The Last Praetorian
Chapter Ten

Terra Nova, Zeta Aquilae System

Several weeks later the ripples from their raid on the Syndicate station were still being felt throughout the Confederation.

The first order of business on their arrival back at Terra Nova was to see to the health of the rescued prisoners. In a scene of well-organised chaos, families disembarking from the captured freighter were all given a cursory examination from one of the trained medical corps. Those deemed at high risk were immediately moved to the medical bay for a more through medical examination and treatment. Those deemed weak, but otherwise healthy, were moved to the nearest cargo bay, which had been hastily converted into a triage centre.

The moment all had disembarked from the freighter, Lieutenant Edgar and his intelligence team descended on it like a pack of vultures. Starting with the ship’s computer, followed by the bridge, cargo hold and engineering, Edgar and his team completed a complete forensic examination.

Having only just docked and powered down the Eternal Light, Jon was bone tired, but wanted to ensure all was proceeding smoothly before he retired for a well-deserved shower and hot meal. However, that plan had to be put on hold when, moving swiftly through the crowd, Paul and Jason approached the Commander.

“Can we have a word, in private?” Paul inquired, motioning towards one of the free observation lounges.

Jon raised one eyebrow inquisitively, wondering why both officers were grinning as if they had just been caught with their hand in the cookie jar. Jason in particular looked like he was about to start walking on air in a cloud of self-congratulation. Curious to hear what his two senior officers wanted to discuss, Jon nodded his head in agreement, joined them in the lounge and ensured the door was firmly closed behind them.

“Lieutenant Edgar approached me a few minutes ago, with a very intriguing proposition. Timing is critical for us to pull this off, hence I wanted you to hear this immediately, Jason?” Paul said.

“Without realising it sir, the Syndicate have just handed us the keys to their own demise,” Jason started off without any preamble. He then went on to describe the most ingenious plan of disinformation since the Allies fooled the Axis into believing the completely wrong location and date for the D-Day landings. It was without a doubt the craftiest plan devised in over eight-hundred years of information warfare. It was ingenious. It became simply known as The Plan, or its full name The Plan to Discredit the Syndicate Organisation Resulting in its Downfall (THDSORID-1).

Jon was fairly certain David had somehow been involved in the naming.

The first step was already underway, with the medical attention being given to the families; Jason surreptitiously issued some of his officers with portable holo-recorders to record the scenes. Meanwhile the rest of his team, who had been busy disassembling the freighter, frantically reversed direction and started to put everything back, with subtle modifications. For example, originally the freighter had belonged to some long defunct shipping company, bought at a knock-down price at auction. However, a few minor tweaks to the ship’s registry resulted in it becoming a real freighter, owned by one of the Syndicate’s, shell, shell, shell companies, which was last reported lost somewhere in the Orion nebula. Similarly a few boxes of unused machine parts suddenly became a significant haul of contraband. The aft cargo bay became full with enough weaponry and explosives to start a small war, all with their serial numbers and anything else that could be used to track them removed. Except for the odd missed number here and there, which tied it back to another Syndicate shell company. The ship’s computer meanwhile was packed full of every piece of intelligence about the Syndicate, their facilities, ships, operations and accounts Jason and his team had managed to gleam over the past six months. All nicely encrypted so that it would not appear too obvious.

In all, within the space of twenty-four hours, the nondescript freighter was turned into an intelligence treasure trove pointing a ‘come-and-get-me’ arrow straight back to the Syndicate. It was simple, straightforward and would have been blatantly obvious as such to the first person that came across the ship.

Then, after the medical team had given a clean bill of health to all the prisoners, they were all helped back onto the ship, with assurances they would be returned home. The ship’s navigational computer was wiped of any information about its point of origin. The destination was programed into the autopilot for Transcendence, a bare five minutes in FTL from Terra Nova. Once all systems and been checked, and then checked again, the ship was allowed to depart and stage two of The Plan was put into operation.

Not having a high degree of confidence in Transcendence docking control, and less in the Confederation military to bother to actually investigate a nondescript freighter just floating off the station, Jason made a few calls, anonymously. He called every media outlet on the station and casually suggested to them that the story of the decade, no the century, was going to drop out of FTL on their lap in, oh, twenty minutes, and they would have to be quick off the mark to get an exclusive.

Transcendence station had never seen a stampede like it, nor were they ever likely to again, as hundreds of reporters, correspondents, cameramen and news anchors made a beeline for the docking port. A large proportion of the station population followed them, on the assumption that if a few hundred people were making a mad dash off the station, perhaps they knew something they didn’t and should be followed, just in case.

Hence there was quite a welcoming committee at the ready when the freighter dropped out of FTL, almost on top of the station, before powering down the engines. Finally station security, with the backing of confederation navy personnel, towed the freighter into dock and popped the hatch. Of course, by then it was far too late to cover up the contents of the freighter, as dozens of families, dehydrated, hungry and bewildered stumbled off the ship, into the arms of the waiting media. It only took a few innocent questions to discover they were recently rescued slaves, which set off an all-out media scrum.

As one news anchor summed it up on the nightly news. “Ships frequently go missing, but how often does a ship, full of recently freed slaves, just appear?” Meanwhile Confederation Navy officers started to debrief the victims and search the ship with a fine toothcomb.

With information scarce about the origins of the ship, rumours became rampant, speculation rose to a fevered pitch. One enterprising reporter, pretending to be family, managed to conduct a brief interview with one of the prisoners before he was hauled out by station security. During the interview it was claimed they had been rescued by a group of marines. Navy switchboards throughout the Confederation lit up as a million and one people called to find out if it were true. The Navy refused to confirm ‘unsubstantiated rumours’.

With the ship becoming the lead news item on every network, Jason and his team leaked the first scrap of information, that the ship’s owner and registration had been identified. Hordes of investigative journalists were quick to investigate the company, which did not exist. The shell company was owned by a parent company, which did not exist. However, this had a shared ownership model, with a company that did not exist. They kept digging.

The next day further leaks were reported. Jason and his team supplied all of these, anonymously, once again. It was reported illegal weapons had also been found on the ship, speculated to belong to the same slavers who had taken the victims captive. A few serial numbers had been found, belonging to a company that did not exist... The Confederation Navy was incredulous, as it seemed the leaks were occurring before the investigative team had even found any evidence.

The Galaxy News Network (GNN) were the first to report a breakthrough in the story, when one of its investigative reporters had tied together the parent company of both the ship and the company that had purchased the arms found in the freighter. The ‘Chamber of Commerce, Business and Shipping,’ was an inter-system, logistics conglomerate, with offices in most major systems. Their data-net crashed when it received three-point-two million hits within the space of twenty minutes after the broadcast. They refuted all knowledge of the ship, weapons or captives.

Finally a small regional news syndicate announced the icing on the cake when it managed to obtain actual footage of the rescue. As their data-net did not even last ten minutes before it crashed, it was jointly agreed all the major news networks would broadcast the recording simultaneously (although GNN did start the broadcast a few minutes early, claiming their chronometer was fast). Viewing figures for the footage set a new record, at its peak it was claimed that one-point-two billion confederation citizens tuned into the live data-net feed.

The cinema on Terra Nova was reconfigured to show the live broadcast. However, as this was unable to contain the entire crew complement, the engineering team piped the feed through all the stations holoprojectors. Pride of place at the front row was reserved for Gunny’s marines and David’s security team who had carried out the operation.

The broadcast commenced with the Eagle One docking at the Syndicate Station and the marines restraining the stunned maintenance team. Gunny and the marines rushing into the prisoner’s gaol, with Gunny shouting, “We’re the Marines, here to rescue you!” closely followed this. Jon thought the background music swelling to a crescendo at this point was a particularly good touch.

Gunny, meanwhile, had gone an interesting shade of pink. Leaning forward in his seat, Jon patted the embarrassed marine sergeant on the back. “You and your team did good Gunny, real good.” Meanwhile the marines, always a riotous bunch, yelled out “Hu-Ra!”

The scene then cut to a wide-angle shot of the marines escorting the rescued families through the station, frequently encountering heavy resistance designed to stop the attempted rescue. All in all Jon thought it was an inspired piece of editing by Jason and his team. He would have been first to nominate them for a New Hollywood award for editing and post-production. After all, the entire recording was complete fiction, having been edited to turn the entire order of events on its head to make it appear a rescue, when in actual fact it been a darling raid to obtain the computer core.

Meanwhile the marines had finally made it to the freighter and, after ensuring all the rescued families were aboard, departed the station, only to be warned by the recently arrived Syndicate reinforcements.

“Unidentified ship – this station is private property belonging to the Chamber of Commerce, Business and Shipping. You are ordered to power down all systems and surrender, otherwise you will be destroyed.” Jon thought that bit of editing was a particularly good touch.

What followed was a horrific attack on a vulnerable, defenceless freighter, full of starving families, women and children, that just so happened to appear invulnerable and perchance was able to completely obliterate any attackers.

Straight after the broadcast of the recording it cut to a press conference that had been hastily convened on Transcendence by the Confederation Navy. The young, baby-faced navy spokesperson was categorically denying any Navy involvement in the incident. This was having the opposite effect of making the Navy seem even guiltier, as while the marines had not worn any identifying insignia, they obviously were marines. Hell, they had even announced themselves as such. Even the Navy spokesperson seemed uncertain. After reading the prepared announcement, the spokesperson inquired if there were any questions and seemed to be dreading the response.

One particularly proactive reporter was straight out the chair, inquiring, “Can the Confederation Navy confirm which active unit these marines belong to?”

The response from the spokesperson was automatic. “All active military deployments are classified and I cannot comment.”

Jon almost fell out of his chair with laughter; the spokesperson had practically contradicted his earlier statement. You could see onscreen the spokesperson hesitate for a moment, then with a fish out of water expression think, Doh! No further questions were permitted and the spokesperson made a hurried exit.

Unable to think up excuses for incarcerating the freed captives for any longer, since the excuse to the Judge that they needed to remain secluded to aid in their recovery was only going to last a few days at best, the Confederation Navy released the freed prisoners into the open arms of the awaiting media. Having lost everything in the Syndicate attacks that took them captive, Jon certainly hoped one or two of the families at least managed to negotiate a richly paid media exclusive.

In any case, it had an even more electrifying impact than Jason and his team could have wished and prayed for. The media coverage was wall-to-wall, of terrified families, fearing for their lives, after having already lost their livelihoods, in tears describing their rescue by the marines. One pretty, dark haired little girl held up the teddy bear she had been given by one of the marines when she was frightened by the medical check-up. Jon made inquiries around the station, but none of the marines recollected giving away a teddy bear, or at least was willing to admit to doing so. Personally, Jon had his own suspicions.

Sufficed to say that calls to the marine’s recruitment office, which were already up by two-hundred percent, skyrocketed by a further six-hundred percent. In counterpoint, the stock price for Chamber of Commerce, Business and Shipping (CCBS), already trading down twenty percent, fell a further sixty percent.

Another switchboard that also quickly became overloaded was for the Senate Office on Eden Prime, flooded by calls from indignant citizens demanding to know what action was to be taken by their government against CCBS. Senators, a fickle species on a good day, always quick to detect the changing winds of public perception, were lining up to sign up for the newest senate sub-committee to investigate the activities of CCBS. Of the two-hundred-eighty senators, representing each world in the Confederation, two-hundred-seventy voted in favour, nine against, with one vote uncast (he was in the wash-room and missed the vote). It did not make much difference to the voting citizens as he, along with the other nine senators, was not put forward for re-election the following year.

Jason and team, worried the yawn-inducing political sessions of the Senate might turn off the now agog public, issued their next clip. On the assumption that nothing sells better than sex, they released a short clip of Miranda disembarking from the Eagle One, releasing the tight zipper from her figure-hugging flight-suit, with her dark, raven hair unravelling. She was every teenager’s wet dream (and quite a few of the afore mentioned teenagers’ fathers’). Sufficed to say, applications to the navy pilot program quadrupled overnight. Frankly, at this rate, Jon felt the Confederation Navy could do far worse than turn over the keys to their recruitment program to Jason and his team.

The Senate sub-committee officially sat for their first session the following day, the quickest session organised in the brief history of the Confederation Senate, despite none of the senators having any idea what the hell was going on, as the Navy was being, as usual, tight-lipped. The Navy, in fact, was busy investigating multiple breaches of security around the on-going investigation, still troubled by the fact the leaks seemed to be occurring prior to the investigation actually uncovering any evidence. Therefore, when in doubt and in urgent need to be seen to be proactive, the sub-committee subpoenaed the board of directors for CCBS, along with the entire executive management team. The lawyer representing CCBS uncomfortably informed the senate sub-committee nobody was able to attend, citing prior commitments.

The sub-committee mulled over this response for a full half-day. Then ordered the Navy to send in the marines, the real ones this time, to seize…well…everything. Jon organised another cinema night on Terra Nova and, with the usual popcorn and peanuts flying back and forth, the marines and station security cheered as the (real) navy marines boarded and seized all Syndicate facilities throughout the systems. According to Gunny they didn’t make too much of a half-assed job doing it.

Not surprisingly they mostly found abandoned facilities, wiped computer cores and lots of foot-troops, the senior Syndicate personnel even quicker to see the oncoming storm and long since hotfooted it out of the system. However, at least they did so with only the clothes they wore on their backs, as the Senate had already frozen all Syndicate accounts, with the supplied details from Jason and his team, via Navy Intelligence, a more obvious oxymoron yet to be discovered.

However, for Jon, the crowning moment of the entire affair was the (brief) statement from the Confederation President, Sofia Aurelius. Biting on the inside of her cheek, which Jon knew for a fact that she did only when worried about something (doubtful) or royally pissed about something (much more likely) she announced the senate investigation would be thorough and leave no stone unturned.

Jon had a fairly strong hunch Sofia knew exactly who or what was behind the incident and planned for pretty much all of it to remain untouched. After all how could she not? If she did not recognise the equipment and tactics deployed, then she most certainly recognised some of the faces in the short video clips supplied. Doctor Richardson had delivered Sofia at her birth, and had been the personal physician for her father and her for over ten years.

Finally, with her prepared statement coming to an end, she resignedly asking if there were any questions.

The enterprising journalist from Transcendence, obviously having been promoted, was straight out his chair once again with the same question.

“Can the Confederation Navy confirm which active unit the marines in the holoclip belong to?”

Sofia however was not some young, naive Navy spokesperson. Giving the reporter a withering glare, with eyes burning furiously and a voice like a whip she demanded, “Are you deaf, as well as being an idiot? Did you even listen to what I was saying? The Navy has no knowledge of these actions. Now sit-down before you make yourself look even more idiotic. Does any other idiot have a stupid question?”

The more astute reporters quickly lowered their hands, realising that the President was not in the mood to take any further questions. However, some people were slower than others, and one reporter shouted out a question from the back of the room.

“I’m sorry; I did not get your name and who you worked for?” Sofia called back sweetly.

Uh Oh.

“After all, we would not want some editor firing the wrong, poor, innocent reporter by mistake for your inept question would we?” The aforementioned reporter sunk, deflated, back into his seat along with the remaining questions.

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“In closing remarks,” Sofia said. “I would like to remind all confederation citizens the government will not allow vigilante justice and any such action in the future will result in the full force of the Confederation government and her military forces being deployed.”

Jon raised his bottle of beer in mock salute to the holoprojector and stated out aloud to the empty office, “Message received and understood, Princess.”

As the broadcast concluded, Jon wondered at what point their relationship hit a new low that they now had to use the Confederation media to talk to each other. It had been some years since Jon last saw Sofia and was surprised at how much she had aged even while still looking as beautiful as ever, still possessing the spark that had so drawn Jon to her.

However, he could not fail to notice the dark rings under her eyes, eyes that seemed to have lost the sparkle Jon could so clearly remember. Frankly, Jon thought she looked tired and weary, a thought that left him in a melancholy mood for many days thereafter.

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