From the Ashes (Conquest Book 1)

by Jeff Taylor

  Soon other board members and candidates began to arrive. None were as interesting as the first group. Bringing up the rear as always, was an odd-looking couple in a sleek, black Jaguar. The raven-haired woman was almost sickly thin, dressed entirely in black with a gray coat draped over her slender shoulders. Large sunglasses covered half of her sun-bronzed face. Her companion towered over her by nearly a foot. His skin was as dark as her hair and his shorn head glistened in the moist morning air. His suit was a light gray with a black shirt and tie underneath. Brill’s pleasant mood dimmed.

  Former Chief Financial Officer, Pilan Ahkman and his wife Josephina Leniston, now both voting members of the board, had long been festering thorns in his side. Their recent rise to the board potentially undermined everything he’d worked for, and as he saw it, the only impediment to Kratin’s election. The thought of dropping something from his window onto their car was more than tempting. After the couple entered the lobby, Brill inhaled then straightened his tie.

  For four decades, Naitus Brill had led the board of directors for Carsus Corporation, a company which he and two like-minded associates started those many years ago. Under his leadership and guidance, the company had transformed from a guttural wretch of a mining operation to the world’s leader in energy production, plastics, and technology. He was the visionary that had sought out and retained the globe’s leading minds and put them to work on projects that in past years had seemed purely fiction. The lunar mining facilities and massive solar farms suspended in space had been his brainchildren. Advancements in nanotechnology, prosthetics, computer hardware and interfaces, androids, and hundreds of other accomplishments directly resulted from his efforts. He sustained the company’s heavy extraterrestrial obligations when all other private commercial space companies faded or folded under the weight of overwhelming costs. And now thanks to his contributions, mankind inhabited its two nearest neighbors of the inner solar system, the Moon and Mars.

  Yet the legacy he pondered as he stared at the other side of the bay had more to do with the stock report displayed on the massive transparent screen that doubled as his desktop. Carsus was failing. The company’s stock had plummeted with the decline in demand for Helium 3, the rare element used as an alternate nuclear fuel and mined almost exclusively at the Carsus lunar facility. Creating a nuclear reaction without any of the deadly radiation or waste, the substance had driven Carsus energy divisions for decades. Mining operations once thrived beneath the lunar desolation as the androids and remote-controlled drills gutted the moon’s crust leaving enormous caverns hundreds of feet deep. An entire fleet of transport ships had been constructed to shuttle the goods between the Earth and its companion. Over time, the costs of maintaining such an operation took their toll. Brill had tried to supplement the company’s coffers by building the expansive solar panel farm suspended in a high orbit over the mother-world, but that too had proved unsuccessful as the demand was not high enough to sustain it. Eventually, the company looked to traditional means of energy production just to help break even, venturing into oil and coal production. Other methods of turning a profit were explored as well, though some on the board questioned the morality of pursuing them.

  Brill refused to believe that what he had spent most of his life building was so easily dispersed like so much grass thrown into a tornado. This company was all he had lived for and if it died then so would he. He would do everything within his power to preserve it. But he was running out of time to do so.

  No, he would fight and today was the beginning of that fight.

  The board members had been summoned to assemble in the conference room on the floor below for an emergency meeting. Most of them were already in town when the news of Schulaz’ death was released. Others had immediately boarded the many jets in the company fleet, arriving only less than an hour ago.

  He crossed the spacious office to his desk and reviewed the materials he had laid out. Several datapads and files were stacked neatly to his left, but were mainly there for show. His desk served all the data needs he could ever have. He scrolled through his list of agenda items, wondering how best to present them to the board so he could assure them Nathaniel was their man.

  Hanel Schulaz had been an above average facilitator and an excellent communicator, easily conveying his vision to others. People flocked to his exuberant personality and would do anything he asked, with enthusiasm. Several times he had been honored as a selfless humanitarian, lending time and financing to numerous community projects. But he also had a darker side which he made very little effort to hide from the outside world. This darkness had caused serious divisions among the company’s leadership.

  The week before Schulaz’ demise, in a very contentious, last ditch effort to save the company, he had asked the members of the board to accept his proposal to contract with the United States government and test weapons near the company’s lunar facility, Selene II, on the southern rim of the moon’s Sea of Tranquility. This vote had divided the board more than any other Brill could remember. The conservative group, under Brill’s guidance, had vehemently voiced its concern about turning their research outpost into a military armory, citing precedence and international agreements preventing such activity. Brill firmly believed that what they, as well as other companies, did on the moon should be purely scientific, all for the betterment of man. Advanced space weaponry would not augment the progress of humanity, in his eyes. The opposition boisterously objected and the debate went on for days. Eventually, Brill had won out, but Hanel refused to abandon what he saw as a lucrative opportunity for growth. Rumor was that he had begun to negotiate with the Indian government to produce an orbital arsenal, but nothing was ever substantiated.

  The bitterness in that vote would still be fresh in each board member’s mind as they gathered to elect the new chief executive. Each would retreat into their respective cliques; the conservatives would characterize the liberals as free-wheeling visionaries who thought nothing of their responsibilities to others, while the liberals denounced the staunch posture of the conservatives’ views as too rigid and outdated. As he thought on this, Brill became more and more convinced that what they needed was a compromiser, equal in tact and finesse as Schulaz; someone who would balance the two sides and establish a cohesive unit that could effectively govern their company. In his mind, Kratin was that man.

  A soft chime sounded overhead. The view on his desktop transformed into the image of a thick-chested, square-jawed man who stood perfectly erect, arms folded behind him. The man wore a pale-blue cotton uniform, perfectly starched, and tucked into immaculately polished black boots. Upon seeing him, Brill couldn’t help but think of the joke around the office that it wasn’t clear which was stiffer, the man or his uniform? He pressed the nose of a small pewter eagle near the square, stainless steel clock on the corner of the desk. At his touch, the door slid open and the man briskly crossed the threshold.

  “Chief Treyklor. Come in. So good to see you,” Brill greeted politely, although not sincerely.

  “Is it?” the chief gruffly asked. His silver hair shone in the brilliance of Brill’s office. His cold gray eyes penetrated their narrow lids and locked onto Brill as if he were a wounded prey.

  Brill was keenly aware that Stepan Treyklor despised him, but he was also aware that Treyklor hated working for him even more. Legend had it that after his first day, Treyklor commented that a foxhole full of napalm had more appeal than waiting on the slimy nest of vipers infesting the building. He stayed though, mainly because his pay was off-the-charts good and the current administration in Washington had no use for a retired combat general in peacetime. Yet despite his excessive compensation, his tolerance for the company’s executives was extremely low.

  Brill let the question go and got to the point. “We had a major lapse in security last night,” he said as he sat behind the massive desk, meeting the security chief’s stone-cold stare. “Can you offer me any explanation as to how our most visible executive was killed whi
le under your protection?”

  The security chief’s jaw set hard. “If you look at the facts, sir, Mr. Schulaz was not under our protection last night. In fact, he refused it, insisting on hiring his own goons. I see little my men could have done to avoid this . . .,” he paused a moment, “. . . tragedy.” The last word oozed with disdain.

  Brill knew Schulaz and Treyklor had never seen eye to eye. The CEO wanted his freedom and Treyklor would have locked him in a bunker if he’d been able to. Schulaz tolerated the general because he gave the company’s image a credibility boost and because he was very good at what he did; too good for Schulaz’ tastes.

  “Besides,” he continued, eyeing Brill suspiciously, “who said he was killed? The police are calling it an accidental overdose.”

  “Does it matter?!” Brill snapped. “The point is he’s dead! Whether someone intended that or not is entirely inconsequential!” He jumped from behind the desk and brought himself toe to toe with Treyklor, who didn’t move a rigid muscle. “The fact is I have to go into that conference room and find some way to convince those petrified board members that they are perfectly safe and have nothing to worry about. Do you have any suggestions as to how I do that when they know that the great General Stepan Treyklor can’t even protect them?”

  For most of his life Treyklor had given orders and demanded answers. Being on the opposite end of such demands did not sit well with the general.

  “No matter how hard you try, sir,” Treyklor finally said, through clenched teeth, “you will not pin this incident on me, or my men. If Hanel hadn’t ignored everything I had ever said to him he would still be here today. As for that flock of overstuffed peacocks in there, tell them to stay out of compromising situations and protect themselves by doing the things we ask them to.”

  The two men glared at one another for what seemed an eternity when a soft pinging sound broke the standoff.

  “Mr. Brill, the board is waiting, sir,” interrupted the plump image of Brill’s assistant.

  “Like it or not, Chief, you may still think of yourself as a general, but in this building, I outrank you.” Brills hissed. “You’re dismissed, Mr. Treyklor.”

  Treyklor then mockingly clicked his heels together and saluted before exiting the office.

  The meeting went late into the evening. Brill’s mind and body were spent. Thankfully, the concealed bed in his office was only a floor above him. He couldn’t wait to fall into it and spend the next six blissful hours away from his colleagues.

  The selection process for the new CEO had been much more adversarial than he’d anticipated. In past elections, a consensus was reached on a candidate quite swiftly. Hanel Schulaz had been unanimously chosen before argument had even begun. This time, however, had been different. Each board member offered his or her own candidate, if not themselves which was the case with Fridman, and fought vigorously on their behalf. It wasn’t until they’d returned from the dinner break that a nominee was seconded by another board member. In the past, the process had been relatively easy. Everyone now had an individual stake in the company’s direction and championed a leader who specialized in that area. For example, Brahlim was heavily invested in the research being done on and around the lunar space stations Selene I and II, and favored the stations’ director, Jonu Vim. Fridman’s pet project on the other hand was the colony emerging on Mars and saw no one fit to guide its growth but her.

  For twelve hours, the debate raged without one named candidate affirmed by a second vote. The arguments were intense as each member made their case, winning over no one. They stood at an impasse that appeared doomed to failure. If a new head couldn’t be decided in the next seven days, the board would be dissolved and a new one appointed by the shareholders. It was a harsh consequence but one that had been agreed upon nearly half a century ago at the company’s founding. The intent was to keep the voters grounded and enforce the point that no one was untouchable. Finally, after much deliberation and cashing in a great deal of favors, Brill’s advocacy paid off. Nathaniel was elected as the president and CEO after only serving on the board for a period of four hours.

  The whole ordeal taxed Brill more than he would admit but he could not restrain the satisfactory smile on his face. He was pleased with the outcome, but now his weary body cried for rest. On most nights, he would take the stairs to his office, but tonight the elevator was very tempting. But he decided he could handle a single flight of stairs. His tired muscles strained to push open the heavy door to the stairwell. “I’m getting too old for this,” he mumbled to himself. His hand reached out for the railing and he began ascending the sixteen steps to the upper floor.

  He labored toward the landing halfway up when he heard voices several floors below. He glanced over the railing to see who was talking. The voices were garbled by the echo bouncing off the concrete walls, but he distinctly heard the former CFO, Pilan Ahkman speaking to someone as they walked down to the lower floors. Ahkman’s loud, confident voice was not easy to miss, but Brill couldn’t distinguish the other person speaking with him. He assumed it was Josephina Leniston, but the tone wasn’t quite right.

  Deciding not to concern himself with their conversation, Brill turned to finish his climb. As he did so the lights illuminating the top four levels suddenly went dark. “What the devil?” he mumbled.

  The darkness was unnerving but did not frighten him as much as the darkened figure on the landing just above him. At first, he thought his imagination was playing with his exhausted eyes, but as he concentrated harder, it was clear that someone hid in the shadows. The distinct shape of a woman, dressed all in black from head to toe, her face covered by a dark ski-mask, leaned casually against the wall.

  “Man, you work late hours,” the figure said playfully. “I was just about to give up and go home for the night.”

  Her voice was warm and pleasant when she spoke, but his nerves tensed like iron upon hearing it. His face paled as ghostly white as the blinding walls of his office.

  “Then, why didn’t you?” he hissed, nervously turning his head in all directions, assuring himself no one was within earshot of their conversation. He immediately looked down to Ahkman and his party finding that they had disappeared. No one was in sight above or below that he could see. Adrenaline pumped through him now and he closed the distance to the top stair in so rapid a movement that even he was surprised at how swiftly he reached her. “You shouldn’t be here,” he growled stopping within a few feet of the woman.

  “You didn’t call. You didn’t write. I was afraid that you’d forgotten about me,” she pouted, thoroughly amused at his discomfort.

  “What do you want?” he whispered through clenched teeth. Fury danced in his eyes as he spoke. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

  “Oh, come on,” she quipped, obviously enjoying his torment. “Can’t a girl visit her favorite client?”

  “No!” he fumed. “Especially not here.”

  “Relax,” she said coyly, “there’s nobody watching or listening. Ahkman’s too busy listening to himself and nobody’s watching on video. Someday you boys will learn to put surveillance cameras in the service areas.”

  Brill was extremely agitated. Obviously, she was in no hurry to leave. Better to find out what she wants and get her out of here.

  “Schulaz was supposed to die of natural causes, not as a victim,” he blurted out. “You martyred him and got the police involved. They are investigating it as a homicide.”

  “I know,” she said, a slight smile forming at the corner of her bright red lips, “I read the file.”

  “So did I, and I am not impressed! You were supposed to be the best, but so far all I have seen is carelessness and waste. I am starting to question this whole arrangement. In fact, I refuse to pay.”

  Suddenly the floor vanished beneath his feet and something hard pressed his back. He wasn’t sure if it was the floor or the wall, but whichever it was, getting there had left his head spinning. Her vice-like hands held him at the coll
ar of his dress shirt, choking the breath from his throat.

  “Let me make sure I heard you right,” she sneered, all her precocious flirtation extinguished. “You hire me, I do the job, and now you want to back out of payment?” The pressure on his back disappeared and quickly he realized he was no longer on the landing, but suspended over the shaft leading down the hundred-plus floors below him. The blood rushed to his head as she held him over the side of the railing. If her hands slipped even slightly, he would fall one hundred seven floors to his death. “That seems to me to be a problem.”

  “All right! All right!” he squealed. “You win! I’ll pay. Just don’t let me go!” His frantic cry reverberated with the force of a gong all the way down the stairwell.

  “When?” she asked, lowering him slightly.

  “Right now!”

  Unexpectedly, he was pulled up and then dropped onto the cold concrete. The woman removed a clear disc from her thumbnail and pressed it against his cheek. He peeled it off angrily and attached it to the computer interface embedded in his shirt cuff. Following the prompts projected onto his palm by his cufflink, he entered the bank account information then flung the filmy disc back at her.

  “It’s done,” he growled.

  She pressed the disc to her forearm and the small image of a bank logo appeared. The status on the account just below the logo flashed florescent green and the text read “Transaction Completed.”

  “Wonderful,” the woman cooed, handing him another film, this one from her right index finger. “And now the prison access . . .”

  Brill’s trembling hands repeated the action once more. A soft ping sounded as the display on his cuff declared “Authorization Granted.” It was done. The assassin now had his fingerprints and personal authorization implicating him in his CEO’s murder.