"Hello father, mother," he said, forcing a smile onto his face. "I'm sure you have heard the news by now. I assure you that I am well, or as well as I can be when I am what amounts to under arrest on the ship on which I serve. I wanted to be treated like any other officer of the Fleet. Now I see that that want is impossible. I am treated like the member of the Imperial Family that I am. A fragile gem of dubious value to be protected, instead of the gallant officer putting his life on the line for the protection of the Empire."
Sean put his face in his hands for a moment, massaging his temples as he thought of what he would say next.
"I want to resign from the service," he said to the camera. "I want you, father, to have my name stricken from the lists of active officers. I know this will come as a disappointment to you. I know how our family holds the military service to the Empire as important. That we show the people we are also willing to serve on the front lines. But I feel that it is a sham. I am not allowed to protect and serve. That is an illusion. Play acting in some scripted theatrical production for mass consumption. And I am tired of playing this part. So please, father. Call me home. I am ready to take on whatever political duties you deem fit for me. Or no duties at all if I am not deemed fit."
Sean looked around the living area for a moment, his eyes locking on the picture of the Emperor and Empress that was one of many on the ship. He tightened his jaw as he looked back at the camera.
"I love you father. I love you mother. I hope that you will welcome me back to the capital, and to our home. Sean out."
The Prince hit the transmit key before he could change his mind. He knew that his code and the status of his recipients would insure that the message went through uncensored. As a member of the Imperial Family his security clearance was as high as the military gave out. And the Emperor had no security clearance. He was above that, and privy to any information that he wanted to view.
The Prince got up from the desk and the comp went off. He could feel the stickiness of the sweat he had worked up in the gym that had dried in the coolness of the cabin. He felt like a shower, followed by a nap. And then he would demand an audience with the Captain, using his social rank if necessary. As long as he was on this ship he would do his duty, and work his duty station.
* * *
“My God,” said Grand Fleet Admiral Duke Taelis Mgonda while he listened to the message that had come in on hyperwave. “The entire family.”
“Yes sir,” said his adjutant, Captain Henninman, in a hushed voice. “The whole damned family. We don’t have a seated Emperor. And then the Prime Minister on the same day.”
“That makes one of my junior officers the supreme ruler of the Empire,” said the Admiral, shaking his head. “And our ultimate boss. Which, of course, he doesn’t know yet.”
“What are we going to do about that Admiral?” asked the adjutant, his eyes assuming the faraway look of linking to the base’s net.
“Do we know where the boy is right now?”
“Last reported position of the Duke Roger Sergiov II is Massadara Logistical Base,” said the adjutant, reading the information from his link. “Information is from a report which is three days old, brought in yesterday by the biweekly courier. She was scheduled to leave the system by the end of the week for a border patrol with her squadron.”
“So three days from now,” said the Admiral, nodding. “We can get a courier there in two. Send a courier out now. Then send the next three available couriers out on a border sweep looking for that ship. Just in case she left early. Put orders on all the couriers for the Prince, I mean Emperor, to transfer to the courier for transport to this base. Then we can send him up the pipeline to the capital and get him installed.”
“Yes sir,” said the adjutant, unfocusing for a moment while he sent the information into the command net and dispatched the vessels. “They will be off shortly, sir. Anything else?”
“Not right now, Hen,” said the Admiral. “I just pray to God that he’s still safe, and we can get him home before the balloon goes up.”
Just give us a few more days, Lord, prayed the Admiral silently. I don’t want to know how the government will stand another death of an Imperial Family member. The Admiral stood up from his desk and went to the credenza, hoping for a drink to settle his nerves.
“Sir,” said Captain Henniman, running back into the room.
“Problem, Hen?”
“Unscheduled courier came in from Massadara, sir,” said the Captain, a worried look on his face.
“Unscheduled?”
“Next courier is not due for another day.”
“So what was the news?” asked the Admiral, feeling hollow in the pit of his stomach.
“There was an assassination attempt on the Prince,” said the adjutant, a shocked expression on his face. “Somebody tried to kill him planet side.”
“But he was alright,” said the Admiral. “When the courier left he was OK?”
“Yes sir. He’s confined to the ship now, where they can look after him.”
“I doubt this is coincidence,” said the Admiral, slamming the flat of his hand on the desk. “Someone is trying to decapitate the Empire. And I doubt that the timing is arbitrary.”
“Orders, sir?” said the adjutant.
“Change the orders to the couriers. The Prince is to come back aboard his own ship. Unless there is a Hyper VII Capital available to bring him. We can’t take a chance that someone won’t try and attack his transport. I want something in place that can fight off an attack.”
“Yes, sir,” said Captain Henniman. “I’ll send the orders out right now.”
“And keep this information under wraps, Hen,” said the Admiral. “Transmit the message for the eyes of Admiral commanding Massadara or the Captain of the Sergiov only. I don’t want anyone else getting information they might be able to use to hurt us. It’s going to be a hard enough hit on morale knowing that the Emperor and the heir are both dead.”
“Aye sir,” said Henniman, walking from the room as he transmitted through his link.
“This can’t be a coincidence,” whispered Grand Fleet Admiral Duke Taelis Mgonda, running through the chain of events in his head. Something is about to hit us hard. That’s the only reason you decapitate a command structure. To make sure that decisions are not being made while you attack.
The Admiral hit a pad on his desk panel comp and waited for the acknowledgement.
“All staff are to meet in conference room G3 ASAP,” he said through the comp. “Be prepared for a long one, ladies and gentlemen. We have our work cut out for us.”
Chapter 5
Political tags - such as royalist, communist, democrat, populist, fascist, liberal, conservative, and so forth - are never basic criteria. The human race divides politically into those who want people to be controlled and those who have no such desire. Robert A Heinlein.
For such a sparsely populated planet, Sestius seemed to have a disproportionate number of injuries. At least it seemed that way to Dr. Jennifer Conway. Like it wouldn’t, she thought, remembering where she was. Frontier Worlds had lots of people engaging in hazardous occupations, working around unpredictable animals and machinery that could crush them without notice. Add to that the arms that most everyone carried, and the heavy use of drugs and alcohol, and of course there were going to be a lot of injuries beyond the ability of local clinics and medics to treat. And many facilities could not afford an auto-doc, which meant a flesh and blood doc must be called in.
Fifty-three minutes, more or less, she thought, looking out over the heavily forested countryside as the air car flew back to Willoughby. That was what they taught in med school. If a person who has ceased to live by all standard measurements could be gotten into some form of stasis, they could be revived. After that there was nothing to bring back. The body might live again, but it was not that person. In fact it was the worst nightmare imaginable. And twenty two of the men and women in that mining town had passed that limit and were pe
rmanently dead. But, my god, did he have to kill those children, she thought, cringing at the memory of the four small bodies that had inhabited the morgue along with the eighteen adults.
She had treated the fifteen severely injured. Twelve would remain at the clinic, where they could receive adequate care and then return to work on the radioactives mine that the town serviced. Three were placed in stasis and were to be shipped to the capital so they could be rebuilt at a proper hospital. At least I was able to work on them, thought the doctor, a slight smile coming to her face. That made it all worthwhile. And if only we had been able to see what was coming down the pike for that poor man that shot up the town. But it had taken everyone by surprise. And there hadn’t been enough left of Jacob Schneider to even think of reconstruction outside of cloning. And everyone knew the trouble that cloning would result in.
The air car jerked and alarms started going off, the lights on the dash blinking red while a short siren sounded. A light on the panel indicated that the right front lift fan was not working, and a glance toward that section of the car revealed a cloud of smoke rising from the fan and trailing from the moving car.
“What happened?” she asked the car.
“A native avian flew into the number one fan,” answered the car. “The fan mechanism is shattered.”
“Can we make it back to the city?”
“Unknown at this time,” answered the computer that was the brain of the vehicle. “The three fans are providing sufficient lift. But number three is starting to overheat.”
“Crap,” said Jennifer under her breath. The nanites incorporated into the car should have kept all the systems in top condition. But somehow, in the care of fan three, they had failed, and while all engines were working it wasn’t something that anything noticed. I wish I had a grabber equipped car, she thought. Then there wouldn’t have been anything for a bird to hit and destroy. Wait a second.
“Car. How had the body of a flippen bird destroyed the fan? Wouldn’t the alloy be strong enough to handle it?”
“Not known at this time,” said the car. “According to all know information about life on this planet, an avian should not have destroyed the fan. It should have been shredded and ejected. However, it did hit the fan, and currently the fan is not working. And fan three is in the process of failing.”
“Crap again,” said Jennifer, this time in a loud voice. “Can you set us down before we come in for a crash landing?”
“Searching for landing areas at this time,” said the computer. “Nothing within a ten kilometer radius.”
“Crap a third time,” said the doctor, looking at the dash screens, then out the canopy, hoping that maybe her organic vision could find something the car’s active sensors could not. A forlorn hope, she thought, knowing that she still had to do something.
“Fan three is failing,” said the car in its infuriatingly calm tone. “Losing altitude. Prepare for crash landing.”
Jennifer checked her restraints, knowing there was little else she could do. She checked the link to make sure the car was sending a situation report to the authorities, and breathed a sigh of relief on noting that it was. The green canopy was rising toward her, and the car started to twist around, before the computer corrected and pulled it back. It was losing speed all the while, but it remained to be seen if it was enough.
And then the canopy of the dense forest was no longer below, it was slapping at the bottom of the car. With the cracking of small branches the car fell through the foliage. Fifty meters down it hit a large branch, and careened off course, skirting a couple of really large trunks that reminded Jennifer of the Redwoods of her home world. The car smacked into one of those trunks and turned over, and Jennifer cried out as the protective foam filled the cockpit and cushioned her bouncing ride among the trees.
With a final crunch the tough canopy slammed into a trunk, cracking the plastic that was supposed to be proof against any conceivable impact. The car twisted in the air, the fans trying one last push to slow her downward progress. Another slam and there was only one working fan, and then the car slammed to the ground and slid along, ripping through a couple of smaller trunks and coming to an abrupt stop against one of the larger specimens.
That feels like a concussion, thought Jennifer, the strange smell in her nostrils and fuzziness of thought giving her the clue. The car rocked back, then stopped in place. The hardened foam began to break apart as the car told it that it was no longer needed.
“I am continuing to send out a signal,” said the computer. “Acknowledgment of search and rescue team is on the way received.”
“Open the canopy,” said Jennifer, pulling the quick release buckles on her straps and releasing herself from the seat. Her mind felt definitely fuzzy, but she wanted to get out of this vehicle as soon as possible.
“That is not recommended,”” said the car in its calm tone, as if it had not just suffered a crash that was catastrophic to its system.
Which it hadn’t, thought Jennifer. The computer was a black box system, and nothing short of something that vaporized it would affect it much. “I want air,” she said, her voice rising. “And I want out.”
“That is not recommended,” repeated the car, and the canopy refused to retract. “It is dangerous out there, Dr. Conway. The only logical action is to wait in the safety of the car until aid arrives.”
“Double crap,” said the doctor, hitting the emergency release within the cockpit of the car. With a swishing sound the canopy started to rise. It jerked to a stop for a moment, then released with a grinding snapping sound, then continued to rise and slide back.
Jennifer pulled herself out of the car, feeling a little weak. She knew she must be forgetting something but continued to pull herself out of the car and put her boots on the ground. The head was still dizzy, and her vision slightly blurred. She reached back into the car and pulled out her basic medipac, then, leaning against the car, searched through it for what she wanted. The emergency nanite injector confused her for a moment, but she puzzled out the setting and placed the device to her neck, directly over her carotid artery. A push on the proper area of the cylinder sent billions of nanites through the skin and into the artery. Their target was the brain, where they would start to repair the concussive damage of the crash. Her head felt a little clearer as soon as she injected the nanoscale robots into her system, something she was sure was mostly psychological, as it would still take minutes to see an actual physical effect.
The doctor looked around the woods, her eyes pulling in all of the little light that was reaching the needle carpeted floor. To her enhanced eyes it was the same as the beginning of dusk, dark, but not too dark to see. She sniffed the air and caught the scent of flowers, different than any she had ever smelled, with a definite undertone of something strange, but still intoxicating. Her eyes located the blooms up the trunk of one of the trees, hundreds of them, with a buzzing of this world’s insect analogues working their eight legs among the flowers as their proboscises plunged deep into the reproductive organs of the parasitic plants.
“Dr. Conway,” came a voice over her link, relayed to her by the car.
“Conway here,” she replied, starting at the noise of something moving through the branches above.
“This is planetary search and rescue,” came the voice of a young woman. “We have your locator beacon and should be there within the next fifteen minutes. Stay in the car, ma’am, and all will be well.”
“I’m already out of the car,” said Jennifer, looking up and over as some lower branches shook under the weight of something heavy.
“I recommend you get back in the vehicle, ma’am,” said the woman in a sharp tone. “It can get kind of hairy in the deep woods. I think you should…”
A face from a nightmare thrust down from the branches above, and Jennifer screamed out before she could stop herself. It was a wolfish face, but much larger than any canine the doctor had ever heard of, the size of a grizzly’s head. Long sharp teeth
grinned from the slavering mouth, and orange eyes looked coldly out of a hairy face. Another movement and the beast came flying out of the trees in an arc that would have taken him into the human if she didn’t move. She did, jumping and back peddling as her hand reached for the sidearm she always carried, a movement that Glen had trained into her.
The creature hit the ground on all fours, then stood to tower over the human. The creature had to weigh a half ton, much larger than a gorilla or most bears. It had the body of some kind of ape, and hands like a chimp on all limbs. It was obviously an arboreal animal, and just as obviously a carnivore. It let out a screech that was answered from the trees, then stalked toward the woman.
Jennifer turned to run, hearing the intake of breath and crunching of needles as the creature ran after her. She flipped the engage button on the pistol, aware that it would take a couple of seconds to build up the charge of fast moving matter in the built in accelerator. She glanced back at the animal, which was keeping the same distance between them, and wondered if she might be able to make a dash back for the air car. A look at the loping stride of the creature disavowed her of that wish. It would pluck her from her seat before she could get the canopy down. She looked down at the pistol and saw the red light turn to green on the top, and knew that she was as ready as she would ever be.
One of the enhancements that had been bred into humans was greater speed and agility than was the baseline before the changes. Jennifer spun on the run, throwing herself backwards on an arc that would land her on her back on the needle covered ground. She brought the barrel of the pistol around, lining it up on the beast, seeing the claw tipped paw coming toward the gun out of the corner of her eye. As soon as the pistol was pointed center mass she pulled the trigger.
The particle beam only threw a small amount of matter, less than a gram in any single shot. While not being shot at relativistic speeds, it was still traveling quite fast enough to develop considerable energy. Jennifer had only been able to get one hand on the pistol before she had to fire or be ripped by those massive claws. She felt like the pistol was going to fly out of her hand and hit her in the face, despite the miniature grabber units on the barrel that offset the recoil somewhat. That didn’t happen, more from luck than any skill on her part. The effect on the carnivore was as advertised. The beam, a dirty red with the sound of a thousand angry bees, struck the creature on the left side of the massive chest. That area flew into an eruption of steam, blasted out of existence. The heat generated by the beam spread almost instantly from that area. Fur blazed, then fell as ash, while the meat for over seventy centimeters in each direction cooked and charred.
Exodus: Empires at War: Book 2 Page 9
