From the Ashes (Conquest Book 1)

by Jeff Taylor

  “It’s time, sir,” Vim said sheepishly as if he expected Brill to spray him with venom.

  Deliberately, Nathaniel nodded then straightened the scarlet tunic over his mag-suit. “I am sorry you feel this way, my friend. I had hoped for your support when I made my announcement.”

  In the last several weeks, even before the trip to the moon, Brill had found it difficult to stand without assistance. However, at this moment he rose with the fluidity of the Nile. “What announcement?” he barked.

  Nathaniel stood tall elongating his frame to tower over Brill. Without a word, but a hint of regret in his eyes, Nathaniel turned away from Brill then followed Vim out of the box.

  “What announcement?” Brill repeated more forcefully, reaching out to grab Nathaniel’s arm as he began to walk away. The hulk of a bodyguard instantly deflected his gesture and moved between the two, impeding any further contact. Brill struggled to get past muscle-bound guard, raising his cane to strike the man. “No!” Brill cried. “I have to stop this!”

  “Calm down, Mr. Brill,” the large, black bodyguard suggested, gripping the old man by the shoulders and gently lowering Brill onto the nearest seat. “I don’t think you’ll have to wait long to hear what Mr. Kratin has to say,” he said, nodding toward the arena.

  The third period of the game came to an end. Each team retreated to their respective benches and discussed their strategies for the concluding period. Normally, at this point in the contest, a flock of cheerleaders or performers would take the field in a vain attempt to entertain the crowd while they awaited the return to action. But something else was planned for the intermission’s entertainment.

  Brill watched in anguished defeat as the distant figures of Nathaniel Kratin and Juno Vim calmly sauntered to the center of the pitch. Brill jumped from his seat, his body lithe and limber like it hadn’t been in years, and pressed close to the window pane.

  Time stilled before him. Every sight and sound dulled. Each step Vim and Nathaniel Kratin took thudded in his ears and he couldn’t help but feel as though he were witnessing some apocalyptic disaster unfolding before his eyes. He had to stop them. His eyes darted around the room. Was there something he could throw or a button he could push to override the public-address system? Then he saw the weapon strapped on the guard’s hip. It was a small pulse pistol, not lethal but it could possibly break the glass and reach the two executives on the field. He reached his hand toward it. The guard divined his movement and nonchalantly slipped his hand over the grip of the weapon, covering it from view.

  “That is really not a very good idea,” he said casually. “Let’s just enjoy the show.”

  Finally, the harbingers of doom arrived at center field. The audience applauded wildly for the bombastic little man as Vim’s jovial face filled the gigantic monitors at either side of the building.

  “My brothers and sisters!” Vim boomed. “At this point of the night we normally have some special performance or musical routine to amuse us, but tonight we will bypass the usual frivolity, unless you want me to do my juggling routine!”

  He mimed tossing balls in the air above him and moved his hands as if he were juggling them. The crowd cheered and laughed. Brill turned to the guard, Tom, “Please let me shoot him,” he pleaded.

  The guard, Tom, chuckled. “Maybe later.”

  Brill’s stomach wrenched. He looked nervously around the arena. Vim had the entire audience’s undivided attention. Even people who had gotten up to leave or visit the concessions areas had stopped to hear the director. No doubt the people viewing the game in their dormitories were equally attentive.

  “No, tonight,” Vim continued, “we have a special guest, our Chief Executive Officer and President, Mr. Nathaniel Kratin!”

  The crowd roared with the force of the ocean.

  “Mr. Kratin wishes to say a few words so please give him your attention!”

  Vim gestured toward Nathaniel who stepped forward into the spotlight shining down on the gold-trimmed Titans logo painted onto the field. Nathaniel waived in greeting and waited for the supportive cheers to subside.

  “First of all, wow, what a game! Wow!” Nathaniel said, followed by an enthusiastic applause and shouts of “Go Titans!”

  “Shameless pandering,” Brill grunted.

  “But I didn’t ask Director Vim to interrupt tonight’s event just for my commentary.” Nathaniel continued. “No, I have something much more important to discuss with you tonight.” He stepped forward a few paces. The din of the crowd diminished to barely above a hush.

  “When I first arrived here I was amazed at everything you’d accomplished. Initially my plan had only been to come here and inspect Carsus’ holdings, to assess the viability of keeping this station running. In every way, my expectations have been exceeded. The achievements you’ve made here will benefit mankind for decades to come.”

  A smattering of applause broke from the crowd.

  “But even more amazing to me was an idea, an idea that this station was more than what it seemed; an idea that there is more to it than the state-of-the-art machinery, medical procedures, or mining programs. All those things are extraordinary and you all should be very proud. But what has struck me most is that you long to be part of something larger than yourselves. To be united in a single purpose and identity. Many of you have already been here a long time, others only a short while, yet together you have forged a community unlike any in the history of our race. A select unit of the best and brightest our homeworld has to offer, coalescing into a single, fully-functioning society. I have seen that in the short time I have been here. I have felt the sense of togetherness, the unity, the sense of family that has taken hold of all of you. I have seen that and it is overwhelming. I have seen it and longed to be a part of it. I have felt that so strongly in my heart that I believe it is my duty to preserve it, to grant it the freedom to flourish. So, for that reason, tonight, I am announcing my intention to authorize an investigatory committee, charged with exploring the potential creation of humanity’s first free, extraterrestrial nation, right here in Selene City.”

  The floor vibrated violently beneath Brill as thirty thousand people rose to their feet in wild celebration, drowning out the last of Nathaniel’s words. Inside the luxury box, however, the spectators stood shrouded in grim silence. Ahkman stood frozen in time as if Medusa herself had delivered Nathaniel’s speech. Brill could only stare, incredulous at what he had just witnessed. He saw only Nathaniel’s face on the monitor, smiling broadly while Vim held his right arm up high like a champion boxer after a major bout. The masses chanted wildly, “Kratin! Kratin! Kratin!” followed by the cry of “Freedom!”

  The shock in Brill’s chest was unbearable, but Nathaniel wasn’t finished. After several attempts to calm the rollicking horde, he was finally able to speak some more. “And, and, if their findings indicate the feasibility of such an undertaking, I will put it to you, the people of this lovely city, to decide your own fate through a vote to be held two weeks from today.”

  In his darkened hotel room, Nelsonn watched the events at the stadium unfold on his television monitor. He and his minions stood in a semicircle around the double-sided monitor, their arms folded in reverence for what had Nathaniel Kratin had to say.

  “It’s happening just like you said it would,” Mbenago observed, awed by his leader’s prescience.

  Nelsonn only nodded. His source had been right. This Kratin was soft. The moment he had read the CEO’s biographic sketch he knew the decision would be made in favor of independence. It was only a question of timing, which Nelsonn had calculated precisely to the day. What came next would determine which direction he now took in response.

  “Tell Eve to do her thing.”

  Brill’s mind was numb, vacant of any thought. He only saw the throng mercilessly cheering the demise of his company. He collapsed into the nearest chair and buried his head in his hands. Lost in a stupor, he barely heard the hostess approach Tom.

  “I think
Mr. Brill needs a drink.” She then set a glass down on the small table beside him.

  His head felt heavy and he let it drop back against the rest atop his chair. Now what? Scenarios of drawn-out court battles, angry clients and unforgiving stockholders battled in his mind. Perhaps now, after all these years, retirement was a valid option.

  A gasp by one of the women in the room ripped him from his nightmare. He looked up to see Jilliana Kratin, hand raised to her mouth, a look of utter terror shrouding her delicate face. Brill followed her gaze out the window and quickly found the source of her horror.

  Magnified on the enormous monitors above the field, the face of Jonu Vim, swollen and blue, gasped for breath while a chubby fist first clutched his chest then moved up to his throat as if he were choking. As the world watched, he collapsed to the ground, seemingly unconscious.

  Like everyone else, Brill jumped to his feet, fixated on the ensuing chaos. The medical staffs from both teams rushed the emerald field, swarming around the prone Vim. Nathaniel tried desperately to revive the administrator before the first responders reached him, but without success. The crowd, only moments before jubilant from Nathaniel’s speech, now stood in shocked silence, watching as the most beloved member of their community lay dying at their feet.

  For countless minutes, the medics worked frantically. Their skilled movements soon turned to exasperated actions. Their desperate chatter boomed over the stadium’s loudspeakers.

  “Check his airway,” said one.

  “BP dropping,” interjected another.

  “Scan the chest!”

  “No signs of a heart attack.”

  “What is he choking on?”

  “His throat’s swollen off!”

  “Intubate!”

  After several tense moments, the deflated words echoed through the silence:

  “He’s gone.”

  At first no one made a sound. Eventually cries of mourning and quiet sobs were heard throughout the stands. A member of Vim’s staff, an aspiring young administrator named Quincy dropped to his knees and put his head in his hands, unknowingly providing the picture of collective grief for the morning’s news story.

  Brill remained standing, conflicted as to how he should react. Here laid out before him and the rest of humanity was his company’s greatest threat, dead. He felt remorse for the public spectacle the man’s death had been. No one should have to die in such a public display. For the first time in years, he genuinely felt sorrow for the loss of another man. Yet at the same time, he could not help but speculate that Vim’s push for independence would die with him.

  The soft sobs of the Kratin women drew his attention from the field. Tina held her younger sister while their mother embraced them both. They had truly come to adore the administrator in their brief time aboard the station, Julia especially. Of those in the booth the women were the only ones to display any sign of emotion. Ahkman stood rigid in place, his hands resting atop his bald head, no doubt contemplating the same questions Brill now asked himself.

  Brill returned to his seat, inexplicably exhausted. His trembling hand caressed his eyes then massaged his temples. He let his head fall back on the cushion. What now? Openly opposing independence now would only vilify him. But if he let the idea persist, it would surely spread until it overpowered all of Selene City.

  “What a mess,” Brill mumbled. He rubbed his temples once more then brought his right hand down to the armrest. As it fell on the table beside him, he brushed a small glass with a dark liquid swimming inside. If ever he needed a drink it was now. He took the glass and the napkin underneath it then raised the cup to his lips. The liquid went down smoothly and seemed to calm his frazzled nerves. As the last gulp slid down his gullet, he felt something stringy tickling his gums. Returning the glass to the table, he reached inside his mouth and retrieved what appeared to be a hair.

  “Oh! That’s just great!” he complained. He turned to harangue the waitress, but she was nowhere to be seen. Rolling the hair in a ball, he placed it back in the empty glass. As he did so, he noticed the red markings on the napkin beneath the cup’s frosted bottom. He separated the glass from the cloth then dropped it onto the riser beneath him. On the napkin, scribbled in bold, red ink and highlighted between a pair of pink lipstick stains were the words:

  You’re welcome - Eve

  CHAPTER 24

  PANIC

  Strinnger bolted from his position on the sideline toward the center of the pitch where Nathaniel hovered over the fallen Vim. His gut had told him he should have accompanied the pair to centerfield but Nathaniel insisted it wouldn’t be necessary. As soon as Selene City’s director fell, however, Strinnger had known he was right and immediately raced ahead with Arla right behind.

  The teams’ medics reached the scene first, frantically conducting their assessments and administering emergency aid. Strinnger paid them no mind as he urgently gripped Nathaniel’s arm.

  “We need to get you out of here, sir,” he warned, scanning the crowd for any sign of an assailant. He didn’t know what happened to cause Vim’s collapse, but the worst-case scenario of a shooter concealed in the crowd was a viable possibility. He had to get Nathaniel to safety.

  “BP dropping,” a medic shouted.

  “No,” cried Nathaniel, resisting Strinnger’s hold on him. “I have to see!”

  “Scan the chest.”

  Strinnger was not in the mood for an argument and considered picking the CEO off the ground and carrying him out screaming if necessary. He looked at Arla, who nodded her silent agreement to this course of action, when one of the medics said something that made him pause.

  “His throat’s swollen off!”

  “Get an oxygen bag!”

  Vim was indeed grasping his throat as if he were choking. His face was turning blue and his eyes pleading with his rescuers for some relief. Strinnger forgot his urgency and watched, as captivated as the thirty thousand other people in the stadium. The wild panic in Vim’s eyes held his gaze with an eerie familiarity. The former detective had seen that expression before.

  “We’re losing him!”

  The medics worked mightily, but despite their best efforts, Vim’s convulsing body eventually stilled as if frozen in time.

  “He’s gone,” was the resigned announcement.

  A stunned silence hung over the crowd as the gravity of the moment weighed heavy in the air.

  Strinnger shook his head. “No,” he whispered. “No.” There was something in his past, something his friend Bill had said about … Schulaz.

  “No, wait!” he exclaimed, releasing his hold on Nathaniel and leaping toward the medics. “Epinephrine! He’s having an allergic reaction to Endoxin! Give him some epinephrine!”

  The medics looked at him as if beetles were crawling from his nose. One medic complied, however, and loaded a syringe with the clear liquid from his emergency pack. He plunged the needle into the side of Vim’s throat. Immediately another medic pounded on his chest, trying to restart Vim’s heart. Five tense seconds passed. Suddenly the color in Vim’s face warmed and he gasped for air.

  “Give him the mask!” Strinnger shouted as the medics stared in amazement.

  Quickly the oxygen mask was replaced and Vim greedily sucked in the precious gas. The audience erupted into cheers and applause that shook the stadium. Nathaniel and others wildly congratulated Strinnger, but the former detective acknowledged none of their praise. His focus was on Vim, not so much the man as the condition of his neck and clothing. His hands wandered over the lapels of Vim’s oversized blue robe, searching for something he hoped would not be there. To his disappointment, he found what he’d been looking for: a single red hair on his right cuff. He grunted his frustration and then rolled Vim onto his side so he could examine his neck. A few of the medics protested, but Strinnger ignored them. To his surprise there was no sign of a syringe entrance at the base of Vim’s skull.

  That’s odd. How could the Endoxin have entered his throat without an in
jection?

  His mind replayed the scene in the luxury box, trying to focus on as many details as possible. The task was difficult since he had spent only a few minutes up there. He had decided to patrol the sidelines to look for threats instead of staying in the box. Gazing up to it he couldn’t make out who was still there. He concentrated on the faces and the activities of each person he remembered. All he could think of was everyone watching the game while they talked and drank the cloudy blue liquid Vim insisted they try.

  That must be it; he drank it.

  Strinnger jumped to his feet, glaring at the luxury box.

  “Tom!” he shouted into his comm device. A soft tone sounded in his ear signaling a secure connection. “Lockdown that box. Don’t let anyone in or out until I get there!”

  “Too late,” Tom replied. “The girls who were here with Vim left when he did and I think one of the waitress chicks left right before the boss’s speech.”

  Strinnger’s mouth pressed tightly shut, holding in the anger he suddenly felt. “Keep the rest of them there and find out who she was. I need an ID and photo, right now!” He turned back toward Arla who was still next to Nathaniel. “Get him out of here!”

  Arla nodded and lead the elder Kratin toward the sideline. Nathaniel was so elated at Vim’s miraculous resurrection that he did not protest his removal.

  “What’s going on?”

  Strinnger whirled around to see the agitated face of his superior officer, Chief Treyklor. Closing the gap between them swiftly, Strinnger spoke with an urgent whisper.

  “This was not some random allergy attack. It was a murder attempt.” He brought his hand up discretely between them and opened it so only the chief could see. “I found a hair just like this one on Hanel Schulaz’ body the night he died.”