only this: the situation is not so dire as your media – yes, even this outfit – is sometimes suggesting. It might be simpler if things were so disastrous as all that, but in war, simplicity is a luxury we can do without. The Marines stand ready to take back what was lost, and we hope that by the grace of God that time will come very soon. 

[D.L.C.] - Thank you. And thank you Captain for coming as well. Hopefully we’ll have you back soon. 

[M.I.K.] - Of course. You know how to reach me when you think there is cause for us to talk again, Mr. Chaudhri. 

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Tales from the Inbox: A Personal Reservation

2950-07-05 – Tales from the Inbox: A Personal Reservation 

The passenger emerged from his cabin six hours after departure and wandered into Jen Daley’s lounge. Ramiro, reading on his slate while ignoring Livia’s glare across the compartment, looked up at the little man and gestured to one of the several empty chairs without saying a word. Normally, it was Livia’s job to see to the social management of passengers, but she seemed far more interested in divining what Ramiro was reading. 

“Do sit down, Mr. A.” Ramiro gestured to one of the empty chairs secured against the far bulkhead. “Do you need anything?” He glanced at Livia, hoping to jog her memory as to her role as the passenger wrangler. 

“Oh, th-thank you. I’m all right.” The thin man disengaged the stowage latches on one of the chairs and jumped at the sharp hiss as its foam-cell cushions inflated. Once the chair had finished making itself ready, Mr. A pushed it over to the wide viewpanel on the outboard side of the lounge and flopped down into it. 

Ramiro’s eyes followed the passenger across the room over the top of his reader, and he made note of two different concealed weapons. If the man had not been so thin and drawn, or his clothes had been reconfigured to account for this condition, his weaponry would have been invisible. 

After glancing over to make sure that Mr. A. was engrossed in the light-enhanced starfield beyond the viewpanel, Ramiro fixed Livia with a narrow-eyed glare. He didn’t mind passengers to carry weapons as a rule, but when passengers were as jumpy, flighty, and obviously stressed as this one, he knew he had to get Livia’s pet project disarmed, and fast. 

Livia, of course, had no interest in helping. She blew a silent, sarcastic kiss in Ramiro’s direction, then spun her chair halfway around, perching one leg on its armrest. “We’ll be eating our next meal in about an hour, dear, but the food-fab here in the lounge is set to accept your commands.” 

Mr. A. glanced from Livia to the new-ish nutrient dispenser unit in the corner. “Er, does it do coffee?” 

Ramiro winced at the inane question, but Livia laughed, using the musical, flighty tone she used to put passengers and marks alike at ease. “Of course. Help yourself.” 

As the man got up to fiddle with the food-fab machine, Ramiro realized for the first time that he was wearing neither wrist computer nor earpiece, and that no computer devices hung from his belt, not even a foldable reader. If he had any, he’d left them in his luggage. Ramiro knew of only one type of person who carried multiple weapons, but no digital devices – and he’d generally done his best to keep that type of person off his ship. He tried to glare at Livia again, but she avoided his gaze. 

“I’m going to go check the controls.” Ramiro stood, blanked his slate, and left the lounge. He kept his hands far from the big Dragan pistol strapped to his hip, but he could feel the passenger’s eyes on the weapon until he turned the corner and headed up the inclined passage to Jen Daley’s bridge. Even if he was right about the man, Ramiro doubted there’d be any trouble before they reached the Allenden system; that meant he had at least a few days to figure out what to do about the enigmatic Mr. A. 

Flopping down into the command chair and scanning the displays, Ramiro decided that he would be implementing any contingency plan alone. Livia had made this man’s journey, or more likely a sob-story fable that hit too close to home for her, a personal mission, and that would blind her to the reality of what she’d brought aboard. 

A soft footfall in the corridor made Ramiro spin his chair around, and he only realized his hand was on the grip of his gun when he saw Livia standing there and staring wide-eyed at the weapon. With a sigh, Ramiro relaxed. “If you followed me up here just to watch me read-” 

“No.” Livia glanced behind her, then slipped over the threshold and closed the cockpit door behind her. For a moment, she said nothing, just looking at Ramiro. Whatever she was looking for, she did not seem to find. 

“If you’re so worried about whether I’ve read one of your files yet, just tell me which one, and I’ll have seen it by dinner.” Ramiro waved his slate reader. “I’ll find it eventually.” 

Livia scowled and looked away. “You’ll see me differently after you do. Damnation, why did you have to-” 

“Ask yourself that.” Ramiro spun his chair back to the controls. “None of this needed to happen.” Though she couldn’t see it, he grimaced, hoping that he wouldn’t have any reason to say that again before they were free of Mr. A. 

 

Though the fleet is in the middle of a high-level command shakeup, a two-battleship detachment including their full cruising squadrons made a brief foray this past week. While it is not common knowledge where they went, and the force returned undamaged and apparently after having seen no action, there are only a small number of star systems within range for such a sortie in so short a time; many are suggesting Methodi, a nearby dwarf star system that was, until the fall of Håkøya spurred its evacuation, populated only by the inhabitants on several mining installations. 

What might have required such a force in this generally inconsequential system, I cannot say. 

[N.T.B. - My guess is that this was a reconnaissance in force to keep the crews fresh; while we are being prevented by Naval Intelligence from listing the ships dispatched, most of the battleships in Fifth Fleet have not seen any action since Håkøya.]  

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Tales from the Inbox: A Personal Mission

2950-07-05 – Tales from the Inbox: A Personal Mission

Still working on that interview. I thought I had something lined up with one of the senior members of the Fifth Fleet command staff, but the officer who’d scheduled with us canceled at the last moment and I later learned that he has been reassigned to Admiral Abarca’s Seventh Fleet staff effective immediately. 

In the meantime, I’ve received a series of messages from a previous correspondant, pseudonymously named Ramiro W. in this space, who sent in an account I broke down into several segments for this feed (the first two are Tales from the Inbox: A Spacer’s Ruination and Tales from the Inbox: A Spacer’s Tempest). Where prior events took place late last year, he claims the events of this new account took place recently – perhaps ending as recently as this prior week, though he was deliberately vague as to this detail.
 
While as usual with these accounts I cannot verify them, I find the events described quite plausible, and will use them in this space until either Fifth Fleet Headquarters gives me the interview I’m looking for, or something else worth immediate coverage takes place here on the Frontier. 

The moment moment Livia escorted the passenger aboard, Ramiro knew he’d be trouble. The little man’s deeply shadowed eyes stayed firmly locked to the deck in front of his feet, and the fine smart-fabric clothing that had once been carefully configured to hug his stooped shoulders and wiry frame now hung limply after a recent and apparently extreme weight loss. He clutched a satchel to his chest with both hands, and a single self-powered, wheeled valise trundled behind him, unheeded. The man had the look of a thing hunted and tired of running. 

Ramiro caught Livia’s eyes over the man’s shoulder and gave her the slightest shake of his head. He had let her talk him into configuring Jen Daley for limited passenger service and flying her all the way to Maribel on the understanding that they’d be ferrying well-off but boring Maribelans to safer ports farther from the war’s ravages. If they turned away the worn-out little man, they’d have five other clients lined up in an hour, none of whom were being hunted by anything worse than their own fears. 

Livia met Ramiro’s gaze with a smile and a wink before sealing the airlock behind her. “Mr. A., this is Ramiro, Daley’s skipper.” 

Ramiro winced, but squared his shoulders and extended a hand. “I understand you’re looking to hire passage to Allenden?” 

The man glanced up at Ramiro only for a moment. “Uh, yes, Allenden. When can we leave?” 

“I’ll request departure clearance when we’ve-” 

“When we're done loading your cargo.” Livia held up a hand behind Mr. A, rubbing her fingers together in the universal signal for money. “Come on, Mr. A., let me show you our passenger cabin. We just had it re-done in January, you know. Right this way.” 

Ramiro did his best to stare daggers at Livia’s back as she led the stranger deeper into his ship. He wanted this “Mr. A.” off his ship, and was wondering whether or not to offload Livia with him. Their arrangement had been clear – he had the final say in who came aboard, and where they would be taken. 

Just as she herded the man around the corner and up to the hab deck, she flashed a sunny and entirely insincere smile over her shoulder.  

Ramiro dropped his shoulders, shook his head, and headed up to the ship’s tiny one-seat command deck. Livia would explain what she was up to if she wanted the ship to go anywhere; she couldn’t fly Jen Daley even if she could hack past his access codes. 

Almost as soon as he sat down, Ramiro heard Livia’s quiet footsteps in the corridor behind him. 

“Poor bastard barely made it to the bed.” Livia chuckled, snaking one arm around the back of the chair to grip Ramiro’s shoulder. “How’s that departure clearance?” 

“We aren’t moving. Get him off my ship, Liv. You know better than I do that he’s-” 

“That he’s got all the Hells following him?” Livia pulled on the chair, turning Ramiro toward her. “Damned right I do, based on what he paid. I’ve got that covered, as long as we get out in the next few hours." 

Ramiro folded his arms and shook his head. He was still Daley’s skipper. He’d gone to space so that he wouldn’t have to answer to anyone, especially not Livia Farran. “I don’t care what he paid. Give it back and get him off my ship.” 

Livia reacted to the phrase “give it back” the way most people would react to a blow to the chest, gasping and stepping back into the corridor. “Ramie, you don’t understand, he’s-” 

“You are damned right. I don’t understand. Next time, it might be smart to rectify that before you promise anything to anybody.” Ramiro removed her hand from his chair and spun it back to the controls. “Get him off.” 

Livia stood silent and still at the threshold for some time as Ramiro initiated several systems diagnostics and checked the ship’s various security feeds to look busy. He didn’t doubt that she was trying to seem hurt and confused, but she knew perfectly well what she’d done. She’d been aboard his ship nearly seven months now, and this was the first time she dared to push their little partnership to see how far it would bend in her favor. Ramiro had honestly been secretly impressed that she’d been so well behaved for so long, but the habits and instincts of a con artist died hard. 

“Look, Ramie, I’m sorry. I didn’t have time to comm.” Livia stepped forward again, leaning on one of the outlying console displays. “He paid fifty thousand up front, and he says he has fifty more if we can get him to Allenden in ten days or less. He’s only got a hundred kilos of cargo. We can’t pass this up.” 

“I am passing this up.” Ramiro did his best not to let slip how impressed he was with the sum the would-be passenger had promised – it amounted to nearly a fifth of the value of his entire ship. It wasn't a high enough sum for him to surrender final say over his own vessel, but it was impressive sum for a simple passenger and cargo haul. “And you know why.” 

Livia’s silence indicated that she did indeed know exactly what she’d dome wrong. Her full lips pursed and twitched from side to side as she considered the situation and searched desperately for some way out of it. 

Ramiro shook his head. “If he’s not off the ship in thirty minutes, I’m putting you both on the other side of an airlock and setting a course back to Philadelphia.” 

“Fine.” Livia winced and looked out forward, where the hull panels of the spaceport curved away into the darkness. Neither the stellar primary nor the planet of Maribel were visible, but Ramiro knew that in a few minutes, both would appear. “If you dump him, I’m going with him anyway.” 

“I-” Ramiro shut his mouth before a traitorous thought could escape and enslave him to Livia’s will and whim, perhaps forever. He took a slow, deep breath. “What about this poor bastard’s got you so worked up? What happened to all the time you need to work your big score?” 

Livia squeezed her eyes shut. “Can you just trust me with this one? Please?” 

Ramiro wanted to say yes, but he knew the folly of that course. “Liv, if you knew I’d say yes to carrying him, you’d have told me the problem. You think I’d refuse to fly him if I knew what you did, so you’re making me either throw him out or admit that you own me.” 

Livia straightened. “Is that what you think this is? Some petty power struggle?” 

Ramiro raised one eyebrow, not bothering to agree. Livia already knew that’s what it looked like, and he had no interest in pretending her surprised reaction was genuine. 

Livia met Ramiro’s gaze for a few seconds, then looked away. “Cards on the table, Ramie. This one... it’s sort of close to home. You can keep the whole hundred thousand if that helps.” 

Ramiro wondered how much of her hurt expression was genuine, and how much of it was exaggerated for effect. Somehow, he knew that not all of it was fake. Making a show of thinking about the situation, he held out one finger. “On one condition.” 

Livia nodded suspiciously, expecting a hard counter-bargain. 

Ramiro shrugged. “Hand over your encryption keys. All of them. You can change them after we drop him off." 

Livia paled, her lips parting in a quickly-stifled gasp. “You can’t be serious. You know how much that’s-” 

“Trust for trust.” Ramiro pointed to the console. “Transfer them and I’ll call station control.” 

Livia stormed out and down the corridor. For a moment, Ramiro wondered whether he was wrong and she was going to eject the passenger after all, but his console pinged a moment later.  

After verifying that the keys she’d sent worked on all her files in the ship’s datasphere and on several items tagged to her wider digital footprint, Ramiro requested departure clearance, curious what could be so personal to Livia Farran that she’d lay bare her entire catalogue of fraud over it. 

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