by Tom Dublin
Tor Val's official colors were everywhere. Navy blue and lemon flags hung from every streetlamp, banners were displayed in the windows of almost every building, and many walls had been freshly painted as a show of support for the late president.
However, the colors did little to lift Cal Car's mood.
He had instructed his agent to complain about the network's insistence that he broadcast outdoors among the elements and the plebs, but his grumbling was short-lived. His showbiz representative merely had to remind him that the news industry's annual awards ceremony was on the horizon, and Cal Car had immediately withdrawn his request.
If he could become the face of the public's grief over Tor Val's death, he was almost certain to be nominated for one or more of the prestigious awards on offer. The 'Almy' for Most Dedicated News Anchor was so close, he could already smell the expensive polish he would use on it daily to keep it sparkling.
He'd already cleared a spot for it on the book shelf in his living room.
"OK, Cal Car," said the producer via his earpiece as the theme tune neared its end. "You're on in five, four, three..."
"Good evening, and welcome to Channel 3 News," he announced directly to the camera. "I'm Cal Car.
Today's top story - the endless streams of well-wishers and grieving visitors coming to pay tribute to the late Tor Val at her place of residence. Many of these people have queued all day out here in the cold and damp, just for the opportunity to lay a bouquet of flowers in front of the house, bow their heads, and offer up a prayer for their - nay, our - beloved former president.
Fen Ret has more..."
The light on top of the camera went out as the studio-bound producer cut to a pre-recorded segment in which a junior reporter had interviewed members of the public waiting for their turn to pay their respects.
This allowed Cal Car and the small production team a few moments to stamp their feet, blow into their hands, and gaze wistfully at the steaming mogneti machine just visible inside the nearby Channel 3 News van.
Whipping out his mirror, Cal Car examined his hair, scowling as he saw just how much the continuously falling snow had caused his trademark shaggy perm to wilt. His lovingly teased curls drooped and fell, hanging like the untended hair of a happily married man.
The new receptionist wouldn't give him so much as a second glance if she tuned in and saw him looking like this.
As he pocketed his mirror, he became aware of a figure standing close beside him. Uncomfortably close. He turned to find an overweight man with back-combed hair holding out a pad and pen, and grinning like a simpleton. The greasy skin of his face had been haphazardly painted in Tor Val's colors of navy blue and lemon yellow.
"I want your autograph, Cal Car," the man drooled, his eyes unblinking. "I'm your biggest fan!"
"Yes," said Cal Car with a sigh. He took the proffered notepad and quickly dashed off an unreadable signature. "Yes, you probably are."
It was going to be a long night.
Alma Nine, Taron City, Government Building, Presidential Suite
Bay Don carried three mugs of steaming mogneti over to her desk, and placed them down before Zeb Lok and Jon Rey.
"I'm so pleased to see you're OK," she said to Jon Rey as he lifted one of the mugs in his unbandaged hand and sipped at the drink.
"Thanks to you, I am," said Jon Rey, gesturing to the dressing covering his throat. "The doctors say if the medics had tried to move me with the broken glass still in there, I would likely have severed an artery."
Bay Don's cheeks flushed a deep sea-green. "I just did what anyone else would have done in the same position."
"Well, you're not anyone else," said Jon Rey. "You're the person who saved my life, and I'll never forget it."
"Speaking of lives," said Zeb Lok. "Have you received any figures?"
"Some," said Bay Don, putting down her mug and grabbing a sheet of paper from her desk. "As far as we're aware, we have 27 dead, and 112 injured."
"27..." sighed Zeb Lok. "That's terrible, but it could have been a lot worse, I suppose."
"It may well prove to be," said Bay Don. "We haven't yet gotten reports in from some of the outlying towns and villages."
"You won't need to," said Jon Rey.
Bay Don scowled. "Won't need to?"
Zeb Lok shook his head. "That's why we're here," he explained. "We've made a discovery - and this is where it gets weird..."
"More weird than the planet being hit by a series of rogue gravitational waves?" asked Bay Don.
"That's just it," replied Zeb Lok. "It wasn't the whole planet. The surge in gravity was localized to Taron City."
"But... But that's impossible!" exclaimed Bay Don.
"We know," Jon Rey assured her. "We thought we were dealing with some hugely powerful but rare natural phenomenon for this part of the galaxy. Something that hasn't happened in the ten or eleven years since we arrived. But now we're completely stumped."
Bay Don picked up her mogneti and raised the mug to her lips, but was too deep in thought to take a drink. "Could it be something unique about the land Taron City was built on?" she queried. "I know our architects ran a number of surveys when the location for the capital was first chosen, but I don't remember there being anything unusual in the results. Maybe they missed something."
"That's one possibility," said Zeb Lok.
"There's another?"
"I'm afraid so," Zeb Lok. Jon Rey nodded in agreement.
Bay Don looked from one man to the other. "What?"
Zeb Lok paused to take a sip of his mogneti. "It's possible Taron City was deliberately targeted."
"Someone did this on purpose?" Bay Don swayed slightly, suddenly feeling light-headed by the very idea that the gravity surge was a man-made event.
"We don't know," admitted Jon Rey. "At least, not yet."
"So, what can you-"
Just then the door to the outer office burst open, and Saf Tah strode in at the head of a group of people.
Two of them Bay Don knew - they were the vice president's personal assistants and advisors. For some reason, they both had bloodied bandages fixed over their noses and two black eyes.
Behind them were three aliens - two of which appeared to be human!
Bay Don only recognized the humans because they looked to be the same species as the extra-terrestrials Tor Val had spoken to via video links from the Etheric Empire. One was a tall male with pink skin, while the female was shorter. Her skin was the color of ripe parsel fruit.
The third creature had the same basic biology as the humans, but was encased in some kind of external crust or exoskeleton. And, there was a deep red feathered animal sitting on its shoulder.
Bay Don didn't have long to study the newcomers, however. Saf Tah was walking purposefully towards the door of the inner presidential office.
Tor Val's office.
She stepped in front of the vice president, stopping him dead. "Can I help you?"
"I'm commandeering the president's office," said Saf Tah. "Step aside."
Bay Don felt a knot of anger begin to form in the pit of her stomach. "I shall do no such thing," she proclaimed. "The president's office is out of bounds to... lesser officials."
Saf Tah's eyes narrowed. "How dare you?!" he rumbled. "These people are the official delegation from the Etheric Empire, and I have important business to discuss with them."
Zeb Lok quickly set his mug down, gesturing for Jon Rey to do the same. "We'll be going," he said with a nervous smile. "Lots of work to be done."
The scientists scurried out of the office without saying another word.
Bay Don stood firm, folding her arms. "If you've got people to meet, use your own office."
"My office was damaged by the gravitational waves," said Saf Tah.
"Then I'll book you a meeting room."
"I shall soon be the president of this planet!"
"Then, that's when you can use the president's office," insisted Bay Don. "And not a minute sooner!
"
Saf Tah glowered. "Foolish girl!" he barked. Grabbing Bay Don's arm, he pushed her aside, sending her tumbling to the carpet. She fell against her desk, spilling her half-finished mug of mogneti.
Adina hurried over to help her up as the vice president turned to beam at a displeased Jack and Tc'aarlat. "This way, gentlemen..."
Jus Clo darted forward to open the door and hold it as his boss marched confidently inside.
"Reckons he's a real tough guy that one," Tc'aarlat hissed to Jack as he made to follow. "Let's see how tough he is facing off to someone more his size. I don't like men who treat women that way."
Jack placed a hand on his arm and held him back for a second. "Me neither, but we have to stay on his good side long enough to learn whether he's likely to be a risk to the Empire.”
"But-"
Jack smiled grimly. "Once we know that, then you can fuck him up with my blessing. I might even join in. Just play along for now."
Tc'aarlat glared into the office, where Mol Gat was helping Saf Tah settle into the chair behind the president's desk. "You had me at fuck him up,” he snarled.
The Yollin entered the office with Jack at his heels. As he passed Adina, he leaned towards her and whispered. "See what you can find out about this bullshit-blurting bozo."
Adina nodded, turning back to Bay Don with a friendly smile as Jus Clo shut the door to the inner office.
Bay Don grabbed a roll of paper towels from a nearby cupboard, and used a strip to soak up the spilled mogneti. A number of documents on her desk were already soaked, and were now virtually unreadable.
Lifting them between finger and thumb, Bay Don dumped the dripping papers into her wastebasket.
Adina grabbed the paper towels and tore half a dozen or so from the roll, using them to wipe down the side of the desk where the drink had spilled over. "Is Saf Tah always like that?" she asked.
"Like what?" responded Bay Don, flatly.
"A condescending fuckwit with an ego twice the size of this planet."
Bay Don tried to hide her smile, but failed. "You're seeing his pleasant side at the moment," she pointed out. "He can get a lot worse than this, and frequently does with Tor Val."
She stopped, mid-wipe, her eyes staring off into some unseen distance.
"He did that with Tor Val," she corrected. "Sorry. I keep forgetting that she's... I just expect her to walk through that door, like she always did."
Bay Don was crying before Adina's arms had fully wrapped around her.
"I miss her so much," she sobbed. "I wanted to see her, at the hospital, after the accident. They wouldn't let me. They said she was too badly... That I shouldn't see her like that. I didn't get the chance to say a proper goodbye."
Adina blinked back her own tears. "I understand," she said softly. "I had a similar situation when my mom died."
"Was that an accident, too?" Bay Don asked.
Adina sighed quietly. "In a way, yes."
Bay Don pulled away from her new friend, grabbing a sheet from the paper towel roll to dry her eyes. "The worst part is the way he just strides in here, acting like he's already in charge."
Adina nodded. "I noticed that."
She glanced over at the closed inner office door.
"Don't worry. He won't get away with that shit with Jack and Tc'aarlat."
21
Alma Nine, Taron City, Government Building, President's Inner Office
"As president of Alma Nine," preened Saf Tah, "I, of course, have to take the wishes and feelings of my citizens into account when-"
"You're not the president though, are you?" Tc'aarlat challenged.
Standing directly behind their boss, Jus Clo and Mol Gat exchanged a nervous glance.
"I may not yet be president in name," replied Saf Tah in an obviously patronizing tone, "but for all intents and purposes..."
"...you're still the vice president," finished Tc'aarlat. "Second place. Number two, you could say - in more ways than one."
Saf Tah glowered across the desk and opened his mouth to respond. Jack jumped in before he could.
"I believe your inauguration ceremony will take place shortly after the funeral of Tor Val."
"That is correct."
"And you don't feel that is in any way insensitive?"
Now it was Jack's turn to be on the receiving end of one of Saf Tah's fierce stares. "No, I do not!" he insisted. "What is insensitive is the way Tor Val entered into talks with the Etheric Empire without either the knowledge or permission of the office of the vice president."
"Did she need your permission?" asked Jack.
"Well, not as such," said Saf Tah, "but it would have been polite for her to include me in such important negotiations."
"Ah," said Tc'aarlat. "So your problem is that she hurt your feelings."
"Scaww!" cried Mist.
"Not at all!" Saf Tah countered, adding the Raal hawk to his list of furious glare recipients. "I merely believe it is important for law-makers from all political persuasions to be involved if a course of action is likely to affect the future of everyone on the planet."
"Ah... got ya!" exclaimed Tc'aarlat. "Everyone needs to be able to have their say where important decisions are concerned."
"Exactly!" beamed Saf Tah, his well-practiced political smile fixed firmly in place.
"Important decisions like choosing a new president," added Tc'aarlat.
"Yes, exact-" Saf Tah's smile disappeared. "You gentlemen are trying to put words into my mouth."
Tc'aarlat rested his mandibles on the desk. "Trust me," he growled. "Words are far better than what I really want to shove in there."
"Brave talk for a pair of visiting dignitaries," Saf Tah spat. "Guests on this planet. Especially considering you are currently outnumbered."
Mol Gat and Jus Clo both took a nervous step back.
"Enough!" barked Jack. "This is getting us nowhere."
"I agree," confirmed Saf Tah. "And, before we continue our discussion, I would like a moment to talk privately with my advisors."
Jack nodded his agreement, then pulled Tc'aarlat to his feet and guided him to the far end of the office.
"What are you doing?" he hissed. "I thought we'd agreed to leave this guy alone until we knew where he stood on joining the Empire?”
"I tried," Tc'aarlat replied.
"For less than five minutes!"
Tc'aarlat shrugged, jostling Mist. "What can I say? He's a Grade A cockwomble. He doesn't deserve our respect."
Jack sighed. "I know, but we can't go back to Nathan and tell him we didn't give our target the opportunity to pick a side, one way or the other. It'll be even worse if he thinks we bullied him out of continuing the talks where Tor Val left off."
Tc'aarlat took a deep breath. "Alright," he said. "I'll keep quiet and let you do the talking. But, if he rubs me up the wrong way again, I'll-"
The Yollin was unable to finish his sentence due to being pushed face first onto the office carpet. It felt as if someone had just landed a spacecraft on top of him.
Mist lay to the right of his head, silent and unmoving. A brief feeling of panic washed over Tc'aarlat but, once he realized the bird's chest was still rising and falling as she breathed, he allowed himself to relax.
There was a deafening crack as the large windows shattered inwards, showering their paralyzed, prone bodies with bits of broken glass.
"It's happening again," croaked Jack from beside him, trying to force himself up from the floor, but the pressure was just too great.
Screams and muffled cries for help echoed in through the smashed windows, along with blasts of icy wind and thick clouds of snow.
Concentrating hard, Tc'aarlat dragged his hands up to either side of his chest, pressed his palms down against the rough carpet, and pushed back hard against the surge in gravity.
It was an agonizing process, and one during which the Yollin promised himself that he would return to the weight training he had abandoned shortly after absconding fro
m his organized crime employers.
"I'll never skip arm day again!" he groaned as he fought against the almost overwhelming downward force.
Once on his hands and knees, he grabbed a nearby wastepaper basket, tipped out its contents, and placed it carefully over Mist. "Stay safe, my friend," he whispered. Then, gritting his teeth, he crawled over to Jack.
Above them, the ceiling began to buckle, adding a flurry of plaster and dust to the plumes of snow swirling in from outside. The beams creaked and groaned as they began to lose their battle with the unrelenting pressure.
Tc'aarlat knew he had to get the others under cover in case the floor above came crashing down on top of them all.
"How the hell are you able to move?" demanded Jack, barely able to move his own eyes to see Tc'aarlat shuffling in his direction.
"The benefits of owning an exoskeleton," answered the Yollin. "It's a bitch to moisturize but, for once, I'm actually pleased to have it."
Slogging his way across the room, Tc'aarlat grabbed Saf Tah's wrist and dragged him to the president's sturdy desk, tucking him safely underneath. He then repeated the process for the vice president's two aides.
"I knew it!" rumbled Saf Tah. The vice president was lying on his back, eyes fixed on the underside of the desk above. "I told you Tor Val was given a better desk than me, didn't I? It's blatant favoritism!"
"For fuck's sake," groaned Jack as Tc'aarlat returned for his friend. "Don't put me under there with them. I'd rather take my chances with the ceiling beams."
"I think we might be about to do just that," said Tc'aarlat as the sound of cracking wood was accompanied by another shower of painted plaster. "Which means there's only one way to do this..."
Tc'aarlat crawled over Jack's body and lay on top of him just as the ceiling gave way and crashed down on top of the room's helpless occupants.
Bay Don lay on her back beside the mound of splintered wood that had once been her desk as the roof of the inner office caved in.
She knew instantly what had happened, and that the same would shortly happen to the ceiling now hanging perilously over her and Adina.
