Transcendence: Aurora Rising Book Three

by G. S. Jennsen

  He found her in the second display room to the left studying a Cézanne piece with an outward air of intensity. She was alone in the room, save for the guards stationed at each of the four exits. Sporting a white dress suit and wearing her pale blond hair swept up in a graceful knot, she resembled merely another blue-blood patron.

  “Rather a garish piece, don’t you think?”

  “If you’re shopping for art critiques, you have come to the wrong man, Ms. Montegreu. A museum, seriously? Is this you making some sort of allegorical statement about the work you do—or possibly the work I do?”

  She continued to inspect the painting in front of her. “No, Director Delavasi. This is me ensuring my safety, should you wish to renege on our arrangement.”

  “What if some of these guards are my men?”

  Her lips curled up in profile. “Impossible, Director, because all the guards are my men.”

  He laughed loudly, earning a warning stare from the guard in his line of sight. “Are they truly?”

  “Indeed. You see, I own this museum. Oh, you won’t find my name on the deed, but a skilled spy such as you will be able to trace it to me easily enough. In any event, you’ll want to not try anything untoward, lest you find yourself the recipient of a laser between the eyes.”

  “Unless I’m wearing a shield.”

  “Ha.” The word was verbalized in such a manner it made him wonder what kind of weaponry the guards carried.

  Finally she abandoned the Cézanne to face him. “How may I fulfill the terms of my indentured servitude today?”

  He crossed his arms over his chest and shifted his weight to his back leg. “Why are you on Pandora?”

  “Certain of my subordinates here have disappointed me of late. I needed to make a few adjustments. One thing I’m not here for is small talk, so do get on with it.”

  If the woman had anything other than ice coursing through her veins, it must surely be acid. He rubbed at his neck but tried not to otherwise display his fatigue; it had been a hell of a day. “I need thirty thousand units of nervous system stimulants—reaction time boosters, specifically.”

  “You don’t already have a supply of stimulants on hand?”

  “Not the kind you traffic in.”

  “No, I suppose not. Thirty thousand is a large amount. For soldiers then? Fighter pilots perhaps.”

  He glowered down his nose at her. Well, if she was stupid she wouldn’t have risen to her position and held it uninterrupted for nearly half a century. “What they are for is not your business.”

  “Of course it isn’t. Will next week be acceptable?”

  “Tomorrow will be acceptable.”

  If it was possible, her visage hardened further. “Very well. I’ll see that they’re deposited on Chairman Vranas’ doorstep.”

  “Or you can see they’re delivered to this location in Cavare. Far less bloodshed this way. You’ll also find some specifications in the file, as we do have the safety and health of the recipients to think about.”

  “How very noble of you. Is that all?”

  “For now.”

  “Naturally.” She tugged at her suit jacket and pivoted toward one of the exits. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have another subordinate to dispose of. Good day, Director.”

  She left him standing there under the watchful observation of her guards shaking his head at her audacity. It had been a hell of a day….

  Aiden Trieneri stood behind the desk in his office, both hands pressed into the desk’s surface as he leaned in to study an unseen screen. Seconds ticked by…one…two…he flicked the screen away and transferred his attention to her. “Olivia. How goes Pandora?”

  She allowed the implicit snub to pass uncommented upon. He was an inherently conceited, narcissistic man—this was not news to her, and holding him under her thumb did not currently suit her purposes.

  She relaxed back in the chair belonging to the museum curator and folded her hands in her lap. “Bloodily efficient. We have a request from one of our ‘partners.’”

  He rocked against the desk. “We knew they would be coming. And the request is?”

  “The Federation wants stimulants for their fighter pilots.”

  “What kind of stimulants?”

  “The illegal kind, obviously. Nervous system boosters for reaction time. The contact provided the usual platitudes about safety concerns and whatnot, but I expect so long as we don’t send the stimulants likely to result in instant death it will be acceptable. If some of the pilots later develop tremors or the odd chimeral addiction? Those are the risks.”

  He snorted, an act which didn’t exactly highlight his best qualities. “No less than they deserve.”

  She crossed one leg over the other and considered him with mild curiosity. “Do I detect a particular distaste for the Federation? The military? Fighter jocks? Something more specific?”

  “Only the unjustifiably privileged. Interesting how quickly their morals give way though. If they find themselves surprised at the consequences, they should not have dealt with the devil.”

  “And who is the devil in this scenario?”

  He smiled darkly, a more complimentary action. “Olivia, my dear, you are always the devil.”

  Ah, reversion to flattery rather than risk exposing a weakness. Alas. “Yes, I am. My primary stimulant production facility is on New Babel, so I need to get them shipping out immediately. Seneca is a long way away.”

  “We could use my facility on Argo Navis and halve the distance.”

  She stared at him for a long moment. “Send the first lot out from there. My facility will backfill the supply chain as needed.”

  He nodded in acceptance. “What about the Alliance?”

  “They haven’t asked yet. Odds are their forces are too spread out for them to deliver those type of supplies in bulk anyway. Or it might be their leadership still has a few scruples.”

  “Scruples will get everyone killed. This is about survival. Deal with the fallout after we survive.”

  “Would you like me to get Miriam Solovy on the comm for you to set her straight yourself?”

  “Oh, I would…” he regarded her dubiously “…can you actually do that?”

  Could she? Eh…perhaps. But it would require playing the entirety of her cards in one gambit, and she wasn’t going to try and fail and lose face as a result. “If it comes to it—which it hasn’t. Just get those stimulants moving. Here’s the drop point information. I’ll return in the morning.”

  “Have extra security meet you at the spaceport. Things are getting a bit dicey out there.”

  “Are you concerned about my well-being, Aiden?”

  “It is in my self-interest to be concerned about your well-being, for several reasons. I realize you believe yourself untouchable, but now is not the time to test that belief. Get the extra security.”

  “Fine. Goodbye.” She stood and departed the curator’s office. She still had work to do before she left Pandora behind.

  18

  ROMANE

  INDEPENDENT COLONY

  * * *

  “WELL WHAT ABOUT THE THRUSTERS? Can we use them to alter the arrays’ orbits? Make them unpredictable?”

  Governor Ledesme turned to the Chief Engineer for an answer.

  He shrugged weakly in response. “We can speed them up and slow them down periodically, sure. But I don’t see how we can program them to alter their speeds dynamically when under fire. By the time they’re under fire, it will be too late.”

  Meno? Got any input?

  The Artificial accompanied Mia Requelme everywhere now, by way of the remote interface attached to the base of her skull. She wore her hair down, and high-necked shirts or scarves as fit the situation, to conceal the thin wrap and the fibers connected to her cybernetics it held in place. After a small modification to the interface, Meno now received the stream from her ocular implant and saw what she saw; a tiny sensor pad behind her left ear and he now heard what she heard.

&nbs
p; His more fulsome companionship had made her appear far smarter than she was several times already. Wearing the interface was a risk, but a necessary one. Whatever it took.

  Real-time data from the short-range sensors, if transmitted directly to the propulsion system, will enable propulsion to adopt a chaos-derived thrust routine before the alien ships come in range.

  Mia adopted a more assertive posture. “Can we use the short-range sensors? They serve to put the arrays on alert, right? Split their data and send it to the propulsion system at the same time. Eventually the aliens will be able to take out the individual nodes, but if we switch to chaos-driven programming the erratic orbits will mean it takes them longer to do so, thus buying us time.”

  The Chief Engineer’s mouth morphed around in prevarication. “I suppose that might work. Driving these titanic structures on a chaos routine isn’t safe though. At a minimum it will cause stress to the frames, and the whole damn assembly is going to rip apart if there’s the slightest error.”

  “Chief, you do realize the alternative is immediate and total destruction?”

  He wilted under Ledesme’s inquiry. “I’ll get my people started on it right away.”

  “Thank you. Okay, people, what else do we have?”

  Mia settled back into what was a surprisingly comfortable chair. The governor’s Select Cabinet along with several additional ‘experts’ in various matters sat in a rough circle spread across the left half of a large room on the top floor of Administration Headquarters. In the middle of the circle stood a table equipped with data inputs which was accessed by attendees as needed. Smaller stations ran along one wall of the room and refreshments were periodically resupplied at the far end. Every so often someone wandered over for coffee, bread or fruit, or merely to stretch their legs.

  Mostly, however, they talked, brainstormed, argued and tried with minimal success to figure out how they could possibly save Romane from the Metigen invasion looming like the encroaching shadow of an eclipse on the horizon.

  Mia found herself deemed one of the ‘experts,’ though expert in what topic she couldn’t exactly say. But the last week had seen her increasingly at the governor’s side or at least within earshot whether she wanted to be or not. And it did make her feel as though she was helping, when otherwise she’d be pacing ineffectually at home or at the spaceport—she wouldn’t be pacing at the gallery as it was now closed pending a resolution to this crisis or destruction of the colony.

  I’ve been studying the new data on the behavior of the shields protecting the aliens’ vessels. It is possible we can develop a signal which interferes with their operation—a signal the arrays could potentially broadcast across a wide area. Accounting for the fluid nature of the shields’ variations in strength is a significant obstacle, but one I hope to be able to overcome.

  She waded into the lull in conversation. “Do the arrays have the capability to broadcast signals in addition to receiving them?”

  The Chief Engineer shook his head distractedly. “Why would they need to send out signals?”

  Damn. Still, it was an interesting idea—

  Boo.

  She nearly leapt out of her chair in surprise. Though she managed to suppress the movement, she must have made a sound because the man sitting next to her—the Commerce Chief, she thought—glanced over curiously. She gave the man a polite smile then pretended to study the data currently scrolling above the table with interest.

  Caleb, you crazy son of a bitch. You’re alive, I assume?

  I am in fact.

  Where are you?

  I can’t go into the details right now, but we—Alex and I—would like you to come to Earth as soon as possible.

  What? Hang on a second.

  Mia cleared her throat to get Ledesme’s attention. “Governor, I need to step outside briefly. I have an incoming comm I should take.”

  Ledesme indicated assent, and Mia stood and walked out of the room in a calm, controlled manner. Upon exiting, however, she bolted down the hallway to an empty room and converted the pulse to a livecomm.

  “Caleb, I can’t go to Earth. Granted, half of Romane’s population has fled there, but I’m actually doing some good here. And why? If you’re trying to protect me again or something equally ridiculous I am going to kick your ass all the way back to Cavare.”

  “It’s not about protecting you, I promise—though I would if you’d let me.”

  On hearing his voice, even if only in her head, she realized he sounded…she wasn’t sure. Strained? Weak? “What’s wrong? Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. Got a little banged up is all. I’ll be good as new in another day.” She picked up a muffled voice in the background. “Maybe two days.”

  Alex calling him on his bullshit? Likely. “Where have you been? Through the portal this whole time? You’ve been gone a month. After you were cleared of the bombing I thought you’d resurface, but not a solitary peep from you.”

  “I’m here now, aren’t I? It’s a great story, but I can’t tell it over comms.”

  A note of teasing had crept into his voice, and she relaxed somewhat. “Fine, fine. Why should I go to Earth? I await your most persuasive reason.”

  “For a chance to help save the galaxy.”

  “Oh, well in that case. Could you perhaps be a little more vague?”

  “We also need you to bring—well, I expect you can’t ‘bring’ Meno, but bring its specs and schematics and interface protocols and whatever else you have on precisely how it works and how connections are integrated into its programming.”

  She stopped in the center of the room and cut her eyes around at the walls. “Let me guess. You can’t tell me why.”

  “Sorry. Not until I see you.”

  “And doing so will allow me to help save the galaxy.”

  “That’s the plan.”

  Ledesme would not appreciate her walking back in the room and excusing herself permanently. It would look like she was running—but she wouldn’t be. She was willing and ready to stay, to see this crisis through to the end on the soil of her home.

  Meno, is it a problem for you to collate all the data on your architecture and internals?

  Not at all, Mia. I shall have it prepared and burned on a disk for you in another 4.3211 seconds.

  So. Was she really going to abandon everything—her home, her businesses, the trust she’d built with the governor—and go to Earth, simply because Caleb said he needed her? Though in fairness, he hadn’t so much said he needed her as the galaxy needed her. Might need her. Or something to that effect. Still….

  She blew out a heavy breath. “I’ll leave this afternoon.”

  19

  EARTH

  BERLIN

  * * *

  “ADMIRAL SOLOVY, LET ME INTRODUCE Dr. Lionel Terrage, founder and CEO of Surno Materials. We also have with us the Director of the Space Materiels Complex, Brigadier Wyryck. And Noah, you’ve met.”

  Miriam nodded tersely from within her holo. She appeared to be aboard a transport, presumably bound for yet another clandestine destination. Kennedy knew that Miriam had seen Alex, but nothing else. She didn’t know where or when or if Alex might be coming to Earth or…she simply didn’t know. Messages to Alex went unanswered; she’d been told there were reasons for that, but not what those reasons may be.

  Prior to escaping from Messium her involvement with the military had been minimal, and the level of secrecy the organization employed came as a bit of a shock. But perhaps it wasn’t always like this—special circumstances and all.

  They sat around a small conference table in a similarly small room just off the assembly line floor. It had been a frustrating day and tempers were short. Also, she now completely understood why Noah had run away from home as a teenager and never looked back. Even if his father was undeniably brilliant in his narrow area of expertise, she would be happy if she never had to spend another minute in the company of Lionel. She preferred Noah’s more effusive brilliance. And hi
s sense of humor. And his…other attributes. God, she hoped she was going to be able to repair the damage done and salvage the relationship.

  She smiled with professional grace and acknowledged those at the table before returning her focus to the holo. “The good news is, Dr. Terrage has proved to be of great assistance in working through the difficulties we encountered producing the adiamene. We think we’ve worked out the kinks and will be able to mass produce sheets of it on the order of one hundred square meters per hour inside a day.”

  Miriam’s expression remained guarded. “There is corresponding bad news, I assume.”

  Kennedy gestured to the Director. “I’ll let Brigadier Wyryck give you the details.”

  The man stiffened proudly in his chair. “Admiral Solovy, let me say what an honor it is to—”

  “The bad news, Brigadier.”

  He jerked as if struck. “Y-yes, Admiral. To produce the adiamene at such a rate will cost 708 million credits per month, or approximately 23.6 million credits per day.”

  Kennedy thought Miriam veiled the surprise in her eyes with impressive speed, particularly given the rather foul mood the woman seemed to be in. “Brigadier, it costs less to build a dreadnought.”

  “You must understand, our suppliers—”

  “Spare me the details. I have no time for them. May I assume it will cost half this amount to produce half as much?”

  “Uh…no, ma’am…it will cost two-thirds as much. You see, there are ramp-up costs and—”

  “Of course there are.” Miriam pinched the bridge of her nose. “I don’t see how we can do it. We’ve been bleeding red ink since the start of the Second Crux War and have already borrowed beyond our capacity to repay. If it were a more reasonable sum we might be able to strong-arm the suppliers into floating us a portion of the materials, but in this circumstance I doubt that’s feasible. I can discuss pursuing an executive order with Prime Minister Brennon, though I fear we don’t have the time it would take to implement the order.”