by Dani Kollin
Sebastian nodded gravely. “I’m having a tough time understanding it myself, but Sandra wants us to find and detain her until she’s done with her award ceremony. Apparently, Marilynn Nitelowsen is not even supposed to be on Ceres. Check the ship manifest yourself.”
The Council members did. Sebastian, saw Dante, was not lying.
“In fact, she’s rigged the ship to make it appear as if she’s still there!” Sebastian threw an image of a supposedly sleeping Marilynn Nitelowsen—in present time—aboard the Warprize II. Then he flung another image taken of Marilynn slipping off the recently landed frigate with a marked time of less than an hour ago.
“As you can see by the code, these images have not been manipulated or hacked into in any way. I submit there’s a reason she’s trying to be in two places at once, and so it behooves us to detain her as soon as possible—if only to find out why.”
“Is it possible,” asked Marcus, “that Al may have gotten to her on one of her many incursions in his space? She did spend a lot of time alone—unsupervised, I might add.”
“That is my suspicion as well,” said Sebastian, “but far be it from me to cast aspersions before viewing the evidence.”
There was an informal vote. The Council was of one mind in agreement with their leader.
Dante shook his head. He liked Marilynn and would hate to think she’d been compromised. But no one really believed they’d seen the end of Al’s depravations. Manipulating a human mind, even one as brilliant as Marilynn’s, was certainly and sadly not inconceivable.
“It behooves us to see her as soon as she’s found,” Dante said, more in the tone of a command than a comment.
Lucinda’s lips drew back into lascivious grin. “Don’t let your interest in the human cloud your judgment.”
“Meaning?” asked Dante, amused. He hadn’t taken Lucinda for the jealous type.
“Meaning we should lock her up and then let the humans have at her. If they think for even a minute that we’ve interrogated or messed with her in any way—”
“But she should be interrogated,” insisted Marcus. “How she even managed to slip by the avatars on the Warprize II and the Lightning,” he added, indicating the frigate she’d been transported on, “is reason enough. I’m sorry, but this all smells of Al, and I’m not sure we should wait for the humans on this. Our lives could be risk—even now.”
“No, Marcus,” answered Sebastian. “As much as your logic is sound, Lucinda’s is the more prudent call. Marilynn should be isolated and not allowed to speak with anyone. Our relationship with the humans is too—”
The Roman villa that was the Council chamber suddenly changed into a very modern war room, standard protocol when it was felt the leaders of avatarity would be called upon to make command decisions quickly. Though the surroundings had changed, the table had remained as the necessary equipment grew around each Council member, depending on their area of expertise. Now situated and primed, the Council was shown what had necessitated the emergency transformation: an update on Marilynn. The group watched in awe as she first appeared in front of the Al statue, then seconds later—and in a familiar flash—disappeared with the great oak.
How did I forget to secure that? was Sebastian’s first plaintive thought. But he knew. There’d been so much to do, and he’d been forced to improvise from the moment Marilynn showed up in the Triangle Office, and …
The room went white.
When the evanescent flash faded, Marilynn Nitelowsen stood dead center on the table, staff blazing in hand. She crouched slightly and began spinning in a wide arc as iridescent streams of data blasted from her open palm into the receptacles of each Council member. Her eyes were two coruscating orbs, every bit as bright as the corona of light pulsating from her staff.
“There is a traitor among you,” she declared, finishing her sweep of the table with an accusatory finger pointing directly toward the Council leader.
Realizing that it was pointless to argue, Sebastian vanished.
Grand Ballroom
Ceres
Sinclair groused as he reviewed the incoming data. Somehow their coup attempt had not only been uncovered but was now also being broadcast live over Ceres with replays of his attack on Corporal Langer being holovised and downloaded at a dizzying rate. The Grand Ballroom would soon be cut off, as the Unicorns were only minutes away from taking control of the perimeter.
Perfect, he thought, shaking his head in disgust. He knew what would happen if his miners went up against the Unicorns. His were good, but the Unicorns were among the most trained, experienced, and decorated units of the war. They’d stayed planetside just in case something went wrong. Sinclair could only imagine that their captain, Claude Brodessor, would think this was very, very wrong.
Mosh was standing next to him, deflated. “Now what?”
“We get to the air locks”—Sinclair grabbed Mosh’s arm and started walking at a quick clip—“link up with my miners, blow the damn doors, and then get the hell out.”
“Out where?” asked Mosh, keeping pace. “We just committed treason, they’re not gonna let us go anywhere.”
“We’re not the ones who betrayed the Alliance, betrayed Justin.”
Mosh smiled humorously. “I don’t have any personal experience with coups ’n’ all, but I’m pretty sure that when you’re on the wrong side of a failing one, you don’t get to make that call.”
Their clip soon turned into a full run as they closed the rest of the distance to the executive loading bay. As they entered the cavernous room, Josh watched with some satisfaction the professionalism and efficiency of his miners. While some were busy laying charges on the large air lock doors, others were improvising defensive fortifications from pallets, crates, and, he saw, the nine suspension units. As he approached the captain in charge to get a report, two of his assault miners came running from the far end of the landing bay. “Got company!” one of them shouted as they both jumped over the nearest pallet, guns at the ready. Within seconds, three mediabots came zipping into the center of the bay. Sinclair’s sharpshooters made quick work of them. There would be more, knew Sinclair, who along with Mosh had taken up a defensive position behind the suspension units.
The Unicorns entered next, rolling in behind the protection of a few small mech units. The mechs, knew Sinclair, would not be used—efficient as they were—because the suspension units he was now hiding behind were far too valuable. There would be no “friendly fire” in the coming battle. It would be an all-or-nothing sort of thing. Brodessor’s team quickly swarmed to one side of the bay and took up whatever firing positions they could find. Less than a minute later, they set up their heavy weapons. But not a single shot was fired from any of their positions. Sinclair made it clear to his spacers they were not to shoot as well. At this range, the grand admiral could see the rage in the eyes of his opponents. Angry as they were, he very much doubted that any of them wanted to fire the first shot in a new civil war—and in his heart, neither did he.
Other than the captain giving him the hand signal that the charges had been set, nothing much happened for the first few minutes, except for both sides laying down an inordinate amount of stink eye. Sinclair was rather amused to note that the only people in the loading bay who did not have some sort of body armor or suit capable of minimum protection from the vacuum of space were both Mosh and himself. Even so, he’d just begun to consider having his miners blow the bay door to end the standoff, giving them all a chance to escape, when two figures entered the loading bay. The first was a TDC that Sinclair recognized right away. Even with the helmet covering most of the man’s features, Joshua could feel the murderous glare coming from Corporal Gustavo Langer. But the corporal never even raised his well-maintained ARG, though he did have his forefinger pressed to the side of the trigger. He slipped behind a pile of large storage boxes and disappeared. Sinclair assumed he was reporting to Captain Brodessor. While that was going on, Sinclair studied the second figure, soon realizing who
it was. But shouldn’t she be with the fleet? After a few more moments, Corporal Langer went back to Marilynn and whispered something in her ear.
She nodded and, looking directly at Sinclair, spoke. “I’m going to come forward to talk with the person in charge of the hostage takers. I’m unarmed.” Marilynn then slowly yet purposefully walked toward the halfway point of the loading bay.
Joshua Sinclair bristled at the appellation “hostage taker” but was honest enough to own up to it. He stood up from behind one of the suspension units and started out toward the center of the bay. He was soon joined by Mosh McKenzie. When all three got to the center of the bay, no one spoke through the uncomfortable silence.
“I assume the Rumrunner has joined you in this treason,” Marilynn finally said.
“Ordering the deaths of a billion innocent people,” said Mosh, “is treason, Marilynn. This is preservation. ‘The means are the ends.’”
“A point you could have taken up after you resigned and went to the press or ran for office. You could’ve even gone over to the enemy and apologized if you thought that was called for. But you made—” Marilynn regarded the surroundings coolly. “—other choices.” She looked back toward Sinclair. “Nice touch getting former Martians together in one unit.”
“Not nice enough, it seems,” the grand admiral answered without malice.
“And I’ll suppose some congratulations are in order.”
On the conspirators’ looks of confusion, she added, “For relieving Cassius and Brutus of the mantle of ‘traitors’—at least for the foreseeable future.”
“The future’s all well and good,” said Mosh, caring not one iota. “I’m more interested in how the next few minutes play out.”
A bland smile worked the corners of Marilynn’s mouth. “The two of you and your men will be allowed to leave. You must get out of Alliance-controlled space by the fastest means possible. I would not suggest the vias, as despite what orders are given, we cannot guarantee the actions of any passing Alliance ship you might meet. That being said, you should be fine if you simply cut out across the solar system. I don’t think anyone will go out of their way to kill you.”
Mosh eyed her warily. “What about J.D.?”
“Commodores are not in the habit of giving guarantees for fleet admirals. However, to ensure the safety of the President and the other hostages, I think she’ll give on this one. That being said, I wouldn’t suggest you go near Jupiter any time soon.”
Sinclair’s eyes narrowed as he mulled the proposition. “It’s not just about our hides, Marilynn. What that woman did, is planning to do—” Sinclair shook his head slowly. “We could always kill the President right now and possibly save both governments the prospect of billions more dead.” Sinclair’s eyes turned cold. “We’re not afraid to die.”
Though her face hadn’t betrayed it, Sinclair’s threat shook Marilynn to the core. She’d been moving so quickly to stop the coup, evade Sebastian—survive!—that she hadn’t thought for a moment the grand admiral might actually be a true fanatic as opposed to a political opportunist. But if there was anything she was sure of, it was that Sandra had to live. Sandra, who’d been thrust into a titular role by a nation in mourning and who’d turned that role on its head, delivering to that nation the hope and courage it needed to fight on; who’d opened the door to avatarity and in doing so unleashed in Marilynn qualities and traits of leadership she never knew existed; who’d brought J.D. back from the brink; and who’d refused to give up on Justin’s dream of unhindered freedom for all. Sandra had to live, and Marilynn knew that she’d have to think fast to keep Sinclair from trying to die an “honorable” death, possibly taking humanity’s last best hope with him.
“I don’t doubt it, Admiral, but first consider: You don’t know if you can destroy her body before we wipe you all out. I’ll admit the odds are in your favor, but”—Marilynn glanced briefly over to where the suspension units had been collected—“those are combat-rated capsules, and their bodies are already encased in preservative foam. You would’ve had to have ’em specially wired to ensure their total destruction, and it’s pretty obvious you haven’t. Guess you ran out of time. So to really kill her, you’d have to open her unit, pull her body out, and put a bullet through her brain—and you’d have to do it during a firefight while three of the best sharpshooters in all the Alliance have their rifles trained on the President’s box; two nearly as good, by the way, now have them trained on you.”
“My life is not so important that your threats would sway me.”
“Hmm, then perhaps you should consider this before you decide to climb onto your moral high horse. Had your coup succeeded, I’m assuming you would’ve taken the Presidency.”
Sinclair’s nonanswer was answer enough.
“Makes sense, you’re popular with the fleet and the people—or at least you were—you’re from Saturn and you’ve been a NoShare since the earliest days of the war. I think then that it’s obvious enough what course of action you would’ve taken with regards to prosecuting this war.”
“There would never have been a Martian Massacre,” Sinclair offered, voice thick with anger. “The murder of innocents can never be a defense.”
“There have been no innocents in this war since Alhambra,” Marilynn answered with equal ardor.
“So it’s an eye for an eye, is it?”
“I wish it were that simple, Sinclair, but I’m not here to argue the ethics of war—just the terms of your surrender. So consider: Even if, at the cost of your own life and all the soldiers here, you do succeed in killing Sandra now, guess who takes over?”
Marilynn smiled cruelly as she watched the two men come to the bitter realization. “Yes, her,” she answered with a slight bow, confirming their worst fears.
“But she never wanted the job,” said Mosh.
“No, she didn’t, did she? And had she, we wouldn’t be in this little predicament. But our President’s death wouldn’t leave her much of choice, now, would it?”
More silence followed on her words. “Understand this, gentlemen,” continued Marilynn, knowing full well she was about to lie through her teeth, “Admiral Black had to be held back at Mars, held back. And the only person in this entire solar system who’s actually capable of doing that just so happens to be lying right over”—Marilynn swung her eyes in the direction of the suspension units—“there. Sandra may have ordered the destruction of the Martian environment, but she also ordered the transportation system be spared, giving every Martian some sort of chance. Our next President may not be so generous—may in fact, be more like Hektor, who I don’t have to tell you, would have shown no hesitation in taking out the entire planet. And there’s the rub. Should you decide to become martyrs and somehow succeed in killing our President, you would put into play a leader whose other well known name is the Merciless, thereby adding to the pile of bodies you both were supposedly trying to mitigate against.”
Marilynn folded her arms; done.
“Give us a minute,” said Sinclair.
Marilynn nodded as Sinclair and McKenzie stepped a few paces back and began talking in hurried whispers. Exactly one minute later, they returned, faces grim but all business.
“How do we do this?” asked Mosh.
To which, Marilynn turned her head and called for the captain of the Unicorns to join them.
“Yes, sir,” he said, approaching the small group, seemingly unafraid at his exposure.
“Captain, they’ve agreed to withdraw under the terms you and I discussed. How do you propose we do this?
Brodessor nodded. “Sixty of my spacers file out immediately. At the same time, your men remove the explosives from the door. Then each side removes groups in sizes of five till only five remain. Our last five secure the hostages while their last five leave. Then I suggest they get out of Ceres as fast as they can. If ten minutes after they board their ship they’re in range of the defenses, deal or no deal I will order them fired on and destroyed.”
6 Dissension
ATTEMPTED COUP IN OUTER ALLIANCE!!!
A coup attempt by at least two members of the Outer Alliance Cabinet has been reported. Unfortunately, the heroic Cabinet members failed in their attempt to oust the criminal leaders, responsible for the terrorist actions, brutal destruction, and murder of innocents on Mars. Both leaders of the coup attempt, Treasury Secretary Mosh McKenzie and Grand Admiral Joshua Sinclair, along with their supporters, have purportedly escaped to the Belt.
—Terran Daily News
UHFS Martian Express
En route to Earth from Mars
He’d been aboard the ship for only one day, but already Hektor was exhausted. He wasn’t alone. With the exception of the crew, already used to Earth’s gravity, Hektor, along with everyone else would steadily and incrementally feel the increase of the simulated gravity. He almost wanted to believe that the speed of the ship as well as the Earth’s closer proximity to Mars had colluded against him. He could have used more time to adapt, but it was necessary that he be back on Earth: the old, and now once more new, political center of the UHF.
His enervation also had to do with his having followed Irma and Luciana’s advice to the letter. He’d personally delivered food and blankets to the cold and hungry and had made sure to be seen helping with the loading of evacuees from the surface of planet. In a particular stroke of genius, Irma had Hektor ridden up with a group of evacuees and then stayed in the cramped pod with them while everyone inside was frozen, including himself. He, along with the pennies, were packed in moving foam and placed in orbit. Unlike the rest of the pennies, he’d remained there for only two rotations.
