As part of the future he was envisioning, Moore was laying the foundation for the generations of his family to come. His twin sons Rivington IX and Parker IV, almost ten years old now, were enrolled in a prestigious military academy, and it gave him great pride that they were receiving high marks in their studies, their work ethic, and their appearance and cleanliness—all qualities their father had emphasized to them as important. He was also proud of the fact that the young men were excelling in the handling of weapons, including not only guns, but classic sabers and knives as well, and a broad spectrum of martial arts.
For General Moore to continue the storied tradition of his family, and to enhance it, he had to inculcate his sons, and set them on the proper path to glory. And he also needed to accomplish something significant professionally, something really big like his great grandfather had accomplished—and bringing Billy Jeeling down was the only way available to him. Jeeling was the most famous man in the world, and thanks to the conspiracy against him, the most notorious as well. Until Moore’s failed military attack on Skyship, he had thought Jeeling was on the ropes, ready to fall.
He shook his head in dismay, wondering what could have possibly gone wrong. Everything had been planned with utmost care, and it had been going exceedingly well, up to the moment of the attack. The enemies of Billy Jeeling had numbered in the hundreds of millions in cities around the Empire, and had been increasing rapidly. The timing of Moore’s strike had seemed so perfect, and he’d intended to put Skyship under immediate government control, backed up by a permanent military guard under his command.
When that was accomplished, the General had intended to use his new status and influence to combine the army, navy, marines, air force, and coast guard into one fighting unit called the RAL—the Royal AmEarth Legion—under his unified command. That would involve getting rid of any generals, admirals, and other officers who were in his way, and he’d been compiling a list of his foes, and potential foes.
But plans were plans, not battlefield action, and sometimes even the best strategies and tactics were not successful. Still, he had not envisioned half of his attack force being destroyed by a mysterious, devastating weapon, something that sent the rest of his warships fleeing back to AmEarth. It wasn’t imaginable to him, a weapon he’d never heard of, and of such immense, fantastic power. His preparations had been meticulous, and he’d failed anyway, because he hadn’t known what lay in store for him. He should have been more careful, knowing what a genius inventor Jeeling was, and the possibility that he might come up with an unheard-of weapon. Moore didn’t know what to do now, only that he needed to learn what Jeeling had in his arsenal before any future attacks could be mounted.
Know your enemy, as you know yourself.
It was one of his most important mantras, adapted from the teachings of an ancient military leader. It was essential to have full knowledge of your enemy’s strengths and weaknesses, and to be able to make informed guesses about what he was likely to do in different scenarios. But this, this monstrous weapon that spewed blasts of silver light out of Skyship... He shuddered. What could it possibly be? He’d read the reports of survivors over and over, and had interviewed all of them personally, without learning anything useful—except for the deadly nature of the power Billy Jeeling had at his command.
There had been no inkling of this before, though Skyship’s defenses were known to be stiff—kinetic kill missiles and a lot more. But nothing like this mystery weapon.
At twenty-nine minutes late, General Moore had on his cap and was ready to leave. Then he heard the whir of the highlift, and stared in that direction. The gilded doors opened, and Racker stepped out, followed by the taller Maureen Stuart, who was around half his age. She wore a white evening gown studded with jewels around the collar, while Racker was dressed in an expensive suit, with no tie—his customary attire. The gnarled little man walked slowly and unsteadily, but could not fall, because of an electronic device concealed under his clothing—something he called an “invisible stabilizer.” One of his companies manufactured the units for worldwide distribution, and Racker was quick to demonstrate how it worked wherever he went—as if he were a salesman, constantly hawking his own products.
Racker glowered up at him. “You shouldn’t have gone off half-cocked,” he said. “We’re supposed to be in this together. Yet now through your foolishness, you’ve gotten Paul Paulo killed! He was my closest friend, and I hold you one hundred percent accountable for it.”
“Don’t talk like an old fool,” Moore said, as he led them into the private dining room he had reserved. “I went off on my own because you and Paul were too slow to agree to an attack.”
No one sat down. A long silence ensued, in which they stood looking at each other uneasily, sipping their drinks. Outside, the fog was beginning to clear, and Moore could see the lights of the ultra-tall Racker Center building in the distance, surrounded by more classical buildings, many of which had been owned by the late Paul Paulo.
“I can only stay an hour,” Maureen Stuart said. “My husband and I are having a late dinner with Prime Minister Yhatt tonight. The Imperial Palace is only a few minutes away from here, so I’ll stay as long as I can.”
“You’re half an hour late and now you say you have to leave early?” Moore took a deep breath. “All right.” He motioned toward the table. “Would both of you like to sit down?”
“Maybe later,” Racker said. “I sit too much, so I like to take any opportunity I can to stand.”
A waiter in a black coat entered the room, stood just inside the doorway. “Shall I bring the menus?” he asked.
Moore shook his head. “Just drinks,” he said, “and some aperitifs.” He looked at his guests. “What would you like?”
“A glass of pinot noir, please,” Stuart said.
“I’ll have a beer,” Racker said. “Do you have Acapulco Amber?”
“Yes, sir, I’ll bring it.”
When the waiter left, General Moore looked at Maureen intently, and said, “You were on board Skyship during the attack. What weapon did Jeeling use against my commandos and their ships? My men said the warships were destroyed by powerful blasts of silver light. What device could possibly do that, with such devastating effect?”
“I have no idea. I only saw your soldiers stream aboard Skyship, and the close-in fighting. Many fell in front of me, along with Paul Paulo. I didn’t see the ships destroyed.”
“Any flashes of silver in the combat you saw?”
She shook her head. “None.”
Moore sipped his drink, then went to a private bar and poured himself a fresh glass of single malt, “neat” this time, without ice. He turned toward her. “My officers said you were taken prisoner with them, but you were questioned separately. Then all of you were let go. Why? Are you on Jeeling’s side?”
“Of course not!”
“Then why did they let you go?”
“They let all of us go, not just me.”
The young officer scowled. “Something doesn’t smell right about this.”
“I had nothing to do with your military defeat,” Stuart said. “I didn’t know you were going to attack. That’s all I told my interrogators. The truth. They put me through a battery of lie-detection tests, found out I was telling the truth. That’s why they let me go.”
“Those damned truthbots,” Moore said. “I’d like to get ahold of one and copy it, but they have self-destruct mechanisms that are impenetrable.” He narrowed his gaze. “So you didn’t tell them anything else?”
She shook her head.
“Maureen would never turn against us,” Racker said. “I trust her like my own daughter.” He stared hard at the General. “You’re just trying to divert attention from your own failure.”
The waiter entered with glasses of wine and beer, then left. Just before he closed the door, the General told him to leave them alone.
Then Moore glowered at the old man. “I’m racking my brain, trying to figure out wh
at went wrong. I thought we’d have the element of surprise on our side.”
“But you failed, and lost half your force.” Jonathan Racker smiled cruelly. “It seems that the only element of surprise worked in reverse. You were the one caught off guard, not Jeeling. You have no idea what sort of weapon he used on you?”
The General looked away, spoke in a low, embarrassed tone. “None at all. Not even a clue.”
Racker filled the room with his voice, quite loud and commanding for such a small man. “You have no idea? How can that be, you the military genius, the one who knows everything about arms and armaments, ancient and modern? How can that be?”
“I intend to find out,” Moore said. “Damn it, don’t ride me about this. You want Jeeling destroyed as much as I do, so don’t act like you had no part in this setback. Yes, I sent the force without your knowledge, but you were involved in the earlier planning against Jeeling. In fact, you started the ball rolling against him when you and Paulo organized a group to bring him down through character assassination. I was just trying to speed things up.”
“Well, you only sped up the death of Paul Paulo, didn’t you?”
“He had a long and productive life.”
“And it should have been longer.” Racker’s eyes were rheumy and filled with anger as he looked up at the taller man. Everyone was taller than Racker. Moore would like to pick up the little bastard and hurl him through one of the windows. It was a long way down. But this was only a passing thought. He knew he needed the tycoon as an ally. Despite his own inclinations, Moore knew that everything could not be accomplished through military action. Racker had important political contacts, and vast financial resources.
Racker’s gaze softened, and he looked away. He seemed more sad than anything else.
As for what happened to Paulo, at least Racker hadn’t refused to meet with the General because of it, and his criticisms seemed muted—as if the old industrialist knew that he also needed to continue his alliance with Moore. The General’s position in the army was stable despite the military setback. Many people were saying that he couldn’t be expected to contend with the incredible technologies that Billy Jeeling had. Yet lots of important people still wanted to be rid of him, and eagerly awaited another attempt—be it overt or behind the scenes.
“We’d better plan our next move with extreme care,” Racker said.
“Agreed.”
~~~
Maureen Stuart knew from her fellow lawyers that Paul Paulo had left most of his estate to his close friend Jonathan Racker, so perhaps that was some comfort to the old business tycoon. Everyone knew how much he loved money. Racker could never get enough of it, his detractors said.
She picked up her wineglass for the first time, put her nose in the glass and smelled the subtle but pleasing bouquet of the pinot noir. She took a sip and listened to the General.
“We need more reconnaissance,” he said. “I sent my operatives to Skyship, and one—Rand Baker—was successful in sabotaging the defenses for a while. There were also earlier small-scale sabotages that went quite well—causing damage without seriously harming the immense vessel. We were just irritating Jeeling and making him feel unsettled, but never setting in motion a scenario that could lead to the dangerous atmospheric damage he threatened. So, even though I think he’s been bluffing about that, I took precautionary actions... just in case.”
“It was all unilateral on your part,” Maureen said. “Even after you revealed the existence of your operatives to us, you refused to withdraw them, and you ordered a new attack plan.”
“You had to know I was doing something. I’m not a man to sit on my hands.”
Racker stood by the window with his tall glass of beer. He looked away. “I did suspect you were up to something.”
“But your operatives missed a matter of critical importance, didn’t they?” Maureen said, to Moore. “The weapon that Jeeling used on you.”
“Yes, they missed something big, and that’s exactly my point. I felt hampered before by disagreements in our group over how aggressive we should be against Billy Jeeling, so I didn’t send in enough agents, and as a consequence I didn’t learn enough.”
“So it’s everyone’s fault except your own?” Racker said. “It’s our fault, not yours?”
General Moore hesitated, pursed his lips. “Perhaps I didn’t phrase that as well as I might have. I focus too much on the goal at times, on what I want to accomplish, and I don’t always participate in the niceties and protocols that are helpful to an alliance. For that, I apologize. No, the recent military failure is not your fault, Jonathan. It is one hundred percent mine. Even in the face of your disagreement with me at our last meeting, and Paul’s, I should have been more forceful.”
“You’re saying you should have been even more militaristic?” Maureen asked. “You should have sent a bigger attack force?”
The youthful general shook his head. “No, I should have been more forceful in making my point during the meetings with you folks, my friends and allies. And—with your concurrence, of course—I should have been more forceful in getting agents aboard Skyship. I fully admit, I should not have gone off on my own, making unilateral decisions. I made mistakes and I regret them. They were tactical mistakes.”
Maureen looked at him intently. As a successful attorney, she had considerable experience in determining if people were lying or telling the truth. She saw telltale signs of falsehood in the powerful officer—his gaze wandered around, didn’t stick for long on her or Jonathan, and his sentences had a way of tailing off at the end, as if he was not putting enough energy into what he was saying—words that could reflect his inner turmoil and devious nature, and what he really intended to do. What was he thinking now? What was he planning? Another subterfuge?
Maureen and Jonathan exchanged uneasy glances that Moore didn’t notice—as if she and the industrial magnate were thinking the same thing.
Just then, Maureen saw a brief peripheral flash of silver and turned toward it, where General Moore was, just as he cried out.
“What is it?” she asked.
She was shocked to see that his skin and clothing were glowing bright silver. He screamed, a horrible sound such as she’d never heard before, and hoped to never hear again. But her wish did not come to pass. He writhed and fell to the floor, and screamed even more, in terrible pain.
She put her glass down, rose to her feet and took a step toward him.
He didn’t answer her, couldn’t answer.
A series of horrific, muted explosions ensued inside his body, accompanied by more eruptions on the outside, and silver fluid flowing from the fresh wounds, as if his blood had turned to molten metal. On the floor, he put his hands to his face, as silver gushed and flowed from his eyes, ears, and mouth. Then he went motionless, with the strange fluid pooling around him. One more muted explosion followed, and to her horror the top of his skull erupted, spraying brain matter around the private dining room.
Hardly able to believe this was happening, she ducked quickly to avoid being struck, but was not successful. The front of her gown was splattered with brain cells, and splotches of silvery blood. There could be no doubt; the man was dead.
A faint and eerie silver glow rose from Moore’s body—it seemed impossible—but it continued upward and hovered just below the high ceiling, like a small cloud. She blinked, looked back. It seemed to remain there, and she smelled something different in the air. It was a musky odor, combined with the clinging, sickening odor of death.
Racker leaned down and turned the body over, getting the strange blood on his shoes and hands. General Moore’s once-spotless uniform was ripped asunder as if he’d been shot repeatedly, except he bled silver, not red, and it was clear that something awful had happened inside his body, and erupted outward.
“His brain exploded out of his head,” the old man said, “and his heart blew, too. The arteries, chambers, the whole works, they all detonated, and he died instantly.” Racker shu
ddered. “I’d say most of the organs in his body blew up. Massive internal hemorrhaging, but silver? What on AmEarth could cause that?” He straightened and wiped his hands on his trousers, looked around nervously.
Maureen felt as if she was going to throw up. She wanted to get as far from here as possible, but couldn’t move, and just stared at the ghastly scene before her. Apparently no one in the rest of the club had heard the stricken General’s screams in this private back room, as no one tried to gain entrance.
Suddenly the silver glow beneath the ceiling dropped, covering Racker like a blanket and then melting into him, so that his entire body turned silver, too. He screamed and fell to the floor, contorting his body and crying out in a hideous, gurgling voice, as silver gushed out of his mouth like metallic vomit. She closed her eyes, could not bear to see any more of this, didn’t want to hear any more. The same explosions and grisly results....
Am I next? She still could not move, didn’t even think about escape, which seemed impossible.
Finally she looked. In macabre, horrific silence, the two men lay together in death, and she fully expected to join them in a matter of moments. She slumped to the floor in her stained gown, and buried her face in her hands, awaiting the inevitable. What sort of terrible power could do these monstrous things? She could not begin to imagine.
But the expected did not occur.
She looked up and saw the silver cloud condensing in the air, becoming smaller. Then it darted away, and vanished through some tiny opening it found around the window.
Maureen rose to her feet, felt weak and wobbly. She kept from falling by holding onto the back of a chair. Then, with uncertain, halting steps, she made her way out of the room, past a black-jacketed waiter and a woman who was asking him where the powder room was. Maureen’s mind was foggy, her senses numb. The waiter noticed her, asked if she was all right. She didn’t answer, made it to the reception area and the highlift, and left the ghastly scene behind her.
The Assassination of Billy Jeeling Page 22
