The Coming Storm_A Pax Aeterna Novel

by Trevor Wyatt

  “I see, I see,” the older man said. “Did you notice anything suspicious while you were there?”

  “Not at first, and I’m kicking myself for not seeing it coming,” Cassius said. His sorrow was false, but neither of the men called him out on it. Perhaps his act seemed genuine enough for the investigators to believe it.

  “There was a bomb planted under his desk with the Terran Reunification Front’s logo on it. The last thing Jebediah ever said to me was to get back when he held it up to get a look at what it was,” he said.

  “I’ve heard whispers about them getting more radical,” the younger man said.

  “They’ve been working in the shadows trying to subvert, but now they’re getting bold. Assassination? Disgusting.”

  “I’m sorry that you had to witness that,” the older man said. “I can’t begin to imagine the trauma it’s had on you, being so close to something so horrific.”

  “I still see it when I sleep,” Cassius said. “Right alongside my family from Elban.”

  Cassius’ lip quivered at the mention of Elban.

  “Please, say no more...I think we heard enough,” the younger man said.

  “I think I know where the TRF is getting the means to do this, as well,” Cassius said. “I’ve heard that they’re working with one of the crime families, getting supplies from them and whatnot. They’re covering their tracks, but they can’t hide from all prying eyes.”

  “If you can give us details on them, everything you know, that would be wonderful,” the older man said. “So we can lock up the people responsible for killing Jebediah.”

  For the next hour, Cassius weaved his story to the two men. It was all fabrication, carefully crafted lies that he’d spun before even thinking of committing the act.

  The criminal organization he pinned it onto had been in direct competition with his brother for years; setting them up killed two birds with one stone. It got them out of the streets, and out of his brother’s hair.

  As for the Terran Reunification Front, someone needed to take the fall. This would give the people someone to hate, someone to fear, and get them on Cassius’ side while he fixed the system from the inside.

  It’s a fool proof plan, Cassius thought.

  He knew that the people loved and trusted him, and that was all the encouragement he needed to keep going and believing he was doing the right thing. Even though his means weren’t pure, the end he hoped to achieve would make it all worth it.

  The two men wrapped up their questioning and rose in near unison. Both offered Cassius a handshake, Cassius returning it weakly.

  “Thank you for your time, sir,” the younger man said. “I think we have all the information that we need for now. If we need more, you’ll see us again.”

  “Please, anything I can do to help bring justice, I’m more than happy to help you,” Cassius said.

  “The important thing now is for you to recover,” the young man said. “You get some rest, and you’ll be back in the office in no time.”

  The two left the office, leaving Cassius to his own devices. He slipped back down in the bed, falling back asleep rather quickly.

  Cassius spent another couple of days in the hospital. The discharge process felt like an eternity, something that was true for hospitals all over the galaxy, it seemed.

  A transport took him back home afterwards, dropping him off in his front yard. Slowly, he made his way into the building with a bag of his prescriptions and a handful of paperwork that he’d been given.

  It probably would have been best if he’d gone to check on the kids in the meantime, but he’d just spoken to the babysitter on the way home and she mentioned they were asleep.

  The stress of all this must have been too much for them, he thought.

  He locked the door behind him and went to his room to have a slipstream call with his brother.

  “So it’s done?” Francis asked, knowing full well what had happened.

  “Yeah, it all went perfectly. They bought every word,” Cassius said with a smirk on his face.

  “Perfect. And the competition?” Francis asked.

  “Taken care of,” Cassius replied. “You’ve got nothing to worry about now. Hook line and sinker.”

  “Damn, you’re the best, Cash!” Francis said excitedly. “See, we make a pretty good team—you and I.”

  “What, did you expect anything less, Francis?” Cassius asked.

  “No. But I’ve been disappointed before too. You didn’t disappoint me, which is great,” Francis looked at his watch and clicked his tongue. “Shit. I have to let you go. Need to deal with some stuff. It was great talking, and hey—thanks for the help.”

  “Yeah. Of course. Talk to you later. Bye,” Cassius said, cutting off the slipstream link.

  He slowly made his way up to his bed so as not to reopen his wounds where the skin was still thin.

  The moment he felt the mattress under his back, he fell into a deep sleep.

  The moment he felt the mattress under his back, he fell into a deep sleep.

  Chapter 25

  Cassius

  Cassius strode through the hall leading to Chancellor Duvid Greenberg’s office.

  Unlike any other building on the planet, the Chancellery was decorated in a style reminiscent of a ruler back from the old Earth, Louis XIV.

  The building reflected Greenberg’s rather ostentatious personal taste: the furniture was veneered with foreign woods and inlaid with brass, pewter and faux ivory. Bronze mounts protected the corners and provided more ornamentation.

  The walls bore paintings of previous Chancellors and other Human Confederation officials, all solemn and dignified in their heavily gilded frames, foliated scrolls identifying each personage.

  The entire setting was designed to be imposing; the paintings were massive, the walls were stark white, and the carpet underfoot luxurious. The hall was wide enough for three ground cars to drive side-by-side through it and tall enough for four enormous chandeliers to hang from the ceiling at intervals along its length.

  Also posted at intervals were brush-cut husky young armed guards, all standing at attention, staring out of the curtained windows that comprised the opposite wall and ignoring Cassius as they would presumably ignore anyone else.

  At least the poor bastards have something to look at during their shift, Cassius thought to himself, allowing a small wry smile—almost a smirk—to briefly creep across his lips.

  The two guards posted outside the Chancellor’s door eyed him, however.

  He tensed when the guard on the left stepped forward and said apologetically, “I’m sorry, Tribune.”

  Cassius put a grin on his face as he raised his hands from his sides.

  “No need for apologies,” he said. “I know you’re doing your job.”

  “Thank you for understanding that, sir,” the guard said, expertly patting him down. “Some folks get kind of outraged that we do this.”

  Cassius chuckled. The guard’s questing hand found the small bulge of the plastic bottle in Cassius’s left front pocket. At the man’s enquiring look, Cassius dug into his trousers and pulled out a small bottle of over-the-counter headache medicine, a well-known brand.

  “Oh, hell, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I—huh!”

  He shook his head.

  “I just forgot the damn things were there. Migraines, you know?” he added with a rueful face.

  “That’s okay, sir,” the guard said. “I take those myself sometimes. Works pretty good.” He popped open the plastic bottle and poured the pills out into his palm, then poked them around with a finger, inspecting them. They were identical, pale blue capsules.

  Most homes in Centralia had at least one bottle of them in the medicine cabinet. The guard tipped his hand so that the pills tumbled into the bottle, then capped it and handed it back to Cassius.

  “Go ahead on in, sir,” he said, stepping back to his place.

  “Thank you, Sergeant,” Cassius said.

 
; They knew that there was no way he would have gotten this close to Greenberg if he posed any threat. They also knew that Tribune Cassius Ojun was a trusted and loyal member of the government.

  A surge of anticipation shot through him. He tamped it down as he opened the door.

  “Oh, say, sir” the guard asked.

  Cassius froze. “What is it, Sergeant?”

  “Uh, I kind of hate to ask, but could you spare me a couple of those?”

  “Of course I could.”

  Cassius opened the bottle and shook out a few pills. He gave two of the pills to the guard, who thanked him.

  Cassius stuck the bottle into his pocket and went into the office.

  Chancellor Greenberg looked up from his computer. The desk, as ornate as the hallway furniture, was littered with papers and brochures.

  “Ojun,” he barked. “Good to see you. Sit.”

  He nodded at a Chippendale chair in front of the desk.

  “Good to be seen, Chancellor,” Cassius said easily, settling onto the chair. It didn’t go with the rest of the décor, but was comfortable enough that the Chancellor’s visitors would be ill at ease after sitting in it for any length of time.

  “Now what was it—oh, yes,” Greenberg stood up. He was a short man, but strongly built, with curly dark hair and a pencil mustache. “We’ve been facing a lot of unrest lately, Tribune. It’s supposed to be your job to take care of the screaming masses.”

  Cassius allowed himself a frown. “That’s—they’re hardly screaming, sir. And we’ve got to permit them some safety valves after all, don’t you think? We’ve got some of the more outspoken dissident artists under scrutiny, and have made it difficult for them to have exhibits and gallery shows,” he crossed his legs and continued. “Plus, the nightclubs aren’t booking any of the protest bands now, so the kids are having to circulate their recordings clandestinely. It’s hard to track that stuff.”

  Greenberg scowled.

  “Those damn kids,” he said. “They’re smart little assholes, some of them. We should recruit some of them for the police services.”

  “Yeah, no—good luck with that,” Cassius said. “No one under twenty-five would be caught dead talking to a cop these days”

  “Send them under cover, then,” Greenberg said. “We can’t take any chances here, Ojun.”

  He sighed. “The point is, I know you’re doing what you can. You’ve done a terrific job reigning in the media, but fearmongering about the TRF isn’t the way I want to see this going.”

  Cassius tapped his finger.

  “Speaking of fearmongering, sir,” he said, “My office has been carrying on its investigation into the events on Elban.”

  “Where?”

  “My home planet. Elban,” Cassius said, a little more sharply than he’d intended.

  “Oh, yes. That...Crop Fever business.” Greenberg shot him a dark look. “What of it?”

  “Well, we recovered some alarming evidence from the Lange Corporation factory here.”

  He pulled out a card-sized data clip from his jacket pocket and put it on the Chancellor’s desk, tapping it as he did so. “If you get a minute, maybe you’d—”

  Greenberg waved a hand as if to erase the clip from his awareness. “I know how you feel, and I sympathize with you for your loss. But frankly, Cassius, in the grand scheme of things, it’s just not an important factor. Stopping people from rioting so we can focus on appointing a new, more profitable Vice Chancellor—that’s what’s important.”

  Cassius grinned to himself. He had expected nothing less.

  “Yes, sir. Thank you,” he said.

  “I’m glad we understand each other, Tribune,” Greenberg favored him with a sour smile. “Now, if you’ll excuse me?”

  “Of course, sir.”

  You worthless, dog-bopping twaad, Cassius thought to himself.

  He stood to leave, unobtrusively dropping the small capsule he had earlier palmed to keep the headache-prone guard from selecting it, and toeing it toward where Greenberg sat, so that the desk would block his view of it.

  It was in any case nearly invisible against the blue rug, which was, fortuitously, almost the same color as the commercial product. That was why this method of delivery had been selected in the first place.

  Greenberg was already back at his papers and seemed to have forgotten Cassius was even there.

  Outside of the bottle, the capsule would maintain its integrity for five minutes. After that, the plastic would degrade into powder, releasing the contents, a small concentration of a powerful and nearly undetectable toxin, into the air.

  All courtesy of Cassius’ brother.

  On his way out, Cassius stopped to chat with the guard to whom he had given a couple of capsules. “Feeling any better?”

  “A little, yes, thanks, sir.”

  “Keep up the good work, then,” Cassius said. As always, he prided himself on his common touch. He took note of the guard’s name from the man’s badge. No doubt he would remember Cassius’s appointment with Greenberg, and even connect it to the Chancellor’s subsequent illness.

  But Cassius would see to it that both the sergeant and his comrade would be transferred to a better posting within two days. He judged that the man was smart enough not to voice his suspicions to anyone. Cassius meant to keep an eye on him anyway, just in case.

  The amount of toxin in the air of the Chancellor’s office was small, and the office was sealed well enough that little if any of the chemicals would make their way out into the hall.

  Though Cassius didn’t expect that to happen, it was not his concern if it did; it would be as good a way as any to take care of the guard, if the reposting didn’t work.

  Sacrifices must be made, Cassius said to himself as he walked along the over-decorated hall.

  Most likely, though, the only person who would be affected would be Duvid Greenberg, who wouldn’t budge out of his office for at least another hour or so, amply long enough for the toxin to sink its hooks into his body.

  Cassius whistled cheerfully as he left the Chancellery.

  I’ll have this place completely redone, he thought.

  I’ll have this place completely redone, he thought.

  Chapter 26

  Ketra

  The newsroom was never quiet even on a slow news day, but today seemed to be particularly hectic for Ketra. Or perhaps it was because her job responsibilities had recently doubled—with no concomitant increase in pay.

  After stepping down as a news anchor and assuming the position of news editor of Pak News, she had been so busy researching and approving news scoops.

  Yet somehow, she couldn’t shake off the feeling that there was something that needed to be out there. Something the people needed to know.

  Ketra blew a lock of red hair back from her forehead and stared at her computer, frowning. She had been reading the same news scoop sent by Mia for hours now. Around her, the whole news team were tapping away at their keyboards, talking on the phone, or consulting one another about their work. Conversation ebbed and flowed along with the ticking of keys.

  “Hey,” a voice at her elbow said. “Coffee?”

  It was Lynda Orlando, one of the reporters of Pak News. She was close to Ketra since they joined the news station at the same time. They has been been through the ups and downs of the media world together.

  “Yeah, maybe it’ll help get my brain in gear,” Ketra said, rising from her chair. She followed Lynda to the break room, a small space with vending machines and an ancient coffee maker that steamed and sputtered but still delivered an acceptable brew. The women poured cups and sat at the small table.

  The newsroom buzz and hum was still present, but somewhat muted.

  “So how goes it?” Lynda asked. “Feel like you’re finally getting a grasp of your work?”

  “Well, considering that I just spent ten minutes trying to figure out how to find a new angle on the same news scoop I’ve been receiving for days now, fairly well,” Ke
tra said. “I’m kind of used to going out there and actually doing the research, you know. Being on the field.”

  Lynda made a sympathetic noise. “We miss you on cam too. But hey, this way, you get to control the news.”

  “Exactly my point. I’m controlling the news…but I’m not there, investigating it myself. I guess I miss the hustle and bustle of it. And somehow, I feel like there are more stories that need to be out there.”

  “Oh, pfft. Good luck with that. You know how difficult it has been to get news scoops that actually have substance these days,” Lynda rolled her eyes.

  “Ugh, I know. Ojun and his bully-boys started cracking down on freedom of the press and shut down some online outlets.”

  “I thought you liked the guy.”

  “Please. I was kind of sympathetic to some of his ideas, but he’s let me down. He’s let everyone down,” Ketra said, feeling heat rise in her face.

  “Thank your lucky stars for Pak News’ viewers, then,” Lynda said. “Whether Ojun and Greenberg like it or not, people don’t want their access to the news cut off. And there’s plenty going on these days...Greenberg still hasn’t appointed a new Vice Chancellor to replace Lange, TRF attacks have increased. If we just…”

  “I know, I know.” Ketra frowned

  “We’re on it.” Lynda laid a hand on Ketra’s arm.

  Ketra shrugged. “I feel like we’ve been hiding and aren’t really doing our responsibility to the people properly.”

  Lynda sighed. “Well, nothing’s gonna happen if no one’s gonna step up, you know. But I guess what everyone’s trying to think about is keeping their jobs. If we start releasing news about this…You’re right. I’m sure Ojun’s gonna shut us down.”

  “I don’t think that’ll happen,” Ketra said. “Greenberg will keep Ojun in check. He won’t let it happen. I think Greenberg’s a jerk, no doubt, but at least he pays lip service to freedom of the press.”