by GARY DARBY
“In fact, it could be quite a few that choose to ignore the council’s order to head inbound to Imperium space and stay Out Here instead.”
“But,” Dason sputtered, “the council could order the Navy and the Space Marines to—”
“Go after our people,” Alena snarled, “bring them in at all costs to avoid a possible war with the Sha’anay?”
Dason swallowed and turned disbelieving eyes on his companion. “Alena, do you know what you’re saying?”
Alena took a deep breath, let it out loudly. “I know exactly what I’m saying. The Imperium would be facing not only an invasion by the Mongans, and a holy war by the Sha’anay to rescue their beloved Elder Tor’al . . .”
Her voice trailed off before she said, “We could well see the beginning of an internal civil war that starts between Star Scout Command and the Imperium’s Navy.”
Barely whispering, she said, “Which could end up destroying our entire civilization if the Mongans or the Sha’anay don’t do it first.”
Chapter Two
Star date: 2443.090
The Helix Nebula
Rebellion! Civil war! Dason’s mind spun at the very thought that the Star Scouts could not only participate against such a thing but that they might be the catalyst.
“Do you really believe that it could come to that?” he somberly questioned.
Alena was silent for some time before saying, “In all honesty? I don’t know. But I do know that what the council’s doing is all wrong. I mean they folded their cards without a single bet to see what the other fellow would do.
“However, I also know that after our fleet got pulverized in that battle around the AP planet, there’s an awful lot of terrified people who’ve been thrown into nothing less than primal survival mentality and aren’t thinking real straight.”
“So,” Dason wondered, “are you saying that what we’re doing is potentially adding to the possibility of a civil war?”
He shook his head vehemently. “I don’t like the sound of that at all.”
“I know,” Alena sighed, “even I don’t like my own line of reasoning.”
Smiling just a bit, she said, “Or, as Sami would say, it leaves me with a bit of a bad taste in my nose, too.”
She turned understanding eyes on Dason. “So scout, how about for now, that instead of worrying about things way above our pay grade like civilization-wide revolt, you, me, and the rest of the team worry about our mission.”
Alena pointed outward at the swirling clouds. “Which is to ping on the Mongans as much as we can and possibly mount a rescue attempt for those left-behind scouts on the planet.”
Dason nodded firmly. “I’m all for that, especially that last part. Only thing is, we haven’t a word about those people we left behind.”
“No, we haven’t,” Alena responded in low tones. “But that doesn’t necessarily mean it’s all bad.”
She reached out to give Dason a quick pat of encouragement on the shoulder. “From what you’ve told me of your uncle, he’s a survivor. If anyone can get our scouts and himself out alive, he can.”
Dason gave a little nod of appreciation and turned back to gaze at the rippling gas eddies. Alena was right, he needed to stay focused on what was at hand and not worry about things that were happening hundreds, even thousands of light years outside of the Helix Nebula.
He didn’t know if his uncle was one of those left alive on the AP planet or not, but hope was all he had, and until he was certain of his uncle’s fate, one way or the other, that’s what he would cling to—hope.
After all, it wasn’t all that long ago that he thought his uncle had died long before, when Dason was just a youngster. That they’d found each other almost twenty years later was practically a miracle in Dason’s mind and one for which he was utterly grateful.
To break the somber mood he asked, “Speaking of the Imperium, what do you think is happening? I mean in preparing for a Mongan attack?”
With a slow shake of her head, Alena said, “I’m not sure. My guess is that the Imperium is pulling back from the outlying sectors and forming a tight interdiction ring around the core planets.
“StarNav is probably running a whole slew of recon patrols, especially in this area, trying to keep tabs on the Mongans.”
Running a finger across her pink lips, she thoughtfully said, “At some point, I’m pretty sure that we’re going to see an intelligence collection effort by the Imperium that will be off the scale.
“Spy-sats, drones, mini-imagers, auto-platforms with sensor sweeps of everything from the visual clear through the electromagnetic spectrum; everything that they can push in here that doesn’t need a human pilot by the hundreds, or more.”
“And if they do that,” Dason pointed out, “you realize that there’s a good chance they’ll pick us up on their sensors too.”
“Yep,” Alena agreed dryly, “and our secret little war will become not-so-secret.”
“And then what?” Dason questioned. “You think the Imperium will come hunting for us?”
“Most likely,” Alena affirmed. “After all, I don’t recall the council’s directive excluding our merry little band, do you?”
“No,” Dason agreed. “But we haven’t heard anything from Star Scout Command telling us to break off either.”
“True,” Alena acknowledged. “But you’re assuming that they know about us.”
“Meaning they don’t?”
“I have to wonder,” Alena replied, “if General Rosberg took the time to let anyone know.”
She drew in a breath, “Either intentionally or not.”
“You think he didn’t on purpose?”
She shrugged. “Ever play any poker?”
“No,” Dason admitted. “Never had any money to lose so I didn’t take the time to learn.”
“Good strategy,” Alena admired. “Wished I’d done the same, my bank account wouldn’t look like the financial equivalent of Sherman’s March.
“Anyway, good poker players always play their cards close to the vest, meaning you don’t let anyone peek over your shoulder to see what you’re holding and tip off the other fellow.”
She grinned. “And, as Sami would say, an ace in the hole is worth two in the bush.”
Dason shook his head and lifted his shoulders in puzzlement. “Sorry, I don’t get it.”
“Never mind,” Alena chuckled. “Suffice it to say that I have the feeling that General Rosberg isn’t letting anyone know about us. We might be something of a secret weapon for him.”
“That I understand,” Dason muttered. “But without any comms with the command and not knowing what’s happening with the council, or that impersonator, we’re really operating in the blind.”
Alena smiled and jutted her chin toward the churning clouds that made visibility all but impossible. “What do you call this? Crystal blue open skies?”
“You know what I mean,” Dason smiled back.
“I do,” she replied, “and I wholeheartedly agree. It would help a great deal if we knew what the council was doing and what else that impersonator has pulled on the Imperium.”
Dason slapped his chair’s armrest in exasperation. “How could the council believe they were dealing with the real Tor’al? I don’t think they questioned who they were dealing with for one second.”
“Maybe,” Alena responded. “Just remember, a drowning man will reach for even the tiniest of straws to save himself. The council doesn’t know Tor’al as you do, but what they do know is that the Imperium is in serious, serious trouble.”
She drew in a deep breath and let it out in a soft exhale. “In a way you can’t blame them for grabbing at that proverbial straw.”
“That may be,” Dason replied in a serious tone. “But we better hope the Sha’anay doesn’t find out that someone is impersonating Tor’al. Add that to everything else that’s happened, and I doubt seriously if anything or anyone is going to stop them from invading the Imperium.”
&nb
sp; Dason waved a hand at the dark gas entrails that surrounded the ship. “And not only do we not know where the real Tor’al is, but without communication with anyone Earthside we are in the dark, both literally and figuratively.”
“Hey,” Alena remarked, giving Dason a little thump on the arm. “The general hasn’t forgotten about us. He’ll do everything in his power to get us home.”
She drew in a breath and muttered, “If he can.”
The silence deepened between the two until Dason commented, “I know, but it makes me sick to my stomach to think that Tor’al is almost certainly in the Faction’s hands.”
“You’re talking about that Adiak Peller character,” Alena stated. “The one who showed up alongside that fake Tor’al in the council’s chambers.”
“Yes,” Dason replied emphatically. “He’s the one the collaborators pointed to, and who knows, he may be the Gadions’ real master. And now he’s pretending to be the friend of the Sha’anay and the false Tor’al is saying that the Sha’anay will only work with the Imperium through him.”
“Yes,” Alena replied. “And what better way to gain the Imperium’s trust and to hold sway over the one group that might be able to save everyone from the Mongans.”
Uncomfortable with the tone of their conversation, Dason squirmed a little in his chair. “There’s got to be a way to show the High Council who and what they’re dealing with.”
Alena was quietly thoughtful for several moments. “I wish there were; I honestly do, but I’m not sure how, and I’m not sure anyone would believe it at this stage, especially if it were coming from this gang of supposedly law-breaking Star Scouts.”
“But,” Dason answered, “we know the truth. That wasn’t Tor’al.”
“You and I and the rest of the team know that,” Alena pointed out. “However, from the council’s perspective, the Imperium faces an alien species that can destroy whole star systems.
“That is unquestionably the most frightening reality that the Imperium has ever confronted. They’re scared, Dason, really scared, and rightfully so.
“They’re grasping at stardust, fervently hoping that the Sha’anay will come riding out of deep space to save them.”
She shook her head at her next thought. “And they’re willing to do just about anything to make that happen, and unwilling to think about anything contrary to that notion.”
Bluntly, she said, “Scared people aren’t always the most rational people.”
She gave Dason a direct stare. “No, I’m afraid that the Imperium that we’ve known for the last several hundred years may just go by the wayside.”
“You mean the civil war you mentioned?” Dason asked.
“Not necessarily,” Alena replied. “There could be something else on our dark, and getter darker horizon.”
“Gee, aren’t you just full of positive thoughts today,” Dason muttered.
“Sorry,” Alena replied and jutted her chin at the murky shadows and dim light of the gas cloud. “I guess this gloomy goop gets to me.”
“Me too,” Dason returned. “But go ahead, I’m listening. More gloom and doom I suppose?”
Alena lifted up one corner of her mouth in a wan smile and sat back deeper into her chair. “When I was at the academy, I took an Ancient History course titled, ‘The March of Empires.’
“The professor was an old, crusty retired scout who’d lost his hearing to a Vegan parasite, but could read lips perfectly.”
Alena laughed lightly. “Even if you muttered under your breath, he knew exactly what you were saying. Anyway, one series of lectures was on the question: ‘Why have some free societies failed’?”
She glanced at Dason. “I’ll make this short and simple. One reason is that whenever a genuinely free society or nation, such as the Imperium, is seriously threatened, internally or externally, the citizenry typically responds by demanding more ‘security’ from their government.
“The government will accede to that demand, but to provide a semblance of safety, the cost comes in the form of a loss of the citizen’s individual rights and protections.
“The government institutes more laws, more regulations, and more restrictions on the populace. The citizenry acquiesce and the results are that the regime becomes more powerful, and those that run the government grow ever more dominant over the general populace.
“In turn, the average citizen becomes more and more subservient to the government’s will. Even the lowest bureaucrat becomes overly powerful and once that sense of power becomes ingrained, the bureaucracies, along with the heads of state become extremely loathe to give up that power after the threat dies away.
“Instead, the new level of lost liberties and rights become the accepted norm, the status quo and life goes on.”
She glanced outside, watched as a gas eddy spun away from the ship, changing colors from a dark green to lime. “It becomes a vicious cycle,” she stated.
“As long as the populace perceives that there is a threat, they will demand more ‘security’ and in turn, the government takes more power unto itself at the cost of personal liberty.
“Eventually, the state acquires complete rule citing the need to control all facets of the civilization to meet the citizens’ perceived need for full protection.
“We actually did several case studies in which governments themselves manufactured, or convinced the populace that there was an external or internal threat so severe that it was necessary to take draconian measures to protect their citizens.
“Meaning, loss of individual freedom and civil rights, and the rise of government rule. The fall of the North American Protectorate in the late twenty-second century, Old Calendar is one example; the modern-day rise of the Combine is another.”
“You’re implying that that could happen to us,” Dason replied soberly, “because of the Mongan invasion possibility and the possible Sha’anay threat. So, how do you stop it?”
Alena stared straight ahead as if she were trying to see into the future and her words carried a dire warning.
“At some point, the citizens have two basic choices—either they accept the status quo of lost liberties and civil rights, and the rise of an intransigent and powerful civil service class, or they rise en masse in civil disobedience to regain those rights.”
“You mean revolution as in civil war?” Dason asked. “I thought we already discussed that possibility.”
“Yes,” Alena replied, “that’s one form of civil disobedience, but usually the measure of last resort. There are other, shall we say, milder forms of resistance to government intrusion that the citizenry can use to reclaim their individual rights.”
“So,” Dason asked in a hushed tone, “because of the Mongans, the Imperium is going to change into what, some sort of dictatorship?”
Alena’s answer was slow in coming. “What I’m suggesting is that right now, people are going to accept and believe most anything from the Imperium that gives them hope that they aren’t going to look up at their sky one day and see their star go nova.”
Dason’s response was a thoughtful, “Scoutmaster Tarracas once said, ‘Fear is like a whip on a horse’s flank—it will get the horse to move, but the question always is, in what direction?’”
Alena nodded in an approving way. “Good analogy.”
“Thanks for the lesson, I think,” Dason replied. “But can’t you think of something else to discuss other than the end of civilization as we know it? Civil war, dictators . . .My head’s spinning faster than a neutron star.”
“Sorry,” Alena replied and gestured toward the dark shadows and dim light of the nebula. “Too much time spent inside this murky glob of nothing.”
She glanced down and gave a little start while peering at the instrument console. “Time to go back to work, the flow is dissipating.”
Dason peered at his velocity readout. “We’re under five-hundred meters per second and dropping fast,” he stated. “Let’s see if we can ride this just a little longer, co
ast in closer before we light off the engines.”
For another minute Dason kept a close eye on their speed until he tapped on the readout display. “We’re coming out of the flow; our forward velocity is less than a five meters per second. We’re on inertia now and slowing quickly.”
“We should be close,” Alena answered. “But as they say, close is only good in horseshoes, and neutrino bombs. We’re going to have to power up the engines.”
Dason reached out to the console when Alena shot her hand out to stop him. “Hold it!” she exclaimed and pointed toward the forward windows.
“Dead ahead,” she breathed out.
An enormous murky shape slipped in and out of the churning cloud mass, plowing through the nebula as if it were an icebreaker breaking through gaseous ice floes.
“If they had picked us up with their sensors,” Dason muttered, intently watching the Mongan war cruiser, “they would have opened fire by now,”
“Or,” Alena offered, “they’re ignoring us.”
She motioned outward and asked, “Do we go after this one?”
“Yes,” Dason answered firmly. “Stand by for emergency power-up, full thrust, we’ll come about and hit’em with a double salvo from the ion cannon and then bug out.”
“Got it,” Alena replied and with rapid strokes of her fingers inputted the attack profile in the weapons console. “Ready on your order.”
“Steady,” Dason muttered, “she’s gonna slip right by us, less than five kilometers away.”
Dason scanned his instruments and then raised his eyes to track the Mongan vessel by visual only. The metal brute seemed to be moving slowly, but that would just make for an easier shot. He started to turn back to his controls when something caught his eye.
“Alena,” he ordered, “scan the ship; starboard and aft. There’s a yellowish gas venting from that thing. Maybe we got lucky and hurt them worse than we thought.”
Alena peeked up from her tracking display for a quick look. A thick saffron contrail trailed out from the Mongan vessel.
