by P. R. Adams
The volunteers shouted, “Roger that, Sergeant Major!”
More soldiers left their positions to run to the barricade; they made an opening, then stepped back and stood at attention. Benson saluted the blue-eyed colonel as the escort led them past.
He smiled as he returned the salute. “Luck, Commander.”
“We’ll need it.”
Perhaps out of respect, the other ministers stayed in file behind Sargota, even following her to the Lower Chamber floor, where those of the upper chamber clasped their hands and nodded as she shuffled to the center.
She smiled at those gathered around her—nearly fifty—then said, “I hereby declare a vote of confidence!”
Applause broke out among the gathered ministers, civilians, and even the escorts, but it was quickly silenced by the sound of booted feet rushing down the halls. Twenty or more people—SAID enforcers, most likely—rushed in through the doors, weapons raised. Behind them came the giant, barrel-chested Defense Minister Zenawi. Wiry gray hair curled out from the side of his head like wings. His copper-brown skin glowed, and his pale brown eyes flitted like a reptile’s.
He clapped once and rasped a dry laugh. “A most excellent display of parliamentary strategy, Representative Benson! And complete with the drama you so admire!”
Sargota harrumphed. “Tell your thugs to put away their weapons.”
Zenawi waved for the enforcers to lower their weapons. “This is hardly enough to begin discussions about a coalition. Why don’t we retire to the prime minister’s chamber and begin preliminary deliberations, hm?”
“We have enough for a quorum. And I see representatives from all parties.”
The ministers looked around, then heads bobbed.
Sargota whispered for Stiles to help, then took a few steps back up the ramp toward the defense minister. “We can establish communications with all the survivors who feared for their lives.”
“Fine, fine.” Zenawi strolled toward the old woman. “We can conduct the discussions here, then. Is that what you want?”
“This is the chamber of the people. It seems appropriate.”
The defense minster gently patted her shoulder as he passed. He even winked at Benson before plucking a seat from one of the desks and bringing it back to her mother. “Sit, please. All of you, find a seat. Except for those of you with weapons. Go on. The gears of government must grind on.”
Benson led Halliwell and Stiles to seats in the gallery, away from the civilians who had settled in. There was a drama set to play out, Benson could feel it. She just didn’t know what it was.
When the soldiers and the last of the SAID agents were gone, Zenawi leaned against a table and held up a finger. “While you all reach out to your comrades, I do want to caution a single point. This is our first civil crisis, so we would do well to proceed with caution and clarity.” He pressed his lips together and twisted around to flash widened eyes at Sargota. “Representative Benson, would you agree?”
The old woman’s mouth puckered. “We should.”
“You see that? We already have consensus.” The towering politician laughed. It was authentic and warm.
Benson hated the feeling the man gave off. She’d only met him a few times, one of them when actually receiving her commission. He’d been an odd creep then and was even worse now, but what really annoyed her was the inability to see his angle. Even if he somehow negotiated a way to avoid punishment for not rebuking those behind the coup—and it seemed improbable that he wasn’t complicit—there was no way his career would survive. His position as defense minister had been a compromise from the start. After latching on to power that wasn’t rightfully his, even his own party would be reluctant to back him for anything.
Yet there he was, laughing and rubbing his hands like an old friend.
Zenawi stood again. “The first point of order we should discuss, then, is what we plan to do about this Azoren threat.”
Sargota groaned dramatically. “Nonsense! If the threat ever existed, it’s long gone now.”
“Is it?” The defense minister stroked his chin. “Is it?”
“Obviously. If we have military resources to waste on this horrific usurpation of power—”
“Ah! No usurpation, Representative Benson. You see, this entire time, I’ve been working closely with the military and intelligence agencies—”
“To illegally secure power!”
“—to monitor the situation. And you may be surprised to discover that the Azoren are in fact attacking yet again!”
“Preposterous!”
“Sadly, no. We’ve received a distress call from the Alexandria Shipyard. The Azoren attack force has begun an assault that cannot be repelled. The Valor is at risk, and all that keeps us from acting is an end to this terrible stabilization effort that became necessary after the terrorist bombing struck down so much of our leadership.”
Shocked mumbling ran through the other ministers.
Sargota’s foot scraped. “We planned to make a quick vote of this. No more than twelve or fourteen hours.”
The defense minister bowed his head. “These scoundrels could be long gone by then. Or they could be threatening our own defense fleet once more.” He threw his arms wide to the other ministers gathered in the chamber. “This isn’t what we want, is it?”
Whispering among the assembled folk became a little less hushed, the body language a little more openly agitated.
The old woman squeezed her eyes shut. “You can’t—”
Zenawi paced, one hand behind his back; the other wagged a finger. He apparently loved his theatrics as much as Sargota. “All we need to rectify this matter is agreement to reform the coalition. We can scramble—”
“Unacceptable!” Sargota’s face took on a faint red hue.
The defense minister spun around. “To protect the planet, Representative Benson?”
“The coalition must accept changes. An end to the outlandish military agenda! A—”
“You want to put forward a proposal to further weaken the military, Representative Benson? At a time when they’re all that stands between us and brazen Azoren aggression?”
Sargota stuck her chin out in defiance. “We must put forward a new coalition.”
The defense minister smiled, even more reptile-like than before. “Indeed.”
Halliwell squeezed Benson’s shoulder. “What’s going on?”
Benson squinted. “I think she’s trying to force a new coalition.”
“To push that jerk out of power?”
The other ministers were more agitated now than before. They’d broken into small groups, probably representing the dozen or so parties. There was almost certainly communication ongoing between them and the missing ministers. Benson couldn’t be sure of who fell into what end of the ideological continuum, but she knew that her mother was in the smallest group. The way she had been left alone in the center of the chamber, it seemed like she might be the last of the radicals. She certainly wasn’t talking to anyone else.
Benson bunched her hands in her lap. “I think he’s going to legitimize the coup.”
“What?”
“She’s alienating herself. She’s never been good at compromise and doesn’t communicate so much as she shouts.”
“I kind of noticed that.”
A younger minister with long, wavy brown hair signaled for the defense minister to come over, and they quickly fell into an animated chat. Other ministers joined them. Then others. Then more.
Until Sargota sat completely alone.
Finally, Zenawi turned back to Sargota. “Representative Benson, thank you!”
“For what?” The old woman shook.
“Why, thanks to your efforts, we’ve managed to reach the point of voting in record time. All a formality at this point, of course. The coalition exists, and thankfully the Kedraalian Republic will be saved.” He turned back to the other assembled ministers. “Thank you so much for your patience and bravery also. Today begin
s a new day for our grand experiment in democracy! If you’ll excuse me, I need to begin assembling the rest of my staff.”
Once again, Zenawi winked as he strode past Benson, and this time there was a look approaching ecstasy.
Her gut twisted. She ran down to where mother sat. “What just happened?”
Someone had given Sargota a tablet, which she was concentrating on. She didn’t turn around or look up from where it sat on the tabletop, but her lips quivered. “It would appear that Zenawi has formed a new coalition and that he will be our new prime minister.”
“You turned away your allies, Mother.”
The old woman sat back in her chair. “Allies who can’t accept the proper course aren’t allies worth having.”
“But you’ve given the government over to the very people you wanted to push out of power!”
“It will change in time.”
“When? After they’ve dragged us into war?”
Sargota stared after the people drifting out of the chamber. “Sometimes, you have to destroy what you love to save it, dear.”
“And sometimes you have to learn to listen, Mother. If you’ll excuse me, I need to see if I even have a career to return to.”
Benson stormed out of the chamber. It felt like it might be the last time she would ever set foot inside the building. Were ego and stubbornness hereditary? She hoped not. Because she’d just seen the damage firsthand that unhinged hubris could create.
23
Ostmann’s head came up from his position at the helm station. “Alexandria Shipyard ahead, Captain!”
Morganson found himself leaning forward as the giant display shimmered. He swallowed the last vestiges of coffee that had stubbornly remained in the hollows of his mouth from earlier. The bitter fluid left an aftertaste at the back of his throat and settled in his sinuses for a moment.
He swallowed again, sucking the earthy tang from his nose. Despite the caffeine, fatigue left him feeling weak.
Rest would come soon enough. Rest and glory.
Details from long-range sensors and cameras traced the shape of the facility—a towering rectangular cuboid of dull gray lit by a string of lights along the hull and spokes that radiated out on each side. Attached lengthwise to the object was a ship with a hull dark enough to be black. The ship rivaled the Spear of Destiny. The raw numbers showing on the display indicated the other vessel was a little shorter but notably bulkier. Weapons bristled along the dorsal spine.
Lots of weapons.
And there would be more on the keel and no doubt some on starboard and port when the ship was finished.
In a straight-up battle, the Spear wouldn’t stand a chance. That made destroying the other ship critical. In fact, this Valor seemed an existential threat. The Kedraalians loved armor, so with all the weapons it had, the ship would be a significant danger to newer Azoren ships.
The stoop-shouldered helmsman gulped. “It is frightening, Captain.”
It was, but no captain worth his title would show fear. “You fear something defenseless, Ensign Francisco?”
“We are sure it is truly defenseless, Captain?”
“Would it still be attached to the shipyard if it was operational? The people in that station know what happened to the ships defending them. They would have launched the ship by now if they could.”
“Yes, yes! I understand, Captain. My fear was foolish.”
Somehow, the old man’s contrition seemed like enough to Morganson. He had to remind himself that the man was a simple human. Even he felt doubt. What must someone as feeble and incapable as Francisco feel?
A life of fear.
For an instant, a part of the captain actually identified with the helmsman. Wasn’t there something that frightened every human? Did being one of the Children remove humanity?
The instant spread to seconds as Morganson struggled with ephemeral memories. He’d felt fear. He was sure of it. He just couldn’t recall when.
“Rise to the occasion, Bryce. Meet your potential. Take us to our destiny.”
Duty called for him to set aside human feebleness. He had to be more.
“Time to target, Ensign Ostmann?”
“Eleven minutes, Captain.”
A countdown appeared on the giant display. Next to the timer was another value: distance.
“Like shooting a chained animal.” Morganson chuckled. There were those in power—government, senior officers—who relied on such pathetic displays to prove their virility. He would rather die fighting an animal than resort to such a sign of impotence.
But an enemy ship? A chance to strike a blow? A chained animal in such a case was fine. A resourceful officer took every advantage.
Still, so close, even a chained animal could kill.
Morganson wanted to see what he was going to kill. He wanted to know his target. There was still mystery about it. “Ensign Ostmann, can you magnify the detail of this imagery?”
The weapons officer squinted as he entered new commands into interfaces. His eyes jumped from console to giant display. “Maximum magnification, Captain.”
It was as if they had come twice as close. The giant ship’s hull had an interesting texture to it, as if it were missing a treatment or spray. Was it less far along than advertised, or had the next level of retrofitting begun? Morganson spotted sections of the ship that seemed wasted, places where weapons could easily have been placed. Instead of weapons, most of the places had…
There was no telling what was supposed to have been in the areas. What was there now were…holes?
Holes? To what end? Uncompleted systems?
How foolish of the Kedraalians, yet how typical.
He connected to Voegel, who answered from a terminal in a passageway on the bottom deck. Her uniform was almost a second skin. “Commander, I thought you might join us?”
“My thoughts as well, Captain.” She disconnected and entered a lift.
Morganson realized that she was coming from one of the missile bays in the forward section. “Inspecting our weapons?”
“You’ve used your missiles.”
“We’ll have no need of them for this. Come to the bridge.”
The lift hatch closed, and she pressed against the back wall. “They would have sped things along.”
“Time is of no concern.”
“Time is always of concern, Captain.”
Was she being playful? There was the hint of mischievousness to her voice, but what she said was true. Scolding and flirting? “If you fail to hurry, the time to watch the destruction of the great Kedraalian prize will be gone.”
Voegel disconnected.
But she was smirking when she did so.
Morganson stepped down from his raised position and inspected the helm station—casual, curious, a commander interested in his subordinates. He brought up communication logs, then closed them, and then he brought up navigation logs. “Ensign Ostmann?”
Ostmann snapped his heels together. “Captain?”
“What is the status of missile production?”
“Four have been completely printed and are being assembled now, Captain. Warheads will be ready in less than twelve hours.”
“We used all eight?”
“Yes, Captain. The next four are printing now.”
The captain closed the navigation logs and turned his attention to the giant display. “How much quicker would missiles have made destroying this facility?”
“The shipyard, Captain? Quicker, but—” Ostmann’s eyes danced around. He seemed to have already put together how sensitive the question was. “Not much quicker.”
“Thank you.” Morganson pressed in between the ensign and the weapons console, tapped a few status panels, then whispered, “See to it that we put on a display of efficiency, then.”
“Yes, Captain.”
“Ensign Ostmann, I’m curious…”
“Yes, Captain?”
“The way the Kedraalians were able to find us despite our shadow
technology—have you any thoughts how this was possible?”
“I have studied the technology. It is not without its limits. Perhaps these Kedraalians have exploited some of these limits?”
“But it only happened once that task force arrived.”
“Then the threat is within those ships.”
“Agreed. It would be beneficial to our cause if you could devise a solution to this problem. Something that might be reflected in your record.”
The young ensign smiled. “Hail the Supreme Leader.”
Such obedience, such an eye toward the greater good of the Azoren… The young man’s desires for command status were justified. His family connections weren’t being abused. There were far too few quality officers in the Federation ranks. When the opportunity came, Morganson intended to put such a promising young man on the right track.
“Yes.” The captain returned the smile. “Hail the Supreme Leader.”
The hatch opened, admitting Voegel. Her eyes immediately jumped to the shipyard facility. “This is the Valor?”
Morganson climbed back to his station. “The ship that will never be completed.”
“A monumental waste.” She drifted to his station. “So many weapons.”
“A ship like that, it is nothing more than a mobile weapons platform.”
“Is that envy in your voice, Captain Morganson?”
“I have more than enough weapons aboard the Spear, Commander.”
One of her pale eyebrows raised. She wasn’t just teasing but challenging.
Show me? Is that what you demand?
The timer dropped to 00:01:44.
Morganson ran a finger along the top of the support rail ring. “Once we complete this mission, we will need to return to Kedraal.”
“To complete your other objectives, yes.”
“And then a return to Himmel?”
“As heroes.” She nodded when the bridge crew turned. “Who can ignore the bravery and resourcefulness of such a fleet and its officers?”
That was truthful. No one else could have done what they were about to do.
00:00:00.
No weapons turned on them from the shipyard. The Valor remained anchored.
