Space Fleet Sagas Foundation Trilogy: Books One, Two, and Three in the Space Fleet Sagas

by Don Foxe

  “He wants to control AF3 first,” the chief of military intelligence responded quickly. “He also wants the system to appear calm if the humans accept his invitation.”

  “Continue, Major Willmer,” Lexton urged.

  “The Prophet believes in Tahbita Law. He believes the Mischene, under his direction and leadership, are destined to rule the galaxy. The Sacred Tahbita so says. He needs the Mischene to follow him for that prophesy to come true. He’s not here to just take control of the Aster system. He’s here to convert Mischene into willing followers.”

  “He expects us to willingly follow him into his madness?” Covane asked, disdain or disbelief raising the intensity of her tone. “No one, certainly no one sane is going to accept him as the actual Sacred Prophet of the Tahbita.”

  “Perhaps not,” Willmer said, “But his father, the late Supreme Governor General Amos Soren, led us down the same path. The only difference, the elder Soren believed the Mischene represent the galaxy’s superior race. Religion was just another tool.”

  Emboldened by the situation, and having no fear of retribution, the intelligence officer said, “We were willing to subjugate the other races on Aster Farum 3, and invade and take over the other planets in the Aster system, all because Soren told us we deserved the mantle of leadership.”

  Lexon completed Willmer’s line of reasoning.

  “Now the younger Soren is growing the same fruit with a different fertilizer. We deserve to rule the galaxy because the Tahbita says so. To rule we must follow a new leader, the Prophet.”

  “He expects us to fall to our knees and worship him?” Covane asked.

  “He doesn’t care if you worship him,” Lexton replied. “He doesn’t care if you believe in Tahbita Law. All he cares about is that we fall in line. His army of Zenge will wage war until every Mischene is dead or swears allegiance.”

  “At the moment our ground forces are holding their own,” General Abrahm Ostella added his voice to the confab for the first time. The General, in black and silver uniform similar to Major Willmer’s, but with knee-high shiny leather boots instead of oxfords. Currently tasked with commanding the Mischene military engaging the enemy on the planet’s surface.

  “I have ordered all of our forces to remain within their fortresses and fortified camps. Our weapons, and those the Zenge and Mischene traitors use, are equal. With our positions hardened, we have been able to keep them at bay,” he reported.

  “And the civilian populations in the cities and towns?” Lexton asked.

  “They must hide. Police faced Zenge forces within many of the planet’s major cities. The civilian authorities quickly outnumbered and outgunned. We could not risk sending troops to assist.”

  The monitor emphasized the condition of the population, displaying columns of smoke rising into and covering the skies above metropolitan areas.

  “The six Class One Carriers used to deliver the Zenge fighters to the surface re-entered the wormhole,” Admiral Nan reminded them. “They left over 360,000 of the cold-blooded creatures. When they return, which could be a day or a month, they will bring another 360,000. Sooner or later they will overrun our positions by shear strength of numbers.”

  Admiral Nan was the last voice at the table. Preparing to retire when Atticus Soren attacked his world, he now commanded next to nothing. A couple of battleships and system patrol boats remained, but contact through Covane’s back-channel provided little time for more than cursory reports.

  “Civilians are told to pledge their faith to the Prophet,” Covane reported. “The Prophet hacked into local media entertainment systems. He’s promising they will live and even prosper if they surrender. There are reports of hundreds, and possibly thousands of Mischene men, women, and children giving themselves up.”

  “The Zenge armies are led by Mischene officers,” Willmer added. “When the citizens see this, they will be more likely to turn themselves over.”

  “As things stand, there is little chance of victory,” Lexton said. “Suggestions. And do not suggest we surrender,” he warned.

  “We need reinforcements,” Nan said.

  “The ships and troops sent to eradicate the Zenge are still at Osperantue,” Ostella said. “If we can get a message through to them, they could mount a rescue.”

  “A battlecruiser and a couple of launches. Maybe a thousand soldiers.” Willmer shook his head. “I don’t think they will mount much of a rescue.”

  “And I doubt Earth or any of our former trading alliance partners will trust anything we say,” Covane added. “Why do you believe the Prophet is trying to lure humans to the system? If he knows they are capable of defeating his ships, and he sees them as an obstacle to his plans, why ask them here?”

  Admiral Nan answered simply, “The vortex.”

  CHAPTER 13

  Dorm

  “Where were the two of you all afternoon?” Chaspi asked.

  “Went for a walk around the shopping centers near campus,” Billy replied. “I haven’t seen many of them, and Rosz hasn’t been to any. Always smart to know what stores are close by.”

  “Why didn’t you just search the map stream and do a virtual?”

  “Not as much fun,” he answered.

  Billy sat on the floor beside Rosz, who paid no attention to the back-and-forth, listening to something with his eyes closed.

  Chaspi sat cross-legged on her bed and Stacey worked at the small desk.

  “I think this is the best place to start,” the Fellen said, turning around to face the others, data pad in her hand.

  “Start what?” Rosz asked. It continued to amaze his new friends how he could listen to music and still hear everything going on around him.

  “We’re going to help Admiral Patterson,” Chaspi said. “Only we can’t let her know we are helping,” she added. “Stacey thinks she can remember a few of the things she saw on the old computer.”

  Stacey gave Chaspi a sideways glance, appreciative the girl did not reveal her ability to recall everything.

  “Titus Andronicus Barnwell, Junior,” the Fellen said the name slowly. “Space Ranger survivor. He rejoined the United Earth Council Marines following the project. His choice of assignment, to join the Marine Corps Intelligence Division. Six years ago he committed suicide. Drowning. Or maybe not exactly drowning.”

  “How do you ‘not exactly drown?'” Billy asked.

  “His personal vehicle, clothes, ID, and his Marine-issued Data Pad all found at the end of a road in a place called Honey Island Cypress Swamp,” Stacey answered, pretending to read from her own pad. “It is in a region called Louisiana, and infested with something called alligators. I believe they will eat people found in their habitat.”

  “Gross,” Billy said. “Death by alligator is not a pleasant thought. I hope he did drown first.”

  “The authorities never recovered a body,” she continued. “Besides alligators, the area is home to several scavenging carnivores, and something called the Honey Island Monster.”

  “Monster?” Billy asked.

  “Local myth,” Stacey replied. “A creature resulting from the breeding of chimpanzees and alligators.”

  “What has this got to do with helping Admiral Patterson?” Rosz asked, ignoring the myth.

  “She did not, does not believe Colonel Barnwell committed suicide,” Chaspi answered for Stacey. “She thinks he was murdered. She thinks he was investigating something dangerous, and bad people found out, and they had him killed, and faked the suicide.”

  “Does she know what he was investigating?” Billy asked.

  “The files she took from Space Fleet included copies of Col. Barnwell’s official reports,” Stacey answered. “In the year prior to his death, he showed interest in the activities of two men associated with the plans to designate Space Fleet as a para-military branch of the United Earth Council, and not a department of the Navy.”

  “But he never includes their names,” Chaspi added. “We think he was trying to make sure no on
e warned them.”

  “Meaning he thought his superiors in the Marines might do that,” Rosz said.

  “Or his files could be hacked,” Stacey said.

  “Admiral Patterson reopened the investigation when she retired,” Billy spoke, pulling the information from the data Stacey shared. “She wanted to determine who the two might be, how they were affiliated with Space Fleet, if what they were doing could cause a problem, and if they were responsible for Col. Barnwell’s death.”

  “And they know she is investigating,” Stacey added. “The intruder beam captured the files and all notes she added. Since no one from Space Fleet contacted her regarding the removal of classified information, the people monitoring her home are not acting officially.”

  “The same people who killed Barnwell to stop his investigation are watching Admiral Patterson. They may try to stop her if it’s still important six years later,” Rosz surmised.

  “Must be,” Billy said. “Why else scan her systems?”

  “Which is why we will investigate from here,” Chaspi said. “When they see Admiral Patterson is no longer accessing the files, they’ll have no reasons to bother her. When we have the answers, we’ll give them to her.”

  “And school?” Billy.

  “We’ll meet here after classes,” Chaspi said.

  “And I do not officially begin until next session,” Stacey said. “I will have time to organize the information before we meet tomorrow.”

  Meridian, Mississippi

  (Six Years Previously)

  “Originally Marine Corps Intelligence provided on-the-go information and analysis for air and ground troops involved with dangerous missions,” Tab explained. The handsome black officer filled out his UEC Marine khaki uniform like the twenty-five-year-old he was twenty years earlier.

  “For over one-hundred years MCI used every asset available, technical, computerized, or human to collect information in battle-likely areas. After the pandemic, we rolled into Can-Am and began analyzing hot spots around the globe. We provided the intel for those deciding where our best people should be sent to try and save people and stop bad guys. When the UEC formed, MCI began to monitor for threats inside North America. No longer constrained by borders, every intelligence agency looked for potential threats from any location. The fear of a central governing platform failing included the reasonable decision that for every person who wanted the Earth united, someone would oppose the concept.”

  “That was your purpose in returning to the MCI following the Space Ranger Project? To protect the United Earth Council?”

  The female Marine officer sat across the table. The outdoor seating area empty except for the two in uniform. Downtown Meridian, Mississippi had not yet switched from workday to evening. The southern-style restaurant near the ancient railroad station offered plenty of available places to sit, inside and out. Favorable weather, and a desire to talk without someone overhearing, led them to the exterior table.

  “More that I enjoy intelligence operations,” Tab admitted. “Doing it for the Marines means I get to see first-hand reports, make analysis calls, and then deploy to see how right or wrong my analysis turned out.”

  “Why are you in Meridian?”

  “Following up on suspicions,” he admitted. “Since the Gulf of Mexico rose and swallowed all the old seaports, the nearest Marines are located here, at the Naval Air Station flight school. Since you head the Military Police assigned to NAS, I thought I would take advantage of your local connection.”

  The brunette with the green eyes laughed. “I am the Marine’s Military Police assigned. The whole, entire MP force. Navy MP’s handle actual policing. I monitor for attempted incursions of the secure systems.”

  “Which means you also stay aware of similar activity in the region, as well as any players with the potential to hack your systems. You get movement reports on VIP’s. You see and hear things, and you’re trained to look for patterns.”

  “I appreciate that you are trying to ply me with sweat tea and corn fritters, Colonel. Tell me what you’re looking for, and I’ll tell you if I’ve seen anything similar in Mississippi.”

  “Captain Driver, I would appreciate it if you keep what we discuss private,” Tab said. “Part of this is official and part of it is chasing conspiracies theories. Most of my notes exist inside my head. I don’t think I’m putting you in danger, but it might not be wise to tell anyone else until I’ve decided to go completely official.”

  “Wow, now you have my full attention,” she replied.

  “I have spent decades studying revolutions,” he began. “If there is a plot to cause the UEC to disband, and for Earth to return to independent nation-states, there will be activities and signs to look for.”

  “Such as?”

  “Assuming a group already formed for this purpose, they will need a public leader. Someone respected, charismatic, and comfortable on stage. Right now, there are several possibilities, but none have stepped forward. Activists will be recruited,” he said, pausing to sip his tea before continuing. “There has been an uptick in the number of anti-United Earth groups displaying access to technology, media, and materials without a direct funding source.”

  “Anti-United Earth groups? Really?” Driver asked, the sarcasm obvious.

  Tab laughed, a soft undertone sound in response to her snide question.

  “Groups have been against living under a central government since before the unification,” he replied. “But there have been less violent and better organized groups showing up at UEC events over the past two years,” he confirmed. “Because they have not been violent, no one has been asked to investigate.”

  “But you did anyway?”

  “Does my paranoia show? I did facial recognition and background on hits, but nothing red-flagged. The groups are growing and I haven’t figured out how they can afford to move around and stay in different cities. None of the repeat demonstrators appear to work anywhere or have access to disposable income.”

  “What else do you look for?” The MP - Investigator becoming more interested as Tab explained the puzzle pieces.

  “Science,” he responded. “They will recruit scientists and respected educators to lend credence to the claims that a united planet does more harm than help for the average person. Geneticists and sociologists who will bemoan the loss of cultural identities as borders blur and cross-breeding increases. Speakers who will point out the separation of haves and have-nots continues and deepens because of UEC policies. Historians will discuss the failures of past attempts at world-building and the destructive consequences that followed those attempts.”

  Driver set her glass down, reached across the table and placed her hand atop Tab’s.

  “Something is beginning to tickle my memory,” she said. “Will music, art, and mass-media types be targeted to join this cabal?”

  “Definitely,” he replied. “They will sponsor musicians and artist who produce songs, paintings, sculpture, or anything related with a strong cultural or national pride basis. Music will be essential to turning younger people against a form of government they have know their entire lives. Mass-media for audio, streamers, cross-channel, vid-casts, and especially news and opinion shows are required for success. They will want to dominate the debate, and make sure everything reported is framed to support independence and self-rule. It will also make military intervention less likely.”

  “Even if it requires the military to save the government?”

  “Governments are people,” Tab replied. “While it may only be a few powerful, driven individuals seeking the change, if they are patient, and understand the game, by the time the UEC is aware they are under attack, the population will have already taken the other side. The military is not going to throw down on non-violent civil disobedience. Anything yet prick that tickle?”

  “That’s it!” she exclaimed. “Prick is the key.”

  Slightly startled and slightly excited, Tab waited for her to illuminate her statemen
t.

  “Captain Stephen J. Hawks is commanding officer in charge of the Navy’s Transformational Communications Architecture, or TCA project,” Driver said. “The UEC wants to combine the various communications systems used around the planet with the newer systems used in space to provide more information and greater coverage for all UEC assets. And he’s a world-class prick.”

  “Never met the man, but I have heard similar, less poetic, descriptions,” Tab said. “Does this relate to my situation?”

  “Does it?” she asked back. “Why are you in Meridian, Mississippi, Col. Barnwell? You aren’t sniffing around the entire continent, interviewing Marine cops, hoping to stumble on a plot to overturn the UEC. You have eyes on someone of interest,” she surmised. “Who, why, and where are they? Answer me, and I might be able to help you.”

  “Dr. Bernard Reinhardt was a post-grad assistant who did grunt work during the Space Rangers Project,” Tab answered. He did not hesitate, deciding Captain Driver respected straight shooting, and would reciprocate. “In the last decade he has become the leading expert on genetic engineering. He currently works for the UEC, assigned to a secret program attached to Space Fleet’s R and D on artificial intelligence. He has written opinion articles suggesting UEC’s next step in global unification could be toward genetic parity. Designing future babies to all have the same genetic structure. Uniformity through science. He disagrees with the concept.”

  “That tells me who,” she said. “Why Meridian?”

  “Hattiesburg, actually,” he replied. “As you well know, the rise of the Gulf of Mexico played hell along the Florida to Texas coastline. New Orleans gone. The naval bases shuttered. The economy of the southern gulf states took a hit. Then the Pandemic. A lot of colleges closed. Many sold off assets to remain open. Universities operate research facilities and labs with the latest technology. The biochemical and chemical engineering departments at Southern University of Mississippi, in Hattiesburg, were extremely attractive. A bank in London made an offer. They got the buildings, labs, research notes, inventory, and a couple of older dorms. The university received funds, ongoing rent, and the labs continued to remain available for student lessons.”