Hidden Empire - Kevin J. Anderson [199]
Roberts felt a cold prickle of sweat along his neck. "General, sir, I assure you I have never been convicted of or even charged with anything illegal. You can check my criminal record—"
Lanyan waved him into a seat. "Let's not get into that, Captain. It's a red herring, and I don't have time for it."
Roberts quickly sat down, folded his hands in his lap, and waited in silence.
"Captain, allow me to be clear. I intend to take advantage of your abilities. It would be most advantageous to recruit someone with your skills rather than sifting through these enthusiastic numbskulls to find a new cadet with only a fraction of your experience. I understand that King Frederick's new order has required you to surrender your private ship to the greater military effort, and that you are currently without a livelihood?"
The General already had that information, and both men knew it. "I...recognize the Hansa's need. As the King says, we all have to make some unpleasant sacrifices." Roberts smiled wanly, then shrugged. "The Hansa gave me enough compensation to meet my expenses for a month or two."
Lanyan regarded him with hard, intelligent eyes, and finally the General's face broke into a knowing smile. "I'll bet you're bored, though."
Although the Blind Faith had been designed as a merchant ship and cargo carrier, she had sleek lines and fast engines. The EDF had retrofitted the ship for increased maneuverability and range. Roberts wasn't entirely sure the modifications would protect the Blind Faith against an outright attack from the enemy aliens, but it made him feel more confident.
So far on his mission, he had already been to Welyr and Erphano, known hiding places of the deep-core creatures. Like a dive bomber, he raced into each system and dropped a cargo load of robotic probes and message buoys into the murky clouds. The devices sank out of sight, relaying information back to the Blind Faith. The buoys transmitted demands that the aliens cease their unprovoked aggression or urgent requests for any sort of parley.
Each time, the messages were ignored, the probes destroyed.
Now, without slowing, Branson Roberts piloted the Blind Faith toward Dasra, approaching from the north pole. The greenish gas giant was surrounded by a stack of thin, treacherous rings, like a sparkling pile of old phonograph records encircling the equator.
Needing to move quickly, Roberts did not thread his way through the crowded rubble-filled rings. Instead, he skimmed close to the atmosphere in the gap between the planet and the rings, traversing from north to south. Per General Lanyan's orders, he was required to stay long enough to gather data transmitted from the probes. But he didn't have to wait around for trouble.
Skimming above the storm systems, Roberts opened the Blind Faith 's cargo bay doors and dumped a string of robotic probes, self-contained transmitters, and sensors. As they fell, the message buoys bleated their recorded announcements across a spectrum of frequencies. The data probes drifted into specific storm levels, sending electronic surveillance intelligence as they descended.
Roberts collected every signal, recording all the data in his ship's systems. He would bring his reconnaissance packets back to EDF headquarters and deliver them personally to the General and his analysts. Maybe he'd even ask for a raise.
He listened, cruising above the silent clouds, passing over Dasra's equator and then traversing the gas giant's southern hemisphere. As before, once the probes reached a certain depth, the transmissions suddenly broke off, changing to static and then silence. Each device was destroyed far sooner than the environmental conditions could have harmed the rugged components.
Obviously, the deep-core aliens were the cause.
Gas-giant planets were common in the Spiral Arm, and many probe runners like himself were investigating them. If the probe destructions were an accurate indication,