The Independent Worlds (The Sixteen Galaxies Book 2)

by Drayman, William

  His heart soared as he put himself just the right distance from the microphones, and he felt he could give the entire speech without a single glance at his notes. He paused for dramatic effect, and in the short silence, just managed to make out the crack and echo a split second before the .338 Lapua Magnum round slammed into his forehead. He died as he fell.

  Up on an office building rooftop some 800 yards away, Barney Cantock bent down and stuck something to the parapet of the corner which had been his perch, folded up the bipod on an AX338 sniper rifle, slung it over his shoulder and promptly disappeared.

  *****

  The White House, Washington DC

  President of the United States Michael Maitland looked up in alarm when two secret service agents burst into the oval office. One went straight to the window, while the other guided the president out of the room.

  “Sorry, sir. But there’s been an assassination in California; senator by the name of Dwight, sir.”

  Maitland frowned as he was ushered along the hallway. “Jarrod Dwight? But, he hasn’t even taken office, yet. Why the hell would anyone want to kill Jarrod?”

  More agents joined them. They led the president into the Situation Room, colloquially known as the Woodshed. Over the next hour, staff trickled in with updates. The federal agents on the ground in California had located the perch the shooter used; the rooftop of an office block.

  The hit looked to be professional; the shot was at a distance of just over 800 yards, and the rifle required for that kind of feat did not come off a retail shelf, generally speaking. What was more interesting was the sticker found at the scene. It was an ordinary house number sticker, a black number on a gold background; the type you could buy from any hardware.

  The sticker was a number 1.

  *****

  Covert transport ship, at the edge of the Sol system

  John Crabtree stood with his hands behind his back; every inch the military commander. The bridge of the covert transport ship was small but well laid out. The ship’s captain sat in her seat and gently nibbled on a thumbnail, while she tapped a tattoo with the fingers of the other hand on the arm of her chair. The atmosphere on the bridge was tense. They were about to enter the Earth’s solar system. A few transports had snuck into Earth orbit before, and every one made it in and out with no issue. This very ship had done the trip once before, so the crew knew it was doable.

  “We’re inside the system, Captain.” The navigation officer spoke in a hushed voice, and John smiled. It really wouldn’t matter if the young officer screamed at the top of his lungs. They were in space, after all. Still, John held his tongue. It didn’t hurt if the crew were nervous, it would keep them on their toes.

  He snuck another glance at himself in the polished wall beside him. The tall, handsome young man with the dark hair and square chin that returned the look was a stranger; but it was him. It was a weird sensation, wearing another body. It had taken some time to adjust, and the first few days were best forgotten. When he first saw himself he screamed. It took four men to restrain him. Prestern was unperturbed.

  “Happens every time,” the geneticist had told John. “The brain doesn’t understand what it sees and goes into shock. The crude plastic surgery on your planet is obvious enough that the mind can accept the changes, because it can see them. My work is so good it is undetectable. The reflection simply disorients the owner. It is the mental equivalent of the organ transplant rejection that you still get on your world. At least you didn’t throw up everywhere.” At the mention of regurgitation, John did just that, much to Prestern’s disgust.

  As hard as he tried, John could not force himself to like Prestern. The alien leader was cold and aloof. He looked at John the way a science teacher would regard an insect in a bottle. However, he was a brilliant scientist. The entire reconstruction of John’s body was carried out at the genetic level.

  Prestern had tried, and failed, to explain the process. All John knew was he now had the body of a young man in his mid-twenties, with all the vitality and strength that went along with it. Still, he thought as he looked himself over, it would be nice when the mental adjustments finished.

  When he awoke was the worst time. It still got him, sometimes. It generated the wildest dreams and nightmares. Prestern had assured him it would pass. Indeed, now that he was nearly back on Earth, the dreams had dissipated to a large degree. The important thing was that his memory was intact, with all the infused memories Kestil had filled him with. He may have a young physique, but his mind was centuries old.

  “We just need to execute a turn and align out before you portal, sir.” He snapped out of his reverie to see the captain eyeing him curiously.

  He nodded to her. “Very well, I thank you for your good work, Captain.”

  She returned her gaze to the front monitors, which showed the Earth in all its glory. He flexed his hands in anticipation. With a new look, he was no longer public enemy number 1; the assassin who had murdered a president. Now, he was free to continue his work on Earth unhampered by the constraints of his old form.

  *****

  Global News Update

  “…The assassination yesterday of Democrat senator Jarrod Dwight has sparked outrage around the country. Dwight, who had not even taken office, had a spotless political track record and authorities are mystified as to why he was targeted. The Office of Homeland Security is yet to release any details as to the gunman who carried out this atrocity, but early speculation is that the killing has all the hallmarks of an attack by Islamic State. IS, however, has denied any involvement in the assassination.

  “Meanwhile, in Moscow 1 person died and 28 were injured after an anti-globalism rally was stopped by police. The dead man, a 21-year-old college student, was allegedly trampled while the crowd were under fire from police tear gas. Russian police have refuted allegations that they used ‘unnecessary force’, and described the death as a ‘tragic accident’.”

  *****

  The White House, Washington DC

  President Maitland rubbed his face. The fatigue had gotten the better of him, and he’d slept for four glorious hours. He was about to call for coffee when his phone rang. He groaned when he saw the number; Michael Cromby, Director of National Intelligence.

  “Hi Mick, what’s up?”

  “Mr. President, if you could join us in the Woodshed, please, sir. There’s been another assassination.”

  Maitland frowned. “Then where are the Secret Service? Why no panic like yesterday?”

  “Sorry, sir,” Cromby replied. “I should’ve said; it’s in France. Same M.O., sorry, that’s modus op-”

  “Yeah, thanks, Mick, I’ve seen enough movies to know what M.O. means. I’ll be right there.”

  Ten minutes later, Maitland sat in front of the wall of screens, a steaming mug of coffee in hand. “Right, so who was it that got shot this time?”

  Cromby flicked a button on a remote control, and a face appeared on the center screen. “Christophe Giroux, Minister of Transport for just five days. Killed by a long range sniper shot. Weapon used is yet to be announced, but they found this…” Cromby brought up another picture, “where the sniper took the shot from.”

  Maitland’s face clouded over when the picture registered in his mind. It was another house number sticker; the number 2. He looked at his watch. “18 hours since poor old Jarrod died. Time enough to catch a flight, but the shooter would need another weapon when he got there.”

  Cromby shook his head. “We think that’s what they want us to think, sir, but I don’t buy it.”

  Uh oh, Maitland thought, this could get awkward. He knew it was Kestil. Just the thing to destabilize governments around the world. He was furious with Kestil, of course, but he didn’t like the idea of Cromby on Kestil’s case. He wanted to deal with Kestil without interference. His staff would never understand the depth and breadth of what he was trying to achieve with Kestil and the Independent Worlds. “Who’s they, exactly?” he asked.

&nbs
p; “We think it’s a cell, sir. Not sure which organization, yet, but probably anti-globalism nut-jobs. When you consider the deal Vincent cut with the French government last month, it’s possible they want to shake up the improved US – France relations.

  Maitland scratched his chin, anxious to hide his relief. “Okay, well let’s give our guys on the Dwight case an open channel with the French security services. I’m going to go freshen up, so I’ll leave you with it for a bit, Mick.”

  Cromby nodded. “Sure thing, Mr. President.”

  *****

  Kestil appeared just five minutes after the president rang his number. He looked particularly happy this morning, Maitland thought.

  “Good morning, Michael. To what do I owe this honor?”

  Maitland pointed to the couch in his private office. He had given specific orders for no interruptions, and was ready to bite the head off any Secret Service agent who so much as knocked on the door.

  He sat down and waited for Kestil to get comfortable. “Perhaps you can explain to me, Kestil, the logic behind the murder of two politicians who barely had time to take office?”

  Kestil smiled. “I knew it would take you no time to work out it was me, once the second one happened.” He frowned. “Has any of your staff pointed to me, yet?”

  “No. They think it’s the work of anti-globalism protesters.”

  “Good, good. I don’t need any accusations to deal with, especially here in Washington.”

  Maitland shook his head in frustration. “Kestil, what the hell are you trying to do? You can’t wander the planet and take pot-shots at anyone you fancy. What if Nuthros and his people start a fuss about it?”

  Kestil gave Maitland a smile. “Nuthros and his little cabal are no longer of any concern to us, Michael.”

  “But what the devil are you trying to achieve, man? How many political figures do you plan to murder, exactly?”

  Kestil dropped the casual demeanor. “Look, Michael. You and I both know that today’s political structures are virtually useless for the coming days. We need implementation of global change, and that will take long enough with a single human government, let alone hundreds of them. We must push forward, and to that end, the first thing we need to do is thin the ranks; clean out the dead wood, as it were.”

  Maitland was incensed. “Jarrod Dwight was a fine young man with a bright future ahead of him. In what way was he dead wood, exactly?”

  Kestil drew a deep sigh. “Jarrod Dwight was a fine young man, was he? To hire someone to engineer a heart attack on the sitting incumbent, just so you can take his seat, is hardly the act of a fine young man, Michael.”

  Maitland snorted. “Oh come off it, Kestil, you can’t tell me Dwight is a murderer.”

  Kestil held up a hand. “I can, and I will, Michael. If you wish, I can furnish you with all the evidence you could possibly want, including footage of Dwight making the payment for said murder. I have eyes everywhere, Michael, you know that.”

  Maitland bit his lower lip. “And the Frenchman?”

  Kestil shrugged. “His father, CEO of a large weapons manufacturing company, virtually bought his seat for him, and a pretty penny it cost him, too, let me tell you. Mainly because his son is what I believe the French would call le’ imbecile.”

  Maitland contemplated the carpet for a while. He shook his head to clear it. “How many people do you plan to kill, Kestil? I never signed on for all this, and I can’t condone the wholesale slaughter of politicians, no matter what they’ve done.”

  Kestil held up both hands. “Michael, please. Stop and think. You must keep your mind on the bigger picture. We are talking about a minor cull as opposed to the loss of an entire species. You will have no connection to any of this, you have my word on that.” He leaned closer to the president. “It has to be done, Michael. Think of it, though. Those who seek political office will have to be ready to accept the inherent risk to their own lives. All those who want personal fame and fortune will avoid it like the plague, and we can be done with the vacuous simpering fools who pollute so much of your leadership.”

  Maitland held his silence; his heart was racing. What had he started? How had he ended up here, with this alien who wanted to destroy human governments the world over? It needed to be done, though, didn’t it? That was the worst part, in truth. Kestil was right, and Maitland knew it. How often had he chafed at the struggle it took to enact one lousy piece of legislation, only to watch the senate tear it apart until nothing was left? Mind you, he mused, I’ve done exactly the same thing to my opponents in the past.

  “Do you realize how much backlash you will get from this?” Maitland asked. “If politicians the world over get assassinated, you will alienate the majority of the planet’s population, to say nothing of the fact that every law enforcement agency there is will be hunting you. You seem to forget, Kestil; those people are there because the public voted them in. You’re undermining the very fabric of democracy; and you’re asking the leader of the greatest democracy in the world to go along with it?”

  Kestil sighed. “Modern democracy is a joke, Michael, and you know it. Thanks to the non-separation of powers – the current real powers; the politicians, big business and your media – you don’t have one of the absolute prerequisites for a functional democracy. That is, an informed electorate. What leader in the democratic world actually gained office because the majority wanted them there? They get into power on the backs and wallets of the organizations that spend billions in currency to buy the election and put them there. Those companies do that so that their will is done, not the public’s.”

  “What’s so different about me, then?” Maitland responded. “You put me into power so that your will is done, is that not so? What am I, other than your puppet?”

  “Do you really think so little of yourself?”

  “Isn’t that the truth? What else do you need me for, other than to have a face behind which to operate?”

  Kestil shifted in his seat. “I need you, Michael, because you’re one of the few leaders with the vision, the ability to grasp reality, without the restraints placed on you by hundreds of years of mindless tradition. This planet is dying, Michael. Nuthros wasn’t wrong about everything; I told you before, remember? He and I both know mankind will kill the Earth if things don’t change. We just differ in our opinion of how important your freedom is while that’s done. It’s vital to me; you must retain it. But, not at the cost of your existence. Democracy will continue, but it will be an illusion; a shell inside which a true one world government will grow.”

  Maitland nodded slowly. “I…I know you’re right, I guess. It’s just that...I mean, look at what you’ve done to me, Kestil. You made me complicit in the assassination of my predecessor, guilty of God knows what by selling the country’s energy future to Vincent Technologies, and now I’m involved in covering up more murders. What the hell have I become?”

  “You have become what your country, no, what your world needs, Michael. It may not be what they want, not by a long chalk. But it’s what the Earth must have, if it is to survive. Do I really need to tell you about the burdens of true leadership? You are under a lot of stress, of course you are. But, you can take it, I know you can. I chose you very specifically for this role, Michael. You have the ability to separate your mind from your heart, and that is a rare quality that only a true leader has.”

  Kestil got to his feet, and Maitland followed suit. He contemplated Kestil’s words. Sounds like I just got defined as a narcissist and a psychopath, he thought.

  “I think it’s time you knew more of what the future holds for you, Michael Maitland.” Kestil held out a hand, and a hologram of the United Nations headquarters in New York appeared. “I eventually want you here, Michael. As the first president of a new United Nations; the man at the helm of the Earth’s first true one world government.”

  *****

  Global News Update

  “…Authorities around the world are on high alert today, afte
r the release of a chilling message from a person claiming to be the ‘Letterbox Sniper’; the gunman responsible for the assassinations of both Senator Jarrod Dwight and French Minister of Transport Christophe Giroux. It was posted to the internet as a video, and the following is an excerpt:

  ‘Hear my message and mark it well, my fellow citizens. For years, those we elect to lead us have failed us miserably. They grow rich, misuse our taxes, and pay themselves fat pensions for the rest of their lives, while our living conditions and our world continue to deteriorate. Many also commit crimes for which they will never be punished; until now. I have appointed myself judge, jury and executioner, before whom the entire global political system will stand trial, one at a time. My first trial; that of Senator Jarrod Dwight – found the defendant guilty of conspiracy to murder his opponent Jack Wright. I have forwarded conclusive evidence to the proper authorities. My second case; Minister Christophe Giroux – found the defendant guilty of purchasing his seat. Said purchase was arranged by his father. I have also forwarded evidence for this to the proper authorities.’

  “The FBI have refused to comment as to whether they have received any alleged evidence. We have also been unable to get a reply from French authorities on the Giroux case. The Sniper finished his statement with this threat: ‘Nobody can stop me, and nobody will find me. I have the support of various groups around the world. I call on any political figure with a corrupt past of any kind to step down from office now, before I find you. I personally guarantee there will be more deaths to follow, and they will continue until the political arena is devoid of graft and corruption.’

  “Various anti-globalism and hacker protest groups have been quick to deny any involvement in the killings, but the FBI have stated the assassinations are unlikely to be the work of one man.”