by Jim Rudnick
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David rewound the app’s time line, and they sat and watched the video yet again—from the top.
Kendal’s face appeared first with a serious look on it. Her hair had been brushed back a bit more than her normal style, but that was good, David had argued, as she now looked a bit more like Mariam.
She spoke slowly but clearly, and her tone this time—they’d tried four others—mad, whiny, satirical, and even happy—was matter of fact. That’s what they agreed to call it—just a simple listing of the facts.
The first thing that happened was a sound everyone knew—the chiming of an alert. Yes, David had said, it was a tech sound, but everyone there had some tech experience. They’d all know the trilling alert sounds.
She began with an introduction of who she was.
“Good afternoon to the heads of state and guests. My name is Kendal Steyn, and my mother was a member of the Issian Inner Circle in years gone by. And it is about this Inner Circle that I wish to spend just a few minutes talking to you all.”
On screen, she stared directly into the camera.
“Our Issian Inner Circle is being run as a group of terrorists!”
Her tone at the end of that claim was up, and she increased her volume too, figuring this was the crux of her argument.
“They learned more than forty years ago that the best Issians—the ones of us with the most advanced Issian skills of the mind—could be created. Made. And only in one way …”
She paused there—David said it helped as she’d just told them that something important was coming, and the delay built the delivery via the suspense.
“They create twins in a new mother’s womb; they then take from one twin all of the characteristics and abilities that this twin would have been born with and move them over via mind control to the other twin … the one that will survive. The twin who was stripped of their abilities to build a super-Issian just across the womb will not survive. They are always stillborn. Sadly, of course, the mother never knows that this procedure is carried out up in Aporia in the Issian MedWards.”
She paused again and let that sink in for only a few seconds.
“I know this to be a fact because I am a surviving twin. My own twin was to be stillborn …”
David had used a great transition to go from her face to the MedWards and Mariam’s patient room. Again, the same thirty-five seconds played out with Mariam finally turning to face the camera, and all could see—would see—that this was truly Kendal’s twin.
She nodded as Mariam’s face faded out and was replaced with hers.
“I ask the gathered heads of state to launch an investigation into this Issian terrorist program … the killing of a twin over and over … to make the Issian rulers of Eons that much stronger. This must not be allowed …”
The inflection on the word must was the most recent change—she pushed it and hoped that all the attendees would agree.
She nodded and looked at David.
He nodded back and said, “And we’re done, right?”
She thought about that for a full minute.
She’d presented her case with no real claims that she couldn’t prove, and the fact that Mariam’s face and hers were a match was the clincher.
She nodded back.
“Yup, we’re good, David. But now we need a crawl across the bottom with the don’t try to turn this off notice. We need to also be able to watch the presentation too—can we just use a media feed? It will be live reported, I think, all over the planet—even off-world too, so we’ll get great exposure.”
David nodded and they then planned what the crawl should say and how firmly it should let the viewers know that there was danger if they tried to cut power to the screens.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“It was one of those days,” Tanner said to himself, “that made you feel alive.”
He’d had a great dinner last night on the Sterling with the Lady St. August—and an even better night with her too. He’d awoken today, the academy opening event day, and had smiled when he came down the boarding ramp off the Sterling and into the bright Eons sunlight.
No clouds—big high-pressure day was what that meant. The sky was so blue, he could see at least three hundred miles, he thought, as he lifted up his flyer and went west toward the canyon and the new academy towers.
Helena had begged off on getting up this early with him and said her only job was to shower and dress later and give the pretty, standard speech about how happy the Barony was with the building of the new academy. She also said she had to just confirm the contents of the speech with the Baroness, who was on Ghayth, and then take a flyer bus over to Tower Number Four. She said all of that, her face buried in one of the huge pillows with the silk pillowcases, and he smiled down at her, patted her on her bare derriere, and left her to sleep some more.
As the flyer came into Tower Number Three, he saw there was a shuttle there already operating, so he knew he could get over to the administration tower, and he set down fairly close.
His job today was small, yet he was armed, the Colt at his side.
It had cost him almost an hour last night of tossing and turning. But he knew that if anything happened at the event, while there was a full Provost guard company present, as well as all the heads of states’ personal bodyguard squads, he wanted to be armed too.
He felt that way for many reasons, but what had come to the front of his consciousness was the final rationale that he had been surprised before and had been able to rise to the occasion. So he went armed.
The shuttle yawed and dipped, and moments later, he was deposited off to the side of the enormous tarmac with its thousands of chairs, catering stations, and bars.
He grinned. In years gone by, he’d have found a station very, very close to one of those bars and would have checked on the Scotch often. And even more often too. But those days were gone …
He walked down the temporary walkways that had been added to the shuttle bus landing areas, and while it took a few minutes, he eventually was on the tarmac, about halfway down the rows of seats. He turned to his right to slowly walk again up the empty aisle, and again it took minutes with the various other folks on the aisle. Provost guards were getting assignments. Catering staff was loading up coolers, hot food stations, and all their dollies and large display cases. A few more he didn’t have any idea as to what they were up to, until he realized they were counting the rows and seats. Hope they’re not short, he thought and grinned. Finally, he reached the very first row and the raised stage was in front of him.
He realized that this meant he now had to work too, so he took stock of what the stage held, its location, its facilities, and its ambush or danger points.
It was about eighty feet wide by about forty feet deep, he guessed, as his first job was to walk all the way around same. Not a problem at first, but behind the stage, things were tight. The audio-visual team had their own setup there, followed by some techies who looked like IT types. Scaffolding went up and up and held the huge display screen above the stage—it too was about the same eighty feet wide. Cables lay everywhere, snaking into generators that ran silently or back into the tower itself via conduit ports. He carefully stepped over them all and made the far side of the rear of the stage.
Up the last side and he had finished his first job, which was learning what he was facing in respect to the stage. There were flights of stairs—six stairs, he noted—on the left side, and the right side, and a huge triple-wide set was at the rear too. More than enough to allow the heads of state and their entourages of guards to get access to the stage.
He then took a flight of those stairs up and walked the whole stage. He checked every single chair and even got down on all fours to look down the rows to confirm that not even one had any kind of package under same. Bad package, he meant, but then he realized that anyone putting a package below a chair would need to know who was in that chair.
He rose, and went to the back, and loo
ked at the backs of all the chairs.
Yup. Each had a large placard with the name of the head of state to be seated in that chair, but all had been artfully placed so that from in front you couldn’t see same.
The Doge of Conclusion, the three admirals, the Baroness, and Professor Watkins were all in the first row on the left side.
The same front row over on the right held RIM Confederacy Chairman Gramsci, the Duke d’Avigdor, the Master Adept, and the Eran.
He noted that the row just behind that front row was short by two seats, and that did get a grin out of him.
Well back, after about a ten-foot-wide space, were just plain rows for the heads of state guards—no names, of course.
He smiled.
Good. Seating is fine. Now to look for attack centers, and he turned to look out toward the audience.
No elevated spots. Not a single vantage point for a sniper to sit and take slow, quiet aim. The only spot for that would be in the front row, and even then, there was no way to get a Merkel or any kind of a carbine or rifle into play—they were just far too big and long.
So it’d need to be a handgun, stunner, or needler-type hand weapon. And to make sure you got your quarry with a hand weapon, you had to be pretty damn close. The front row was twenty feet away. That would mean that any attacker would need to rush the stage.
Fine.
He left the area and searched and found a Provost guard who nicely offered to get the Provost captain in charge and bring him over to the stage area.
He waited a few minutes, sitting on a chair in the front row, and soon the Provost captain came over.
“Sir?” he asked as he snapped a salute to Tanner.
Surprised, Tanner said, “Captain, I’m the same rank as you—no need to salute me at all,” and instead he held out his hand.
Surprised, the Provost captain grasped it and shook it well.
“Sorry, Sir—we all know who you are, so it’s just a sign of respect for those eagles, Sir,” he said, noting the standard rank insignia for a captain was the pair of eagles in Tanner’s collar.
“Provost … I am thinking that the heads of state are very well protected with the stage setup and its access points. But what does worry me is that, with the first row only twenty feet back, someone who was armed with a hand weapon could charge the stage to perhaps get off at least a shot or two,” he said, as he pointed at the row and then the stage.
The Provost captain nodded. “Sir, if I could? Maybe I can station, say, four Provost guards—two per each side in chairs so that they do not block any view-lines? They’d be armed, of course, and if nothing else, such a display would—”
“Would make any attacker think twice. Yes, I agree, Provost. That would be a good thing to do,” Tanner interrupted.
Both captains nodded to each other, and the Provost guard moved off to get that job done.
Sitting again in the front row, Tanner thought of all the other items he knew had come to pass in the past five months.
While he was lost in that area, his PDA flashed at him, and the AI gave him a monochromatic teal blue hologram of the Lady St. August.
“Tanner, know you’re busy, so I just wanted to leave you this message. Spoke to the Baroness who is on Ghayth right now, and she said that she’d be here for the opening—so I need another seat for me, I’d guess. How she can get to Eons in a couple of hours is beyond my ken … but she did say you’d know and that she’s on the Atlas too. See you around lunchtime—I hear that they have some Oved Kimchi that is to die for! Bye, honey!” her message finished off, and he archived it for later.
There was only one way that the Baroness could be on Ghayth and get to Eons—some sixty-five lights—in a couple of hours, and that was to use the new Barony Drive. That was interesting, he thought and went off a moment on what that would mean once the RIM found out about this new instant travel option. One that the Barony only had so far … but at least the Atlas would be here, hoping to touch base with the best crew in any man’s navy.
He nodded to himself and said, “Back to today.”
Today we open up the new academy—wait, he suddenly thought. I wonder what will happen to the old academy buildings and complex. Should be useful to someone. He glanced at his PDA to see that he’d been here almost an hour.
And only four more hours to go until the academy opening event kick-off. He would have to go into the administration tower to find something to do, he expected.
#####
It seemed like a month later rather than hours later when Tanner took his seat in the last seat on the left in the front row. Before him, and facing outward toward the audience, were three of those Provost guards, all nicely sitting up and looking professional. Each was armed, and nobody could miss the big handguns on their hips. Each guard was studying the crowd ahead of them.
While the stage had featured specific seating for the heads of state and other guests, the audience was a first come, first choice deal, so beside Tanner was a family. A dad, mom, little girl, and a cadet in uniform—human too, he noted, sat next to him. He smiled at the parents and chuckled as the little girl got up and danced a bit sometimes when the audio-visual team had music on the system.
He leaned forward and looked all the way down the first row, which was a long way away, and there was nothing out of order as far as he could tell.
The audience was composed mostly of cadets and their families, and it was a happy boisterous group.
On the enormous vid screen above the stage, a series of short vids were playing in a loop. Each went to a different tower, and each showed the progress that had been made from bare I-Beams and concrete floors to fully finished student residence rooms, lecture halls, gyms, and quartermaster stores. Someone pretty good had done a great job of showing off the four towers, and Tanner was proud he’d been able to help a bit too. While there was no sound track, music played behind the vids.
The Provost captain had spoken to the guards he’d posted at least at this end of the stage—they knew who Tanner was and had been told in case of emergency, he was the one to look to.
Good idea. Should have thought of that one myself, he thought as the heads of state were now coming up the back stairs and taking their seats on stage. While they were not filing on in any kind of order, he was pleased to see that an extra chair had been tucked into the left side of the front row to seat Helena. The Doge and all three admirals were already ensconced, and the Baroness entered and was, as usual, a vision in abalone. Like the inside of an oyster, the iridescent shine was coming off her hair with sparkles, off her short cut-away jacket, and her boots too. She was, without a doubt, a beautiful woman, and Tanner nodded to her and got a nod back. Moments later, the Lady St. August took the seat between the Baroness and the professor, and that half row was complete. Helena was in coral, and her hair was exactly the same shade as her heels and her handbag, while her leggings were pure white. Tanner almost whistled, and then he nodded and got a nod back—she also blew him a kiss.
He blushed. Anyone paying attention would have seen that kiss.
He looked away and then back and noted that the other half row had already seated themselves while Tanner had been noticing the two women from the Barony.
One thing, he knew, was that admirals, like all navy men, believed in time lines, and as his PDA chimed thirteen hundred hours, Admiral Childs rose and walked forward to the microphone placed on the center of the stage lectern.
He tapped the mic three times, and by the third time, the sound for the vid loops was leveled off.
“Heads of state of the RIM Confederacy, honored guests, ladies and gentlemen of all races, and cadets—let me welcome you to the new RIM Confederacy Naval Academy grand opening event!”
This got a huge response from the cadets, cheers and huzzahs and even a couple of tossed hats went up as Tanner partially turned to look behind him at the two thousand attendees.
Going to be a long day if this crowd cheers at a welcome, he thought
and turned back to the stage.
Admiral Childs went on, and Tanner remembered not a single speaker had been told to limit their remarks to any set timeline. He spoke of the challenges to the new builds and of the great architects and construction firms that had done their best to get the construction to today.
That got an even bigger cheer, and he had to wait until the almost two thousand cadets quieted down.
He went on about what that would mean, with the doubling of the number of academy graduates every year, and how that would help all of the RIM Confederacy member navies. More cheers.
He did smile though at the end, looked down, and checked the Agenda. A copy of the Agenda had been pasted on the lectern top so that the speaker would always know who he or she was supposed to introduce.
“It is now my pleasure—my very great pleasure—to introduce the Issian Master Adept for her comments on today’s opening,” he said, as he looked over to the front row to his left and gestured for the Master to take the lectern.
She got up slowly and made her way over to the lectern, and the admiral pushed the mic on its flexible stand somewhat lower so that she could use it easily.
She nodded to the admiral, cleared her throat, and then something strange happened.
A trilling sound echoed as the enormous video screen above the stage faded to black.
He instantly thought that the audio-visual crew had an issue and hoped they could get it straightened out immediately.
And then a woman’s face came on the vid screen, and she looked down at them all.
He knew then that there was an attack, but it was a tech one. As the woman began to speak, a crawl along the bottom with big neon yellow warning icons began. He bounced up and out of his seat and almost missed the part that said that the cables with power had been rigged and were live, not to touch them, and this was a four-minute video.
He ran down the left-hand side of the stage, noting that all the heads of state had turned to look up at the video playing above their heads. As he got to the end of the stage and rounded to his right, he found the Provost captain was there already and screaming at the audio-visual team.
