Profiteer

“We are the property of those we hate.”

—The Cynic’s Book of Wisdom

 

“It is a strange desire to seek power and to lose liberty.”

—Francis Bacon

(1561-1626)

 

 

“I don’t like insubordination, Captain Murphy.”

 

Murphy was rigid and as unmoving as a statue. “No, sir.”

 

Klaus was receiving Murphy is his current command center, Dominic’s old office. By all rights, Klaus should have been happy with the way the operation was going. Phase one of Rasputin was proceeding apace. In eight Bakunin days the new mainframe would arrive. The residence tower was now filled with Confederacy people, his people.

 

However, Klaus wasn’t happy.

 

First there’d been his brother.

 

Then there was Shane.

 

Now this.

 

“I don’t like disobedience.”

 

“No, sir.”

 

Klaus sighed. Was he getting through to this man? Did Murphy understand what this meant? First there was Shane, then these five marines, then ... It was like a virus, it had to be excised before the entire company was infected.

 

“What am I going to do with these people?”

 

“I have them under house arrest, sir.”

 

“Is that a suitable punishment for mutiny, Murphy?”

 

Murphy’s gaze looked shallow and far away.

 

“The teams I’m sending into Godwin are necessary to this mission. I cannot accept any disobedience. Especially because, thanks to one traitor, there are nearly fourteen hundred enemy agents still unaccounted for.”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

“An extreme circumstance calls for extreme measures, don’t you think?”

 

Murphy was silent.

 

“Don’t you think, Captain Murphy?”

 

After a long pause, Murphy said, “Yes, sir.”

 

“Good. I want the first of them, the squad leader, prepped for the interrogation room in the Blood-Tide. The rest, I want them to observe.”

 

Murphy stood there.

 

“Dismissed.”

 

Murphy turned on his heel and left.

 

Klaus knew he was having this trouble because of Shane. If it weren’t for her sending the containment operation balls-up, none of these solders would even think of disobeying his orders.

 

Shane and command at TEC. His subordinates were quoting TEC orders back at him. “No widening of the operation beyond the complex until phase one is completed.”

 

Damn it. He was the one on the ground here. He was the one who gave the orders. He was the one who answered to the TEC. He was in control of an operation once it hit dirt—

 

Why did they sabotage his authority?

 

Why did Dimitri sabotage his authority? Klaus knew he was doing what the old man wanted. Klaus had thought long and hard, and he’d decided that neutralizing “Dominic Magnus” had to be part of his unwritten mission.

 

Otherwise, why send him?

 

Klaus turned the chair and faced Godwin out the side of the transparent dome. The city looked like a glowing fungus in the sunset. Some malignant growth that you’d find under a rock. All of Bakunin was like that, a throbbing cancer in the side of the Confederacy.

 

He was the surgeon.

 

He would have advocated blasting this place to the bedrock. Flash this entire criminal nation into infinity from orbit. That would have solved both problems, his and the Confederacy’s.

 

No, Klaus thought, that would be too easy. And they need a planet with a population of a half-billion or so. Half a billion people and eighty years standard.

 

Bakunin had over a billion people, and it’d been occupied for a hundred and four years.

 

“You did pick the perfect place to nest, didn’t you— brother?”

 

A cesspit of disease and perversion. A boiling swamp just like the one Klaus had thought his brother had died in.

 

No mistakes this time. Klaus wouldn’t finish until he had Dom’s corpse in his arms.

 

The holo built into his desk beeped for his attention. Someone had finally gotten around to fixing the thing so it didn’t give Klaus headaches every time he looked at it. He answered the call.

 

Looking out of the holo was Jonathan Whissen-Hall, one of the civilians who’d come on the Blood-Tide. He was the TEC communications officer, the one with the security clearance to handle the coded messages.

 

“What is it, Mr. Hall?” Klaus was aware that truncating his hyphenated name was irritating to Whissen-Hall, but the damn thing was too long, and Whissen-Hall kept any irritation below the level of insubordination.

 

“Our first synchronization call came in on the tach-comm.”

 

“Oh?” Things were speeding along. “How’s our schedule?”

 

“Well within the margin. The first sync signal was pulsed from Earth day three-oh after we left.”

 

“Good. How long do we have to the Congress?”

 

“Counting the lag, sixty-five days standard.”

 

That was a tight deadline, until Klaus factored in the duration of the Congress—which would stay in session for nearly six months. “Anything important sent with the sync message?” Klaus asked.

 

“Late intel on Bakunin, some other things. I’ll upload a secure package to your office.”

 

Klaus nodded and broke the connection.

 

Well, he and the Executive were on the same clocks now. And now that he thought of clocks—