“Channa Maxon is a real leader, a strong leader, with the will to do the dirty work that needs to be done. Humanity’s future depends on us being united—someone has to herd the sheep or the whole flock runs the risk of getting slaughtered. Don’t you people understand?”
As Tolbert looked around the office at the others, there was silence. “No,” he said finally, “I don’t suppose you do. Enough—I’ll tell you nothing more.”
“But I’ll bet Simon James will,” said Sanchez.
“James? Who is that?” asked Colonel Flood.
“The Director’s assistant. My guess is that he’s not going to hold up under interrogation nearly as well as Tolbert or his trained operatives.”
“Get him out of here,” said Renata in disgust, turning away from her old colleague as Superintendent Preiss summoned two of his men. After they removed Tolbert from the office, Renata sat there in silence for almost a full minute before rising. The shock of Tolbert’s betrayal had hit her hard. She seemed to be holding back tears.
Flood reacted to something coming over her earbud. “Ma’am, Prince Karl has returned directly to the groundcar. He awaits you there.”
“Seems my husband is anxious to leave,” Renata said, composing herself. “And all things considered, I’m ready to go as well. Carr, Sanchez—thank you again for your excellent work. Please submit a full report to Superintendent Preiss on this matter.”
As Carr and Sanchez bowed in acknowledgement, Flood rushed to Renata’s side.
“Majesty,” said Flood, a pained expression on her face. “I…”
Word was that there was a close bond between the two Odessan women. The Colonel was clearly distraught over Tolbert’s betrayal of her friend and sovereign, so much so that she seemed to be holding back tears as well.
“Flood,” said Renata, forcing a smile. “I’ll see you back at Koenig Manor.”
Captain Vickery stepped forward. “Baines, take charge of the detail and escort Her Majesty back to Koenig.” The other Kaskian Guard moved in behind Renata as they left the room, but Vickery remained.
“Would you two mind remaining here for a few minutes as we see Her Majesty off the Ministry grounds?” asked Vickery. “It helps to have the least possible number of people moving around—of course, you understand security procedures.”
Flood prepared to depart, grabbing up her datapad and mobile, which she dropped twice before pocketing. She was red-faced as she turned to Sanchez. “Difficult day,” she mumbled before clearing her throat and composing herself. “Commander, I am sorry for the loss of your uncle but still confused on one point. Who planted the device that killed him? Was it Auric Banks?”
“I doubt it. His job was to leave the incriminating evidence against Prince Karl on my uncle’s computer. Banks thought he was helping to bring the Empress down. After my uncle’s crash, he realized that he was a co-conspirator to the murder of his old friend. That’s when he decided to flee to Tezrina, to the people he thought could help him. Instead, they killed him.
“As for who planted the bomb in my uncle’s helicraft, it was probably two rogue OMI agents named Swain and Simmons, part of Tolbert’s Committee of Nine. We think they used stealth suits to sneak onto my uncle’s ranch the night before and plant the explosive in the helicraft. When we write our report, would you like a copy, Colonel?”
Flood didn’t respond. She was standing there, just staring into space.
“Colonel, are you all right?” asked Sanchez.
Flood shook herself. “Um, yes, sorry about that. You know how this work is—a thousand things on my mind.”
Carr had a few things on his mind too.
“No need to at this point,” said Carr. The others looked at him, puzzled by the remark. “That’s what Tolbert said when Her Majesty asked why he wasn’t denying any of the accusations. Tolbert said ‘no need to at this point.’ What did he mean by that? What point are we at that he could feel so comfortable?”
“I’m sure we will find out during his interrogation,” answered Flood moving toward the door. “Again, thank you for everything, and if you will remain here for five minutes or so, that should be long enough.”
“Long enough for what, Colonel?” Carr asked deliberately. “Both you and the Captain here are giving off some very odd vibes—especially you, Flood. You really need to work on your poker face. For the last few minutes, you’ve been distracted and upset, almost to the point of crying. Meanwhile, Vickery’s right hand has been feeling up that stun pistol on his belt like they were engaged. It’s almost as if he were getting ready to use it. On who, Vickery? On us?”
Flood and Vickery exchanged quick glances, confirming Frank’s suspicions. “Something’s not right here,” Carr said.
“Dial back your imagination, Major Carr,” said Flood. “You’ve been out in the field too long. Go home with your wife and get some well-deserved rest. Now, if you will excuse us, we have duties to attend to.”
“Your main duty is to protect the Empress,” said Sanchez, who was slowly edging away from Carr. Two targets with space between them were tougher to handle than two close together. “I noticed you’ve removed your earbud—odd thing to do in the middle of a protection op. I agree with Frank—really odd that neither of you two accompanied Her Majesty back to Koenig Manor.”
“There’s nothing odd about it,” answered Flood defensively. “Now, I really must insist—”
“Someone needs to warn the Empress,” said Carr under his breath as he looked around the office. There were two entrances—Vickery was standing in front of one, the other was off to Carr’s right.
Vickery guessed what Carr was considering and quickly pulled his stun gun from its holster. “Hold it right there, Major. I really don’t want to have to use this.”
“I don’t want you to use it either,” Carr said, glancing again at the doorway to his right. If he made a dash for that door he might get through, especially if Sanchez followed his lead and generated some of her artful chaos. “You know those stunners are less effective the farther away you are, right?”
Just as Carr was about to make a move for the second door, the room shook. A sharp, quick thundering sound came from somewhere outside the building, followed by screams and the sound of people running in the hallways.
“Bloody hell, that was a bomb,” muttered Sanchez, steadying herself against the back of a chair as the blast rocked the Ministry. “You!” Sanchez shouted at Flood. “Holding back those tears… keeping us out of the way… You knew this was going to happen. You knew!”
Flood extended both hands, palms out. “Stop! Both of you stop and listen to me.”
Sanchez wasn’t in a listening mood. “Carr—go!” she yelled as she sprang across the room toward Flood. The Colonel braced for the impact, but Sanchez only got halfway to her when Vickery fired his stunner. Sanchez stopped in her tracks, her body jerked in momentary spasms of pain, and then she crumpled onto the floor.
Carr made an instinctive step toward Sanchez, then stopped and raised his hands. “OK, OK! I won’t cause any trouble, just let me check on my wife.”
Flood nodded and Carr moved forward to kneel beside Sanchez. As he cradled her in his arms, he looked up at Flood. “What have you done?”
“She’s only stunned.”
“That’s not what I meant,” said Carr as he held his wife in his arms.
Flood began to say something, then wavered. Instead, she swiftly drew her own stunner. “Sorry, Carr—I just don’t have time for this right now,” she said pointing the weapon his way.
Blackness followed…
* * * *
Ardith Flood gazed down at Etta Sanchez laying unconscious on the floor, but the woman in her thoughts was Renata Darracott. Her friend and mentor, her sister and confidant, her inspiration—gone. It was as if someone had sliced out her soul. No matter the circumstances or outcome, Flood knew she would never accept the idea that this was the only way.
“Are you all right, ma’am?” as
ked Vickery, kneeling over Carr and patting him down for weapons, of which there seemed to be none.
Flood returned the stunner to her back holster and wiped both hands down across her face. “Yes, damn it, I’m fine—everyone keeps asking me that. Carr was right, I really do need to work on my poker face.”
“Your emotions are understandable,” said Vickery as he rose, “considering what we’ve just done.” He gestured toward the unconscious pair on the floor. “What about these two?”
Flood tried to think, shutting out the sounds of frantic calls coming over Vickery’s comm badge. “Have Sergeant Odom take them to the new palace and lock them away for a few days. I’ll deal with them personally when things settle down.
“And Vickery, later this afternoon, set up a meeting with Maxon. Make it for this evening.” Walking to the doorway, Flood turned back to the office, glancing at Carr and Sanchez on the floor. Slowly, her eyes drifted to the windows. Clouds of billowing black smoke rolled by. Sirens howled from outside while the building evacuation alarm buzzed in the hallway.
Flood struggled to focus. A long time ago she had chosen a path. Her dedication to an ideal and pledge of loyalty had not been given lightly. Through good or bad, she was committed, and it was too late now for self-doubt. She had been given a job to do, and she would do it.
“Let’s go, Captain Vickery. We have a schedule to keep.”
26: Them
Heavy cruiser Tempest
Sanctuary star system
Pettigrew and Nyondo stood on the receiving platform in Shuttlebay Number Two as the teardrop-shaped Lytori shuttle came to a halt. While the gantry extended toward the shuttle and atmospheric force fields formed, Pettigrew reflected on what the Fates had tossed his way. In thousands of years of human history, countless people had dreamed of encountering alien beings and never had. Now, in the span of only a few weeks, Pettigrew and his crew were about to make First Contact for a second time. Was it a cosmic conspiracy, or just dumb luck?
As they awaited the first Lytori boarding party to depart the shuttle, tension among the Tempest crew was high. Would the humans merely be questioned and then allowed to go on their way? Did the Lytori consider them enemies? Would they be detained, possibly taken as prisoners of war? Despite being aliens, the Massang easily fit in with all the other sneaks and cheats Pettigrew had encountered during his lifetime. That didn’t mean that every alien intelligence was as ‘human,’ however. How did a Lytori think? How would they react to strangers? The fact that they were androids only muddled the possibilities.
“The Massang lied to our faces and then turned their guns on us,” mused Pettigrew while waiting for the alien boarding party to exit their shuttlecraft. “At least the Lytori had the civility to skip right to the guns.”
Behind him, Marine Captain Darst found no humor in the remark. “Speaking of guns, sir, I’d feel a lot better if…”
“I’m sure you would, Captain. Drop it,” ordered Pettigrew, cutting off the discussion. Darst and his Marine detachment stood unarmed by their senior officers on the shuttlebay platform. They were there purely for ceremonial purposes. The last thing Pettigrew wanted was an incident, a misunderstanding involving weapons that would bring down the full firepower of an alien battleship flotilla upon Tempest.
When the hatch to the shuttle opened, only two Lytori emerged. They strutted across the walkway on their hind four legs, the front portion of their bodies fixed in an upright bearing. Their two front spiked arms were positioned out in front of them—was it a ceremonial thing or just the way they walked?
As the alien androids come to a stop in front of Pettigrew, they looked around, checking out their surroundings. In person, the grayish skin looked softer than it did on the holograms, and their flat oval faces seemed less like a hard mask. The creatures before him also displayed another feature he hadn’t noticed previously in any picture—they were uniformed. Tight fitting and navy blue, the garments could almost be a six appendage version of Sarissan Space Force attire.
“I am Commodore Charles Pettigrew. Welcome aboard the—”
“We will speak in private,” the alien closest to him interrupted, speaking in a hearty male voice and using perfect Idolingua.
“Your boarding parties?”
“Only the two of us. We will speak in private—now.”
Pettigrew nodded, wondering if the aliens understood human body language at all. He wouldn’t think so, but then again, he wouldn’t guess that they spoke perfect Idolingua either.
“Captain Nyondo, we will use the wardroom. It’s larger than my stateroom.” It’s also closer to the shuttlebay, and the quicker we get to this, the better.
* * * *
An area had been cleared in the middle of the wardroom, what would be called the officer’s mess in other branches of the military. Pettigrew and Nyondo sat behind a table facing their counterparts. Neither human chairs nor tables seemed to work well for the Lytori, so they simply folded their hind legs and rested upright on the floor.
Once the doors were closed and it was just the four of them, the Lytori leader’s surly manner softened.
“Our language is difficult for outworlders, and the designations my fellows use to identify each other would be trying for humans, so we have selected more familiar sounding names for you to employ. You may refer to me as Marius. I am what your people would call an admiral. And this,” he said pointing an arm in the direction of his companion, “is Captain Nyondo’s counterpart.”
The other Lytori piped up in a crisp female voice. “I am Sulla, commander of the battleship Heshke.”
“Clearly you already know who we are,” said Pettigrew, skipping the introductions. “You speak our language fluently. Are you using some sort of translation device?”
The aliens broad face scrunched up a bit. It was almost certainly a facial expression, but Pettigrew had no idea what it meant. “Our language skills are the result of an encounter between your ship and one of our own in the Epsilon Hydra system—what you call Summit. My forces were probing the system to gather intelligence on your vessels. When you opened a communications channel to us, we hacked into your computer system.”
“I know—your people tried to blow up my ship with your malware,” Pettigrew said firmly.
“Incorrect. A deception on our part. The codes you speak of were harmless, a decoy to slip the real virus past your countermeasures. We needed to access your ship’s files in order to learn about your species, how to communicate with you, and your true intent.”
Pettigrew tried to keep his composure, but it was difficult. This is a bloody disaster. If they had clear access to the ship’s files, they now know where every human system in the Renaissance Sector is located.
“My people will help your crew to remove our viruses from your ship’s computer systems,” added Marius.
“We’ve already taken care of that,” said Nyondo defensively. “My ship is clean now.”
“No, it is not,” corrected Sulla. Pettigrew bet that if Lytori faces ever wore smirks, Sulla’s was wearing a big one right now.
Nyondo’s expression was somewhere between irritated and intrigued. “Captain Sulla, are you a female? My understanding was that the Lytori were androids.”
“I am both. I am a female android. Our ancestors were servitors, created to assist the original Lytori people. The Lytori built us in their own image. Our creators were males and females, as are we.”
“The Massang told us you killed your creators,” stated Pettigrew bluntly.
Marius responded quickly. “The Massang are liars.”
“We’ve noticed.” Pettigrew tilted his head and pressed his lips together, forcing out what was potentially an awkward question. “How did the original Lytori people really die?”
“Our creators destroyed themselves,” answered Marius. “A virus was created as a weapon, a weapon never really meant to be used, but deadly nonetheless. It was accidentally released into the atmosphere of our planet. Within a s
hort time, the worldwide contamination had rendered the entire Lytori species sterile. The last organic Lytori died over four hundred years ago. Since then, we androids have lived our lives as a tribute to our fallen creators, carrying on in their place. We have continued the Lytori culture—art, music, and science. We have built great cities and colonized the stars. My people believe that our creators would be pleased.”
“I don’t mean to be rude,” said Nyondo, “but you are androids. Do you consider yourselves lifeforms?”
Sulla was quick to respond. “We live. We create both objects and ideas. We procreate. We care for our offspring and teach them to strive for a better life. Humans are new to contact with spacefaring cultures, Captain Nyondo. You may have to adjust your ideas on what life really is.”
“And there is one other characteristic which we share with all lifeforms,” added Marius. “The instinct for survival. We fight to survive against the Massang.”
These beings were not what Pettigrew had expected. The Massang were at least humanoid, but despite their totally alien appearance, in just five minutes of interaction with the Lytori, it was the androids who seemed the more human of the two species.
“Marius, tell us more about them,” said Pettigrew. “Tell us more about the Massang.”
“The Massang are xenophobes who enslave entire worlds. We first encountered them seventeen of your years ago. They approached us as friends, eager to share their knowledge and experience among the stars.”
Nyondo groaned. “That sounds familiar.”
Marius rocked back and forth slightly, perhaps in agreement. “It is their way,” he said. “They employ deception and stealth, then strike. Their leaders are sadistic schemers. Two of our colonies were captured before we realized their true intent. Since that time, they have been using the massive resources of their empire to slowly grind us down.”
Keeper of the Sun (Starhold Series Book 3) Page 26
