Conquest and Empire (Stellar Conquest Series Book 5)

by David VanDyke

  Conquest and Empire

  By

  David VanDyke

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Epilogue

  © 2015 by David VanDyke. All rights reserved. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Plague Wars series: (Prequels to Stellar Conquest)

  The Eden Plague

  Reaper's Run

  Skull's Shadows

  Eden's Exodus (March 2015)

  The Demon Plagues

  The Reaper Plague

  The Orion Plague

  Cyborg Strike

  Comes The Destroyer

  Stellar Conquest series:

  First Conquest

  Desolator

  Tactics of Conquest

  Conquest of Earth

  Conquest and Empire

  For more information visit: davidvandykeauthor.com

  For email updates and information on new releases

  visit the website above and sign up for David's newsletter.

  Chapter 1

  2163 A.D., two years after the first Scourge attack on Earth.

  “We’re through to the inner chamber, my lord,” Gilgamesh said over the hard line.

  Spectre took a deep breath. “Excellent. I’ll be there shortly,” he replied before replacing the field telephone handset in its cradle on the desk of the excavation’s on-site trailer office.

  With quick, economical motions he ensured the placement of all of the weapons and tools he routinely kept on his person. Bodyguards were all well and good, but personal preparation was better. Assassination attempts had fallen off, but all it would take was one lucky and dedicated killer, and then bye bye Spectre.

  Smoothing his yellow-piped black uniform and donning dark sunglasses, Spectre nodded to the head of his personal security detail and followed the man out into the blazing South African sunlight and across the packed, chalky earth toward the entrance to the dig. Even with the eye protection, he kept his lids nearly closed in anticipation of the underground journey.

  Inside the sloping mineshaft, he took a seat on a makeshift bench installed in an ore car. His bodyguards leaped into two more of the battered steel vehicles and the subterranean train began to move, drawn by the electric engine in front.

  Down, down they traveled as if on some pre-holocaust amusement park ride, but without animatronic monsters or falling foam rocks. Fifteen minutes and almost a mile of slanting distance later, they debouched into an open space still redolent with clouds of dust. Fans and foot-wide flexible air ducts fought to keep the atmosphere clear and the air breathable.

  Gilgamesh handed Spectre a dust mask as he stepped down from the ore car and said through his own, “There’s a small opening through which we can see a chamber with machinery in it. We stopped as you commanded, my lord.”

  “Can you tell whether it still has power?”

  “Yes, it does. We saw faint lights.”

  “Excellent.” Spectre followed the bulky Gilgamesh across the uneven floor toward a narrowing of the chamber, glad of the heavy miner’s boots he’d been advised to wear.

  High on the wall, perhaps at the limits of his standing reach, he saw a hole the size of a football. A bench had been placed beneath it and Spectre leaped atop it, his hands grasping the edges of the small opening.

  “Adjust your eyes for deep darkness and you will see,” Gilgamesh said. “Dim the lights!” he called to the work crew, and they did so.

  Spectre exercised deliberate control over his vision, dilating his pupils wide and leaning his face as far forward as possible. Gradually, he became able to see into a curving chamber by the faint lights of machinery telltales, deliberately reduced, he presumed, to save power.

  A surge of excitement flowed through him, but he showed no more than a calm, pleased enthusiasm as he stepped down to the floor and turned to his subordinate, the miners and engineers standing behind expectantly. “You have all done well. Everyone shall have bonus credit.”

  Those present cheered and hooted, some calling out “Hurrah for Lord Spectre!” or variants of the same.

  Spectre waved for quiet. “Open it now. Carefully.” He stepped back.

  A grizzled miner moved up with a pneumatic jackhammer, a much safer tool than a laser drill, and began working to enlarge the opening. Once the hole grew to the size a man could fit through, Gilgamesh ordered a shift to hand tools.

  Spectre waited patiently for them to create an opening of sufficient size to allow him to walk through with only a stoop. “Continue,” he said to those remaining behind. “Smooth the floor as well.”

  “We will lay down walkways, my lord,” the mining foreman said with a dip of his head, and the work crew hastened to clear the debris.

  Spectre ignored them as he picked his way past the mess and pulled out a hand light. Inside the chamber he could see reinforced concrete pillars and heavy support beams, all of which showed evidence of cracks and buckling. In places, chunks of the roof had come down, but the bunker, for such it was, remained largely intact.

  Gilgamesh squeezed his bulk through the opening, and then dusted himself off. “They built well,” he remarked as he examined the rows of dust-covered machines in their hundreds.

  Spectre grunted in agreement. “Carletonville was far enough from the impact of the Destroyers that the seismic shock didn’t – quite – overcome the engineering, and sufficiently inland that the tsunami didn’t reach here. I’m more impressed that the power systems are still functioning unattended after more than fifty years.” He laid a hand on one of the modules and began to brush off the grit that had fallen from the ceiling.

  “Shall I have the engineers begin their work?”

  “Not yet. I’ve studied the design of these units. They’re simple enough a child could use them. Deliberately so.” A smile twitched to Spectre’s lips. “Let’s see if we can do it ourselves.”

  “As you wish, my lord.”

  Gilgamesh’s obsequiousness has hardly slackened since I took over a year ago, Spectre thought. I’m beginning to think it’s a genuine personality trait rather than an affectation intended to lull me. I watch him closer than anyone, yet he’s never made a false move. Still, as a Blend and former Meme, I have to assume he is patient enough to wait decades for an opportunity to betray me. I wonder what he would think if he knew that this operation might diminish his usefulness to me? After all, if I can reacquire some old, long-lost friends and put them to work…

  “Ah, here’s the screen,” Spectre said aloud.

  The thick crystal display was shielded from above with a metal hood and ringed by simple, robust buttons rather than complex but delicate controls. For deep programming, computers would be connected to an electronic port, but to begin the re
suscitation cycle one merely had to press the keys in sequence.

  The thick buttons were molded as well as marked, their tops shaped into numbers from one to five. The first pulsed with a faint glow, barely visible.

  “Shall we begin?” Spectre said as he depressed it with his thumb.

  In response, the second button lit, brighter this time, and he heard a faint hum begin from the automobile-sized module in front of him. Depressing number two increased the sounds emitted, and a gurgling added itself to the noises.

  The third button did not illuminate. When Spectre tapped it experimentally it seemed frozen, locked in place.

  “It may take some time for it to light,” Gilgamesh suggested.

  “Perhaps. Or perhaps it’s inoperative.” Spectre moved to the next module and blew the dust away before firmly pressing the first button down, and then the second. Sounds similar to the first unit emerged, but third button also remained unlit.

  Gilgamesh kept his respectful silence, so Spectre said, “It appears your contention is more likely correct. We must wait.”

  Above his mask the other Blend’s eyes widened in amusement. “Thank you, my lord.”

  Spectre waved as if brushing away flies. “If I ever become so certain of my own opinions that I don’t acknowledge the wisdom of others, please remind me. In fact, simply say, ‘remember, thou art mortal.’ I give you my word I will not hold it against you.”

  “As you wish, my lord.”

  Not for the first time the urge grew within Spectre to insist on a relaxation of formality, perhaps doing away with this “my lord” business that Gilgamesh himself had begun upon their first meeting, at least for his inner circle. It had caught on, and now others used the honorific with pride. Perhaps he would do so…but later. For now, humanity needed rigid structure and ruthless hierarchy more than it needed egalitarianism.

  Besides, he could tell that Gilgamesh gained status within the eyes of his own subordinates by the subtle emphasis on his proximity to Spectre’s exalted position. Why discard that incentive?

  Glancing down the nearest row of modules, Spectre considered beginning the vivification sequences for all of them in order to save time, but decided against it.

  First, doing so might strain the power systems in place here, precipitating some crisis his engineers might not be able to correct.

  Second, it might prove confusing and inconvenient to revive them all at once, especially if they had some special and sudden need. That began another train of thought, resulting in his decision that a long list of supplies and specialists be brought down.

  “I want the medical team here as soon as possible, as well as I.V. nutrients, solid food, clean water, field beds, gurneys, and anything else one might need to assist wounded or sick people,” he said to Gilgamesh. “Exercise your best judgment and spare no expense. You know what’s at stake.”

  “The preparations are already begun, my lord,” Gilgamesh said, rushing out the entrance to supervise.

  Of course, thought Spectre, these people had performed any number of such recovery operations, but never one of such significance.

  As the third button had not yet lit on either of the activated modules, Spectre took a slow tour of the facility. Besides the main room with the score of modules he found the remains of a control room, but it had sustained more damage than the central space, and the consoles there lacked all power. He also found storerooms with long-life supplies, some of which seemed still intact.

  His impatience almost got the better of him, but he forced himself to wait for the loads of supplies and skilled personnel to be brought down. An hour or so into the involuntary hiatus the third buttons lit up, and he pressed the next immediately on both, confident that the units would hold until the fifth and final completed the process.

  As he waited, he sat and meditated, digging deep into his store of memories, mental recordings of 2075, almost a century ago and just prior to the launch of what was until then humanity’s greatest, and perhaps its riskiest, endeavor.

  -=-

  “For once in my life I wish I had the power to forbid you, Spooky,” Daniel Markis had said. “Joining Task Force Conquest takes you out of the picture for at least forty years, and for what? The faint possibility that your personal abilities will be needed at the other end?”

  “Much more than that, I hope. But don’t underestimate the effectiveness of one man at a pivotal moment in a battle or a negotiation. Look at yourself, DJ. You’ve hared off to intervene personally in Earth’s politics any number of times.”

  “Because that’s my appointed role. You don’t see me parachuting into hot spots with a rifle and a medical bag any more, do you? And you’ve become a highly effective politician. Under your rule Australia has become the premier economic powerhouse of Earth. If you really want to change jobs, take mine. You’d make a better chairman than I ever have.”

  Spooky shook his head slowly. “I must disagree, my friend. I might surpass you in some areas, though not in all…but more importantly, I am not a leader everyone can admire. Too many people fear me more than love me. You, Daniel…you they idolize. You’re the savior of mankind, the man on the white horse.”

  Markis snorted derisively. “You make me sound like the Second Coming of Christ.”

  “And were I to take over, I’d be the Antichrist,” Spooky retorted. “You once told me you know what I am. Do you really think it’s wise to offer me all the kingdoms of the Earth? Who’s playing Satan’s tempting role now?”

  “You could have had those kingdoms long ago. I judge people on their actions, not what they claim to want or to be. It’s been decades since I worried about your ambitions. You’re the most disciplined, controlled human being I’ve ever met, and believe me, I’ve known quite a few.” Exasperated, Markis stood up from behind his desk to gaze out his bulletproof window onto the green, manicured grounds of his Carletonville, South Africa office.

  The complex still hosted the world’s premier biotech research facility, over the last few decades accreting to itself personnel and resources from all over the globe, but it was better known as the place from which the Chairman of the Council of Earth governed.

  That council possessed a building built on the outskirts of Mumbai, India, a crossroads of the cultures and peoples of East and West, North and South, but over half of the membership chose to attend meetings via VR link. Why travel to or live near a place one didn’t like, when technology made it possible to plug in and feel almost exactly as if one was standing in the meeting chamber itself? With holographic projectors in every room, it was even possible to move one’s presence within the capitol building to attend any necessary function.

  This way, Daniel could stay near his wife Elise, chief researcher for the biotech lab. Friends and family were also here, his roots. Vincent had left for a career in the service – and in fact, would be departing soon on Conquest – but his other three children still lived near enough to visit from time to time.

  Markis jerked his thoughts back to the quiet presence of the man standing behind him, waiting. “Sorry, woolgathering,” he said.

  “I understand,” Spooky replied.

  “I’m not sure you do. If you leave, who will keep Australia running like clockwork?”

  “Ann Alkina is perfectly competent to do so.”

  “You’d leave your wife behind?”

  “Others will. Besides, doesn’t absence make the heart grow fonder?”

  “For decades? I couldn’t do it,” Markis said. “Not on a…a whim, an impulse.”

  “Daniel, you know me better than that. This isn’t an impulse.” Spooky moved around to stand next to Markis, looking out the window into the hazy distance. “In fact, it’s a necessity. I need a change. I’ve become bored, and when I’m bored I risk falling into petty cruelty, visiting inordinate revenges upon those who offend me, becoming distracted with personal issues...and the darkness within me grows, becomes difficult to restrain.”

  Markis held his
silence for a time. “I didn’t know. But I think I understand. When I was on active duty, so long ago, I struggled with my own darkness. Concussions exacerbated it, but the men I killed – evil men, for sure, but still men – haunted me. Yet, I’d become addicted to combat. I felt dead anywhere but on a battlefield. I told myself I was there to save lives, but I had to admit to myself, sometimes, that I also relished the killing.”

  “I wish I only relished killing, Daniel. There’s a part of me that hungers for deeper darkness than that. I’ve kept that lust caged by distracting myself, challenging myself. But now…I’m nearly superfluous. There’s no challenge to governing a well-oiled machine.”

  Markis turned to face Spooky. “You could take over command of the Jupiter facilities. It’s still a bit of the Wild West out there at the edge of inhabited space. Improving the efficiency of the military economy could pay big dividends when the Meme hit us again.”

  “I don’t see how I could do it any better than Rae and her think-tank of mad scientists.”

  “They may be the idea factory, but you’re the perfect administrator. That’s what we need.”

  “I can give you a list of personnel I’d recommend for the post, but I’m not staying here any longer. Daniel, I’m joining Conquest. I’d rather have your blessing, but…”

  “But even if I didn’t give it, you’d find a way.”

  Spooky shrugged. “I would.”

  “Then go. If you’re going to do it anyway, do it to the best of your ability.” Markis reached out to briefly embrace Spooky, who allowed the contact for the sake of friendship. “Kick the Memes’ asses, all right, Spooky? That’s all I ask.”

  Spooky raised an eyebrow, accompanied by half a smile. “I’ll pass on your instructions to Admiral Absen.”

  -=-

  When the medical and support teams were in place to Spectre’s satisfaction, when the room had been swept of dust and debris, and adjustable lights had been brought in, he pushed the fifth button on the first coldsleep module.