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"Under the circumstances, you made the correct decision," Barch replied.
"However, I don't think the intruders in the redoubt need concern us overmuch.
If they are part of a larger conspiracy to overthrow
Ragnarville, they are only pawns."
"Conspiracy?" Royce echoed.
Barch spread his hands wide. "What else could it be? The baron and one his
guardsmen murdered, a bizarre storm. None of these events can be coincidental.
That's why I want the formation of a task force so we can not only ferret out
the conspirators that may be in our midst, but also to act immediately if and
when another assault comes our way.
"They don't have to be blooded hard-contact Mags, but I prefer that they are.
I also need a half-dozen tech-heads, the higher the seniority the better.
After you've made your choices, send their psych profiles to me for review."
"You suspect traitors in Ragnarville?" Royce tried to smother the skepticism
in his tone, but he knew he only half managed it
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"An inside job is the only explanation. A small handful of seditionists within
the ville are colluding with the
Preservationists."
Every Mag in every ville knew about the Preservationists. They had served as a
culprit for a variety of crimes for decades, a shadowy menace drifting in and
out of the baronies like smoke.
Royce nodded. "I understand. How soon do you need the profiles?"
Barch heaved himself out of the chair with a screech of springs. "I needed
them about three weeks ago.
I'll settle for two hours from now."
Royce stood up as Barch moved around the desk. Barch clapped him on the
shoulder as he walked to the door. "The next few days will be tough, but if
you believe in me, I promise you the rewards will be more than worth it."
Royce waited until Barch strode into the corridor before murmuring, "That's
what the fuck I'm afraid of."
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Chapter 11
From his chair in front of the VGA monitor screen, Lakesh said, "We've
discovered...something." He fell silent.
Kane waited. He looked over to Bry, who was hunched over a computer terminal
on the far side of the control complex, then cast his eyes over to Grant. He
saw the mental shrug in his otherwise expressionless eyes. Apparently, Grant
was going to remain quiet and let Lakesh move forward with his discovery when
the old man was good and ready.
Kane was not so patient. He prompted, "Discovered what? Baptiste said you'd
come across something that might connect to Baron Ragnar's death."
"I'll explain in a moment, friend Kane. As soon as Brigid arrives, we'll hold
a full briefing."
As Lakesh spoke the last word of the sentence, Brigid strode in with her
characteristic mannish stride. A
few wisps of her red-gold hair peeking out of the severe bun at the back of
her skull were the only evidence she'd been hurrying. She had changed into a
bodysuit that clung in all the right places to her tall, willowy body. She
wore the badge of her former office as an archivist, a pair of wire-rimmed,
rectangular-lensed spectacles.
"You're late," Kane groused.
Brigid didn't respond, keeping her attention on the seated Lakesh. "Sorry."
"Nonsense, you're right on time," Lakesh said with a broad smile. "For a
change, friends Kane and
Grant were early."
Brigid cast a cool glance toward Kane. "I told you to take your time. I
figured you and Rouen would be busy for a while."
Kane scowled at her and opened his mouth to say something profane. Lakesh
interjected hastily, "Yes, well, perhaps later you and Brigid can discuss your
differing interpretations of 'busy.' At the moment, there is something else to
consider."
Kane closed his mouth. Rather than argue, he waited for the cadaverous man to
reveal the reason the three of them had been summoned to the control center.
"So, what's wrong up there?" Brigid asked the room.
"Where?" Kane growled.
"There," she replied, pointing a finger at the upper corner of the Mercator
map. "In Alaska."
Kane felt as though he and Grant were both unruly students trapped in some
godawful geography class, with Baptiste standing tall and proud as the
teacher's pet.
"There's a problem in Redoubt Zulu?" Grant
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asked, taking note of the winking light that was alternating between the
colors of amber and green.
"Of a sort," Lakesh told him. "In some ways, more of a mystery, but it could
have a promising, perhaps even beneficial solution."
"How so?"
"As we know, someone visited the redoubt some three weeks ago. Only a couple
of hours ago, coinciding with the alleged murder of Baron Ragnar and Balam's
outburst, the sensors registered new activity on the mat-trans jump lines. A
demat and a mat."
"Seems like more and more people are becoming aware of what was once a secret
method of getting around," Kane remarked.
"All of the barons are aware of the units, and in order to carry out searches,
others must be informed.
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Such is the way. And someone perhaps abusing those secrets is also the way."
Grant turned to Lakesh. "Is there anything in that redoubt worth abusing?
According to the Intel you pulled from the database, it was built to be a
stockpile...and it was cleaned out during unification."
Lakesh consulted a sheaf of printout. "We performed a deeper, more
comprehensive search, using other keywords. From the classified information
we've been able to access from the database, Redoubt Zulu also served as a
primary HAARP installation."
Kane and Grant stiffened at the mention of the word harp.
"Harp?" Kane demanded. "Did I hear you right?"
The word held unpleasant connotations for them, instantly bringing to mind
their painful encounters with infrasound weapons in the shape of the musical
instruments.
"Obviously, HAARP is an acronym, Kane," Bri-gid stated with only the slightest
dash of dry sarcasm.
"It's got nothing to do with the Danaan. Or Martian trolls."
"That's good to know, Baptiste," Kane retorted curtly. "I was afraid we might
have to hang up our blasters and go out into the field armed with tubas." He
hated himself for being baited, and hated himself
even more for allowing his voice to rise in timbre when he snapped back at
her.
Before Brigid could select from the half-dozen or more rejoinders that
appeared on the slate of her fertile mind, Lakesh broke in quickly, "HAARP is
indeed an acronym. It stood for 'High-frequency
Active Auroral Research Program.'"
"Which still tells me nothing," said Kane.
"That makes two of us," Grant agreed.
"Allow me to enlighten the pair of you, friend Grant. After all, that is the
reason for a briefing session, is it not?"
Grant nodded affirmative and kept silent, his heavy-jawed black face set in a
frown. Lakesh took the silence as a cue to continue, using his free hand to
reach over and click a small switch on the table-
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top, which caused the four-foot-square VGA monitor screen to flare into life.
On it appeared a predark map of the most northward addition to the United
States, the landmass of Alaska.
"During the early part of the nineties," he said, "a decade or so before the
nuclear conflagration, the
HAARP facility was assembled on a military base in Alaska. This was a joint
project between the Air
Force and the Navy, at least, a joint project for cover-story purposes. In
actuality, the United States was working closely with a Russian team, who had
their own version of HAARP, known as SURA."
"Once a pissing contest, always a pissing contest," Kane said sourly.
"Quite the vulgar simile, friend Kane. But also quite true. HAARP had several
parts, most interesting being the IRI, or Ionospheric Research Instrument. At
the time of its construction, the IRI was the largest high-frequency radio
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