The View From Infinity Beach by R.P.L. Johnson

Author:R.P.L. Johnson
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2021-04-07T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter 18

The Operator made her way through empty corridors toward the Command and Control Centre. The station was in lockdown after the attack on the Federation soldier. The normal curfew had been extended. Only essential personnel were allowed to leave their apartments, and even then, only to work. The Mall was closed; even the local sector cafeterias had been restricted to issuing ration packs to workers at the end of their shifts. Apart from the Operator, the only people walking the corridors were Federation soldiers and even they travelled in patrols of six or more.

The Operator looked distinctly out of place walking alone. Her glyph gave her unrestricted access. Its electronic presence travelled ahead of her, opening doors as she approached and alerting the patrols before any over-zealous soldiers took her for an insurgent. The Operator was glad of its presence. There were plenty of itchy trigger fingers amongst the Federation soldiers. After the relative ease of the station's takeover, this new twist had shaken them. She despised them for it. This was a war: a quiet war to be sure, but no less bitterly fought for that. Death was to be expected. It was the soldiers' lot in life to face death, to stuff the jaws of war with the bodies of the dead until it choked. And here they were, jumping at shadows over a single fallen comrade.

She turned the corner into the C&C. More guards: they flanked the door and manned a guard post inside that was reinforced with forged plates of bulletproof ceramic.

Inside, there was still a fair percentage of Excalibur technical staff at their terminals. Their work was overseen by Federation combat engineers who walked between the workstations. More Federation security stood at the back of the room, fully armed and armoured.

General Amherst had taken over Excalibur's offices as his personal base of operations. He sat calmly behind what had once been Michelle Hackett’s desk, his uniform pressed with creases so sharp it looked as if it had been welded together out of panels like the facetted hull of one of his troop transports. Only the fading redness on his cheeks and the embarrassed look on the face of his aide as he fled from the office gave a clue to the fact that his composure was not total.

An empty seat stood in front of the desk but the Operator chose to stand while Amherst made an ostentatious display of flicking through a document on his slate.

"Your reports are very thorough," he said eventually without looking up. It was a clumsy opening; the Operator knew she hadn't been summoned to listen to Amherst sing her praises. "But what I'm failing to see," Amherst continued, "—is any mention of the insurgents targeting our soldiers!" He slammed the slate down on the desk. "Why the hell didn't you see this coming?"

"This was an isolated incident," the Operator said calmly. "There was no way it could have been predicted."

"You say there were no warning signs at all?"

"Nothing specific," the Operator replied.

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