Firestorm: Galaxy On Fire, Book 3

by Craig Robertson

  “Are you guys willing to die for your cause?” I fixed my attention on his eyes.

  “Yes,” he replied without hesitation. “We all understand what’s at stake, both in terms or risks and benefits.”

  “That’s something. What about what you expect of me?”

  “There I can be more specific.”

  “I figured as much.”

  “Currently the Adamant are spread across all the stars in the sky. Our numbers and power have grown exponentially for as long as anyone can remember. Titular power rests with the emperor, but, trust me, he’s much more interested in his next illicit piece of tail, not his abundant empire. The actual iron control comes from the military leadership that accompanies him. Even if he tried to take control and order some action, they’d ignore his order while reporting back it was a spectacular success.”

  “Wait, they deceive him, everybody knows it, and it still goes on without heads flying every which way?”

  “Yes. He’s so preoccupied with his personal goals, he has no problem turning a blind eye or two.”

  “Okay, he’s a narcissistic loser, but what about all those gazillions of emperors before him?”

  “They’re cut from the same indulgent cloth. Oh, on rare occasions an emperor will step out of the shadows and try to assume control.”

  “It doesn’t sound like he’s allowed to.”

  “No. That rare breed is subject to bizarre accidents or remarkably premature health issues.”

  “So how do I fit into your plans?”

  “The entire military focuses on the Secure Council. Those are the players who actually call the shots. There are twelve of them. Their terms last until they die.”

  “Of natural causes or others.”

  “Those are the rules. With all eyes and ears trained on them, order and discipline are maintained. Their words are final and their orders are carried out. That is how it has always been. But, if their master vision was undercut sufficiently, their monolith of power would crumble quickly.”

  “Why do you think that? I mean, they’re good at using fear and might to get what they want. A few losses wouldn’t change that.”

  “My group is betting it will. Remember, the Adamant are spread so thinly and so far, that even we done know the extent of our empire. Out there,” he pointed to the ceiling, “there are millions of commanders itching to take control. They know their chance of being a member of the Secure Council is zero. If they have risen to a lofty position and they’re not close to such a dream, then it is impossible by sheer numbers and the vast distances involved.

  “You know well, General Ryan, the undeniable desires that live in powerful leaders’ hearts. They all want more. Due to the ruthlessness and the hyper-vigilant nature of our military structure, they can never achieve the only thing they truly want. But if there were a disruption of that iron-fisted control, I’m betting tens of thousands of wannabe kings would fall all over each other to assume local control. If such a process begins, it can never be stopped.”

  “You can’t put the genie back in the bottle.”

  “I’m at a disadvantage here. What’s a genie, and what bottle do they come in?”

  “Old human legend. A genie is a magical spirit trapped in a bottle. If you free it, it becomes your slave and you rule the world.”

  He wrinkled his brow. “If it’s that powerful, why doesn’t it let itself out of the bottle?”

  “It’s legend, a fairy tale. They’re not supposed to make sense.”

  “Then why do they exist?”

  “You guys don’t have fanciful stories that double as object lessons that you tell your pups at night?”

  “No. Why would we? If we wish a lesson taught, we teach it. In no way does fiction advance the goals of a stable, cohesive, productive society.”

  “If you say so. If I gum all this up in the tiny extent I might be able to if very lucky, you think that would bring the entire house of cards tumbling down?”

  “That depends on your definition of tiny.”

  “This isn’t sounding good. Let me turn the question around. What’s your idea of tiny?”

  He held up a single claw. “The catastrophic destruction of one single ship.”

  “Did I tell you I’m a prophet?”

  He jerked his head back in surprise. “You are a what?”

  “Yeah, a pretty good one. Here, I’ll write three words down on this napkin. Then you tell me which single, tiny ship I’d need to make go boom boom.” I handed him the slip.

  He opened it and smiled. “Why it appears you are gifted. Yes, you only have to destroy the emperor’s ship, ideally with both him and the Secure Council aboard.”

  “And if they’re not?”

  “The initial reports, I guarantee you, will state that they were.”

  “So, you think eliminating the central control will spiral the entire empire into disarray and disorder?”

  “I’m betting my life it will.”

  “And if it doesn’t?”

  “It won’t concern either of us what transpires if it does not.”

  “Sales. That’s another career path you should avoid. You really stink at it.”

  TWENTY-FOUR

  “I asked Darfey, and he says he doesn’t know. Either that or he’s too frightened to tell me,” Slapgren said, trying to sound reassuring.

  “But she’s been gone for three days. I’m beginning to think she’s not coming back,” replied Mirri as she wrung her hands.

  “Whether she does or doesn’t isn’t something you have any control over.”

  “But I’m certain she was trying to tell me she had a plan.”

  “Then she has a plan.”

  “Don’t be soft-headed,” she scolded. “She’s a great servant and a sweetheart, but becoming a covert operative is nothing she could pull off. If she tried, I’m afraid they’ll exposed her immediately and … and then she’ll be gone.”

  “If that’s what happened, that’s what happened. Again, what are we supposed to do about it?”

  “We could mourn her, for one.”

  “Here’s a good compromise. You mourn her, and I’ll focus on the fact that we’re…”

  “What? Why’d you stop in the middle of speaking, stupid?”

  “Did you feel that?”

  “Obviously not. What didn’t I feel?”

  He held up his hand. His forearm melted and reshaped as a scaled club.

  “Oh my,” she squeaked. Mirri melted and became a Horta, hissing on the floor. Then, as quickly as possible, she went back to herself. “Reform now. We need to concentrate. Crap, we should have planned for this before.”

  “What?”

  “What can we become for short periods that can help us after we return to Deft form?”

  “You mean dig holes to escape out of?”

  “Yeah, maybe. No. I don’t know. Something useful.”

  “I could become a saber-toothed backwallow and you could rip a fang out. We could …”

  “You’d eat me with the other three out of instinct.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Wait.” She flopped on her belly and melted. She reformed into a bulbous lizard-like tube with fifty tiny pairs of legs. The front pair, however, were massively enlarged—basically lobster claws that terminated at the rubbery mouth. The olifar spit out a pair of fleshy balls and quickly spit out two more. Then Mirri turned back into herself.

  As she rearranged her disrupted robes, Slapgren asked, “What the heck was that?”

  She returned him a dubious glance. “An olifar. You're telling me you, a boy, don’t know what they are?”

  He shrugged. “What?”

  She pointed to the balls. “It produces pouches of a powerful toxin and then uses those front claws to throw them at threats.”

  “How cool. Can I become one too?”

  “We’ll see. Here, hide these two, but be careful. If they rupture you might die.”

  “Totally cool. I’m all over this
,” he said as he went into the next room to stash them.

  When they regrouped, she said, “We can’t know why that happened or how long it will last. We need to think very hard for other assets we can produce when it happens again.”

  “Yeah, too bad we can’t turn into a plasma rifle factory.”

  “Right. Yeah, too bad. Do try and think of something we can become, okay?”

  “This’ll be fun. I can think of a few nasty things already.”

  “Remember, we have to become something that will produce a weapon after we change back, and we have to return to normal fast. If we’re locked in an alien form, they’ll know we’re up to something. You got that?”

  He looked at her like she was clueless. “Of course, I do. I’m not stupid.”

  She smiled back. “Oh, and keep pressing your Descore on what happened to Sentorip.”

  “I will. Geez, you treat me like I’m a kid,” he scoffed.

  Again, she just smiled back.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Harhoff and I talked for several hours that first meeting, solving all the problems in the universe, it would seem. He really didn’t have any more musto, which was a pity. The stuff went down well. He reassured me there were many things he could do to help me achieve retaking Stingray and destroying Excess of Nothing. Neither, he conceded, would be easy. Basically, he asked me to come up with a few contingencies and run them by him. That way he could figure out how he and his cell could help. Importantly, he didn’t place any time pressure on me. If he had, I’d have been suspicious. Hell, the Adamant empire had been running wild across space for billions of years. There needn’t be a rush to initiate their slow demise.

  I raised the ever-looming issue of Evil Jon. He knew there were two of us from reports coming off Azsuram. He wasn’t sure he bought the whole alternate time line story, but that really didn’t matter. He understood the dude was trouble with a capital T, which was the essential takeaway point. I let him know the issues with EJ. He’d defeated me once and probably could again unless something fundamental changed. He also wanted my teens. Protecting them, not ending a cruel empire, was my number one priority. He thought that was silly but accepted the reality.

  He sketched a picture of Adamant security procedures. Man, were they tight—much more draconian than I’d imagined. Everybody watched and reported on everybody else. Also, there were three separate security agencies whose sole purpose was to watch the other two and everybody else while they were at it. The bottom line was that we’d have to be more than extremely careful in contacting one another or we’d be caught faster than fish in a barrel. Harhoff thought my cover as Descore to Fuffefer was fine for the time being. It turned out my benefactor was a hound of great status and outstanding breeding. His rank as Group-Single was remarkable because he was still very young. There were rumors the emperor had an eye on him. That made him a safe wall to hide behind.

  Because I was a suspicious guy, I didn’t let Harhoff know about Whoop Ass trailing us at a distance. I wanted my ace-in-the-hole card to remain my secret. There were too many suspicious elements at play for me to get overconfident. I was periodically in contact with GB and was certain that he was still undetected.

  Harhoff and I set a signal we could use to indicate when either of us wanted to communicate with the other. I suggested a radio link like GB and I had, but he felt that would be too risky. Again, I left off telling him I hadn’t had any trouble sneaking messages off the ship.

  That next morning, I returned to my post with Fuffefer. Though he was a tight-ass like me, I could tell he was happy to have me back. Either he missed the convenience I provided or the son of a bitch actually missed me. Naturally, I favored the latter explanation.

  “So, the Group Captain wasn’t too tough on you?” he asked jokingly, which was totally out of character for him.

  “Naw. The beatings were infrequent, and he’s not nearly as strong as he looks. He whips like a puppy.”

  That brought a genuine laugh.

  “When I need to beat you, I’ll keep in mind that you kiss and tell.” He flexed an arm muscle. “I’d best hit the gym to bulk up.”

  Nice guy. I was beginning to like him. That was dangerous. He was everything I hated in my new existence, and he was my sworn enemy. Life, I concluded, and not for the first time, was funny and full of unanticipated turns and wiggles. I had to remind myself that if it came to it, I’d snap him like a dry twig.

  “Any update on my many detractors and haters?” I asked.

  “No. That’s good, by the way. The longer you’re here, the less likely it is that the Captain will insist on your removal.”

  “Removal. That sounds different than fired, taken as a word all by itself. I’m wondering if removal hurts more than plain old fired.”

  “You are too clever for your own good, Josbelub Pontared. Around me, that is fine. I suggest you keep a blanket over it in public, all right?”

  “I value your praise and your council.”

  He shook his head disapprovingly. That was a familiar sight in my long life. I considered it a good thing. Us wise asses had reputations to enhance and protect.

  We settled back into our bone achingly dull routine soon enough. I did a little cleaning and stocking, and he tried to ignore me but found it increasingly difficult. Normally an Adamant spoke to a Descore only as a god to his worshipper. Old Fuff was coming to enjoy the luxury of private conversations with a non-threatening listener. The Adamant society was so damn suspicious and political that any unfiltered thoughts were likely to be one’s last. I had to admit that the insights he provided me into their culture were fascinating, even when they weren’t specifically useful militarily. Their historical tales were unbelievable.

  There was a time, it was rumored but never recorded, that the Adamant weren’t so dominant. He told me it had to be many millions of years ago, but there was a time when his race lived as traders and even farmers. He claimed they excelled at both, which I totally believed. When the Adamant set their minds to something, they did it better than anyone else. He said that in those days, the five races mixed seamlessly and functioned as one balanced society. He made it sound like he approved of the normalcy of a cohesive, goal-sharing culture. This was an example of a thought he didn’t dare share with another Adamant. To suggest that they weren’t the apex of creation was a foolish thought. Foolish thoughts came from foolish Adamant. Foolish Adamant did not exist. End of story.

  After a couple weeks back at my post with Fuffefer, I decided to risk hacking the computer system again. Harhoff had told me how he detected my intrusion and gave me suggestions how to better infiltrate the system. He couldn’t supply me with passwords because they could easily be traced back to him.

  I was glad for his help. Since my last visit, I learned there had been trouble on Dare Not. I found reference to a report filed by a Doctor Pastersal to the Secure Council that High Seer Malraff was “assaulted and seriously injured but expected to live.” There were no details. His odd choice of words struck me. Assaulted and seriously injured but expected to live. Who attacked a high seer, whatever that was, on her own ship? Rodents of unusual size from the bowels of the ship? Not hardly. Crew members could have. But my research suggested Dare Not was her ship, her home. I’d met the bitch. She’d leave zero to chance. She’d have to because she was so darn mean. All crew members would be loyal beyond question.

  That the good doctor only expected her to live was curious. He hadn’t said “we’re fighting like hell to keep her alive” or “her condition is so grave she’s to be transferred to a better care team.” No. I kind of pictured him yawning and declaring that he expected her to survive. It didn’t surprise me that no one mourned the freakazoid’s misfortune because no one in or out of their right mind could possibly like Malraff. But the lack of, I didn’t know, dedication or passion to her recovery seemed out of character for these guys.

  I did know Malraff was the one holding the gun to Mirraya’s head, so they were toget
her at that point in time. If she’d taken my kids with her when she returned to Dare Not, it sure put a smile on my face to think it was one of the teens who’d assaulted her. Those kids could be nasty-plus if given the chance. Their ability to shapeshift was suppressed, but all systems failed. It could be one of them was responsible for ripping Malraff a bunch of new holes.

  Why would a high seer take the last two Deft to her home base? A nurturing and family atmosphere were unlikely explanations. I determined I had to find out what a high seer did, what it was they were supposed to see. But asking questions in Adamant society was risky business. If I asked Fuffefer what seers did, he’d have to wonder why I wanted to know. As far as I knew, there weren’t any aboard Rush to Glory for me to be curious about. The topic was too important to let drop, so I signaled Harhoff that I wanted to meet. He might light into me for doing so for this reason, but I had no choice.

  We met in the mess. I had established a pattern of eating there occasionally specifically so it wouldn’t be unusual for me to be there when Harhoff also happened to be there. He sat in the table right smack dab in the middle of the room, and I chanced to notice him. He graciously offered me to join him. He didn’t have to ask the officers dining with him to leave. They bolted like I was a pole cat with leaky glands. For a while, we made empty chatter designed to lose the interest of any one eavesdropping nearby. We did a good job. I was bored out of my gourd. I started playing Candy Crush while talking. I gotten addicted to it on my initial space flight back on Ark 1. Call me juvenile, but I was really bored.

  Finally, Harhoff felt it was safe. “What’s up?” he asked in a conversational tone. He didn’t want to attract attention by dropping his volume.

  “I need to know what a High Seer is,” I said to my soup.

  “Hah. Seriously?” He laughed like I’d told a funny joke. “You risk our lives to discover something you could look up in a dictionary? Well, my fault, I didn’t say you couldn’t contact me for help with crossword puzzles, did I?”