CAPT. DEVEREAUX-
IN LIGHT OF NEW INFORMATION REGARDING HARCOURT YOUNG AND THE CREW OF MERCY, MY PREVIOUS ORDERS ARE NO LONGER VALID. THE COLONIAL VOLUNTEER MILITIA IS NOT TO BE MADE AWARE OF YOUR NEW ORDERS. AS FAR AS THEY ARE CONCERNED, WE ARE STILL PROCEEDING ON PLAN.
HARCOURT YOUNG IS NOW CONSIDERED AN IMMINENT DANGER TO THE PEOPLE OF CONCORDIA, AND HAS MADE CREDIBLE THREATS TO THE SAFETY AND LIVES OF OUR CITIZENS. IT IS FOR THAT REASON THAT YOU ARE HEREBY ORDERED TO EXECUTE HIM AND ANY CREW ON MERCY WHO BEAR ARMS IN HIS DEFENSE.
WHILE I IMPLORE YOU TO FIND A WAY TO MINIMIZE CIVILIAN CASUALTES DURING YOUR ASSAULT, THE ELIMINATION OF YOUNG TRUMPS ALL OTHER CONCERNS, AND MUST BE COMPLETED AT ALL COSTS.
YOUR SECONDARY OBJECTIVE IS TO RECOVER THE SERVERS STOLEN FROM GABRIEL AND MICHAEL. THE DATA ON THEIR DRIVES IS OF IMMEASURABLE VALUE.
GOD HAVE MERCY ON US FOR WHAT WE MUST DO.
THOMAS DAYTON
ACTING GOVERNOR
CONCORDIA, DEMETER COLONY
ALPHA CENTAURI
At all costs, Governor, he thought as he retrieved the orders and a lighter from his chest pocket. A moment later the orders were ablaze, only dropping to the deck when his trembling fingers could no longer handle the heat of the flames. At all costs.
Deputy Gov Thomas Dayton
2 August, 6 yal, 11:06
Concordia Civic Hall
Tom folded his hands on the desk in front of him. His thumbs jousted and pressed together, doing little to help him mask his concern over what the report contained. The papers were formed in a crisp, uniform stack just beyond his fingers. It contained some thirty pages of accounts from a dozen men and women of the CVM, as well as the commander’s personal report. And it was a sickening read, if ever there was one. No detail of the gruesome battle was left out, and it left his heart and mind heavy.
Tom glanced up from the pile at the Militia’s commanding officer. Devereaux maintained the rigid posture of a man at attention, even though he had been asked to sit at ease. Dark circles ringed his eyes, his hair was a tussled mess, and his skin was almost ghostly pale. Devereaux looked as if he hadn’t slept in days, and yet he was going through the motions of his service. Habits that had been drilled into him throughout his military career. Inside, there would be no ease for this man, Tom knew. Not after reading the final details regarding the Battle of Mercy. He had to wonder if Devereaux was avoiding sleep because of the nightmares that were sure to torment him.
“Thank you for your report, Captain,” he began. “I have some questions for you.”
The commander nodded almost imperceptibly, remaining silent. Tom sighed and grabbed the stack of papers, thumbing through them until he found the start of Devereaux’s personal report.
“Can you explain to me your decision to split your command?”
“I felt that a second squad would meet less resistance on its way to the primary target. I believed that the main force would draw the defenders toward them.” Devereaux’s answer was delivered in a cold, almost clinical manner.
“And why did you leave Josephson in charge of the main force?”
“You know why, sir.”
Tom tossed the papers down in front of him, sending them sliding in a disheveled mess. The commander reacted with only a momentary glance at the desk.
“That’s right, Captain. I know why. You wanted to make sure your primary objective was completed. That bastard knew we were coming, and he played us. We walked right into it, too.”
“Sir, he didn’t survive,” Devereaux protested.
“No.” Tom straightened up and tented his index fingers together. “No, he was cornered. Young knew he had nowhere to go, so he set it up for a bloodbath. Now eighteen of your men are dead, along with dozens of innocent civilians.”
“That wasn’t our fault!”
“No, but we’re still going to catch hell for it. All of us.”
Devereaux leaned in slightly. Hints of silver in his scraggly beard glinted in the window’s light. “Mercy’s survivors will set that straight. The ones who got away from Young’s men. They’ll let the world know that sick bastard tried to use them as human shields. That Young’s men shot their own people as they tried to run from the battle.”
“I know, Frank. But who knows how long it’ll take before the people believe them. That other black mark doesn’t help things either.”
Tom could see the other man’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed hard. “I did what I had to do, Governor.”
“In cold blood. That’s how Corporal Brandt described the way you gunned down a fifteen year old girl. Cold blood. Those are words that aren’t so easy to forget.”
“I neutralized my target.”
“You murdered an innocent girl!” The legs of Tom’s chair screeched hideously as he shot out of it in an instant and leaned over the desk.
Devereaux met his level just as quickly. “You told me to complete my mission, whatever the cost. That was the cost, Governor.”
The men glared at each other for a minute before Tom drew his chair back up to the desk, sitting down with a measured sigh. He pinched the bridge of his nose as he considered the brutality of the incident. Rumors of the vicious sort were already circulating through the small community, and it felt like he and the CVM had been damned before being given a chance to explain what happened.
“What about the servers?” he asked softly.
“They should be back onboard Michael in a day or two. I still don’t know why you sent Josephson back to get them. They were completely blown to hell in the explosion.”
“It’s a long shot, but I’m hoping someone out there has enough computer or electronics experience to recover some of what’s on them. Mr. McLaughlin told me that what’s on them could control the whole colony. I have to know what it was that Young wanted so badly.”
Silence passed between them, interrupted only by the precise ticking of Devereaux’s watch.
“Is there anything else you need, Governor?”
“No, Frank. You’re dismissed.”
Devereaux snapped his body to attention then bowed slightly. Tom nodded and waved him off, which prompted the captain to leave the room. Tom stared off into oblivion while chewing on his thumbnail.
How much will it all cost in the end?
He heard someone clear their throat, which startled him back to the real world. Roger Miller had entered the room, though it was unclear how long he had been standing around waiting for Tom’s attention. The deputy governor motioned for his liaison to have a seat.
“Do you have the reports I requested?”
Roger shook his head. “No, Governor. I was trying to get them from Doctor Taylor, but he wasn’t available.”
“Did he say why?”
“I never got a chance to speak with him. Or the elder Doctor Taylor either. They were too busy. I… I don’t think you’re going to believe this.”
“What is it, Roger?”
“They had a patient transfer come in late last night from Rust Creek. Tom, it… it was Darius. He’s alive.”
Tom didn’t waste a second. He was on his feet and halfway to the door before Roger stepped into his path, blocking his egress from Darius’s office.
“Get out of the way, Roger. I need to see him.”
“You can’t. He’s resting. They had to do surgery on him as soon as they got him.”
Tom stepped around his subordinate and through the door. “What kind of surgery?”
“They had to take his arm.”
He stopped in his tracks, his fingers curling into tight balls that bit into the palms of his hands. His hatred of Young coursed through every synapse in his body. If the billionaire had still been alive, Tom would have made him regret that detail. When Darius had been presumed dead, there was a preconceived notion in Tom’s mind that the deed had been relatively quick and painless. Whatever had transpired had left the governor alive, but severely maimed. That callousness and lack of mercy didn’t sit well with Tom.<
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“I’m still going to the clinic,” he growled. “I want to be there when he wakes up.”
“I understand. Is there anything I can do for you?”
Tom narrowed his eyes and nodded slowly. “Contact Abernathy and Hausner. See which one wants to defend those three pieces of shit from Mercy that Mr. McLaughlin caught in his shop. And figure out where we’re going to hold their trial. I want to show the world exactly what Mercy brought here.”
Gov Darius Owens
18 August, 6 yal, 11:02
Concordia Civic Hall
No room for Mercy, Darius pondered as he examined the silver seal of Concordia emblazoned on its blue background. There could have been. There should have been.
Darius let the supple fabric of the flag slip through his fingers, allowing the banner to go limp. He sighed and turned the corner, slowly ascending the stairs to the second floor. His hand glided over the smooth, polished bannister. An odd sensation echoed in his nerves, and he could have sworn that the touch was mirrored exactly in his right hand. Darius paused and closed his mind, gritting his teeth.
It’s not real.
The fact that his right arm had been amputated at the shoulder didn’t make the sensations feel any less real. Every bit of twitching, pressure, or pain that came from below the surgical cut was a construct of his brain. It was a cruel, torturous reminder of his ordeal. He much preferred the physical pain as the wound healed; at least he could dull that with pills.
His office resided at the end of the hall atop the stairs. Yet as he walked toward it, it seemed somehow alien. He knew that Deputy Governor Dayton would not have moved any of the furniture, and that the order of the books on the shelves would not have changed significantly. Even minute details such as the scratches on the desk were static from his life as governor. A life that looked distorted and distant.
Darius pushed gently on the door, which swung open with its familiar soft creak. Dayton glanced up from behind the desk. He froze in place for a second, then stood up quickly, pushing aside a stack of papers on which he had been writing. A moment later he had rounded the desk, and was motioning Darius toward the chair he had just abandoned.
“Darius, I wasn’t expecting you to come by. I would have had everything ready for you if I had known.”
Darius ignored the deputy’s prompts and took a seat in one of the four chairs on the near side of the desk. Chairs reserved for those who would meet with the governor.
“It’s alright, Tom. I’m not here to work. Thought I’d stop by for a bit.”
Dayton’s eyes darted between Darius and the governor’s chair, unsure of what to do next. He timidly returned to the chair and sat. “You’ve been cooped up in the clinic so long. I can’t blame you for getting a bit restless.”
Darius nodded slowly. He sank deeper into the chair, a soft smile crossing his lips. “It’ll be good to finally go home.”
“When does the doctor think you can go?”
“Tomorrow morning. I told him I was ready today, but he wouldn’t have any of it. Gave me a long lecture about the importance of following his advice.”
“And then he let you go for a walk?” Dayton asked impishly. “You could just slip the leash and go home yourself.”
Darius chuckled softly. “He’d tell his mother. Then I’d be a wanted man, hunted down by the medical community and their vast army of nosy neighbors.”
“It would be a short search. Everyone knows where you live.”
The cheer suddenly drained from Darius’s disposition. He glanced down at his missing limb. Softly, he added, “Anyone could point me out in a crowd, too. I don’t exactly blend in.”
Dayton chewed on his lower lip pensively, leaning back in the governor’s chair. “I’m sorry, Darius. It’s over, though. Harcourt Young is dead, along with most of his men. The trial’s just about to start for the last three.”
Young. His men. A couple dozen innocent civilians. All dead, thanks to Devereaux’s raid, he though bitterly.
Despite the loss of innocent life, Darius didn’t believe that the assault could have ended with significantly less bloodshed. Both Dayton and Devereaux were seasoned commanders. After hearing of the battle a few days after he lost his arm, Darius had come to the conclusion that things probably would have been worse if he had been in Dayton’s position instead. He would have marched the CVM to the ship to demand surrender. Right into an ambush. It would have been bloody, and Young just might have escaped.
“Are you going to testify?” Dayton asked expectantly.
“No. I don’t have anything to say about their particular crimes. I never met any of them, nor were they there during my captivity.” There was a brief pause. “To be honest, I don’t want to be there either. I have a lot to put behind me. That’s just one more reminder that I don’t need.”
“I understand.”
Darius heard someone rapping softly on the door to the office. He craned his neck just in time to see Roger enter, limping over to the desk. Darius briefly recalled the day that his liaison suffered the crippling injury that gave him that limp. Six years earlier, at the hands of another callous enforcer. One who wore the same uniform and once stood shoulder to shoulder with them as comrades in arms.
How does trust begin? Darius mused.
“Governor,” Roger nodded. “Good to see you out and about.” He turned his attention to Dayton. “I have a follow-up on that report from earlier. We confirmed it’s another ship. We believe it landed about four miles south of the town. Captain Devereaux is already out investigating the first one. What do you want to do about this one?”
Darius shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Ships?
“We don’t have many more men to spare for this,” Dayton replied, scratching at his beard. “Sergeant Brandt just earned a new stripe, time for him to see how it fits. Have him take the rest of the CVM to check it out. Tell him that if he knows of any volunteers who want to go with, he’s welcome to have them tag along. Only as reserves, though. I don’t want them up front if something goes wrong.”
“Of course, Governor.” Roger paused, his face draining of color. He acknowledged Darius. “My apologies, Governor.”
Darius waved his hand dismissively, waiting until the man left before reacting.
“More ships? What the hell is going on?”
“The beginning of Doctor Benedict’s legacy,” Dayton sighed heavily. “At least that’s my guess. The first one overflew the eastern edge of town late last night. It’s tiny, by any standard. Probably as big as an ESAARC pod. We think it landed halfway between here and Mercy. Then we heard rumors of another one early this morning. It didn’t fly over us, but Porter saw something last night when he was in his fields. Word took a little while to reach us.”
“The size of an ESAARC pod,” he echoed, the words almost hollow and numb.
“That’s right. Sounds about like Doctor Benedict’s design for the masses, doesn’t it? Escape pods for the lucky. And desperate. The last thing I want running around here is another Harcourt Young. So that’s why the Militia is going. To secure the ships and their passengers.”
“And then what, once they’re secure?” Darius responded mockingly.
The response came with a broad shrug. “Hopefully integration. Any ideas on how to go about that, Governor?”
Darius’s heart began to beat against the cage in his chest. He stood up, taking a moment to steady himself as his balance hadn’t fully returned. “It’s your problem now. You’re the governor.”
“What?” Dayton gasped, rising to his feet and meeting Darius’s gaze.
“I came here today to resign. My time behind that desk can’t be measured by achievements. It can only be measured by the heartbreak that Concordia has suffered. Year in and out, time and again we’ve been struck by tragedy. We keep working through it somehow. But I can’t. Not anymore.”
“Darius, please think about what you’re saying. You’re the one who has guided and shaped this town into what
it is today. You’ve had difficult calls to make that no man should ever have to. You have been the one to bring us through these challenges to make us stronger.”
“I have no more left in me. I can’t keep giving Concordia what it needs. What it deserves.”
“Of course you can,” Dayton shot back as he rounded the desk. His hand fell on Darius’s good shoulder with a firm grip. “Give yourself the time to heal and rest. I’ll keep everything running for you. When you’re ready to take the helm again, it’s yours.”
Darius gently grabbed Dayton’s wrist, pulling he hand off his shoulder. His tone was sober as he replied, “I was never ready for it in the first place. I see that now that I’ve paid the price myself.”
“That was Young that did that to you,” Dayton growled.
“And that’s something I expect to hear for a long time. Maybe forever.”
Dayton paused, still taking in the suddenness of Darius’s move. After a few moments he nodded, then returned to his seat. Concordia’s new governor gazed at his hands as they slowly glided over the armrests, as if the piece of furniture was suddenly new again. He glanced up. “So what will you do?”
“Continue my service to Concordia in the way I was always meant to. Tomorrow, when I return home to Michael, I’m going to get to work recovering data from the drives that Young tried to blow to bits. That is, with your permission, Governor.”
“Of course,” Dayton replied with a nod. “What’s on them, anyway?”
“Technology. Our future. I’ll keep you up to date with the progress.” Darius turned toward the door, stopping just before he reached it. “Keep us safe, Governor. In Honor and Unity.”
Capt Frank Devereaux
18 August, 6 yal, 18:31
Concordia Civic Hall
The door to Civic Hall swung open with a loud creak. Frank’s lantern cast a dim, yellow light into the meeting room that danced and flickered with even the slightest breeze. The lamps inside had all been extinguished; Frank sighed in dismay.
Project Columbus: Omnibus Page 132
