Nemesis (First Colony Book 2)

by Ken Lozito

“I figured you’d want to see a friendly face before you get fed to the lions,” Ashley said.

  They walked through the wide-open atrium, and echoes of conversations gathered above them like a storm.

  “At least Tobias believed in the threat we’re facing, unlike the current governor,” Connor said.

  “Parish was the one voted in,” Ashley replied.

  “By telling people what they wanted to hear,” Connor said with a grumble.

  They reached the large metallic doors that led to the congressional chambers.

  “Well, make them listen, just like you made all of us listen seven years ago,” Ashley said.

  She entered the chamber first.

  “At least you guys were reasonable,” Connor called out after her.

  She didn’t turn around, but Connor knew she’d heard him. His mouth drew downward and he glared at the doorway, waiting for his queue to be allowed inside. Franklin Mallory had insisted that Connor come to this meeting to make the request. Many colonists didn’t want to listen to conversation about the proposed danger coming from Earth; they’d prefer to pretend the threat didn’t exist. It hadn’t always been this way, but the faction that questioned the threat from Earth had gained more and more support over the years.

  They called his name. Connor blew out a breath and waited an extra few seconds before going inside.

  Chapter Three

  Connor entered the chamber to the quiet murmurings of those inside. All the seats in the vast chamber were taken, and there were even people standing in the back. Connor squared his shoulders and strode down the center aisle. The far wall showed an image of the Ark with the Earth in the background and then changed to the Ark with New Earth in the background. New Earth was similar in size and composition to Earth, but where there were several large continents on Earth, New Earth boasted a singular large landmass that occupied nearly a quarter of the planet. Vast oceans covered the rest. The most striking difference between the two planets was the rings that surrounded New Earth. They made for a beautiful sight from any perspective.

  Connor walked through the gated threshold and stopped at the central podium, where he looked at the trio of people who led the colony. In the center was a thin man who, though not a particularly imposing person, had managed to convince a majority of the colony to give him the job of governor—Stanton Parish. To his right was the former governor, Tobias Quinn, who was now serving as the head of the judicial committee. To Stanton’s left was a dark-skinned woman with long black hair and intense eyes, Selena Brown, who was head of the legislative committee in charge of proposing the laws of the colony.

  A woman came through the gates behind Connor and went to stand at another podium nearby. Connor had no idea who she was, and she seemed to regard him as someone she’d rather not have in her presence. Connor thought she must be a Parish loyalist.

  Governor Parish started the meeting, and the people in attendance immediately quieted down.

  “Thank you for joining us, General Gates,” Parish said.

  Connor cleared his throat. “I appreciate your taking the time for this request.”

  “For the sake of this session, can you please touch on the high points of this request for the record,” Parish said.

  Connor cleared his throat. “Space Station Titan has been completed for over a year and is currently running at half capacity because we haven’t been given approval for the resources to bring up the secondary power generator,” Connor said.

  Governor Parish examined a small holoscreen in front of him. “Yes, I’ve seen this request come across my desk before. We delayed this in favor of expanding the power grid supplying New Delphia.”

  Connor mused that this was good for the colonists living in that growing city but bad for the Colonial Defense Force’s state of readiness.

  “Given the members of this appropriations committee, I didn’t think I needed to remind you of the threat we face. Titan Space Station represents our first line of defense,” Connor said.

  Governor Parish narrowed his beady eyes. “Potential threat, General.”

  Connor’s brows pulled together and he glared at the man.

  Parish held up his hand. “I know you don’t agree, but, if anything, the last election has proven that not all the people on New Earth agree that the messages received from Earth imply that we’re in any danger. They are quite disturbing, I’ll grant you that, but there are simply too many unknowns to commit the resources of the entire colony toward efforts that don’t best serve the problems we’re facing today,” Parish said.

  Connor leveled his gaze at the governor. “You and I have vastly different opinions on how the colony would be best served, but what you’re doing is negligent.”

  There was a sharp intake of breath by the people nearby.

  The woman at the nearby podium looked at him. “We’ve refuted the standing argument that the offline deep-space buoy network is an indication of an invading force making its way toward this star system.”

  Connor frowned. “I’m sorry, who are you?”

  “Dr. Gabriela Mendoza, astrophysicist.”

  “Dr. Zabat had a different opinion,” Connor said.

  “I’m well aware of what my predecessor thought. I’m afraid that the partial message, coupled with the data we’ve received, influenced his judgment,” Dr. Mendoza said.

  Connor looked back at the governor. “I thought I was here to address my request for Titan Space Station, not to debate the last message from Earth.”

  Governor Parish regarded Connor for a moment. “I think it’s important to revisit it since what you’re requesting represents a significant investment of resources that could be better utilized elsewhere. Dr. Mendoza, please.”

  “Thank you, Governor. As General Gates has stated, the long-held belief is that because the comms buoys supporting the deep-space network were going offline, it meant that some kind of invasion fleet was making its way to this star system, following a trail of breadcrumbs right to us. However, many astrophysicists agree that the reason for the buoys going offline is simply that they reached the end of their lifecycle,” Dr. Mendoza said.

  Connor glanced at Tobias, who gave a slight shake of his head.

  “So we’ll ignore the warning message from Earth and their last act, which was to alter the Ark’s mission and bring us here instead of the intended destination. I’m sure you’re a fine astrophysicist and you could be right about the buoys. They could be failing because they’re beyond their life cycle, but even engineers know that the likelihood of these buoys failing sequentially is almost nil,” Connor said.

  “The only thing we know for sure is that something significant happened to Earth, nothing more than that. A reference to some super virus doesn’t mean they’re crossing interstellar space to reach us here,” Dr. Mendoza said.

  “Are you willing to bet your life on that?” Connor asked and swung his gaze toward Parish. “Are you, Governor? Are you willing to bet the lives of the entire colony on that?”

  Parish leaned back. “I may be the governor, but this is a decision shared by all colonists.”

  “You’re acting as if your decisions won’t have any bearing on whether or not we survive. The decisions you make affect lives. When you have people like Dr. Mendoza spreading doubt about the very real danger we’re in, it sends the message that you don’t believe the colony is in any danger despite the evidence that supports the claim,” Connor said.

  “Everyone agrees that the initial message that changed the Ark’s mission was sent out between ten and twenty years after we left.” Dr. Mendoza said. “So, in essence, if there was some kind of fleet heading for us, we potentially have thirteen more years before they arrive. That’s even if they know exactly where we are in the first place. Even if we err on the side of caution, we still have three years, which leaves a substantial amount of time to address the defense of the colony.”

  “You’re assuming that their speed and method of travel is the same as
the Ark. You know what the root of the word ‘assumption’ makes you, right?” Connor asked.

  Dr. Mendoza sneered. “I don’t have to listen to this.”

  “General Gates,” Parish warned.

  “My job is to defend the colony, which means I need the resources to do so without leaving our first line of defense at half capacity. I don’t want an invasion. In fact, I hope people like Dr. Mendoza and you, Governor, are right and that we’re observing the sequential failure of the deep-space buoy network. But, if you’re wrong, wouldn’t you sleep a bit better knowing that we’re doing everything we can to keep this colony safe?” Connor asked.

  Governor Parish leaned forward, and his hands formed a bridge in front of him. “Not every request from the Colonial Defense Force can be pitted against the survival of the colony. Over the past seven years, we’ve devoted enormous resources to the defense of the colony—from missile-defense platforms to using a large chunk of the Ark that went toward the construction of Titan Space Station and the battleship cruiser. So when it comes to our defense capability and the efforts of people like you, General, I sleep very well at night.”

  “So will you approve the request this time?” Connor asked.

  “We’ve approved the creation of the additional supplies you’ve requested, but in regards to the secondary power system for the space station, that request will be denied. We’ll review it again in the next twelve months,” Governor Parish said.

  Connor pressed his lips together. He wanted to tell them they were going to become victims of their own shortsightedness and make them all cower in the face of their reckless decisions. Something was coming for them—something that none of them really understood. Connor might have had more doubts if Admiral Wilkinson hadn’t been involved. The aged war veteran of the NA Alliance Navy had been nearing the end of his career when he’d snuck Connor and the rest of the Ghosts aboard the Ark. Connor wholeheartedly believed that Wilkinson had included his own name in the mission summary brief that changed the Ark’s destination in order to lend credibility to the content of the brief. It had been a message for Connor, and it was meant as a direct instruction to prepare the colony for invasion.

  Connor looked at the governor, and his gaze strayed over to Tobias. He tried to think of something to say that might change their minds but couldn’t think of anything that hadn’t already been said. Connor didn’t want to spread panic across the colony, so he had to work within the current confines, and this wouldn’t be the last request he ever made. If anything, the last seven years had taught him that a little bit of tact went a long way.

  The session ended, and despite Connor’s outwardly calm demeanor, he was seething. He’d thought they’d at least grant the request in a few months’ time, and to be put off for an entire year was ridiculous. If only they’d been able to successfully extract more information from the deep-space buoys, but they weren’t designed to hold vast amounts of information. They had a specific job to do, which was to relay the data, not store it. After the data had passed through the buoy network, the operating systems expunged it. Connor glanced around the chamber, thinking that there were a few government officials he’d like to expunge.

  Chapter Four

  Connor threaded his way out of the congressional chambers. A few people tried to stop him by asking questions, but he put them off, having no interest in glad-handing anyone. He saw Ashley making her way toward him and then getting stopped by a small group of people. Connor used the opportunity to slip away. These requisition-type committees were usually attended by Franklin Mallory, Director of the CDF. Connor couldn’t bear attending them, and after getting his request denied again, he had no wish to stand around complaining about it.

  Wil Reisman was waiting for him outside the congressional building. Reisman took one look at him and frowned. “Went that well, did it?”

  Connor quickly went down the stairs, and Wil walked next to him. “Oh, you know, same old crap. ‘This isn’t a priority. Come back in a year and perhaps you’ll get what you need then.’”

  “This administration isn’t like the last one,” Reisman said.

  “At least Tobias listened to reason. Parish flat out refuses to believe there’s even a threat to the colony,” Connor said.

  “What’s our next move? Return to the shuttle?”

  Connor glanced at the line of electric cars outside the building and couldn’t find the one with the CDF designation on the door.

  “Yeah, if we can even find the damn car,” Connor said.

  A high-priority message appeared on his internal heads-up display.

  ::Sorry to hear that the request was denied again,:: F. Mallory said.

  ::Maybe the fourth time’s the charm,:: C. Gates replied.

  ::I want to meet with you before you leave. I’m working out of Field Ops today,:: F. Mallory said.

  Connor sighed. He just wanted to get going. He had enough to do without spending the afternoon stuck in Field Ops.

  ::Do I need to make it an order?:: F. Mallory asked.

  ::On my way,:: C. Gates replied.

  The chat window closed.

  “Change of plans,” Connor said.

  He walked to the nearest car that had the golden sunburst colony emblem. The driver stood outside and glanced at them.

  “I need a ride to Field Ops headquarters,” Connor said.

  The driver frowned at them. “This is Governor Parish’s transport.”

  “Excellent. I’m on official business for the governor, and it’s vital that I get to Field Ops as soon as possible,” Connor said.

  Reisman snorted and had the grace to look away. Connor grabbed the passenger side door handle. The driver glanced up at the congressional building, conflicted.

  “Look, it’s either you or me driving the car. What’s it gonna be?” Connor asked.

  “Fine,” the driver said and walked around to the other side of the car.

  Reisman leaned toward Connor. “He denies your request so you commandeer his ride?”

  Connor smirked. “Sometimes it’s the little things that get you through the day.”

  Reisman chuckled and climbed into the back of the car. The driver pulled away, and Connor had him send out the priority signal so they’d move through traffic quickly. Fifteen minutes later they were in front of Field Operations Headquarters. Connor and Reisman climbed out of the car just as a comlink connection came to the driver.

  “Hey, wait a minute. You lied to me. The governor is outside the congressional building right now,” the driver said.

  “Tell him General Gates appreciates the ride,” Connor said and walked over to the security checkpoint.

  “Couldn’t resist rubbing it in his face,” Reisman said.

  Connor shrugged. He didn’t care. The governor had caused him no end of frustration this past year, and he felt a small tinge of satisfaction at taking the man’s ride.

  The Field Ops security detail snapped a salute toward Connor. “General Gates, Director Mallory said to inform you that he’s at his office near command central.”

  Connor thanked them and headed inside. Field Ops Headquarters had grown significantly from the prefabricated structure that was there when he’d first arrived. The new building was all angles the color of dark bronze that drank in the sunshine.

  His rank granted him priority treatment throughout the building. Before he’d been promoted to general—a rank he’d had no illusions of achieving in the NA Alliance military back on Earth—he’d sometimes found it annoying that the higher-ranked officers received preferential treatment, but as he’d been promoted through the ranks his opinion had changed. With the rank came a significant increase in workload. So, yeah, moving to the head of the line was a perk, but the tradeoff was more work. The Colonial Defense Force wasn’t much different from the NA Alliance military in that respect. The one major difference in the two militaries was that the NA Alliance was an actual military force and the CDF was just starting to get its bearings. Connor
was a general because there was no one else senior enough in rank who had actual combat experience. More than once he’d experienced fleeting moments when he’d wished there were someone up the chain of command who could take over the defense of the colony. But there wasn’t anyone else, so he committed himself to doing the best he could and hoped it would be enough.

  The Field Ops Command Center was akin to the mission controls of old. There were several Field Ops centers throughout Sierra and among the smaller settlements on New Earth.

  A red-haired man with an almost permanent scowl on his face stuck his head out of an office and waved to Connor. “Why, General Gates, I’m so glad you could come by Field Operations,” Damon Mills said.

  Connor grinned. “If you keep that up, I’m gonna start calling you Director Mills.”

  Connor and Damon had gotten off to a rocky start when Connor had first come to the colony, and they’d nearly come to blows on more than one occasion, but all that was ancient history.

  “Okay, enough with that nonsense. I’m glad you’re here,” Mills said and beckoned them to his office. “Franklin is on his way down.”

  They walked into Mills’ office and sat down.

  “Why do I get the feeling you’re about to ask me to do something for you?” Connor asked.

  Mills smiled. “Give and take, and I believe this time you owe me.”

  Connor arched an eyebrow. “To be honest, I’ve lost count.”

  “Trust me, you do.”

  “You know I don’t trust anyone,” Connor said.

  Reisman glanced at him.

  “Present company excluded, of course,” Connor said. “Alright, what is it you need?”

  “I have a group of engineers who need a ride to an archaeological dig site past the new frontier boundary,” Mills said.

  Connor’s brows pulled together. “Are you seriously asking me to provide transport for a group of engineers?”

  The door to Mills’ office opened and Franklin Mallory walked in.

  “Good, you’re here,” Mallory said and looked at Mills. “Did you tell him?”