The Fourth Guardian

by Geoff Geauterre

  He smiled when he saw the chair at the head of the table had been pulled out for him, and with a cool nod, he sat and prepared for the most important operation of his life.

  Twisting slightly, not caring to meet the glares aimed at him, and with an understanding nod from Lieutenant Iaria, who walked slowly around with a portable scanner, he started.

  "Ladies and gentlemen..."

  "Cut the crap, Marcroft!” snarled a grizzled General Helmsley. “I wanna know what in the blazes you and that goat down there think you're doin'?"

  Marcroft smiled with satisfaction when Iaria signaled that Helmsley was all right. He wasn't testing the other with bait.

  He made a show of tearing open the president's sealed orders containing his authority, turning over the letter, and revealing the seal below the signature. He sighed with regret when Iaria directed attention to force squadron leader Worley, whose manner was clear and acceptable. He'd been turned into a consummate actor.

  She walked right up behind the man, and without more than a smile for the other's bodyguards, drew her weapon and fired. There was a scuffle as the guards jumped towards the commotion and were met with fierce silhouettes and space marines.

  At that point, General Julia Channel rose with a cry, her Battle Maiden's cape whirling, a couple of photonics in her hands. Her own people flared for an in-fighting formation, prepared for the bloodbath to have followed, but then Iaria signaled it was over, and Marcroft roared.

  "Enough of that nonsense! I had my reasons for ordering this, and you'll all hear them."

  "Marcroft,” growled General Channel. “I'm going to see you mind-wiped for that!"

  "Dear lady,” he soothed, making conciliatory gestures, gentling with that inner touch Talons had often scowled at, but grudgingly admitted had a calming effect on terrorists.

  "Dear lady, please, wait before you and your people condemn me. If you'll examine Worley, you'll observe that he's only been stunned. And it was necessary if we're to have the slightest edge in saving his life."

  Eyes filled with rage became blank, when he explained what it was he'd been afraid of. Amongst them were chemically-induced converts set to go off at the wrong word or action.

  General DaHaustein grumbled softly, pulled his heavy-gravity adapted frame out of his seat, and rumbled to examine the downed force leader. He took Iaria's scanner out of her hands, examined it critically, and then he checked for himself. Iaria was careful not to anger the man who at one time taught her alien physiology and bio-anatomy classes and made certain she never forgot it.

  "Your scanner is off several degrees for this work, girl,” he grumbled softly. “But ... you're right. As far as the personality goes, he's a walking, talking husk.” He looked around. “It would have been a mercy to kill him and have done with it."

  The scanner played about the base of the skull. “From what I see here, this man's personality was destroyed, probably weeks ago."

  A bodyguard ready to shoot everyone in the chamber put his weapons back in their holsters, murmured something to DaHaustein, and bending over his commander, he heaved him up in his arms and walked out the door, tears glistening in his eyes.

  "By the stars,” said General Baxter from his chair, unmoved by anything up to that point. “So that explains it. There were a number of odd transfer requests from his command. Apparently, some noticed a curious shift in his personality, and it made them uneasy."

  A lieutenant commander of the elite Mars group, a think tank formed for the exclusive use of the general staff, cleared his throat.

  "Lieutenant Iaria? Have you taken care of everyone else here?” he asked hopefully, and when she nodded, he breathed with relief. “Well then, ladies and gentlemen ... if you'll all be seated, we can get General Marcroft's little show on the road. I would assume, sir, you had something to say besides scaring us out of our wits?"

  "Wait,” bawled General Channel suddenly. “Where in the blazes is Captain Jellico? He was to have been ahead of us! But now I see he isn't, so what—"

  "But I am here, dear lady.” They looked at the monitors, several making skittish motions to their people to be ready for anything. “Now please, don't become alarmed. On an orbital station the captain stays one step ahead of his passengers if he's to be of use. And you'll admit, won't you, that this is a step ahead?"

  "It may be a step ahead, you weasel,” Channel yelled at the ceiling. “But that doesn't mean you're getting out of a scanning!"

  "I'd prefer my own people do that, madam, if you please—"

  "But I don't!” she shouted back. Then she glared at the room until locating Iaria. “You!"

  "Ma'am?"

  "Come with me!” The Battle Maiden's general marched through the doors, her people scrambling to keep up with her, and behind, looking pale and lonely, Iaria was dragged in the wake. Battle Maidens were not the easiest people to get along with.

  "Shouldn't she need that?” asked General Baxter to General DaHaustein, indicating the scanner held in his hand, while nervously looking after the departing group.

  General DaHaustein shook his head.

  "If I know Channel, she'll round up every technician she can get her big hot hands on and put Jellico's people through Battle Maiden hell. They'll have every piece of equipment necessary to do it.

  "But as for this little thing...” He looked down at it, buried in his huge grip. “I think I'll hold this.” Their eyes met with a muted understanding, and Baxter, along with others, swallowed.

  Personal communicators were used, everyone talking at once, and the Silhouettes logistics team with General Marcroft went through the next phase of their plan. Up to now, everything was going smoothly.

  * * * *

  A communications satellite station picked up signals bouncing around, and then replies came from every direction.

  "Commander, would you please come to communications. We've got something on our beacons, and it isn't making sense."

  The officer strolled in, glanced at several techs, and nodded before stopping at the control station.

  "What is it, son? Any trouble?"

  The tech took off his earphones and turned up the audio. The council screamed for troops, the orbital station screamed back that as long as the emergency exists, it was better not to send any. Then the council sent word of needing assistance from the Imperial fleet in sector three. They were to turn around and take control of the orbital station or destroy it. They were directed to land in and around the capitol, where martial law had been declared.

  The staff on the bridge froze as they listened, and after a while, the officer turned the audio down.

  "What should we do, sir?"

  "Sounds like mess, doesn't it?"

  The tech gulped. “Yes, sir. It does."

  "Well, keep me abreast. It's all interesting, but it doesn't mean much. Hysterical politicians, bombastic general staff. Steam rattling inside a kettle..."

  "Should we send the signal to sector three?"

  "Who is commanding sector three fleet?"

  "Brideswell."

  "Hmm, Admiral Brideswell. Good man. Perhaps too good a man to bother with trifles. Besides, isn't he to be on patrol for pirates in that sector?"

  "Yes, sir, he is, but what about this?"

  "Well, like I say, son, all things in their time. Why don't we let it stew? I'm sure it will take care of itself.” He looked around the bridge. “Now keep alert. We have to be prepared for important communications, not this drivel."

  * * * *

  Marcroft looked up from the intelligence report and then shared his information. “Apparently, SatCom is failing to send the council's signal for more troops. And with the growing number of arrests, without extra troops, they will reach maximum output in three days."

  "Who's in charge?” asked DaHaustein.

  The portable screen flipped a dozen electronic pages as section schedules were referred to and then the answer came. DaHaustein pursed his lips and nodded

  "Ya, I know
him. Difficult student. Always thought for himself. I recall writing a critical report into his personnel file. I recommended that he never be given rank over that of commander, and that is where he has stayed.” He took a deep breath. “I am sorry about that now."

  "Don't be,” retorted Marcroft sternly. “If he had been promoted, we might have had some glory boy reporting everything, and that creeping sycophant, ‘Browny Brideswell', would have charged in with his fleet, deserting a critical post to make points."

  "You know him?” asked DaHaustein.

  "Well enough to know he'd serve his own mother on a plate if it helped his career. He was my commanding officer before I transferred to the Silhouettes."

  "How strange it all is,” commented General Baxter softly as he shook his head. “If I didn't know better I'd think that in the end the good guys will win."

  "Well, don't you believe it, mister!” shouted General Channel as she made her way into the room, her face triumphant and tired. “If it hadn't been for the Battle Maiden motto of ‘Look twice—then look thrice’ we'd have been taken with our pants down!"

  With a stunned look they jerked their attention to the Battle Maiden's general as she burst through the doors, reporting that twenty minutes ago her people came across a contingent of Imperials stationed in the quarantine hold under the command of Indigo Farris, a close associate of Councilman Baron Horwissth, right hand to Amaron.

  Captain Jellico stood alongside the Battle Maiden's general, muttering, “I knew he had to be somewhere.” The looks he received weren't kind. He shrugged his shoulders. “Well, how was I to know? He showed up with an inspection crew, and when they were finished going over the place, I'd been assured they'd all gone back on board the shuttle, except for him. So I kept looking, but he was no where to be found, which was one of the reasons I stayed in control and monitored everything personally. I was doing my job."

  "It doesn't matter,” said Marcroft. “We were in a race against time, but now—” He swiveled around to General Channel. “Wait a minute! Talons’ last message. What if there was something hidden in that? What if all this was a ploy to keep us occupied while...” He licked his lips.

  "What are you saying?” demanded General Baxter.

  "Who's guarding the transmitter? If we're to get the Light Bearer back..."

  "If that transmitter is destroyed,” said DaHaustein heavily, “it could mean time was not on our side, after all. If Amaron can hold out, those in the military following him would cripple us."

  Captain Jellico frowned. “But what about the populace? They wouldn't stand still for that."

  "I don't know,” added a senior staff logistician. “If you use heavy weapons from orbit and hit your targets, the effects could be psychologically detrimental."

  "That would be all he needs for a complete takeover,” said Marcroft grimly.

  With a slap of a meaty armored hand on the table General Channel bellowed. “Mister, Battle Maidens are never taken unaware! We knew what's been happening, we just didn't want to bother anyone with our little troubles, that's all!"

  Marcroft narrowed his eyes and demanded, in the name of everyone's sanity, what did she know about this?

  So Channel told them about Shar-Mei and her squadron, and what Shar-Mei's intent was, and why ... until there was nothing left to say. Battle Maidens should never be taken for granted.

  * * * *

  Representative NuunSaa was worried, and he didn't mind letting it show to Olam Pww, one of the few friends he could confide in without having his back stabbed the moment he turned around.

  "I tell you, Olam,” he confessed to his bear-like buddy. “It's like nothing you ever saw. There are people openly fighting our armed forces, and the more I think about it, the more I feel that they're going to break in here and pick me out for a roasting!"

  "Calm yourself, my human friend,” advised Olam Pww, his soft brown double pairs of eyes blinking, his heavily muscled limbs outstretched in a gesture of friendship, unaware that as a look-alike to a grizzly, his words weren't taken as he might have wished. “I'm sure it is not as bad as all that."

  An explosion in the street caused him to shorten what he was about to say. “Ah, well, perhaps the natives are a trifle restless, but that isn't cause for—"

  "You're not about to say ‘alarm’ are you?” asked a highly nervous NuunSaa. “If you are, I don't mind telling you I'm in the mood to bolt out of here and to blazes with responsible attitudes. What have responsible attitudes ever gotten me, huh?” He didn't wait for the other to guess. “They've gotten me a pain up the rectum!"

  A panel in the wall section behind them opened slightly, and a hissing came through, causing both to turn defensively.

  NuunSaa and Olam Pww looked at each other, then took a closer look at the frantic being gesturing at them to come closer.

  "Daan Viil,” asked Olam Pww wonderingly. “What in the stars are you doing in that hole in the wall?"

  More frantic motions, more elaborate gestures, until hesitantly, cautiously, they shuffled forward, and then a bit closer until...

  "Hah! Got you!” crowed a Battle Maiden victoriously as she edged her rifle over Daan Viil's sloping shoulder and aimed it at her two captives. “And it's about time, too!” complained another voice behind her. “We've been in these walls for hours. I was getting a cramp."

  With that, the two numbed prisoners silently went as they were bid, because when Battle Maidens aimed weapons at you and didn't open fire instantly, it was a fait-accompli, and you did as you were told or else.

  "What?” shouted the outraged NuunSaa. “You want me to do this ‘little’ thing for you? Are you out of your minds?"

  Short-clipped words responded, and he was told what would happen if he didn't cooperate. NuunSaa's mouth closed. Well, he didn't want anyone to construe that he was not cooperative. After all, he was a contracted representative, and his reputation was on the line.

  Better think on what might happen if the Light Bearer returns and asks who did what to whom, and when. Did the good representative think Reg-I-Nald was a moron? Did he think he could get away with aiding and abetting arch-criminals?

  Spluttering, NuunSaa rose with his fists clenched, his face turning red, his eyes slanted and glinting, and was about to tell his cheery-faced hostesses what they could do with their pleasant posturing, when Olam Pww grasped his friend by a handy arm and hauled him back down.

  "Friend NuunSaa,” he growled softly into the other's ear. “You should understand your position here, as I do.” Then he explained to his still-as-death buddy what that position was. “I, you see, have cooperated with the Battle Maidens. I am a survivor. My race has reared me to understand my place in life. I serve, and if I can, I protect. But mostly I serve. I don't get angry over trifles. I don't waste my time in pretense, and I never allow my feelings to obscure my judgment."

  "Olam Pww, just what is it you're saying?"

  "NuunSaa, you are a human contractee, and in certain areas of policy-making you are unique ... but haven't you been reading the hearts of your people? They have grown weary of having their loved ones carted off to detention camps for the crime of making their opinions known. They are weary of it, NuunSaa, and they have grown weary of those who refuse to give up their posts for lack of merit."

  "You are reaching for a point?"

  "Those who aid them will not be overlooked when revenge and justice march hand in hand. Surely you have sensed what is happening, haven't you? Why are you refusing to listen to an offer ... so promising?” He met the other's eyes. “My friend, if you do not consign yourself to the twists of fate, especially when it wraps itself around you, your life will be remarkably shortened."

  "Mind you,” said NuunSaa, picking it up as the trained diplomat he was, “there are issues that must be attended to properly, if one wishes a legal pretext. Tyranny, dictatorship, taxation without representation, treason ... that sort of thing. And we can make a case from a number of other precedents as well..."


  Olam Pww grinned. His friend was nothing if not made of logical, constructive brain material.

  "Why, I'm surprised you had to ask. As always, I am completely and wholeheartedly at your disposal."

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Eleven

  "But—but mistress,” wailed the technician, one of many who found themselves cringing before a group of grim-looking women dressed for battle. “We can't do that!"

  A photonic flashed out of a maiden's holster and a dozen beings flinched, feeling the heat flash sealing their doom.

  "I swear it!” he screamed, his appendages at quivering length. “By the sacred Block of Truth!” The photonic wavered in response to the other's sincerity, but still her demeanor was unshaken. She was not about to stop now when she felt she was so close.

  "Are you are saying,” she asked in a silken, deadly voice, “that you can't bring him back? Are you saying you don't have contact with the Light Bearer? Or have our beloved leaders on the high council told you to break contact?"

  The silence in the lab was pregnant. “Take your time,” Shar-Mei advised. “A lie at this stage won't matter much."

  "Would you be so kind to rephrase that?” he whispered.

  "Is it possible you've really lost him? One born in ten thousand years among billions in a galaxy, and you neglected to tell anyone? Do you expect me to believe that?” She looked straight into his face. “Would you expect anyone to believe that?"

  The chief tech groaned, wringing his filibrilles in agony. “You can't put it like that, mistress. It was out of our hands. There was a clear moment when we monitored his movements, but the next ... he was gone.” He shrugged his shoulders. “That's all there was to it."

  "You've no contact with this Errth, then?"

  "Well, no, that's not exactly true.” His vocoder croaked as all six pairs of eyes hedged, trying to find an acceptable path.

  "Explain!"

  "We still have our original station setting, and that hasn't been closed yet. It's a religious temple. We could expand our range of investigation around there if you wish."