Hawthorne chuckled as he stroked his newly acquired facial hair. “I fancied a change… is that a problem?”
Hunter shook his head. “Not my business, Admiral.”
“How tactful,” Hawthorne replied, nodding in farewell. “Safe journey home, Captain.”
*
Patrick Hunter was waiting for Elijah, sitting behind his expansive mahogany desk – pockmarked with coffee stains and scratches from more than a century of hard, frequent use – as Elijah strolled into the office, fresh off the shuttle that had just docked on the estate’s launchpad.
“You’re looking well.”
“I now know why James hates zero-g so much,” Elijah muttered, crinkling his nose. His stomach was still full of butterflies from the shuttle trip down to the surface, which had been less than smooth. “But, yes, I am fine.”
“The trip went well?”
Elijah frowned as he fell into the seat his father gestured to theatrically. His father’s gaze was steely, as well as inscrutable, though it appeared that it had been some time since he’d shaved – his five o’clock shadow was pronounced, indicating at least three days of growth, threatening to turn his moustache into a full-fledged beard. It also looked like he’d put on a bit of weight.
Which wasn’t surprising – Patrick had been devoting a lot more of his energies into managing his financial empire, the edges of which were fraying and deteriorating as the war continued and the economy disintegrated – the S&P was at its lowest point in nearly a century, and some major colonies, like Celeste II, were now solely reliant on government subsidies to survive. The Commonwealth was an increasingly sickly entity, dying a death by a thousand cuts.
Not that Elijah was looking that much better at the moment. His appearance was that of a man who’d just come off a week-long bender, with dark bags under his eyes, and a waistline that was actually smaller than when he’d departed Bastion – despite all the advanced technology the Navy enjoyed, they still couldn’t manufacture decent food, and so Elijah had decided to fast instead of subjecting his fussy stomach to a Naval diet.
“Of course it went well,” Elijah beamed, despite being exhausted – he hadn’t slept in over a day, and his VA had been taxing its resources too much, working overtime on doing calculations and other research, to help bolster his mobility and mental faculties. “You’d know that if you read my reports.”
“I did,” Patrick replied as he belted out a laugh, and his tone became harsh as he huffed out his chest. “I’m most impressed by the demonstrations. Most impressed.” Patrick frowned. “I notice you left out any mention of the Likan Virus…”
Elijah sighed – he had hoped, rather pointlessly, that his father wouldn’t notice that. “Dad, as much as James is conflicted on the use of those sorts of weapons, there’s no way he’d bring it to the attention of the High Command.” Elijah thrust his chin out defiantly. “And you know I don’t want to, even if James was interested.”
Patrick glowered, simpering. “Go on.”
Elijah straightened in his seat uncomfortably. “I don’t think it would be wise to reveal our development of a bioweapon at this point, especially with their legal status being questionable, at best… and you know, I can just imagine this sort of thing being divided straight down partisan lines in the Senate.”
“Fucking politicians,” Patrick murmured. An ironic statement, considering his presidential ambitions. “We’d have won this war by now if people like me were calling the shots.”
“Yes, I’m sure we would have.” Elijah cocked his head slightly, ignoring the pointed glare that his father offered him. “The Navy is currently winning this war using conventional means… and these new CME weapons will help them to continue to prosecute a conventional war.”
Glowering in disapproval, Patrick sighed as a hand reaching for his forehead. “You sound just like James when you say that… exactly like James, in fact. Too full of opinions, too independent…” He spun around and looked out the windows – the setting sun was casting long shadows outside, rays of light scattering through the thick leaves of the imported trees. The yards were curiously devoid of human activity for this time of day: many staffers these days had had their hours cut back in response to the recession.
“What exactly is your problem with the bioweapon, Elijah? You signed off on creating it, along with the rest of the Board, and ever since then you’ve done nothing but mope around ever since.”
Elijah blinked in surprise, refraining from reminding his father that the old man had almost literally twisted Elijah’s arm into supporting the project from the outset. Ordinarily, Elijah wouldn’t have had a bar of such a project - for that matter, neither would Patrick – but the circumstances the Commonwealth found itself in meant that drastic measures may, one day, be needed.
“You know you twisted my arm into sponsoring its development.” He sniffed derisively. “And it’s a weapon of mass destruction, one that we don’t have a cure for! What’s my problem with it? Nothing at all. I quite enjoy the idea of being able to wipe out entire populations at the drop of a hat – it’s what allows me to sleep at night.”
Patrick simmered silently, his jaw working as he grinded his teeth. Finally, he let out a sigh. “Elijah, you know damn well that –” Patrick started, his voice rising sharply before he cut himself short. “Do you really have so little faith in humanity that you think that we would do that if we had other options available?”
“Human history is replete with questionable decisions, father,” Elijah sneered. “And I’m not convinced we should deploy even if we have no other choice.”
“Nihilism, Elijah?” Patrick scoffed, his eyes narrowing to slits as his finger drummed even harder on the arm of his chair. “I would have expected more faith from you.”
“I’m a scientist, first and foremost, I don’t have much in the way of faith… and I always try to account for all possible contingencies… and this weapon isn’t something we should be fooling around with lightly.” Elijah nodded coldly. “And since when have you had any faith in anything other than yourself?”
“Point taken,” Patrick said, smiling as he nodded a salute to his son. “Glad I passed something along to my flesh-and-blood.”
“I dunno, I reckon Rebecca had a healthy cynicism in her, too, despite her vocation and career-choice.”
Patrick opened his mouth to laugh, then a pained look crossed his face. It was the same face that Elijah was now wearing, as his mind raced back to the memory of his one-time stepmother.
“Yeah, I miss her, too,” Patrick said softly, his face haunted. Elijah knew that, despite the divorce, Rebecca Gold had been Patrick’s favourite wife – in fact, his love life in the years since the divorce in 2401 had been something of a disaster.
“I miss your mother, too, to be honest,” Patrick continued, his hands bouncing off the tops of his arm rests. “She had a great sense of humour… and I could certainly use a laugh now.”
“We all could, but, yeah, I guess I miss her too,” Elijah murmured. He’d been an infant when his mother had died, and he had absolutely no memories of her at all. All he had to remember her by were the various holograms and stored recordings.
“You didn’t even know her… I regret that.” Patrick’s gaze flicked towards the window; the Bastion sun was starting to set now, its warm yellow rays streaming in through the unobstructed glass. “I’ve always regretted that, Eli… Cassie was a… remarkable woman.” Patrick nodded, breaking himself out of his reverie. “Anyway, we’ll keep your little virus secret for the time being, Elijah… but I still want a live test on something a little bigger than a few lab rats. If things begin to go south again…”
Elijah resisted the impulse to correct his father – the virus had been tested on more than thirty different specimens of flora and fauna, not just rats. The results were always the same: always stomach-churning… and his father wanted him to repeat these experiments?
More like animal cruelty, Elijah murmured, old famil
y arguments springing to mind – his younger brothers had always been appalled by the idea of using animals in laboratory experiments.
“I’ll see what I can do.” Elijah acquiesced, trailing off. Patrick gazed at him expectantly.
“Was there anything else?” Patrick asked. Elijah’s body language was very suggestive that there was more going on than his son had presently divulged. “There is, isn’t there?”
Elijah pursed his lips. “Well, yeah, James did have a more conventional idea… and a kind-of unofficial request… I don’t know if we can do it, though. It’s going to be horribly expensive…”
Patrick snorted. “We’re at war, Elijah, everything is expensive, even breathing.” He frowned. “And what do you mean, unofficial? Since when does our family take in unofficial requests from the Navy?”
Elijah shrugged. “This is from James, Father. The Navy isn’t involved – yet – he needs time to get them up to speed, work out his strategy, I guess, and get his suggestion approved. He just wants us to build some things… quite a few things, actually.” Even as Elijah spoke, a data packet appeared in Patrick’s virtual vision.
“What the hell is this, Eli?” Patrick studied the request closely, almost forgetting to answer his son. “Have you not made him aware of our current… difficulties?”
“Politically or economically?” Elijah asked, well aware that the two were inexorably linked these days… Actually, they’ve always been linked, but these it’s… worse.
“Both,” snapped Patrick darkly. “We’re not as rich as we used to be, Elijah. The loss of revenue was one blow –”
“– and the tax increases were another.” Elijah nodded, unpleasant memories coming to the fore again – his father had fought the tax increases as viciously as if he was a soldier himself. “Yes, James is aware of our problems, but I rather suspect he has his own at the moment.”
“You don’t need to remind me of that,” grumbled Patrick. “I swear, if I ever get my hands on Governor Pataki…”
“I have a pretty good idea of what you’d do to him,” Elijah said, not willing to entertain another one of his father’s diatribes about the governor for Elysium. It wouldn’t be accurate to say that the elder Hunter hated Pataki; it would, however, be accurate to say that he loathed the man.
“Yes, well, I have a pretty good idea to run against at the next election.”
“It’s a bit late to be starting a campaign, isn’t it? Pataki started six months ago.” The next presidential election wasn’t scheduled until the end of 2440, but campaigning for it had already started, albeit tentatively.
“I have more money than him,” Patrick growled. “And people like me more.” He studied Elijah carefully. “I’m deadly serious, by the way.”
Elijah smiled – he’d heard all this before for the last few years. Patrick had been due to run in 2435, but the shock of his ex-wife’s death – as well as another failed relationship – had rattled him enough to derail his plans. “Of course you are.”
The two men fell into silence for a long moment, the only sound coming from the hustle of the office building around them.
“Can we can do this?” Elijah finally asked. “James’ project, I mean.”
Patrick sighed and ran a hand over his moustache, closing his eyes as he contemplated the logistics. Elijah realized he probably wasn’t a fan of the idea – after all, their family had seen a sizeable chunk of their worth disappear over the last twenty years, along with everyone else. “Theoretically, yes… though building a new shipyard isn’t going to be cheap, especially on this fucking timetable…”
“The government would help us out – at the very least, this would qualify for special tax concessions.”
“Eventually, yes, they’d come around. They’d have to, they can’t risk letting a private corporation being in charge of a major piece of the war effort.” Patrick paused. “If they ever even sign off on this.” He snorted derisively, throwing his back and offering a booming laugh. “That’d just be fantastic – we pour the bulk of our assets into this, and the Commonwealth says thanks, but no thanks.” His false-cheer evaporated like morning dew. “Has James even considered that possibility?”
Elijah didn’t know how to answer that, the question had never occurred to him. He tried to deflect with, “James seems confident that the High Command will listen to him.”
“The High Command is one thing, Eli, the Senate is another matter entirely.”
“Then it looks like you’re going to have to pull in a few favours, then, when the time comes.”
Patrick rolled his eyes. “Obviously,” he bit out, more than a bit resentful. As powerful as Patrick was, it had its limits, and those limits had been sorely tested in the last few years. “But we will have to take another cut to our entitlements in order to fund this.”
“That’s unacceptable.”
Patrick shrugged exaggeratedly. “It’s unavoidable. I’ll be taking one, too, y’know. We either take a cut, or we go bankrupt in the process.” Patrick shrugged impassively. “Or we don’t do this at all. Your choice.”
Elijah stared at his father for a long moment – he could survive another pay-cut, but Troy probably couldn’t, and Michael would probably struggle, too. Patrick knew that, having nagged Troy for the last few years to cut back on the extravagant lifestyle… thankfully, with Adlai on the scene to keep him occupied, Troy had managed to reign in his playboy lifestyle, at least a little bit.
“Fine, whatever,” Elijah said darkly. “I’m not telling them, though. That can be your job.”
Patrick sighed. “I’m going to have to cut Sanctuary off completely – I can’t even claim their expenses as a tax write-off anymore.” He looked at Elijah expectantly.
Elijah glowered. “Sure, I’d love to tell Elias the bad news… though I’m not responding to the hate-mail he sends you.”
“Fine, whatever,” Patrick parroted, grinning.
Chapter Three
“I swear to God, Hunter, of all the crack-brained, half-baked schemes you’ve concocted since I recruited you, this has got to be the most…”
“Inspired? Genius?”
Bewildered, Admiral Jeremy Hawthorne simply glared at Captain James Hunter for long seconds, as if he was unsure on what to say. Having just come back from briefing the High Command, assembled on Elysium, he was decked out in his full-dress uniform, complete with ribbons and medals, his face freshly scrubbed, grey-flecked hair slicked back and a mood as black as space.
Hunter, on the other hand, was far more casual in his appearance, not even bothering with a uniform jacket, instead wearing a vest-variant of the standard duty uniform. His hair was, for once, slicked back and styled, and his eyes burned with an intensity that had nothing to do with his virtual vision.
“Insane, is more like it,” Hawthorne countered, throwing up his hands in surrender and falling into his office chair. He looked at David Garret, who was standing dutifully next to James. “Care to convince me that you haven’t lost your mind since the last time you bought this up?”
“I’m eccentric and dogmatic, not insane.”
Hawthorne smirked, then reclined into his chair. “Same difference, Jim. Alright, break it down for me. Slowly, so I don’t think you’ve lost your mind.”
Aided by a litany of holographic diagrams, it took Hunter all of five minutes to brief Hawthorne on the basics; then, he had to explain it – in greater detail – to the rest of the Strategic Operations Command group, who were represented by half-sized holograms lining the perimeter of the office, each one beaming their transmission in from their respective assignments.
The middle of the office was taken up by a giant two-dimensional map that showed the current theatre of battle. Three star systems were represented by flashing gold dots – the top one was J-24; the Damocles system was to the right of the rotating map, and halfway down, with Elysium down the bottom.
“How long will it take you to set all this up?” Captain Takagi asked towards the en
d of the briefing. James didn’t know much about the Japanese native, save that he’d spent a good portion of his life in the military, despite being a part of a Fortune 700 family. A small man, he had a keen military mind, though his tactics weren’t exactly revolutionary.
“The J-24 portion of this operation could launch right now, with the compliment of CME torpedoes we have on hand,” Garret explained. “But, without whittling down or distracting their forces first, it would turn in to a bloodbath that we both may never recover from.”
Hunter was nodding as he did some mental calculations. “The need to lure the Hegemony into a trap has been a possibility, at least in my book, for quite some time.” He shrugged, affecting an air of modesty, even as Alson Numberi nodded along in agreement. “I’ve had the more militarised aspects of my family’s businesses planning for such an eventuality for some time – at our considerable expense, I would just like to point out – and with the approval of the High Command, we’ve invested some rather significant resources into setting such a trap up at Elysium. The… project… should be right to go in a week, maybe two, depending on how many more hiccups we experience.”
“It’ll take us eight days to finish the new orbital defence platforms,” Garret clarified.
Technically, as far as the official record on Elysium went, those defence platforms – the most expensive aspect of the whole strategy – were privately-owned habitats meant for recreational purposes by their civilian owners. Their true purpose would be revealed when the time was right – which would probably be when the sky was full of enemy vessels.
And if not for the fact that my father sold the design of these things to the Commonwealth for a mint, they wouldn’t be getting built at all. A fist tightened around his heart as he recalled the many heated argument between him and HB&S when he’d been developing this plan – his siblings had not taken too kindly to having to do with less so the war-machine could get more.
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