by PP Corcoran
Over the open mike, the slight Garundan’s distinctive chuckle was heard. "Trust is a thing to be earned, Base Commander, and I choose to use myself and my colleague as collateral."
The radio channel hissed quietly and all caught Felan's glance at his dead world before he again looked at the Garundan. "Would you like a tour of the base, Ambassador, you and your escort? And may I formally request whatever assistance you and your people are able to supply?"
Travis activated his link to the waiting marine shuttle. "Looks like we're staying a little longer, sir. See you back at the fleet."
CHAPTER THREE
Keep It in the Family
SLIVINO VALLEY - NORTHERN ITALY - EARTH - SOL SYSTEM
The stable hand bent back to his work as Seaton Anderson, astride his favorite chestnut stallion, left the stable complex situated behind the main house in the center of the sprawling 170-square kilometer estate that dominated the Slivino valley of northern Italy. Since being placed under house arrest on his estate Seaton had taken to going riding nearly every morning, spending hours weaving his way through the thick pine forests covering the estate.
Many of the staff commented on how their billionaire master seemed un-phased by his indictment for charges ranging from bribery to murder.
Seaton had been removed from his position as chair of one the Commonwealth’s biggest conglomerates, Zurich Lines, and forced to remain on his palatial estate while his army of lawyers fought the government every inch of the way. The media were reporting it could take years, if ever, to bring Seaton to trial. And all the time he lived the life anyone could ever dream of. Waited on hand and foot. His every want tended to. The stable hand shook his head in weary resignation as the horse and rider disappeared from view. Picking up the pitchfork, he shoveled fresh hay into the stall, ready for the stallion on its return.
Seaton Anderson's nonplussed exterior could not have been further from his real state of mind. Seaton was a worried man. For thirty years, he had spent every ounce of his considerable energy building the shipping line left to him by his father into one of the biggest in known space. Go to any port in the Commonwealth and you were guaranteed to find a Zurich Lines flagged ship there. Buy any item manufactured or produced off-planet and there was a very good chance it had been carried aboard a Zurich Lines ship at some point.
Now though, the company he gave two marriages and his entire adult life to build was crumbling around him. It was not the court indictments that bothered him so much. His lawyers assured him he would never see the inside of a courtroom in his lifetime. It was not even the fact some of his bankers had called in the loans he had used to finance his expanding fleet, a requirement to establish and service the new colonies springing up like fresh seeds after a spring rain. The company had enough revenue and reserves to cover the costs. No. It was President Coston's plan to grant independence to Janus that worried him. An integral part of the president’s plan was the restructuring of all of Janus’ debts. Debts which were made up in a significant part by the shipping costs incurred during the establishment of the colony world and the infrastructure required to maintain and expand it as it grew to a point where it was self-sustaining. Zurich Lines was owed billions by the colony and if Coston’s plan was successful, these debts would be restructured over a much longer timeline, cutting the company’s expected revenue by nearly forty-five percent. Combine the revenue loss with the withdrawal of investment and the company was left in a precarious financial position. Seaton made himself a solemn vow: No matter what it took, he would not allow his company to be destroyed!
The difficulty was, Seaton was no longer directly involved in his own company and the question of who he could trust to continue in his stead was undecided. His most trusted confidant, Daya Thomas, had spent the last three years locked up in solitary confinement in a federal maximum security prison on Titan after the former intelligence chief had been caught trying to smuggle Seaton’s personal files containing embarrassing information on various highly placed legal, political, and military figures off the planet during the Others’ attack. Seaton's lawyers’ most arduous efforts were not enough to release her, leaving Seaton with only one choice. In his deliberations, Seaton had remembered a favorite phrase of his father’s: "Keep things in the family."
It presented Seaton with a bit of a quandary. He had no children of his own but had always been close to his sister’s son, Bryer. With his sister and her husband’s unfortunate passing Seaton had kept a watchful eye on the boy’s naval career. Making sure he remained out of harm’s way. Not an easy task in a time of war but with the right word here and there it was not an impossible task either. That was until Bryer fell afoul of the same Admiral Elizabeth Wilson who was leading the investigation into Zurich Lines and its involvement in the Empire of Alona’s scheme to gain access to the gravity drive, a technology which was deemed a state secret.
At the tap of a key, Bryer had been packed off to some back-of-beyond job in the asteroid belt. His carefully orchestrated naval career in tatters. Well, maybe it was time for Bryer to come home.
When the Federal Investigation Bureau swooped on Zurich Lines’ offices and Seaton's own home armed with court warrants, they seized every computer and data storage device they found, but like many raised in the electronic age, their prejudice against anything appearing outdated was a fatal flaw. They never even thought to look for something like paper records. Not that there were any to find in the company’s offices or Seaton's home.
The Seaton estate was only centered on the main house. Scattered throughout the sprawling estate grounds were various other smaller hunting lodges and derelict farmhouses which had once been the homes of families who had worked the rich farmland for generations before the land had been procured by the Anderson family. The majority of those farmhouses had not had a visitor in decades, becoming overgrown and derelict. Why would the FIB bother to search them?
Seaton spent two hours winding his way through the fragrant pine trees and long meadow grass until, apparently by chance, he came upon one of those long abandoned farmhouses, which to any casual observer, looked no different from the others spread around the estate.
Patting the stallion’s neck affectionately, Seaton dismounted and tied him to one of the towering pines. The dried pine needles on the forest floor deadened the sound of his footsteps as he approached the front door, which stood at an angle in its warped frame. Reaching into his pocket, Seaton retrieved his cigar cutter. An item anyone, friend or foe, would attest to as a plaything – he had an annoying habit of fiddling with it during virtually every meeting.
With a practiced motion, Seaton depressed and released the cutter. A muted beep came from above the doorframe as the explosive charges set in the floor and walls disarmed and reinforced steel locking bars slid silently into their recesses. Pushing the rickety-looking door open, Seaton stepped inside. Low intensity automatic lighting came on, illuminating the stark interior. Walking to the center of the small living room, Seaton dropped to one knee and pressed a hand onto a burnished metal plate. The biometric lock accepted him and a section of the floor dropped a few centimeters before silently sliding to one side. More low-level lights came on, revealing a set of steep steps. Making his way down carefully, Seaton was forced to duck his head as he took the last few steps to avoid hitting the Permacrete-reinforced roof.
As he reached the bottom step, the false floor above him slid back into place with a nearly inaudible click. With the room now sealed, the ceiling lighting sprang to life to reveal a row of ancient five-drawer filing cabinets lining one wall of the cramped room. A low wooden desk was placed against the opposite wall, upon which sat an archaic adjustable desk lamp and a single chair pushed neatly under the desk. That was the whole of the room’s furniture. There was no computer or electronic communications device to be found anywhere. Nothing for any snooper, be they government or competitor, to piggyback in on.
Seaton's father had first brought him here years before. His f
ather had been a secretive man, some said paranoid, and he had spent a small fortune having the farmhouse above the room painstakingly taken down one brick at a time by hand, only to have it rebuilt exactly as it had been a few weeks later. The laborers carrying out the work were told the farmhouse held sentimental value to the aging Anderson. He had wanted to replace it with an ultramodern hunting lodge but on seeing its demise, reconsidered and decided to retain the original building.
They did not know about the complete underground unit built off-site by a defense contractor who thought he was building a prototype fallout shelter. The unit was collected from the contractor’s factory for trials, which he was subsequently informed were unsuccessful, and the project was shelved. Like so many new ideas, this one was consigned to the scrap heap. In reality, a separate set of contractors installed the entire unit in just three days. They were told it was for a rich family who feared another nuclear war and wanted somewhere to live through it. Each of these contractors had been flown in to the site in the dead of night and remained there until the job was finished.
On completion, every person signed a nondisclosure agreement before being airlifted out of the site with a substantial bag of cash.
When it came to rebuilding the farmhouse, the men carrying out the work had no idea there was now a secret bunker below.
Seaton moved to the desk and switched on the lamp, throwing a bright light onto the well-thumbed ledger book sitting in the center of the wooden desk. Seaton bent over and blew the fine film of dust from the ledger’s cover before opening it and running his index finger down the alphabetical list of names until it came to rest on one in particular. He let out a satisfied "Hmmm." The same finger traced horizontally across the page until it came to the correct cabinet, drawer, and index number. Closing the ledger again, he used his index fingers to ensure it was returned to its exact place. A small idiosyncrasy he had picked up watching his father in this very room.
Turning his back to the desk, he went to the second filing cabinet and pulled open the bottom drawer. The drawer opened with a creak. Seaton made a mental note to bring a small bottle of lubricant with him on his next visit.
Reaching in, he lifted out the correct file, then took a seat at the desk and flipped it open. The file contained about a dozen neatly handwritten sheets of paper. Attached to the top sheet was a color photograph of a young, self-assured navy ensign. Flicking to the second page, Seaton skipped to the last line of the bio. And there in his neat handwriting were the words: "Assistant to the Chief of Naval Personnel."
Seaton allowed himself a wry smile. Perfect! He leaned back and began to memorize the file’s contents, reminding himself of what indiscretion the young ensign had committed all those years ago which had led to his name joining the list in the ledger and, more importantly, what leverage it now gave Seaton to secure Bryer’s release from naval service.
Returning to the ledger, Seaton searched out two other names, removed their files, and set them down on the desk. It wasn’t enough to secure the release of Bryer, he had to ensure his position as head of Zurich Lines was as strong as possible, and the only way to do so was to have friends in high places. Exactly what Seaton had in mind, even if he had to bring down a government to do it.
CHAPTER FOUR
Survey Command
CHARON BASE - ORBIT OF PLUTO - SOL SYSTEM
Christos Papadomas leaned back in his comfortable office chair, closed his weary eyes, and rubbed the bridge of his nose in what he knew was a futile effort to avert the dull pain behind his eyes from worsening. As he straightened back up, his eyes fell upon the small, silver-framed portrait standing in pride of place on his desk. The picture showed his three girls, Philippa, Maia, and Odysseia, playing in his mother’s garden on Crete with his wife, Kayla, hovering like a mother hen in the background. The picture had been taken fifteen years before when the children were so much younger and his life was so much happier and much less complicated. A veil of sadness descended on him as his eyes fixed on the beauty of Kayla.
Kayla had been a doctor working in the Lunar Colony’s Central Hospital when the attack came. Dedicated to her profession, she ensured the safety of her children in the deep mines before she returned to her post. A direct hit from an enemy missile on her workplace cut her life short and stole her from him and their children.
When Christos heard of her death, his heart was ripped from him and he became like a zombie. He withdrew to the seclusion of his quarters on his flagship, TDF Cutlass, rather than mix with his crew and the inevitable words of consolation and the sympathetic looks. When Cutlass arrived at the Lunar Colony and he left his quarters to head to the shuttle bay, crewmembers pressed themselves against bulkheads to move out of his way as the shell of what was once their smiling, happy commander walked past, his eyes vacant and unseeing.
Christos had vague memories of the shuttle ride down to the lunar surface with a worried Nicholas Schamu in the seat beside him. When the shuttle touched down and the sound of the engines died, Christos walked past the saluting crew chief without recognition and before he knew it, he was holding Maia and Odysseia in his arms. The tears finally came and he bared his soul to the world in a shuttle hangar surrounded by the hulking Persai form of Force Leader Verus and the six other equally intimidating Persai who challenged anyone to intrude on their commander’s grief.
The protective circle of Persai had opened to admit Nicholas Schamu and the short, elderly, apparently frail form of Mrs. Victoria Brown. Mrs. Brown had been the Schamu children's nanny and had shown them the love and affection their parents seemed incapable of. Over the coming days, Mrs. Brown was there to see to the needs of not only the Papadomas children, but also Christos.
Philippa had been on Earth during the attack and Nicholas moved heaven and earth to get Christos' eldest daughter passage on a shuttle to return her to the Lunar Colony. Mrs. Brown happened to mention to William Schamu, governor of the Lunar Colony and brother to Nicholas, that perhaps the family would like some privacy on the shuttle’s landing. When Christos and his youngest children arrived at the shuttleport to meet Philippa, they found the arrivals area secured by lunar police and the normally busy concourse completely empty. As the shuttle bay doors opened to admit Philippa, her father was glad of the privacy as once more, the tears came and his grief overwhelmed him.
Now, three years later, he had come to terms with the loss of Kayla. It wasn’t that he’d forgotten her, not a day passed when he didn’t think of her and her smiling face, but he no longer sat up alone late at night until he fell asleep in his armchair, only to find at some point Mrs. Brown had quietly entered the living room and placed a blanket over him. She always ensured she made just enough noise to accidentally wake him as she moved around the kitchen the following morning, preparing the children's breakfasts, so he had time to shower and change, making himself presentable before the children got out of bed.
Mrs. Brown’s foresight had saved him from embarrassment and probably saved his career a few months after the loss of his wife, when he received an unexpected visitor.
The chiming of the front doorbell was the signal for the customary mad rush by ten-year-old Odysseia in her mission to beat anyone else in the Papadomas household to the door. Christos shared a knowing look with Maia and Philippa as he pushed away from the breakfast table and headed for the door, passed by an unhappy Odysseia stamping back toward her cereal bowl.
"It’s for you, Poppa."
Christos tousled her hair as she passed. "One day it will be a vid star come to whisk you away." Over my dead body, thought Christos, pressing the door release as the beginnings of a smile tugged at his lips. All thoughts of vid stars fled his mind as the door slid aside to reveal the figure of Admiral Jing, newly appointed Chief of the Combined Joint Chiefs of Staff, standing in the corridor in a neat pinstriped suit he wore as if it was the uniform Christos was so used to seeing him in. The sight of the admiral in civilian attire caused Christos' brain to react slower than it sh
ould, but he recovered quickly and brought himself to attention like a first-year recruit at the academy.
With a wave of his hand Jing said, "Please relax, Christos. I am calling at your home so let’s dispense with the formalities, shall we?"
"Of course, sir... please come in. You'll have to excuse me, the children are just finishing their breakfast before going to school." Christos stepped back to allow the admiral entry and was surprised by the sight of Odysseia and Maia, school bags in hand, ready to leave. From the kitchen came the sounds of dishes being placed in the dishwasher and the table being wiped. Mrs. Brown appeared and with a "Good morning, Admiral Jing," shepherded the children out the door and away.
"Well, it appears the children are finished with breakfast and off to school." Christos let the door slide closed before leading the way into the living room, where he ushered Jing to a seat before turning to fetch them both coffee. Philippa, who was carrying a tray with two steaming coffee cups, cream, and sugar, stopped him in his tracks.
"Mrs. Brown told me you prefer decaf, Admiral," said Philippa as she placed the tray on the low table between Jing and Christos' seats. She retreated to her room as a wide-eyed Christos stared.
A small chuckle escaped Jing as he reached for his cup. "It would appear you’ve been the subject of a very well-executed ambush, Christos."
Taking his seat, Christos could only nod. "Mrs. Brown is very... formidable."
"Indeed," agreed Jing as he took an appreciative sip of his coffee. With a satisfied, "Ahh," he placed the cup down on the tray again. "She even managed to get my favorite brand. I didn't think they had this on the colony. I have to get mine shipped from Earth."
