The Coming Storm_A Pax Aeterna Novel

by Trevor Wyatt

  Let me at least finish my wine before you beat the shit out of me, he thought.

  Instead, they slid into the booth across from him and smiled.

  “We just wanted to say thank you.”

  Cassius glanced around, saw everyone in the place looking at them, and back to the men. “Sorry?”

  “Before you came into office, do you know how many worked themselves to death just so their families wouldn’t starve? One in five,” one of the men said.

  “Yes. Now we have labor limits, paid vacation, and a hike in wages,” the other continued.

  “How did you know it was me?” Cassius asked.

  “Don’t be dense,” the other man said. “Word gets around. We’re all on your side.”

  “Thank you, gentlemen. It means a lot to me,” Cassius nodded.

  The men got up and left him to his lunch.

  As he left the bistro, everyone he passed nodded his way. Cassius smiled and nodded back to every person.

  The encounter set his mind in motion. He fired off a memo to the rest of the Labor Oversight Committee and made his way back to his building.

  Cassius passed by his assistant—who he still didn’t know by name—and entered his office. He sank to his seat and sighed.Labor without an organized union was slavery. Every worker had the right to fair wages and hours. His goal was to have a union in place for the shipyards by the end of the month. The rest would follow.

  That would do it. Cassius worked on the organization while waiting for the storm to hit.

  He only had to wait forty-five minutes before the comm chirped and his assistant’s voice came in.

  “Sir, I have Vice-Chancellor Lange’s assistant to see you.”Cassius didn’t answer right away. Instead, he finished his next proposal and let him sweat.

  “Sir?” The assistant repeated.

  “Send him in,” he barked, trying to sound inconvenienced.

  Cassius should have been nervous, but he got a sadistic thrill out of Jebediah Lange’s squirming. Sending his assistant and not a message told him just how desperate the Vice-Chancellor was becoming.

  He had never met Lange’s assistant, but had seen him skulking around. A gentleman in his mid-forties with salt and pepper hair, the man never smiled and barely spoke.

  Cassius motioned for him to sit and stared at him expectantly.

  “The Vice-Chancellor wanted this personally delivered,” he said, sending a document through tablets.

  Cassius looked down and snorted, “A cease and desist on all attempts to create a labor union.” He ran the stylus across the screen a few times and tapped, sending it back.

  The assistant’s eyes bulged in shock.

  “I can’t cease and desist my job. If I were removed from office now, the laborers would riot—all of them, not just one shipyard’s worth,” he spat.

  The man stood, clearly unsure of what to do, “Sir, if I take this back, I’ll lose my job.”

  “If you don’t, I’ll break your fingers,” Cassius said nonchalantly and went back to his documentation. The meeting was over.

  The timid assistant ducked away. Cassius had to admit that he was a little creeped out. The assistant seemed like one of those mousy guys who ended up a serial killer. Oh, he is the best neighbor. Always so quiet. He babysat for my kids.

  Cassius shuddered.

  He looked out the window of his office. The shipyards were on strike. They stood outside with signs and chanted Cassius’ name.

  One brave soul wheeled up an eight-foot tall LED billboard that flashed the word UNION every half-second. Cassius couldn’t help but wonder where he stole it from.

  Cassius took out his tablet and typed a message for Ketra, the journalist, letting her know of a good news scoop happening before him.

  Minutes later, the Pak News aircar appeared, but it wasn’t Ketra who stepped out of it.

  The replacement journalist reported from across the street, shuffling her feet like they hurt.

  She wasn’t as outgoing as Ketra, but if the story would go to all the planets in the HC, Cassius couldn’t ask for more.

  He commed his assistant, “Set up a meeting for me with the anchor reporting outside after I leave my office later. Backwater Bistro.”

  “Noted, sir,” his assistant replied.

  An intra-office messenger arrived with a package. Cassius signed for it and ripped the envelope. Inside were hard copy photos of Sienna and Peyton, along with a handwritten note.

  Be careful, was all it said. Cassius had already had meetings with the rest of the Labor Oversight Committee. None of them were thrilled with his actions.

  Not that he cared. Nothing would stand in his way.

  His guess was that it wasn’t any of them, though.

  The Vice-Chancellor himself had been trying to get rid of him since Elban, and this had his stink all over it.

  The threat only made his resolve solid.

  He shoved the photos back in the envelope and crumpled it up. He paced back and forth by the window, checking on the striking laborers. The cops were trying to break it up, but they showed no signs of tiring.

  Cassius had just sent his assistant home when he heard a light tap on the door. Nobody knocked anymore.

  Puzzled, he cracked the door open.

  “Governor Alver?” Cassius and Thomas shared the same views, but he wasn’t one to rock the boat.

  “I didn't want to use the slipstream.” Thomas held up a bottle of whiskey. “Can we talk?”

  Cassius let him in and dug two tumblers out of the desk.

  After they had a couple of sips, Cassius groaned, “Would you please stop fidgeting with your glass and tell me what’s up?”

  “This.” He pulled his shirt collar down to reveal a big purple bruise. His clavicle was obviously shattered, and Cassius could see the bruising trail down his shirt. Cassius let out a low whistle, “Who did it?”

  “Not the Rolands,” Thomas muttered.

  “Inside, then,” Cassius lost his thirst and set his tumbler down.

  “I’m a little too friendly with you. I’ve been told to stay away, or my family gets it next,” Thomas said anxiously.

  “They threatened mine as well.”

  “Can’t you leave well enough alone? If you keep your head down and work behind the scenes, you can accomplish more than your berserker approach.”

  Crashes and bangs from outside startled them. The strike had turned into a riot.

  Cassius watched for a few minutes and turned back to Thomas. “Those people out there are getting beat and shot. Why? To feed themselves. Their families. To pay for medicine. They’re getting beat down because they want to live. And it’s all on tape.”

  Cassius smiled. He wanted everything that happened to be a media sensation.

  “You’re a cold bastard, you know that?”

  “For the right reasons.”

  “No. You’re making enemies you don’t need to make. Can’t you just enjoy your life with your girls and call it good?” Thomas gave him a pleading look. “Sometimes I think you’re a good man, and sometimes I think you don’t have a clue.”

  In his happy years in Elban, Cassius was content to ignore the problems.

  Fading into the background was easy. Look where it got him.

  If he was going to die, it would be loud enough to make history.

  Thomas and Cassius walked out of the building together. They parted ways and Cassius made his way to Backwater Bistro.

  The new reporter’s name was Mia Holcomb. Cassius looked her over as they took their seats.

  “Ketra had to cover a different event, so I took over the coverage of the riot earlier. My main question for you, however, is about the allegations of document tampering to get you into office,” Mia said as soon as she took her first sip of tepid water.

  “What?” Cassius thought she wanted to talk about the riot. What the hell was this?

  “An anonymous source tipped us that documents had been forged to place you in your p
resent office,” Mia said, arching a brow.

  “Well, that’s just stupid. Let me guess. Your anonymous source came from the office of Vice-Chancellor Jebediah Lange.”

  Her face turned several shades of red.

  Their meals arrived and he used the distraction to turn the conversation, “So…nice riot you covered there.”

  “Officially, greedy workers wanting a bigger cut.”

  “No,” Cassius said as he leaned to the table. “This is the story.”

  Chapter 19

  Ketra

  Ketra ate her lunch absent-mindedly as she listened to the interview Mia just sent.

  “So you’re accusing Vice-Chancellor Lange of mass murder?”Mia asked.

  “Yes,” Cassius replied.

  “And you claim this is why you’ve been accused of falsifying documents?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you have proof?”

  “Is a dead planet proof enough?”Cassius replied.

  “Unfortunately, no. I need proof that Jebediah Lange willfully poisoned the population of Elban. Otherwise, it’s just a terrible coincidence,” Mia said as she took down notes.

  “I have documentation of everything leading up to the events, and of being fired upon when I tried to escape.”

  “Suspicious, yes. But you were under quarantine, so it wasn't illegal. You need that one piece that proves it was a malicious act.”

  Cassius just snorted in disgust.

  “Thanks for your time, Mr. Ojun.”

  Was this vehement man the same one she interviewed not too long ago? Losing his family had devastated him, but now he had a mission.

  The thing was, although Ketra knew Cassius was right, she also knew that Mia was right. They couldn't run the story unless there was irrefutable proof against Lange.

  The snide little prick knew it, too. Oh, how she would just love to take the story and broadcast it.

  She came to a decision and took the last bite of her sandwich. She was going to find that last bit of evidence Cassius needed. She would have to start by digging into his life, but that was a small price to pay. Especially if he didn’t find out.

  “Thank you, Mia. I'll take it from here,” she said to her comm.

  She missed investigative reporting and couldn’t wait to get started.

  Francis Ojun, Cassius Ojun’s brother. Now that was interesting.

  Francis called himself an entrepreneur, but the translation was an open secret. He was a gang boss.

  Ketra licked her lips and kept digging. There were rumors of falsifying documentation and voters being pressured into getting Cassius on the Labor Oversight Committee, but she could find no substantiation. As far as Ketra could see, they were just brothers who grew up differently and rarely spoke. Francis kept his nose clean, while Cassius was conjuring up a storm.

  She had never seen so much backbiting all her life, as she did in the Governor’s Congress. They listened to Cassius because he gave them no choice, but they all worked against him in some way while working against each other.

  It was a mess, and that was just what they let the media see.

  Ketra couldn’t wait to see what happened in private.

  The labor riots worried her. They shouldn’t have escalated that quickly.

  Her suspicion was the involvement of the Terran Reunification Front. Would Cassius realize that his platform was being used as a front? She thought to send him an anonymous message but decided against it. This time, it was her that didn’t have proof.

  Instead, she messaged another governor in the Labor Oversight Committee:

  Governor Radcliff, can you tell me of your experiences with Governor Ojun?

  As far as she could tell, Radcliff was the yes-man in the committee. He never had anything new to add and always voted with the majority. He saw everything without bias. It seemed he didn’t really want to be there, so he was the perfect candidate for an interview. Well, a quick note, anyway.

  He’s a crusader and a fanatic. You can’t reason with people like that, was the only reply she got.

  He didn’t say if he agreed with him or not, but Ketra was good at reading between the lines. Radcliff agreed, but wished Ojun would compromise. It was a start.

  She was busy looking for dirt on Lange when her tablet pinged. Governor Radcliff was more accommodating than she hoped. Her inbox filled with recordings of private meetings—the stuff the media wasn’t allowed to see. They seemed to be recorded in secret, and she had to guess who the speakers were.

  “Your proposals are ridiculous. Ideas like these will crash the entire economy!”

  “There is no real economy, Governor Luna. The poor stay poor, the rich stay rich,” she knew Cassius’ voice.

  “That’s capitalism, and we are a capitalist society. Are you suggesting we change the entire societal structure?”

  “Not completely, but some things need to change. If they don’t, this planet is as dead as Elban.”

  “First, your allegations against the Vice Chancellor, and now this. You’re insane!”

  “And you are an example of a privileged prick.”

  Chuckles echoed throughout the committee, leaving Governor Luna to bluster.

  Cassius was so noble it made Ketra a little queasy, so of course she wondered what he was really up to. No one could be that noble, could they?

  On one hand, she wanted to believe it, but the jaded reporter had learned to trust her gut. It told her that his interest in fair labor was minimal, and he was buying time—maybe to look for the evidence he needed to remove Lange from office.

  Governor Alver seemed sympathetic to Cassius’ agenda. He was the voice of reason, trying to make Cassius’ outlandish claims seem plausible. At the same time, he made counter proposals in which Cassius would have to budge on some of his stances.

  Cassius was having none of it.

  “If we raise the food tax, a pay raise for the shipyard is workable,” Alver suggested.

  “I proposed a wage increase so they could afford food. Mr. Alver, I suggest that you sit down if you’re not going to help.” Cassius spat back.

  Alver cleared his throat. The rustling of his stuffy business suit told Ketra he did as he was told.

  “If nothing else, cut our salaries to pay for it. You want to talk about economic collapse? Without those poor people to do your heavy lifting, you’d all be doomed.”

  Ketra couldn’t help but smile as some chuckled and a few gasped.

  “If the basic needs of the working poor were better met—food, housing, and basic healthcare—they would work more efficiently,” Cassius continued. “They would last longer, too. The average lifespan in the outer slums is fifty-five. The further in you go, the shorter the lifespan.”

  Ketra perked up her ears. As a reporter, she should have known that. Those statistics were never released to the public. It left her with a knot in the pit of her stomach.

  “Hospitals say they never turn anyone away, but when my father was sick with wetlung, I couldn’t even get him antibiotics. That’s the typical treatment of the people in Fairdale. They’re not worth your time because they’re poor. They’re poor because they’re not worth your time. You’re the problem.”

  Murmurs of dissent echoed through the recording.

  Ketra had heard enough and stopped the recording.

  On one hand, Cassius was right. On the other, so were they. If he set too many changes in motion at once, Centralian civilization would be thrown into chaos.

  If life went on as usual, half the population would be lost. The problem was bigger than she expected, but still it felt like a smokescreen for a larger agenda.

  Ketra kept digging.

  It had something to do with Jebediah Lange and the outbreak of Crop Fever on Elban. Cassius’ wife and son died along with most of the planet, but he suddenly switched gears to fair labor and health care.

  His goal seemed to be to rile up the population against the government as revenge. It was working. The poor loved hi
m, most of the middle class agreed with him, and the upper class were silent. Things swung in his favor a little more every day. Ketra couldn’t help but admire that.

  She found more than she expected, but still no evidence against Lange. He was a man who knew how to keep his hands clean.

  Grunting in frustration, she grabbed her coat and stormed out of the office.

  Too obnoxious to be a spy, Ketra still knew her way around private information. After getting home, she poured herself a big glass of whiskey. She got comfortable on her plush recliner, contacted an accountant for Lange Corporation, and deposited a hefty bribe into his account. 20,000 credits earned her an immediate reply.

  I’m sorry, I don’t know anything, but for that many credits, I would be happy to snoop around for you, was the response.

  Yes. Thank you. Wipe your messages, Ketra replied. Then, she deleted all of her message history. It was still traceable, of course, but only for someone who knew what they were looking for.

  Ketra drained her glass and poured herself another whiskey, thinking of the frightened man in quarantine. She drunkenly wondered why he fascinated her so much.

  She wanted to help him, but at the same time, his exuberant ideals scared the shit out of her.

  Chapter 20

  Cassius

  The house was quiet, with Sienna and Peyton sitting in the living room watching television while Cassius prepared breakfast for the three of them. For all the chaos that had been going on lately, it was these small lulls in activity that made Cassius thankful that he at least still had these two children. They were survivors against all odds, and Cassius hoped the two would never forget that.

  As he laid down the knife, his slipstream device beeped. He answered the call and Francis’ face appeared in front of him.

  “Hey!” Francis said. “How’s it going, brother?”

  “Oh, hey. Everything’s fine,” Cassius said, turning around to lean against the counter top. “I was just making some breakfast for myself and the kids.”

  “Cool, cool. Hey, I just wanted to call you to take you up on that favor you owe me for getting you that vote,” he said in a smooth voice.