As they were concluding their last sweep of the last bedroom, Anastasia flopped down on the bed lethargically. “Dan, I think I need to lie down for a bit. I suddenly feel a bit lightheaded.”
While Daniel thought it was odd that Anastasia would have so suddenly run out of energy, what he found even more odd was that he himself had just experienced the same feeling.
A wave of drowsiness passed over the Admiral, and he nearly lost his footing, catching himself on a nightstand near the bed. “Something … in the air,” he gasped, struggling to retain consciousness.
He looked down to the nightstand, abruptly realizing that he had lost the capacity to see color. As he watched, his field of vision narrowed into a small circle.
With the last of his strength, the Admiral clutched a decorative ashtray on the nightstand near his hand. Spinning to his left, in one desperate motion, Daniel heaved the ashtray through the bedroom window and simply collapsed on the bed beside Anastasia, who had passed out several seconds before.
• • •
Daniel’s eyelids fluttered as he awoke, groggily finding that he lacked the strength to rise from his unceremonious position on the bed. He inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with much-needed oxygen, and finally realized that Ryan was standing over him.
“You okay, sir?” he asked. “Don’t inhale too much too fast. I’ve brought the oxygen levels up to 28 percent.”
“What happened?” asked the Admiral as his brain slowly began to function again. “Where’s Ana-?” He looked over to find Anastasia slowly awakening as well.
“The oxygen in the house was replaced by carbon monoxide,” Ryan explained. “Simple, but quite effective. It’s a damned good thing you broke that window before you passed out, sir.”
Belatedly, the Admiral remembered what Ryan had said. “You raised the oxygen levels, Ryan?”
“Yes, sir,” he said, helping the Admiral to his feet. “I cracked the combination just as the air started to change. Luckily I realized what was going on and I went to the control room and changed it back.” Catching himself, Ryan appended, “Oh, yeah—you had better come see this, sir.”
The two of them helped Anastasia to her feet, and, after a few more lungfuls of air, they went back to the bedroom where the trap door was located.
When they entered, they could see that a metal hatch in the floor had been propped open in the far corner of the room. “It’s down here, Admiral,” Ryan explained, motioning toward the trap door. “Don’t worry—I deactivated the rest of the traps and security measures in place.”
Ryan led the way as the three of them descended down the hatch on a metal staircase that led to a dim basement. As far as the Admiral could tell, the walls and floor of the room were all made of metal. Along the far wall, a group of multicolored status lights peered at them through the darkness.
As the Admiral’s eyes adjusted, he could see that the entire room was ringed with massive mainframe supercomputers, and that a single metallic chair sat before the main display area along the far wall. The chair’s back rose up to include a hemispherical cap fitted with what Daniel surmised was a port used to directly connect to the processor implanted within Le Jaunte’s skull. An involuntary shiver ran down the Admiral’s spine—Le Jaunte appeared to be more machine than man.
“Look at all this stuff,” gasped Anastasia. “You could run the whole sector with all this computing power.”
“Pretty damned close, anyway,” agreed Ryan solemnly. “He has some serious computers here, sir. Some of them are more advanced than I’ve ever seen.”
Daniel slowly walked over to the display along the far wall. As he approached, the holo-vid projector embedded in the display flashed to life, projecting an image in the air before him. The image was Le Jaunte’s face, grotesquely exaggerated in size, and sporting a bright artificial halo reminiscent of a work of Renaissance art.
Predictably, the face contorted into a revolting smirk. “Ah, my good Admiral,” it began. “I see we meet again.”
Daniel turned to Ryan. “Is this an automated—”
“No, no, mon amie,” the projection replied, sounding quite disappointed. “It is me, your old, old friend. In my purest form.”
“We know what you are,” shot Anastasia. “You monster.”
“Quite the contrary, my dear Commander Mason. I am what all humans will eventually evolve to become.”
“You are not an evolution, Pierre,” countered the Admiral. “You are a mutation.”
Le Jaunte rolled his enormous eyes. “Semantics.”
“It’s over, Pierre,” Daniel said. “The Armada has been defeated. You’ve lost again.”
“Ah, but it’s not; it’s not, my friend. It has only just begun.”
Daniel remained silent, waiting for Le Jaunte to play his hand, as he knew full well his arrogance would not allow him to keep his plans to himself. After all, to an egomaniac like Le Jaunte, his genius was nothing if it had no audience.
“Don’t you understand, Daniel,” he began, “that I can never be defeated? Thanks to the marvels of technology you see around you, my consciousness can reach out to you from across the galaxy. And my influence can reach anywhere—into the Galactic Bank files, into confidential records and communications, into the internal monitoring system of the Confederation Command room. I know all, dear Admiral, and as you well know, knowledge is power.”
“Yes, knowledge is power,” Daniel agreed. “And power corrupts.”
“But surely you see, don’t you, Daniel?” Le Jaunte chided, ignoring his words. “It is my place to rule. It is my right. Even Plato knew it, three thousand years ago—you’ve read the Republic, Admiral: ‘In the perfect State … the best philosophers and the bravest warriors are to be their kings.’ Don’t you see? I am destined to rule. I am invincible! I am more than a man.” His voice boomed dramatically. “I am a God!”
“You’re insane,” muttered Anastasia.
The eyes of the projection flashed an angry crimson. “I heard that,” the sepulchral voice roared.
Peripherally, Daniel noticed a small turret had appeared from the wall behind the projection, swiveling to face Anastasia. “Ana, look out!”
But it was too late. Briefly illuminating the room, a beam of light streaked toward Anastasia, catching her squarely in the chest. She gasped softly, and slumped to the ground, unconscious.
“Bastard!” yelled Daniel, spinning back to face Le Jaunte, wary of the unseen lasers surely targeted on him at that very moment. “It’s me you want! It’s always been me!”
“Yes, yes, mon amie,” Le Jaunte replied, his eyes returning to their normal brown color. “You are correct. It has always been you, stymieing me every step of the way, getting in the way, causing trouble. It has always been you.” The face grew even larger in size. “But no longer.”
“Wait!” yelled Ryan, bent over Anastasia’s motionless body.
“For what?” scoffed Le Jaunte.
“You don’t know everything, do you, Le Jaunte? You’re not invincible. You’ve been beaten. I saw you lose, and so did most of the galaxy.” Ryan looked at the Admiral, and Daniel saw something he could not quite put his finger on in his deep eyes.
“That was a fluke!” Le Jaunte shrieked, livid.
“It was no fluke, Pierre,” replied Daniel calmly, staring into the nebulous eyes of the holo-vid projection. Even after all these years, Le Jaunte could not accept his defeat in the Galactic Tactical Competition. And, though it was originally intended to be held every four years, ConFedCom had belatedly decided to cancel the event due to the apparent opportunity for its enemies to use the simulations to their own advantage in actual combat. As such, Le Jaunte had never had a chance at a rematch, and the loss clearly haunted him still, a fact Daniel fully intended to take advantage of. “Wouldn’t you like to know how I did it?”
“There was a trick, wasn’t there?” Le Jaunte yelled. “I knew it! I knew I could never have been defeated fairly!”
“Yes, Pi
erre,” replied the Admiral, flashing a glance toward Ryan, hoping he understood the crafty Engineer’s plan. “There was a trick. And I want you to know what it is before you kill me.”
“Tell me!” he screamed, the hologram distorting fiendishly. The halo around Le Jaunte’s head had turned a malevolent scarlet.
“Even better,” replied Daniel, trying not to smile. “I’ll show you. Ryan, send it to him.”
“Yes, send it, little engineer,” he replied. “Now I can finally clear my name in the eyes of my followers.”
Daniel nodded and Ryan keyed the transmission from his nanocomputer. An invisible stream of data flowed through the air toward Le Jaunte’s mainframe.
The holo-vid projection flickered momentarily, its focus wavering slightly. The expression on Le Jaunte’s face was one of consternation. “What … is … this?” he asked, his eyes darting wildly from side to side. “Wh–what … are … you …” The voice weakened as it spoke, and finally cut out altogether.
A loud crackling began to emanate from the mainframe, and the projection flickered in and out, horribly distorted. Le Jaunte’s voice could barely be heard over the noise. “Seventeen cubed plus 29 cubed … error. Seventeen cubed plus 30 cubed … error.”
“Admiral,” prompted Ryan. “I think we should get out of here.”
Daniel took one last look at Le Jaunte’s image, horribly mutilated by the failing holo-vid projector. Just before the image flickered out completely, one last, piteous wail emanated from Le Jaunte’s mouth.
Ryan grabbed Anastasia’s limp body and they ran up the stairway, bounding out of the bedroom and down the hallway to the foyer. Daniel threw open the front door and rushed onto the lawn as Ryan followed a few steps behind him.
From behind them, there was a great explosion as the house erupted into a ball of flame. The force of the blast threw both men to their knees, but Ryan held Anastasia firmly.
Daniel turned back toward where the house had been. All that remained was a deep crater, black and empty. A thick plume of black smoke snaked into the evening sky, and in the distance, Daniel could see a swarm of MP aircars converging on the scene.
CHAPTER 22
Though they had thankfully spared him the indignity of restraining and arresting him, the MPs had insisted upon taking the Admiral back to see Stadler once again. Daniel, Ryan, and Anastasia sat placidly in the back of the MP car, and, though there were no windows in the rear of the vehicle, Daniel could tell from the angle of the light streaming through a small slit in the dividing wall that they were not heading back to Washington, D.C.
“Where are we going?” he asked into the slit. Anastasia looked at him quizzically; apparently she hadn’t noticed the deviation in her groggy condition.
A gruff voice returned to him from the front of the aircar. “I told you—we’re going to see Stadler.”
Daniel’s brow furrowed as he thought for a moment, finally remembering that Stadler’s vacation home was in the direction they were traveling. The aircar began to descend, and the Admiral checked his position through his nanocomputer, finding that they were indeed almost at Stadler’s home in Martha’s Vineyard.
The vehicle made a rough landing and, a few moments later, the rear doors opened, streaming sunlight into the car and momentarily blinding its occupants. As Daniel moved toward the open doors, he could make out the shapes of several additional guards waiting outside.
Daniel stepped out of the aircar into the brisk Massachusetts air. The sound of waves crashing against the shore caused him to turn to his right to see the orange sun, low over the water, casting a reflection of itself into the ocean’s mirrored surface. To his left was the President’s home, classical in design and impeccably maintained. Creeping vines covered the second-story walls, and several large windows were open, revealing white curtains that floated ethereally upon the soothing breeze.
“Let’s go, Admiral,” instructed one of the guards, and as he began to follow him toward the house, he noticed that the guards were not allowing Ryan or Anastasia to follow.
“Can’t they at least wait inside?” asked the Admiral, looking toward the guard who appeared to be in charge. “They might need to use the facilities, you know.”
The lead guard pondered for a second. “Very well,” he agreed, and Ryan and Anastasia were led toward the house as well.
Stepping between another pair of guards, Daniel entered the front door, and the guard nearest him pointed toward a spiral staircase against the left wall. The Admiral wordlessly ascended the staircase, glancing around the house as he did. Tall white pillars reached to the two-story ceiling, and the entire floor, including the ornate staircase, was fashioned of glistening white marble. Wooden sconces along the walls held small ivy plants, which looked like tame versions of their larger siblings that enshrouded the walls on the house’s exterior. While the decorations were not quite as perfect as those in Le Jaunte’s “home,” the fact that this house was authentic made it far more impressive.
When he reached the top of the staircase, Daniel was surprised to find Stadler himself waiting for him in the hallway. “Please, Admiral,” he began, “why don’t you join me for a drink?” Stadler motioned toward a nearby doorway.
Taken aback by the President’s warm reception, Daniel bowed his head ever so slightly and walked past William into the room. As he walked through the doorway, he was greeted by a comfortable sitting room, average in size and sporting several animal-head trophies decorating the dark wood walls. Two brown leather sofas faced each other in the room’s center, and a wooden bar and pool table adorned the far side of the room.
Stadler closed the door behind him as he followed the Admiral through, gesturing toward the near couch. “Please, do sit down. What can I get you to drink?”
“Ice water will be fine, thank you,” said the Admiral, settling into one of the couch’s plush cushions. “I don’t drink.”
The President’s left eyebrow elevated subtly. “Very well. I, however, think I need a scotch.”
William walked to the bar and silently poured the drinks, handing one glass to the Admiral and taking a hearty sip from his own before he sat down on the sofa opposite Daniel. He stared at him for a moment across an oak coffee table that separated the two couches. “Was your trip to Norfolk fun, Admiral?”
“I wouldn’t exactly use the term ‘fun,’ William. How about ‘productive?’”
William took another sip from his glass. “Oh? How so?”
The Admiral shrugged. “Well, we killed Le Jaunte.”
In mid-sip, Stadler nearly choked on his drink, catching himself just before he unceremoniously spat it back out. Swallowing hard, he asked, “You did what?”
“You should have seen the mainframes he had hidden under that place,” the Admiral added. “He wasn’t finished with his plan by a long shot.”
“I would have liked to see them, Daniel,” Stadler retorted, “but you blew the damned place up.” Surprisingly, a smile formed on Stadler’s lips, and his words were without malice.
“Le Jaunte was a sick, sick, man,” Daniel continued, resting his glass on the table. “Have you heard of the IMP?”
“Of course.”
“Well, Le Jaunte was one of the IMP’s original subjects.”
Stadler’s brow furrowed. “But that’s impossible.”
“Nonetheless,” replied the Admiral, “it is true. He faked his own death after he went insane and created a new identity for himself, but his insanity only grew.”
Stadler was silent for a moment as he contemplated the news. “It does make sense, actually. The cold brilliance, the arrogance—that bastard. How did you kill him?”
“Actually, sir, Engineer Ryan Taylor deserves all the credit. He gave Le Jaunte a virus.”
“A virus?”
“A computer virus. It was quite simple, really, and quite elegant, I thought.”
“How so?”
“All he did was write a small program that forced Le Jaunte to do noth
ing until he solved a simple equation.”
“But you said he had several mainframes at his disposal,” asked the President, clearly confused. “What was the equation?”
“x ^ n + y ^ n = z ^ n, where n is greater than two.”
“But that equation is impossible. It has no solution,” said the President, realizing as he said it that that was the point.
“In effect,” Daniel explained, “that directive caused him to ignore all other functions, such as breathing, until he died.” He paused a moment before adding, “If you could call what he was ‘alive.’”
A tight smile formed on the President’s lips. “Brilliant.”
“Yes, well, now all we have to worry about are those pesky Lucani Ibron.” The Admiral put a hearty dose of feigned jubilation in his voice.
“Do you have a plan, Daniel?” asked Stadler, turning very serious.
“If past experience holds true, we have another day or two until they return. In the meantime, while my ship is repaired, Nathan is working on a way to track them more accurately. I plan to intercept them in an uninhabited system and destroy them using whatever means necessary.”
Stadler leaned forward. “Does that mean what I think it means?”
Daniel reached for his glass and took a long swig. “It means I’m going to annihilate those bastards.”
William nodded solemnly. “Good luck, Daniel. I’m afraid you’re our last hope. The Vr’amil’een damaged the Fleet pretty well, and, from what you told me in your report, conventional weapons had no effect on them anyway.”
There was a short, but uncomfortable silence. Daniel tacitly measured Stadler, the deep scar that ran the length of the President’s face a silent reminder that, at one time, Stadler was a fighter pilot like himself. As such, he surely understood Daniel’s independent, take-charge attitude, at least at one time if not now. The Admiral, however, was not sure if Stadler had come to peace with Daniel’s flamboyant style, or if his attitude was simply being influenced by a few glasses of scotch.
“So,” Daniel began, “now what?”
“Now,” Stadler replied, “you go home to your wife until your ship is ready.” He emptied his glass and put it down. “That’s an order.”
Right Ascension Page 21
