He had gone over everything he knew countless times already. He wondered how much longer until the universe ran down and even he stopped functioning. Time went on and on inside here. He—
Deep inside the Adok-Builder computers, Galyan became aware of outside change. New avenues appeared, and a gush of raw energy flowed to him—with startling amazement, Galyan reconnected with the rest of the computers, and that included the holo-imager.
Immediately, a sense of time returned to him. Weeks had passed, not millennia. Galyan paused, deeply shocked, perplexed—
“Captain!” Galyan shouted, appearing before the others in the central computer chamber.
Meta, Riker, Andros and his team all began laughing and clapping in wonderment upon his appearance.
“It worked! It worked!” Andros shouted. “We did it.”
“Oh, Galyan,” Meta said. “I’m so happy to see you.”
“Captain—oh, hello Meta, Andros—Professor Ludendorff, what are you doing here? Do I owe my repairs to you?”
“No,” Ludendorff said. “The captain did it.”
Galyan turned to a quietly watching Maddox. “You saved me, sir? I want to hear about this.”
“I found the people who knew where the spares were stashed,” Maddox said.
“How did you do that?” Galyan asked. “I am so happy to see you, sir. You have no idea how tediously times marches when you—sir! I have a terrible thing to report.”
“Go on,” Maddox said. “Tell us.”
Galyan proceeded to tell them what had occurred inside the Lolis II.
“Galyan’s attacker sounds like a Liss to me,” Ludendorff said. “Except for the bone nozzle. That part is strange.”
“What is a Liss?” Galyan asked.
“Let’s head back to the cafeteria,” Maddox said. “Chief Technician, you did a wonderful job, you and your team. There’s a bonus coming for all of you. Think about what you would all like for your bonus.”
Andros and his team cheered once again.
***
Maddox paced for over an hour as everyone discussed the importance of the Liss creature Galyan had found aboard the Lolis II.
“If I may be so bold,” Galyan said. “I still think it was a machine like I first suspected. I do not think it was a Liss, a creature.”
“You described an exoskeleton,” Ludendorff said. “That’s a Liss all right.”
“Unless it was more than a machine,” Galyan said. “Perhaps it was a computer, a Liss computer with an exoskeleton covering.”
Maddox spun around. Ludendorff stared open-mouthed at the little Adok holoimage.
“What is wrong?” Galyan asked. “Did I offend in some way?”
Maddox and Ludendorff exchanged glances with each other.
“Nostradamus must be a giant Liss computer,” Ludendorff said. “It’s so utterly obvious now that I see it.”
“Agreed,” Maddox said.
“Oh,” Meta said. “A computer, one big enough and fast enough—”
“And with enough data,” Ludendorff added.
“Such a computer might have marvelous predictive powers,” Meta said. “And such a computer could remember everything the Liss ever knew, including the Erills at Estar.”
Maddox regarded Ludendorff. “Do you think Nostradamus is ancient?”
“I do.”
“Revived somehow?”
“Remember what that Batrun android told us several years ago,” Ludendorff said. “The Yon-Soth on the Forbidden Planet woke or stirred things to destroy the Commonwealth. Perhaps Nostradamus was one of those woken.”
“Is that the right timing, though?” asked Maddox.
“I don’t know,” Ludendorff said. “There’s too much we don’t know. Clearly, Becker must have gained Hekkus-like powers. The Lolis II was smuggling something to Earth. That something was the creature-machine Galyan met. Whether Galyan was supposed to meet it or that started a chain-reaction of events so Nostradamus—”
“You’re talking about a change in plans on their part,” Maddox said.
“We’ve forgotten something,” Ludendorff said. “As superlative as Nostradamus must be, he or it isn’t God. He can’t be perfectly right every time. That means he surely has counter-plans.” The professor sipped his cold coffee before eyeing the captain. “You were right, and I was wrong. We should not nuke Estar. Nostradamus has weaknesses and flaws. He needs time to grow and expand his tentacles deep into Earth culture.”
“You think he’s bunkering down somewhere?” Maddox asked.
“What?” the professor asked. “Oh. Yes. That wasn’t my meaning, but perhaps that is the case. Star Watch appears to be his target, to make it his, perhaps.”
Maddox started pacing again. “What do we know? There have been big changes taking place in Star Watch. The Intelligence branch has been broken into three parts. According to you, ‘Humans First’ is the key motto. Nostradamus must have orchestrated that in order to make it easier for his Bosks and Becker to maneuver, and to throw suspicion on people like you and me.”
“Agreed,” Ludendorff said.
Maddox tapped his chin. “We need more information. We have to get back to Earth just as the Lord High Admiral has ordered. First, though, I think we should pay Jarnevon a visit.”
“I’m sure Nostradamus will be expecting that,” Ludendorff said. “If nothing else as part of a contingency plan.”
“That means it would be best if we gave him more to think about,” Maddox said.
“Meaning what?” asked Ludendorff.
“Put on your thinking cap, Professor. We’re leaving the Erill System. On the way to Jarnevon, I want you to make a list of things we can do to upset Nostradamus’s plans.”
Ludendorff turned away as his eyes narrowed thoughtfully. He regarded Maddox a moment later, nodding. “That sounds like a plan, Captain. I like it. Let’s get started at once.”
PART III
ENTRENCHMENT
From What Happens to Man Now? by Charles V. Lance:
The repeated attacks and shocks against the Commonwealth of Planets from hybrid humans, insectoid Swarm soldiers, Builder-manipulated geniuses, so-called Old Ones and vindictive androids finally led to a backlash from a powerful group of Star Watch officers. They had come to fear and hate the other that had so often murdered and destroyed their comrades or worlds.
The upwelling ultimately led to the penning of the Humanity Manifesto (HM) and its implementation in Star Watch. HM’s basic tenet was that “real” humans must militarize and organize like an ancient Roman legion in order to defeat the other, the not human. In ancient times, only citizens could march in the legion. In the present, only “real” humans should serve in Star Watch. HM thus asked several simple questions. What was human? Who was human? What constituted a genetic freak or anomaly so that one was not human or not Homo sapiens?
Evolutionary thought brought little hope to the Humanity Manifesto practitioners, but it was also the bedrock to their thinking. In prehistoric times, how long did inferior hominids exist in the presence of Homo sapiens man? What happened to the Neanderthals? Where did they go when the Homo sapiens arrived?
The HM-affiliated officers wondered what would happen to their children if the New Men, for instance, seriously began replacing the old. Evolutionary theory provided the answer: if the New Men replaced the old, the old would face extinction just like Neanderthal and Homo habilis had disappeared from the Earth.
In essence, the Humanity Manifesto Doctrine said to its believers, “We’re here to compete like hell in order to insure humanity’s survival in a hostile universe. If regular humans are not faster, smarter and stronger, then we’ll win by playing ten times harder.”
This brings us to the initial period: the coalescing of HM belief and the corresponding action of the men and women who adhered to it. The fall of Lord High Admiral Cook and Brigadier O’Hara helped to usher in the philosophies and practices of HM into Star Watch. In particular, Cook’s fall ma
de way for the new Lord High Admiral, James K. Fletcher. He provided cover for the initial operatives who began to reorganize Star Watch along HM lines…
-1-
Brigadier Mike Stokes, Chief of Military Intelligence, coughed as he smoked yet another stimstick. He really should quit this filthy habit. He coughed again, striding briskly across a sidewalk toward a waiting flitter out there under the parking lights. It was a dark night otherwise.
He was in Toronto, East Canada Sector, leaving a Star Watch R&D facility. He carried a briefcase, wore his uniform and coat, and had a gun strapped under his left arm. It was a high-powered Glock 93.
He really shouldn’t be out here. Instead, he should have been back at Headquarters in Geneva hotly engaged in political infighting in order to keep more authority for Military Intelligence.
He thought about Captain Maddox and the man’s mission in the Erill System out in the Beyond, to study the bizarre City of Pyramids and bring back new technology if possible. The Lord High Admiral had sent Maddox for an indefinite period, and now had abruptly summoned Maddox back to Earth.
Stokes hadn’t been able to find the reason for the change. That made sense, though. These days, there were many things he was unable to do, ordinary things that as the former head of United Star Watch Intelligence he could have easily achieved.
Was that one of the reasons for the Intelligence splintering, to keep more things secret?
Stokes inhaled smoke into his lungs. The stim gave him a tiny shot of energy, which he’d come to crave over the years. Not for the first time, he wondered if he’d chosen the wrong profession. Was he really spymaster material? In his heart, Stokes knew what he’d always been: a good bureaucrat, a good organizer and company man. He’d excelled as a major under the Iron Lady. She’d depended on him and had continually given him more things to organize.
His excessive smoking had started back then. He’d never gotten enough sleep and always needed a pick-me-up. Powerful cups of coffee helped, but the stimsticks were his mainstay. Maybe that was yet another reason why he’d never really cared for Captain Maddox. The man exuded energy, racing from one problem to the next. And the way the Iron Lady had doted on him… That had always perplexed Stokes and made him jealous.
It didn’t anymore. Maddox was Mary O’Hara’s grandson. Could you believe that? That made sense of a lot of things—in that area, at least.
The Humanity Manifesto, the rise of Lord High Admiral Fletcher, the splintering of Star Watch Intelligence, the growing number of Bosks on Earth, the odd happenings at Luna Command—Stokes had been fighting a losing rear-guard action for over two years now. He was a company man, not a secret agent type. He could keep a place running smoothly, but he lacked the Iron Lady’s knacks and intuitive grasp of the various Intelligence situations.
Stokes looked around. There were trees beside the sidewalk. It didn’t seem that anyone was following him, but he felt something just the same. He peered up, checking for spy-sticks as Maddox had taught him that day in Geneva. He didn’t spot any in the night sky.
He remembered yet again that day two years ago in Geneva. Maddox had killed a rogue Intelligence operative trying to assassinate the captain. Too many weird things had happened since then. Too many of his best people had died in strange accidents.
That was one of the reasons why he was here tonight. That was why he had this briefcase and hurried to a parked flitter. If this worked…
Stokes flicked the stub of the stim from his fingertips. If his worked, he would internalize the procedure and begin a true undercover operation. He would take a leaf from Maddox’s book and go out on a limb to do what he thought was right, and do it himself.
If this failed—I’ll probably be dead. So, it won’t matter.
He felt sweat slick under his armpits and on his forehead. He needed to get into better shape if he was going to do things like this. There was rot in Star Watch. It had to do with Political Intelligence, he was sure of it. The Bosks he’d seen had all worked for Akon Chom, the Director of Political Intelligence. The devious plotter from Daroca in the Sigma Draconis System knew all about secretive spy work, starship commissars and military police work. If—
Stokes heard a soft sound, and he broke into a sprint. He wasn’t as young as he used to be, and he’d never been in the best physical shape. Nearing forty-five-years old, he lacked youthful coordination and stamina. He tripped over his own feet and went sprawling, the briefcase flying from his hands and sliding across the sidewalk.
He knew what that soft sound had meant. Someone with a suppressed pistol had taken a potshot at him.
From the pavement, Strokes struggled to unhook his Glock 93 and turn around while prone.
Two heavyset men wearing slickers raced out from under the trees toward him. In the moonlight, it was clear each held a silenced pistol. Stokes couldn’t be sure, but they each had the thick physique of a Bosk soldier.
Stokes almost shouted at them to halt. Old habits died hard, but he forced himself to stay quiet. They meant to kill him. That likely meant they’d been waiting for him. That could mean the jig was already up.
How had Akon Chom learned about his intentions? The man was a genius at this line of work.
The lead assassin must have seen him on the sidewalk. The man’s thick hand, the one holding the suppressed pistol, started swinging down.
Stokes fired and couldn’t stop himself, emptying the magazine at the two. They both went down, one of them groaning.
Stokes slithered to the briefcase, grabbing and dragging it with him. Finally, he scrambled up and ran to the flitter. Would other assassins be there to kill him? Was he as good as dead?
Stokes shoved the briefcase under his left armpit and clicked a switch. The spent magazine clattered to the pavement. He didn’t bother to stop and retrieve it. Instead, he shoved a full magazine into the Glock.
By that time, he reached the parked flitter, panting and drenched with sweat. The brush with sudden death—
Stokes fumbled out a key and opened the flitter, throwing the briefcase inside. He almost piled in after, but had a moment of suspicion. Crouching, lying on the pavement, Stokes crawled beneath the flitter and found a device attached to the underside. He tore it off, tossing it to nearby grass.
Finally, he got inside and started the controls. There was a moment’s hesitation before anything started working. He expected the flitter to blow up. It did not, but powered on.
Stokes closed the door and took the bubble-canopy flitter up into the night sky. His breathing was ragged, but he was starting to get it under control. He turned the flitter southwest, heading toward a secured facility in middle Montana.
Ex-Lord High Admiral Cook was there under treatment. Stokes had just learned what kind of treatment. Luckily, Cook hadn’t been there long.
The medium-sized brigadier with his goatee and bureaucratic mindset grimaced. He was no Captain Maddox, and he was surprised that he’d slain the two waiting assassins. But he’d be damned if he was going to let the other side destroy Cook’s mind.
“Not on my watch,” Stokes said.
He squinted into the starry darkness, wondering if he really had the balls to pull this off.
-2-
Stokes’s flitter neared the J.B Rosen Garth Rehabilitation Center. It was a place for the mentally unstable and emotionally insecure, a minimum-security facility.
On the face of it, anyway.
In the underground area, suspicious activities occurred. Two of Stokes’ agents had found rehabilitation center links to Political Intelligence. When Stokes then found out that Cook had been transferred there a week ago, he’d become concerned.
He’d sent Kurt Stunt to investigate. He hadn’t heard from the man since. So, he’d sent a special undercover agent. She’d returned incoherent, collapsing into a weeping fit in his office. She was probably weeping right now, as tests had shown a badly scrambled brain.
That had dovetailed with several other incidents of a similar nat
ure. Either the other side had the use of Vint Diem or other Spacer adepts, or they’d found similar skills and could twist opposing minds.
Stokes looked down at the briefcase next to him. He’d already lost several people to the J.B. Rehabilitation Center. Was he going to lose his life over Cook? Maybe it was more than that. He had to make a stand somewhere. If he kept losing ground, the enemy would soon sweep everything away, and he’d drown.
He inhaled, wishing for a smoke. But he was going to land in less than ten minutes. Setting the controls on auto, on even flight, Stokes unlatched the briefcase and stared at three half-metallic headbands. He pulled out the first and set it around his head. Next, he attached a small box to the band, activating it.
He heard a slight buzz in his mind.
Stokes exhaled. He’d collected these little experimental gadgets from the R&D people in Toronto. They were devices to deal with Spacer adepts or the likes of Vint Diem. If the enemy had people with similar powers, hopefully, this little headband would shield him from them.
Stokes reached in the back seat and pulled out a large hat, settling it onto his head. It was a poor disguise, but it would have to do.
Lastly, he began arming himself with secret weapons. The people at the J.B. Center would undoubtedly confiscate his Glock, claiming it was a matter of security.
“Attention,” a woman said through the flitter’s comm board. “You’re heading into secure airspace. Please identify yourself at once.”
“Here we go,” Stokes said, reaching for the panel so he could answer.
***
Stokes had ordered other operations, which were presently running. He’d timed it that way, hoping his caper would go unnoticed by the other side’s better operatives. It was a gamble, but he’d been losing so much ground lately, that even a bureaucratic-minded man knew it was time to roll the dice.
He’d exited the flitter, surrendered his sidearm and gratefully accepted an escort. Two large uniformed security men flanked him as they rode an elevator down. Neither was a Bosk, but both seemed like hoodlums instead of guards. They glanced at him too much and gave each other knowing smirks. They likely both knew that this little man was never supposed to come back up.
The Lost Intelligence (Lost Starship Series Book 12) Page 15
