Hero of the Republic: (The Parasite Initiative, Book 1)

by Britt Ringel

“Uh, sir,” Anderson said, “we have an incoming message from the Hollaran command cruiser.”

  Heads in Auxiliary Control swiveled toward Twist in unison.

  “Let’s see it,” he said as hope began to grow. He wouldn’t have responded unless it was good news.

  A side screen lit up to display the Hollaran force commander. The “he” turned out to be a she. The task force commander had, likewise, removed her helmet to record her response. The woman’s dark hair was braided. Equally dark eyes complimented her olive skin. She was vaguely familiar to Twist, though he could not quite place her face.

  A cold voice filled the room. “This is Komandor Porucznik Lombardi, commanding from HCS Tikoloshe.”

  At the name, Twist felt a surge of recognition pass through him. Lombardi! The ship captain from Sponde. Better ship, higher rank. The war has been good to her.

  Lombardi’s eyes looked away briefly before returning to the camera. “I will grant you the same safe passage you granted my uncle. Chi ha fatto il male, faccia la penitenza,” she said cryptically. A lethargic motion to someone off-screen followed and the screen went blank.

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Anderson asked.

  Twist reflected on the battle at Sponde while querying Falcata for a translation. Was the admiral we blasted on that carrier her uncle? He had not considered the possibility before. What had she called him? Twist’s mind raced but came up short. His eyes dropped at Falcata’s answer: Italian proverb. Literal translation: “Those who have done evil, do penance.” Alternate meaning: “You reap what you sow.”

  Matchlock dove first, escaping the spectacle that Falcata’s command crew endured. One minute after Matchlock’s flight, Harpoon and Pistol fell into the Hollaran fleet’s heavy laser range. Twelve seconds after crossing into the 10ls barrier, Pistol’s fireball preceded her larger sister’s death from a single salvo.

  Sixty-eight seconds later, Falcata and Saber, the last survivors of Task Group 2.6 slipped normal physics for the shelter of tunnel space.

  Chapter 30

  Sabrina Twist felt the heat, figuratively and literally. Bree, the capital planet of the Republic, was an inferno at its solar perigee. Despite the furnace she had known she would face while traveling from her office in the gleaming Public Relations and Information building to a more sinister place, she had steadfastly refused to dress in anything less than her best.

  Now walking the cool hallways of the mostly underground building that housed the Ministry of Intelligence, she felt sweat plaster her silken shirt to her body. At least her outer coat would hide this evidence of her humanity.

  She turned a corner and strode through a final security arch before entering the large office of Brewer’s secretary. The man smiled briefly before recovering an emotionless countenance and gestured an invitation to the inner office. Without word, Twist pulled at her damp sleeves at each wrist.

  Brewer’s office shared the same opulence found in his other sanctuaries. She entered and, upon finding Brewer alone, exhaled only a slight sigh of relief. Despite Minister Fane’s absence, her dark presence still seemed to pervade the room. “You asked for me, Mr. Secretary?” Twist said.

  Brewer’s attention did not break from his datapad. He typed for several more moments before sliding a finger casually across the screen. “Yes, I wanted to preview the Heskan message that PR&I is sending tomorrow.”

  Twist furrowed her eyebrows. Sebastian Brewer was typically not a micromanager but he had insisted upon seeing and adjusting every message sent from “Garrett Heskan” to the Republic. It was a curiosity that bordered on fanaticism. Twist gestured to a large wall screen dominating the entire south side of the office. She tapped commands into her datapad and flicked her finger across its small screen, toward the wall.

  A solemn image of Garrett Heskan appeared, larger than life. He bore the rank of a Brevic navy captain.

  “My fellow citizens, I bring you grave news of the war. For many months now, your government has heroically defended against an invasion from the Commonwealth. Despite being outnumbered and bound by our strict adherence to the Laws of Armed Conflict, the common men and women of the Republic have risen to fight off most of the Hollaran onslaught. The military and certain members of our government have worked tirelessly to ensure your survival. However, the Republic has been betrayed by a select few who placed their own, petty desires over the Republic’s needs, their own wellbeing over the wellbeing of your families.”

  Heskan’s arms spread and his hands turned upward. “We have fought the Commonwealth to a point where we can extend an olive branch and offer a noble end to a conflict that has killed so many of our loved ones.” The man’s eyes grew dark and his voice soured as he leaned threateningly toward the camera. Twist smiled as she watched, admiring the digital artistry truly involved. “And I promise you that those responsible for this disgrace will pay the ultimate price for their betrayal.”

  As Heskan leaned back, his face brightened and the wholesome light in his eyes returned. “We have not been defeated, my fellow Brevics. We are simply remunerating the small price of a few, renegade star systems to end the horrible bloodshed that has enveloped us all. Our government never wanted this conflict and now our military has handed us a position of strength to negotiate an end to this war. True victory belongs to the government that secures the peace.”

  Heskan nodded firmly once. “Let us secure that peace. Let us end this senseless bloodshed with honor and integrity. And while we will always remember those who bravely sacrificed their lives for the Republic, we must never forget the bloodthirsty atrocities committed by the Commonwealth. For one day, reckoning will come to the Hollarans, driven by the virtuous hand of the Republic herself.”

  Twist mouthed the final words silently with the image on the screen. There had been great debate inside PR&I whether to end the speech with a message of hope for the Republic or doom for the Commonwealth.

  “He’s a captain now,” Brewer snorted.

  “And he’ll be an admiral by the time we need him again,” Twist answered. “Until then, Garrett Heskan will be working diligently, and in utter seclusion, on righting the wrongs inflicted upon the Republic by the Commonwealth.” She smiled contentedly. Heskan was the perfect figurehead. There was only one, real potential pitfall to using his legend. “I understand the need for Internal Security’s secrecy and the concept of SCI classifications but are we certain that using Heskan like this won’t come back to haunt the Republic?”

  Brewer looked irritably at Twist. “As I instructed your minister, the man has fled the Republic and will never return.”

  “But we have assets searching for him, yes? A final solution is preeminently more attractive than having this linger as a skeleton in our closet.”

  “Sabrina, do I tell you how to style your hair or what suit to wear in front of the cameras?”

  Jaw muscles tensed under high cheekbones. Color flushed into them and she growled, “What I do is a little more complicated than that, Mr. Secretary.”

  Brewer leaned toward the woman. “Yes it is and you do it very well. As do I.” He waved a hand. “Garrett Heskan is no longer a threat to the Republic. He’ll live out the rest of his life hiding in the Commonwealth or maybe, the Federation.” He locked eyes with her. “And that is all you need to know.”

  Silence stretched over the large room. Brewer sat in a brooding contemplation while Twist glanced around the office. It was darker than hers and other than the sideboard of fine spirits, it bore no resemblance to her own, impeccably decorated sanctuary less than two kilometers from where she stood.

  Brewer had no treasure trove of plaques, awards or holographs of past accomplishments. Dozens of military-related memorabilia adorned her own office, including her retirement board. She had heard that Brewer, at one time, served in the Brevic Navy but had been transferred to a more specialized joint force early in his career. No such evidence hung from his walls, only sterile star maps and vistas serving as scree
n savers breathed a modicum of life into the dark, cold dungeon.

  Brewer leaned forward and rose from his chair. He snatched his datapad from his desktop as he approached Twist. “I’ve received the details of our defeat in Kalyke.” Word of the task group’s failure had reached Bree less than twenty-four hours ago. The President of the General Council was already reluctantly preparing a speech to pave the way for overtures of peace. Garrett Heskan’s speech would preempt him. Brewer reached Twist and offered his datapad. “This information must not leave my office but I wish to share the latest naval report with you.”

  Twist grappled to hide her surprise. Brewer’s willingness to acknowledge that the Ministry of Intelligence was not only intercepting but also decoding classified military communiques was startling. She took the offered instrument and began to read the report, unsure exactly what she was supposed to discover. Her uncertainty evaporated almost instantly. Her own son had written the report.

  “He lives, Sabrina,” Brewer stated.

  My defeated son, she thought. Disgraced twice now in Kalyke. Her shimmering, blue eyes met Brewer’s. “Why have you risked sharing this with me?”

  “Because every parent deserves to know if they have a legacy.”

  * * *

  “…driven by the virtuous hand of the Republic herself.” The same image of Garrett Heskan loomed large on screens across the Republic.

  Caden Twist slammed his empty mug, nearly shattering it on the tabletop. “To hell with that man,” he swore out loud. He turned away from the wall screen, unable to look upon a face he had grown to hate.

  Conversations around his table grew quiet in the New London restaurant. Unlike restaurants on an orbital, The Cracker Jack had not only the ambience of an old-English pub but also the humidity.

  Holt quietly sipped her drink while Kirkpatrick looked on quizzically. “Come on, Caden. It’s not his fault. He didn’t make us lose in Kalyke.”

  “He sure as hell didn’t help us win either!” Twist snapped angrily back. “Where was he?” he almost shouted. “We needed him with us!”

  Holt flinched slightly at the outburst and casually tried to scoot her chair away from the table. “Getting a little loud there, Caden.” She looked at a nearby table; its occupants were staring at them.

  Twist fumbled for his datapad to order another beer.

  “Hey, Caden.” Kirkpatrick reached out and took hold of Twist’s forearm. “Heskan is a captain now. He’s busy working on things behind the scenes. You heard him, this war might be wrapping up but the Republic’s not going to forget.”

  “Ha!” Twist spat, scratching the scar along the side of his face. A second one had joined it on his lower lip. “Don’t feed me that bunk. I recognize glossed over, publicity-fantasy crap when I hear it.” He reached across the table to commandeer Kirkpatrick’s mug.

  Holt looked anxiously at Kirkpatrick and then down to her empty plate. “Well,” she said unenthusiastically, “this was nice.”

  Kirkpatrick smiled weakly.

  “You’re leaving so soon, Lucy?” Twist asked. “The night’s young. We’re just getting started.”

  Holt shot a second concerned look at Kirkpatrick before answering. “I need to have an early night. My transport leaves first thing tomorrow.”

  “You’re sailing all the way across the Republic,” Kirkpatrick noted.

  After Falcata had been deemed a total loss by shipyard inspectors, her crew had been rapidly reassigned. Holt’s orders were to report no later than 0227.996 to Despina Defense Fortress 2. Despina, a star system in the Republic’s “eastern” sector, was the major Brevic system that shared a border with the Solarian Federation. Even though the Republic and Federation had not battled for a century, the system was suitably defended from possible Federation aggression.

  She nodded wistfully. “Yeah, I wish I was going to a ship.”

  “Just aren’t that many left,” Twist said curtly. “If there were, maybe we could keep fighting.”

  “I didn’t get a ship either, Lucy,” Kirkpatrick said, ignoring Twist’s comment.

  Holt smiled at him across the table. “Have fun at the repair yard,” she ribbed.

  Kirkpatrick shrugged. “I won’t mind the long hours and I like New London.” He looked at Twist and teased, “It could be worse. I could have to travel to Bree for a decoration and then be expected to teach a new crop of ensigns how to be weapons officers.”

  A server swung by their table to drop off another mug of beer. Twist grumbled a thank you and took hold of the succor. “I don’t even want the damned medal. It’s a farce.”

  Holt looked at him with compassion. “You earned it, Caden. I know you’re hurting right now but you need to realize that you led the only surviving ships out of Kalyke.”

  “Anyone else could’ve given that order to dive.” He stared mournfully into his beer before taking a long gulp. “Wish someone had.”

  “Before that,” Holt insisted. “It was your tactics that neutralized the light task force.”

  Twist belched crudely. “What good did it do? We lost and, besides, I just delivered us to the right spot during the pass. No big deal.”

  “Yeah… well….” Holt tapped the surface of her datapad. “Let me get the tab, boys. It was nice knowing you.”

  The three officers stood and Holt stepped around the table to shake Kirkpatrick’s hand. She mumbled something to the Operations ensign before turning to face Twist.

  Twist unsteadily thrust his hand out but was surprised when Holt moved to him for a quick hug. She brought her lips to his ear and whispered, “Don’t become a casualty of this war, Caden.”

  Before he could respond, she withdrew her arms and swept her datapad from the table. With a hand tucking the stray curls of her hair behind her ear, she offered the pair a warm smile and stepped away from their lives.

  “I need another drink,” Twist declared as he moved back toward his chair.

  Kirkpatrick grabbed his arm and said, “So do I but let’s just buy a bottle and go back to my room, buddy.”

  * * *

  The door to Sebastian Brewer’s office opened unexpectedly. That could mean only one person. The lithe form of Adira Fane glided noiselessly through the portal. Even in her seventies, the Minister of Intelligence was a figure of deathly grace.

  Brewer watched her draw closer. It was impossible not to experience a deep foreboding by the approach of one of the Republic’s most lethal agents. Those times had passed for both of them but she had only become more dangerous with age.

  “President Chalmers has decided to resign,” Fane declared in her surprisingly low-pitched voice. The contralto gave an immensity to her words that were already fathoms deep.

  “Will he retire?” Brewer asked.

  “He will try,” Fane answered immediately. “The Secretary of the Navy will be joining him. Even defeat offers opportunity.”

  “My congratulations, Madam Minister.”

  Fane offered him a thin smile. “You deserve much of the credit as well, Sebastian. You obscured our tracks impeccably leading up to Anesidora. The lambs will be slaughtered but the shepherds are safe.”

  “Have we learned the terms yet?” Brewer asked.

  Fane slowly seated herself into a plush chair opposite Brewer’s desk. Silver hair brushed the tops of her shoulders as she swayed slightly. “Secretary Fleming remains as ineffectual as ever. His diplomats have assured us the Commonwealth will accept our overtures for peace but he is either uncertain or unwilling to state the price.”

  “The colonies around New Roma to be sure,” Brewer speculated.

  “Assuredly.”

  Brewer watched the hypnotic movement of Fane’s sway before shaking his head. “That’s not so bad. Many believe those colonies were never worth the credits we were forced to pump into them to maintain social stability anyway.”

  “They will claim Anesidora,” Fane continued. “Carpo, Themisto and much of the disputed zone, as we’ve discussed before. There is
talk of limiting our ship production for a time.”

  “Such is the price of failure,” Brewer stated openly.

  “Not failure,” she answered sharply. Jade eyes pierced her secretary. “Delayed victory,” she corrected, pausing briefly to drive her insistence home. “And what of the progress toward that victory?”

  Brewer smiled eagerly. “The think tank is already working on a preliminary strategy. New tactics, new technologies, new ships. It’s going to take years, Madam Minister. Maybe as long as a decade.”

  “A mere heartbeat in the lifespan of our Republic, Sebastian.” Fane turned to look upon a star chart on the office’s main wall screen. The blue border of the Republic would be redrawn shortly. “Besides, I will need years to marshal the political leverage inside the General Council. Matthews isn’t ready for the Presidency yet but perhaps in a cycle or two.” She returned her attention to Brewer. “Dunn’s only son is battling puberty and if Peng chooses to remain incorruptible, then he must develop some kind of long-term illness. It will require a total effort. Are you certain that these things can bring us our victory?”

  Brewer shuddered. “You saw Kite’s holo-logs. Imagine just one Parasite super-carrier diving into Honos.”

  “A long way to guide them,” Fane said skeptically. “We were wise to hide Kite’s encounter with this new, alien race. Garrett Heskan and the Hollarans discovered a potential instrument of dominance neither could understand. The Parasites are most formidable. With their superior propulsion technology, how can we lure them to Hollaran space without risking our own systems?”

  Brewer grinned. A keyboard command later and the star chart zoomed to the “northern” edges of known space. The map included secretly known star systems in the Skoll tunnel chain. The chain arced away from Republic space toward the Commonwealth to a system simply labeled “J-3” then another system named “J-2” and, finally, a star system called “Junction.” From Junction, a new tunnel chain commenced, extending down to the Iocaste and Perdita star systems into the Disputed Zone between the Republic and Commonwealth. This classified information had been obtained as Garrett Heskan led Kite in a retreat following an ill-fated attack into Hollaran space.