“You will fail,” Cordova snapped.
“So will you!” Kor shouted.
The side door behind Cordova slid open, and Talia was pushed to the ground. She started suffocating as the Nean atmosphere rushed into the craft and filled her lungs. She grabbed a rebreather and strapped it on.
Kor and Cordova were fighting. Cordova put all his bionic strength to use, and one of his punches sent his opponent flying all the way to the back of the dropship. Yet Kor scrambled to his feet and charged again. His full body armor allowed him to survive Cordova’s bionic attacks. Talia spotted a thrust pack on his back and grasped how he’d managed to catch the Griffin.
Kor rammed into Cordova’s abdomen and sent him to the floor. But Cordova lifted Kor with a mighty kick, jumped to his feet, and counterattacked. Punches rained down on Kor with superhuman speed, crushing his helmet and pounding his body armor. It was Kor’s turn to hug the floor.
Talia saw his bloodied face, shards of crushed visor stuck in his skin.
Yet he wasn’t giving up. “Compared to the Biozi, you punch like a pussy, Cordova,” he growled.
The captain aimed his blaster, but Kor threw himself to the side, then forward. The blaster bolt flashed, its brief course ending in a plume of sparks as it hit the control panel.
An alarm beeped, and the dropship started turning. Through the open door, Talia glimpsed the deadly Nean landscape. The craft was flying above a river of acid. Rocks rose from its banks like golden columns of a ruined temple.
Kor pounced on Cordova with a roar, clenched his throat, and thrust a knee into his groin. Cordova cried out in pain. Kor squeezed his windpipe with both hands.
A clang alerted Talia that the dropship had hit a rock. Trying to ignore the pain due to her fall, she rushed to the pilot seat. A vertical wall of rock was closing in at frightening speed. Beside a few hours in a simulator, she’d never piloted anything in her life.
She grabbed the control stick and pushed it to the side. The dropship didn’t appreciate being treated so harshly. It jerked and leaned to the side, its turbofans whirring furiously. Despite her efforts, Talia couldn’t stop it from spinning and losing altitude.
Behind her the two men continued a savage fight. They were growling, punching, and kicking like enraged predators. Kor was now dangerously close to the open door, and Cordova tried to expel him from the craft. Kor coughed as corrosive fumes from the river below infiltrated his broken helmet.
The dropship stubbornly refused to obey Talia’s commands, as if it had a will of its own. It barreled straight toward a lava lake.
“Stop fighting, or we’re all dead,” she shouted to the two men.
To no avail. Cordova was still pushing Kor out, while the latter was hitting him in the face.
Talia could feel the heat from the lava lake. Its brownish crust cracked, spurting fountains of molten rock.
Kor thrust his gloved fist into Cordova’s nose and sent him to the floor for the last time. The colonel grabbed a blaster and pointed it at his defeated opponent. Rivulets of blood trickled from the wounds on Kor’s forehead, but the expression on his face was that of triumph.
“Colonel, the Griffin is gonna crash,” Talia shouted. “The controls are fried.”
“Switch manually to backup autopilot,” Kor said. “There must be a small green lever on the control panel.”
Talia found the lever and flicked it on. The dropship stopped and hovered in the air. At least it wasn’t falling.
She turned to Kor. Under the red glow of the lava lake, his sharp features looked demonic.
“What are you waiting for?” Cordova wheezed. Blood dribbled from his broken nose.
“Please, colonel, don’t kill him,” Talia pleaded.
“Why?” Kor croaked. “I don’t need this scumbag anymore. I know everything about him and his activities. Once I established the link between Takamori and him, everything became clear. They played us for fools. Takamori made a needler for him, and he killed Sun Jin. He managed to get in and out the depot where Jin worked using a quantum suit. I found it in his quarters. It bends light and makes its wearer invisible and undetectable to scanners.”
“You know nothing,” Cordova hissed. “You stopped nothing. My death doesn’t matter.”
Kor scoffed. “Yeah? Who’s gonna build a new transmitter and send the data to the cockroaches? Even if you have accomplices, they won’t be able to build one without you and Jin.”
Cordova gave him a smirk. “Jin and I already played our part. Now the plan will unfold and reach its logical conclusion. I only regret I couldn’t kill you with my own hands.” He glanced at Talia and added more softly, “For what it’s worth, I never intended to harm you, doctor.”
“Why did you sabotage Multan’s shuttle?” she asked.
“I regret I had to do that,” Cordova confessed. “I had nothing against Israr Multan, but I needed to prove my worth to DeCourt and gain his confidence. So I approached the president with a plan. I had an agent on the Jamnagar. He couldn’t rig Multan’s shuttle to blow, but he managed to damage a plasma injector. When the ship requested another injector, I infiltrated the workshop on the Hub and rigged the injector to cause a catastrophic engine failure. I bribed the tech who was supposed to test it and falsified the ship’s database so everyone believed the tech had done the tests.”
“Yeah, but you left a few breadcrumbs, and that was enough for me to find out it was you,” Kor said.
“You’re saying that DeCourt was aware of your plan?” Talia asked.
“Of course,” Cordova confirmed. “He gave his blessing, and he was overjoyed when my plan worked. His joy didn’t last long though. When the Earthists took control of the Capitol, I hoped they would shoot that bastard dead.”
“Now that we have a full confession, it’s time to get rid of the trash.” Kor aimed at Cordova’s head.
“Colonel, don’t do that,” Talia pleaded again. “He may be a traitor and a murderer, but he’s still a citizen of the Alliance. He thinks human society is irremediably corrupt, that our species is incapable of upholding its own ethical standards. Don’t prove him right by executing him without a trial.”
Cordova rocked his head. “You’re wasting your breath, doctor.”
Talia ignored this remark. “Kwan Kor, I’m asking you because I believe there is a decent human being in you, hidden deep underneath the crust of bitterness and anger that serves you as armor. I’ve glimpsed a drop of light in a sea of darkness, to use your own metaphor. When I started counseling you, I thought your problem was anger, but I realize it’s the feeling of powerlessness. You were powerless to save the kids at the internment camp, the ones the Taar’kuun killed for organs. That’s the root of your suffering—fear of being powerless. Fear of not being in control.”
“Bullshit!” Kor yelled at Talia, his face distorted by rage. “I’m not suffering from anything. I’m not sick. I want my species to live and thrive, and I do the dirty work so the hands of self-righteous smartasses like you remain clean. Is it so difficult to grasp?”
His blaster gave out a blue flash. Incapacitated, Cordova lay still on the floor.
Kor lowered his blaster and added, “I’m not sparing him ‘cuz of some moral crap. I think he might still be useful, that’s all. I’m sorry I had to order the execution of his woman. Maybe I’m the one who pushed him over the edge, or maybe he’s been brainwashed. He did go off the grid for quite a while. Was he on a secret mission? Or maybe the cockroaches grabbed him and stuffed his head with all that garbage about humanity being corrupt and doomed.”
Talia didn’t comment. She was emotionally drained and just wanted to return home.
Two Guardian Angels appeared above the lava lake. Kor told them everything was under control and instructed the ship’s autopilot to return to Base Alpha. Meanwhile, Talia called Winsley and sent him the recording of Cordova’s confession via a secure ASF channel.
The return journey was uneventful, but when they arrived, they found
the base in a state of alert. Cordova had done a lot of damage. The base was under curfew, and squads of marines patrolled the streets.
DeCourt summoned Talia and Kor. They didn’t even have time to change. The dropship landed on the roof of the administrative building and they took the elevator to the presidential office.
Winsley was also there, ensconced in the visitor’s seat. His face expressed strength and determination.
De Court, on the other hand, was unusually agitated. “So it was Cordova.” His lips curled down in a bitter expression. “That son of a bug. How could I be so blind?”
“I warned you about him,” Winsley said sharply. “I wanted to replace him, but you forced my hand into keeping him. Now I know why.”
Winsley was no longer calling DeCourt Mr. President, and Talia found that breach of protocol meaningful.
“Well played, admiral,” DeCourt said, still shaking his head. “You’ll make a fine politician. What do you want from me?”
“Nothing,” Winsley replied. “We have to go public with this. Your complicity in the assassination of Israr Multan must be exposed. Your political career is over, and you’ll probably be tried for complicity in four counts of murder. Among other charges.”
“Admiral, we can’t do that,” Kor objected. “If we reveal this to the public, we’ll also have to disclose Cordova’s role in this. His accomplices would go underground, and we won’t be able to flush them out.”
“If I may,” Talia intervened. “I agree with you, admiral. The public has the right to know. We need to purge our administration from people who abuse power. If we can’t get rid of corruption in our own government, then why are we even fighting the Taar’kuun? What makes our species worthy of survival?”
Winsley pursed his lips and pondered for a moment. Talia could tell that nothing would give him more pleasure than to drag DeCourt before a jury and see him convicted.
Finally he said, “I hate this, but I have to agree with Colonel Kor. We can’t expose Cordova. We can’t even arrest and charge him officially. He’ll have to remain in place as the head of ASF intelligence.”
“What?” Talia cried out. “With all due respect—”
Winsley raised his hand. “Hold your horses, doctor. I’m not finished. We must look at the bigger picture. Neo is under threat. It’s only a matter of time before the Taar’kuun find us. I just received a report from Battlegroup Vega; our key research facility has been destroyed, and our survival strategy is compromised. We need Cordova to build another transmitter and send data to the Taar’kuun. We’ll feed them false information about our intentions and lead their armada into a trap.”
Talia’s eyebrows went up. “How can our small fleet trap an armada of thousands of warships?”
“Dr. Darus came up with a daring plan,” Winsley said. “Don’t forget we have a secret weapon—Ophelia, and potential allies, the Oneiroi. But that’s a conversation for another day. Battlegroup Vega is due to arrive shortly. For now, the question is, what should we do with our acting president?”
“I’ll withdraw my candidacy.” DeCourt’s voice was hoarse and his expression defeated. “I’ll convene a press conference and announce that I withdraw from the presidential race for health reasons.”
“Unacceptable,” Winsley snapped. “I know you; you’ll find a way to bury this whole affair and make your comeback into politics. I can’t afford ho have you as the leader of the opposition. You know the saying—keep your friends close, and your enemies closer. You’ll accept the position of Secretary of Defense in my government. This way, I’ll keep a close eye on you and your machinations.”
Winsley’s victory was now assured, and DeCourt’s fate sealed. Although DeCourt would remain in the government, Winsley had neutralized him politically. That wasn’t the outcome Talia had hoped for; however, that imperfect compromise was a step in the right direction. Winsley wasn’t perfect, but at least he was honest, and he would purge the administration from corruption.
The issue of Takamori, who’d manage to escape Base Alpha amid the confusion, remained. Kor promised he wouldn’t rest until the hitman was returned to custody.
Once the meeting was over, everyone left DeCourt’s office. In the corridor, Kor approached Winsley and said, “Admiral, I brought you proof of my innocence in the death of Israr Multan. I hope you’ll let me serve you, as I served DeCourt.”
Winsley’s nostrils flared. The prospect of using Kor’s services made him visibly uneasy. “We’ll see. I haven’t decided yet.”
“I know your feelings about me,” Kor said. “But consider this. Behind every great leader in human history, there was someone like me. A man in their shadow, doing their dirty work so their hands remain clean, and reputation untarnished. You despise me, you probably even hate me, and you hate yourself for using my services. But you know that you cannot succeed without me. You need me.”
30
Ophelia
Ophelia was oblivious to the political turmoil that agitated the Alliance. She felt like she lived in a parallel universe. The very notion of normality seemed alien. Her consciousness existed in a liminal state, wandering from the material world to the ethereal realm of the ancient alien species called the Oneiroi.
The dream people, as she called them.
Sometimes, the two universes merged in her mind in a surreal experience. It took her months of training to learn how to distinguish the two realities.
Before the Battle of Olympica, Adrian had been her only family and her mentor. After her abduction by the Taar’kuun, her life took a darker turn. Raak’naar, her new mentor, was unfeeling and arrogant, like all Taar’kuun from the ruling caste. His ambition knew no bounds. He viewed Ophelia as an asset, a tool in his struggle for power. At first she refused to cooperate. However, after a couple of months she realized she had no choice. Using her special ability to outplay Raak’naar remained her only hope of escape.
Her new master took her to the forbidden planet—Terra. She didn’t see much of it though. Her captors detained her in an underground facility and submitted her to intensive training designed to bolster her ability to communicate with the Oneiroi.
The Taar’kuun had lost the ability to perceive Oneiroi telepathic messages, so they needed humans for that purpose. Humans naturally receptive to those messages were extremely rare; that’s why the Taar’kuun had geno-engineered people like Ophelia. Originally, they’d designed thousands of children sensitive to Oneiroi telepathy in the secret labs spread across their galactic empire. However, none of those children reached adulthood, as they died from severe neurochemical imbalances.
Ophelia was the only exception, the only genetic construct who’d survived long enough to develop into an adult human being. She suspected that wasn’t just luck. Her father’s love had saved her. Literally. Her emotional bond with Adrian had stabilized her fragile neurochemistry, allowing her to survive adolescence.
While detained on Earth, she trained with a human, an aging male naturally receptive to Oneiroi telepathy. Somehow the Taar’kuun had found out about his ability and convinced him to switch sides.
Despite being a traitor to his species, that man trained her well. Initially, she could receive Oneiroi messages only in dreams, but progressively she learned to communicate with them in a state of lucid dreaming. She could induce that state through meditation. That ability opened a new world of possibilities.
Effective communication requires understanding. That’s the main issue when members from different sentient species try to interact. Oneiroi messages were always cryptic, which wasn’t surprising. Those beings were so advanced that, for them, communicating with humans was like humans communicating with ants.
Numerous sessions with the Oneiroi reinforced Ophelia’s belief that they had guided mankind on the path of knowledge and progress by stimulating curiosity in people receptive to their telepathy. Humanity would have developed science and technology even without alien help, but the Oneiroi facilitated and accelerated the
process. To what end? Their motives seemed altruistic, but she had no way of verifying that. She theorized that they had been preparing mankind for the Taar’kuun invasion. Maybe they also had a hand in the Retroforming.
For now, the Oneiroi’s agenda remained a mystery.
After months of training on Earth, Raak’naar transferred Ophelia to Chloris, a world at the edge of charted space the Taar’kuun tried to colonize. This world was remarkable for two reasons: it contained an ancient Oneiroi settlement, built at a time when they still had physical bodies, and it was home to a remarkable lifeform that covered the entire planet.
The Battle of Chloris brought Ophelia’s triumph over Raak’naar. She applied everything she’d learned to give the Alliance the victory it so desperately needed. She finally received the reward for all her efforts—the reunion with Adrian and Talia.
However, life on the Alliance fleet and later on Neo didn’t bring her the freedom she yearned for. Some considered her the greatest asset of the Alliance; others feared her. After all, she’d been created by the Taar’kuun. Closely protected and guarded, she wasn’t allowed to leave Base Alpha. She couldn’t even venture outside her building without a security detail.
When Adrian joined Battlegroup Vega on its mission to Minos Station, she suffered from acute anxiety. She couldn’t eat, sleep, or function normally. The Oneiroi remained silent. She’d never felt so lonely.
Talia came to check up on her, but couldn’t stay long. She promised to come back, and so she did two days later.
On that day, Ophelia was so weak and tired she couldn’t even get off her sofa. A shadow of concern slid over Talia’s face as she saw Ophelia in such a state. She pulled her medical scanner and examined the girl.
“You need to eat something and get some sleep,” Talia said, squinting at her scanner screen.
“I know,” Ophelia replied weakly. “I just… I can’t…”
Talia offered an affectionate smile. “I miss him too, Ophie. I’m also worried sick. But you need to overcome your anxiety.”
Survival Strategy Page 21
