He insisted on the word acting, to remind people that DeCourt hadn’t been democratically elected.
“Are you calling for presidential elections?” a young journalist with long hair asked.
“Yes, I am.” Multan stared at the cam defiantly, as if he could see his political opponent through it. “DeCourt is the one who appointed Colonel Kor Chief of Fleet Security, knowing all too well that the Bloody Colonel had been tried and convicted of war crimes.”
The president killed the holo-screen and turned to Kwan Kor. “You let me down, colonel. I gave you a second chance, I trusted you, and you let me down. I appointed you because of your expertise in criminal investigations, as I suspected there were saboteurs on our ships, and I needed you to unmask them. What have you done instead? You terrorized civilians, shot people, and now I learn that you also tortured suspects?”
“Mr. president, Malik Brunet isn’t just any suspect,” Kwan Kor replied. Only his lips were moving, the rest of his face remaining still as stone. “He’s one of Multan’s henchmen. I ordered my officers to make him talk by any means necessary. When they brought in his wife, he finally cracked, and revealed that Multan is planning a coup against you, Mr. president.”
DeCourt’s nostrils flared as he drew a nervous breath. “He revealed this information? Maybe he just told you what you wanted to hear so you’d stop torturing his wife! If so, this intel is worthless, and certainly inadmissible in court. Besides, Multan won’t even need to carry out a coup. After what just happened, even I wouldn’t vote for myself.”
After a moment of silence thick with tension, he resumed, “Colonel Kor, you are relieved of duty. The same applies to all your officers who violated the rights of Mr. Brunet and his spouse. I will set up a press conference, apologize to the victims, and promise them a generous compensation for what you’ve put them through. You and your officers will be tried for your crimes, and I will recommend the maximum sentence for you—life without parole. From now on, your responsibility will be sorting out garbage on the prison ship, for the rest of your life. That’s where you belong, colonel.” He spat the last word like an insult.
He turned to the guards and ordered them to take Kwan Kor into custody, then moved to the second item on the agenda.
“Intelligence reports. As you probably know, the Alliance Intelligence Service hasn’t been idle since the attack on our worlds. Our agents are working continuously with our sources inside the TGS. Our situation is dire, but there is hope. We learned that the legitimate chancellor is still alive. The Taar’kuun assassinated on Tethys was his clone. The chancellor suspected that Raak’naar would attempt to murder him, so he sent a clone in his stead. Now the chancellor is hiding and waiting for the right moment to reclaim the Scepter of Power.”
“Now you understand why it was so important to board the Biozi prison ship,” Winsley said, his gaze sliding around the room. It stopped on Talia’s face.
“The main objective was not to rescue the human prisoners, but to free the chancellor’s closest supporters who were detained in the same prison,” she said, her face blanching.
“Doctor, I know how difficult this has been for you,” Winsley told her. “We all sympathize, and we’re very sorry for your loss. You did the right thing when you injected the Biozi agent with the truth serum. Under the influence of this drug, he gave us invaluable intel we couldn’t have obtained otherwise.”
Adrian felt a pang of sadness when he looked at Talia’s drawn face. It was as if a part of her had died, and the light inside her had been extinguished. She nodded absentmindedly. He could imagine what she was thinking, “If only I let Kwan Kor interrogate Jon, instead of protecting that lying scumbag, my sister would still be alive. In the end, it was my own humanistic principles that led to the death of the person I loved most.”
Your humanistic principles weren’t at fault, Adrian thought. This war was.
“Back to the matter at hand,” DeCourt said. “We know that the legitimate chancellor still has supporters. Now the good news—there is a chance we might liberate our worlds. The Biozi killed millions during their attack, and they re-assimilated many more, but there are still billions of human survivors on Vega, Ceres, Arcturus, and Deneb.”
“The Biozi could have destroyed our worlds; why didn’t they put an end to human resistance once and for all?” Winsley asked.
“Maybe because Raak’naar doesn’t want this war to end,” DeCourt suggested. “He needs an enemy to fuel the holy war he started. He must know that the chancellor is alive, otherwise he wouldn’t have locked up the chancellor’s supporters in a secret prison. He needs time to consolidate power.”
“Very well,” Winsley said. “He wants total war? We’ll give him one.”
“But first, we need to establish a colony on Neo,” DeCourt reminded him, as if such a reminder was necessary. He was reminding Winsley who was in charge.
Once the meeting ended, Adrian approached DeCourt and said, “Mr. president, would you allow me to organize a rescue mission to free my daughter…” He paused, remembering that he wasn’t officially Ophelia’s father. “I mean Ophelia. I just need one ship and a platoon of marines. Can you spare the Remembrance, now that it’s not engaged in an active mission?”
DeCourt stared at him coldly. “How do you know Ophelia’s whereabouts? My best agents were incapable of finding her.”
“It’s a long story. I think I know why the Taar’kuun created her, and why she’s so important to Raak’naar.”
“Excuse me, doctor, but I can’t give you the greenlight for a rescue operation based only on a hunch. What’s your theory, briefly?”
Adrian sighed, mentally preparing for the forthcoming debate. “Years ago, before the Retroforming, I discovered the existence of extraterrestrial beings I called the Oneiroi. I believe their civilization started billions of years ago in a distant galaxy. They spread throughout the universe, but, unlike the Taar’kuun, they lived in harmony with other sentient species. They communicated with our ancestors telepathically through dreams and visions. Ancient humans called them spirits, angels, or demons. Some people are naturally more receptive to Oneiroi telepathy than others.”
DeCourt stared at Adrian intently. “Intriguing theory, doctor. Can we meet those beings? Where do they live?”
Adrian shook his head. “It’s not that simple. I don’t think they have physical bodies anymore. Their minds exist in a higher dimension I call the Info-cosmos. I believe that, through dreams and visions, they guided mankind on the road of scientific progress. Think about it—how many great scientific discoveries were made in dreams? The periodic table, Einstein’s Theory of Relativity, Edison’s inventions, and so on. I also believe the ancestors of the Taar’kuun received similar communications from the Oneiroi, but modern Taar’kuun have lost the ability to dream. Maybe that’s why there has been no major scientific breakthrough in the TGS for almost a million years.”
“You think the Biozi genetically engineered Ophelia to be receptive to those communications?”
Adrian nodded. “Yes, that would explain her premonitions. She was extraordinarily perceptive for a child. Raak’naar knew how important she was, and that’s why he captured her during the Battle of Olympica. Since then, he’s been using Ophelia as his secret weapon; that’s the only explanation for his meteoric rise to power.”
“I see. But how do you know where Ophelia is detained?”
“I talked to the people rescued from the Biozi prison ship, including AIS agents. One of them learned that the Biozi transferred an important human prisoner to a top-secret research facility on a planet I call Chloris. It’s a planet at the very edge of charted space, not yet fully bioformed. There’s an ancient Oneiroi settlement there, and Raak’naar set up a research facility to study it. I worked at that site a few years ago, before the Retroforming.”
DeCourt rubbed the bridge of his nose, processing this information. No doubt Adrian’s revelations had given him a headache. After a pause, he said, �
�That’s all very interesting, doctor. Please submit a full report to me. I will review it as soon as I can.”
“With all due respect, Mr. president, we need to act urgently,” Adrian pleaded. “Chloris is just a jump away from our current position. If Ophelia is there, we need to free her before Raak’naar moves her to another facility.”
“You have your orders, doctor,” DeCourt said coldly, shaking his head. “I will read your report and make my decision. We need to make sure the intel is solid. Remember, we nearly lost a battlegroup last time we acted on bad intel. Besides, right now food shortages and civil unrest are topping my list of priorities. I may have to declare martial law, and I need all the military resources I have. I can’t spare any ships. Sorry, doctor.”
As Adrian was leaving the conference room, he received a call.
“Dr. Darus? Adisa Multan speaking. My husband would like to meet with you. This is extremely important.”
Adrian exited the conference room and stopped, his breath growing shallow. “My apologies, Mrs. Multan; I don’t think it would be appropriate for a presidential adviser to meet privately with the leader of the opposition.”
“This isn’t about politics, doctor. We need your scientific expertise.”
“You want me to reveal the location of Earth to you, because your husband doesn’t actually know where it is, despite his claims.” Adrian glanced around him, fearing that Multan’s agents could attempt to kidnap him. But he was alone in an empty corridor, save for the security officers posted at the entrance of the conference room.
“Don’t be such a cynic,” Adisa Multan snapped. “We know you’ve a low opinion of our beliefs, but at least have the courtesy to hear out what my husband has to say. He’s willing to meet you in neutral territory.”
Adrian didn’t like where this was going, but curiosity prevailed over caution. “Fine. I’m on my way to Oretown.”
“Understood. My husband will meet you there. Alone. I’m staying on the Jamnagar.”
I need a body guard, someone I trust.
Riley was his first choice, but she was in solitary confinement. Jason came next on his list. Unfortunately, Jason had made it clear he didn’t want anything to do with Adrian. He opted for Sergeant Mortensen, one of the elite marines under Riley’s command, recently decorated for his heroic actions on the hulk.
Adrian contacted Captain Hunt and asked if he could “borrow” Mortensen for a few hours. Hunt agreed without asking any questions.
When the sergeant arrived on the Capitol and saw Adrian, his square face distorted in a large grin. He snapped a salute and gazed at Adrian with shining eyes. “It’s an honor, sir.”
“At ease, sergeant. We’re taking a shuttle to Oretown. Secret mission. Let’s try to be as discrete as possible.”
“That won’t be easy,” Ria said. “Mortensen is anything but inconspicuous, given his build.”
“But his presence will dissuade the Earthists from trying anything against me.”
“Well, it’s difficult to argue with that.”
They reached the Oretown uneventfully and waited for Multan’s shuttle. Adrian saw it through the window, growing bigger as it approached…
Until it exploded.
In shock, Adrian stared at the expanding ball of plasma and debris.
DeCourt had Multan killed. Good stars help us all.
30
Direct action
The news of Multan’s demise spread through the fleet within minutes. Fear held what remained of the Alliance in its grip, as everyone wondered what would happen next. All non-essential shuttle travel was suspended, so Adrian and Mortensen were stuck on the Oretown for several hours.
DeCourt denied any involvement in this “incident,” and called for an “independent” investigation. The experts examined the wreckage of Multan’s shuttle and hastily concluded it was an accident due to engine overload.
Many people remained skeptical. Although human-made spacecraft weren’t as reliable as Taar’kuun bioships, such accidents were rare. The timing of the incident appeared way too convenient.
When space traffic was reestablished, Adrian and Mortensen took a shuttle back to the Capitol. They were the only passengers. As their shuttle landed in the hangar, Adrian sensed that something was wrong. Usually, all visitors from other civilian ships had to go through security before being allowed on the Capitol, but this time the security officer’s booths were empty.
Mortensen sensed danger too and drew his handgun. They disembarked and crept toward the entrance to the ship. Security gates beeped as Mortensen walked through them, but Fleet Security employees were nowhere to be seen.
Adrian tried to make a call, but all comms were jammed with static, even the emergency ones.
“Drop your weapons,” said a gruff voice coming through loudspeakers. “The Capitol is under Earthist control. Adisa Multan is now in command of the Alliance fleet.”
Four automatic turrets deployed around them with a mechanical whirring.
“Put your weapons on the ground, sergeant,” Adrian told Mortensen. “Please offer no resistance. Let me talk to their leader.”
The sergeant gritted his teeth, but obeyed. Several people in bulletproof vests and helmets armed with submachine guns and shotguns rushed through the doors and surrounded Adrian and Mortensen. The Earthists cuffed them and led them to an autopod.
When they reached the bridge, Adrian saw Adisa. He recognized her as he’d seen her on the news. She glared at him, as if he were responsible for the death of her husband.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said, bowing his head.
“I don’t need your pity,” Adisa spit. “I need you to tell us the location of Earth. Now that DeCourt has assassinated our leader, you’re the only one who knows the way to the Holy Planet.”
DeCourt was there too, hands tied behind his back. “Don’t tell anything to that fanatic,” he snapped.
Adisa slapped him on the face with such force he tumbled to the floor. “Silence, murderer!” she yelled. “Your reign is over. Democracy failed, and you left us with no choice but to take direct action. The fleet is going to Earth, whether you like it or not.”
DeCourt raised his eyes at her, blood trickling from his lip and dripping on his expensive suit. “People are starving, don’t you know that? Soon we’ll have to eat our own recycled excrement. The fleet is in no condition to fight its way to Earth. We need to reach Neo and start growing food in sufficient quantities, or we’re all dead.”
“Admiral Winsley’s calling you, ma’am,” said the Earthist at the comms station.
“On screen,” Adisa ordered.
Winsley’s hologram appeared in the middle of the bridge. “Liberate all hostages,” he demanded. “Immediately. Starting with the president.”
“This piece of trash is not our president,” she bit back. “He’s a liar and a murderer. The Capitol will set course to Earth, and the military fleet will protect it on its sacred journey.”
“This isn’t going to happen,” Winsley affirmed. “We do not negotiate with hostage-takers.”
Adisa turned to her henchmen and ordered them to bring one of the hostages. They disappeared through the doors and returned a moment later with a handcuffed Fleet Security officer. They led the officer to the middle of the bridge and forced him to his knees.
“Malik,” Adisa called.
Malik Brunet was a young man with an elongated face and brown skin. He stepped forward with caution, as if he were walking through a minefield.
Adisa shoved a handgun into his hands and pointed a finger at the security officer. “Do you recognize him? He’s one of the beasts who tortured you and your wife. Look him in the eyes! Who’s terrified now? You’re no longer a victim—you’re in control. You’ll never be a victim again.”
Brunet took the blaster with his shaking hand. “Sorry, ma’am, I…”
She grabbed his wrist and directed the blaster at the officer’s face. “Don’t you want justice, Malik?
For you, for your wife?”
“Don’t do this, son,” Winsley said, his lips curled down in an expression of disgust. “This isn’t justice.”
“Then what is justice?” Adisa yelled. “Where was your justice, admiral, when the Bloody Colonel and his goons tortured and killed people?” She turned to her henchman again. “Malik, as the new leader of the Alliance, I give you permission to execute your torturer.”
But Brunet was only shaking his head, his hand trembling so badly he could barely hold the blaster.
“Don’t you think this boy has suffered enough?” Adrian intervened. “Can’t we solve our differences like civilized people?”
Adisa snatched the blaster from Brunet’s hands, pointed it at the officer, and fired. As the officer tumbled to the ground, she stepped forward and shot him in the head, again and again.
She raised her eyes at Winsley. “Are you willing to take us seriously, admiral, or do you need another demonstration? Obey my orders, or DeCourt will be next.”
Winsley remained mute. Adrian broke the silence. “I’ll give you what you want, Multan. But we can’t travel to Earth. First, we’ll have to take a research facility on a planet called Chloris.”
Adisa turned to him. “Don’t try to fool us, doctor. We’re not as ignorant as you might think. You probably don’t care much about DeCourt’s life, but there are other people on this ship you do care about. Dr. Galen, for example.”
Adrian clenched his fists instinctively, though it wouldn’t do him any good, as he was handcuffed. “I’m not lying to you. Even if I give you the coordinates of the Sol system, you won’t be able to get there. To plot the jumps, you need the gravimetric map of the entire sector. Interstellar travel isn’t magic; you can’t just punch a button and jump wherever you want. I know that the gravimetric map and the path to Earth are in the Biozi database on Chloris.”
Adisa holstered her blaster, pondered for a moment, then said, “All right, I’ve no choice but to trust you for now. The ASF is going to assault that lab on Chloris.”
Battlegroup Vega Page 21
