Alien Salute

by Charles Ingrid

  And find a way to extract his revenge upon Pepys and the Thrakian League.

  With the stealth Amber herself had taught him, he dressed and left her alone.

  Chapter 8

  It was an ill-kempt, sour-looking group that was cut away from the evacuees upon docking on Malthen. Pepys watched his security force neatly separate the ones he’d called for from the rest of the group after the old transport landed and then cracked open like an old, rotten eggshell.

  As motley as they looked, unbathed, tired, the man he sought stood head and shoulders above the crowd. Even without his armor.

  Pepys made a noise in his throat. He was unaware it had been heard until a hand fell on his shoulder.

  “That is him?”

  “Yes.”

  The captain was in dress blues, his own perhaps or someone else’s, poorly fitting, his muscles pulling against the seams. He’d put on bulk since leaving for Bythia. Just a boy, still growing, Pepys thought. What would it be like to be growing into your prime once more? As the World Police troops quickly rounded up the man and the lithe girl by his side, and the group of Walkers led by Colin into a second car, he saw Storm pause and look over the docks.

  It was as though he were a hunter or a hound and he’d winded something. “Look at that,” Pepys cried fiercely. “He sees the staging. He knows.”

  “Knows what?”

  “Knows we’re readying for war.” The man behind him said blandly, “A soldier’s soldier.”

  The camera work faded out as the vehicles pulled away toward the palace.

  Pepys paced his inner rooms. He wore a shirt of flowing sleeves to hide his spindly, birdlike arms, but his hands hung out like those of a gangly adolescent boy, and he flopped them unconsciously when he walked. His trousers and boots were plain, but of the finest material. Wealth gleamed deep within their manufacture. He pulled up short to stare at his new minister. Baadluster did not return the piercing look, he was in a world of his own. The minister was homely, tall and pasty pale, with lips too thick and ears too large, poking out from limp brown hair, but the man had eyes of coal black that, once focused, could burn you to the core.

  Pepys erupted back into motion before Baadluster could focus on him. He had needed a new minister, now that the Thrakian League had declared war. Baadluster assumed those new duties overtly, and, covertly, those of Winton, Pepys’ head of the secret service, who had died on Bythia in Jack Storm’s hands.

  Literally, if the reports he had gotten were true. Jack had taken Winton’s head in his gauntlets and squeezed until it had exploded like a ripe melon.

  Pepys was unsure how to credit those reports. The Knight was an enigma to him, to be sure, but he had never sensed a violent or brutal streak in the man. Still, Winton, being Winton, had perhaps elicited that response. Winton would have made a saint come undone.

  The Emperor of the Triad Throne stopped at that thought, and ran his liver-spotted hand through his hair. The frizzy red strands rose with a static electricity all their own as he did so. Pepys reminded himself of a legendary Medusa, every hair on his head determined to snake about as though alive. He kept his own hair because it pleased him to do so… gave him a disarming and boyish look… kept his foes from staring him in his cat green eyes and realizing the schemes that lived deep within them.

  He worried for a moment about what Winton might have told either Jack Storm or Colin of the Blue Wheel before he had died. He had not sent Winton off to Bythia to attend to either the Knight or the saint; the man had been about his own machinations, but that did not make him less knowledgeable about Pepys’ intentions. And, then, of course, there was always the question of how much Jack already knew before Winton exposed himself and suffered the consequences.

  He told himself this was no time to worry about losing power.

  Pepys impatiently looked over the local bank of scanner monitors. The emperor took a deep breath that spasmed somewhere inside.

  “I’ve cleared my agenda for him. I don’t have time to waste.”

  Baadluster appeared to wake, though his eyes had always been open. “Perhaps traffic…”

  “Traffic!”

  “The man has returned from a planet caught up in civil war and out of the hands of the Thraks to report to you. He will be here.”

  Pepys looked up, into Baadluster’s eyes. The minister met his gaze levelly for a moment before looking away. Because he looked away, Pepys did not have to hide his smile of triumph. But he said, “Of course, you’re right, Baadluster.” He lowered himself to a chair built to suit his wiry, slight frame. “We’re agreed on this course of action.”

  “Yes, emperor.”

  “Do you think it wisest?”

  Baadluster considered him. The coal dark eyes stayed flat. Cool. “Not wisest, perhaps,” he said, “but best. And that’s all we can do, is it not? Make the best choice available at the time.”

  Pepys’ attention was riveted on the minister. “And what, do you think, is the wisest?”

  “Kill them both. Though, in retrospect, that might make a martyr out of Colin, which you would want to avoid at all costs, even if the evidence pointed toward the Thrakian League as the murderers. A spiritual network such as the Walkers have can endanger your own.”

  Pepys said nothing aloud but his eyes reflected his thoughts. Yes, it would. And I don’t want that. He had never wanted that. Damn the Walkers. They’d seemed harmless, but during the decades of Pepys’ reign, they’d been everywhere, looking for archaeological proof that Jesus Christ had gone on to walk other worlds. The religious affirmation had yet to come, but the sites being investigated had other, more tangible importance. The digs had established outposts which had gone on to establish frontiers, all steeped in Walker philosophy. Pepys could point at a half dozen major treaty infractions with the Thrakian League over the last decade that involved Walker sites. And when you had a saint who could actually work miracles, as Colin had…

  “There’ll be hell to pay, Baadluster, if we’re wrong.”

  Baadluster did not answer, but his black eyes fired up even as security rang through to tell Pepys that Captain Storm had arrived.

  The Knight arrived alone, as requested, separated in the outer halls from his companion. Colin would also arrive separately, later. The vibrancy of the uniform faded his eyes to an honest blue. His sandy blond hair was beginning to recede slightly above his brow. He was young, half the age of the man he was destined to replace, but Commander Kavin had had implicit trust in Storm’s abilities.

  Pepys cleared a drying throat at Storm’s appearance. Winton had had no such trust. The man is one of our lost Knights, he’d told Pepys. I’m sure of it! He knows what we did in the Sand Wars.

  Then where had he been for the last twenty-five years, showing no sign of the passage of time?

  Where?

  In the hands of the Thraks, perhaps?

  Or one of the several factions working very hard to put Pepys and the Triad Throne out of business permanently? Sweat broke out in the emperor’s armpits as he thought of the Green Shirts.

  He had not bothered to tell Baadluster that he and Winton had already tried to have this man killed several times. Storm was too damn lucky to die.

  Pepys got smoothly to his feet. Jack still wore his insignia of captain, his promotion to commander not official yet.

  “Emperor!”

  As Jack saluted, Pepys leaned forward and snapped off the insignia and held the gold-threaded decorations in the palm of his hand. He felt gratified at the mild surprise awakened in the Knight’s eyes.

  “Commander,” Pepys answered. “You’ll have your new rank emblems before the day is out. Bureaucracy is always slow to keep up with field promotions.”

  “Thank you, sire.” Storm inclined his head.

  As he looked up, Pepys indicated Baadluster. “Commander Storm, I’d like you to meet my new War Minister, Vandover Baadluster.” He guided the soldier to a pair of waiting chairs.

  The two men siz
ed each other up. Pepys admired Baadluster for the noncommittal expression retained by the minister. He might know nothing of the soldier beyond the ordinary barrack gossip. Storm showed only a mild curiosity.

  Jack turned back to his emperor. “How ready are we?”

  “Congress drags its heels, but we’ll be ready. The Thraks have not yet officially declared war, but they’ve been busy dismantling their diplomatic posts. We’ll hear soon. Or perhaps just slightly after.” Pepys smiled maliciously. With the Thraks, one could not depend on being told until after the first strike. “We, of course, are doing the same.”

  “In the meantime, Thrakian cruisers are still in the trade lanes, where the Treaty allows them to remain.” There was disdain in the new commander’s voice.

  Pepys looked at him with a long measuring glance, then said deliberately, “I made that Treaty. I’ll see it enforced as long as it still has life. If there is a way to turn back after all this… if it can be done, I will see it done.”

  A normal man would have flinched. Storm returned the Emperor’s look levelly and answered, “The Thraks have no such compunctions. Never have had, never will.”

  “Nor, sir, had you. Without your actions, we might not be in the position we’re in now!”

  Baadluster stepped between them with a movement so smooth it seemed almost accidental. The minister forced Pepys to sit back in his chair.

  “My actions,” Jack said, “have always been with the Triad Throne and the Dominion in mind.”

  “I know that,” Pepys answered impatiently. “Else I would not give you the Dominion Knights.”

  Storm stopped in his tracks as though momentarily taken aback. Pepys’ gaze met Baadluster’s with a gleam of triumph. The emperor knew the soldier now knew he was going to be offered the command of the Dominion Knights, and that he had not expected it originally. Pepys had him where he wanted him.

  The soldier shifted his tall muscular form in a chair built for Pepys’ comfort. Jack placed his hands on his thighs and leaned slightly forward. “And what do you want me to do with them?”

  “The Dominion Knights will be fully reinstated. We’ve stepped up recruitment and training. I don’t anticipate any problems from the Dominion Congress accepting either our troops or my leadership of them.” Pepys gave a tight-lipped smile. “They may call us mercenary, but the Congress knows what we can do. We both know this war won’t be fought in the sectors of space. We can try to put weapons’ platforms into orbit outside each and every target we wish to attack or defend, but that is a logistical impossibility. No. Like the Sand Wars, this will be fought planet to planet, without destroying the land we both covet, and we’ll have no choice but to follow the Thraks’ lead. We need the infantry to fight this war, commander, and the Knights are the best we have to offer.”

  Jack watched Pepys, realizing the electricity with which the fine red hair rose and fell as though on a tide, was a signal of the man’s level of intensity. He was intense now. Very intense. But not over Jack and Jack was grateful for that, aware he tended to give himself away too easily even with Amber’s street savvy training. Jack inclined his head in slight affirmation of his emperor’s statement. “I accept.”

  Pepys sat back in his chair. “You understand, of course, that your command of the Knights will be secondary to my and Baadluster’s orders, and also probationary until you give me proof of your ability to win in the field. I don’t, however, anticipate problems in that area.”

  “The Thraks were all but unstoppable before, sire,” Jack answered levelly. “They may prove so again, but I can guarantee our best effort.”

  “Good! All I can ask. Our relationship with the Dominion is an odd one, but we are all human, and that binds us together. We are woven like a net, a fishing seine, and the Triad worlds are the floats that keep the net buoyant… but the Dominion is the strand that makes the weaving. If the strand comes undone, eventually we, too, will be left adrift.” Pepys blinked furiously and Jack was astonished to see dampness well in his emerald eyes.

  The emperor shook off his mood as Baadluster cleared his throat. Jack looked to the tall, pasty-complected man who towered over them and who had no chair to sit in. The new Minister of War returned Jack’s gaze, and Jack saw the heat smoldering in the depths of flat black eyes.

  He knew then that Vandover Baadluster could be as terrible as Winton had been.

  “Commander,” Baadluster said. “Please tell me, in your own words, what happened after Bythia.”

  For a moment, Jack felt a stab of panic, razor sharp. Technically, he was now an officer stripped of rank. Pepys could do that to him, if he wished. Jack had no illusions as to the strategies the emperor might employ, but he let his breath out slowly, giving way to the rationale that this was not one of them. Just the same, Baadluster noticed the flicker of his gaze toward Pepys. And misinterpreted it.

  “Come, come! Don’t look to him for permission to answer. I’m your commanding officer now.”

  Pepys, however, wore a pleased expression. “Don’t badger him, Van. He’s my man, as he should be. That’s what it means to be a Knight.”

  Jack felt bile at the back of his throat. Pepys had no idea of what it meant to be a Knight. The amputation scar of his little finger went livid as his fingers pinioned his right thigh. If he had been able to bring alive out of the Bythian disaster the man who’d told him that it had been the Triad Throne itself which had ordered the fireburning attack on Claron, Pepys would not be sitting across from him. No, Pepys had no idea of what it meant to be a Knight. Jack hesitated too long in answering and an unfathomable expression flickered across the emperor’s face.

  Pepys lifted his chin slightly as Baadluster intoned, “He says it without words, but he says it none the less. He wonders if you know what it means to be an emperor.”

  The faint sheen of sweat on Jack’s brow turned icy.

  A silence fell on the room.

  Pepys smiled tightly. “And now, Minister Baadluster, you may leave us.”

  The limp-haired man had been hovering over Jack. He straightened and looked at his emperor. For a moment, Jack thought he was going to argue. Then the thick lips thinned, and Baadluster turned and left the private hall.

  Pepys keyed his remote and the taping banks shut down one by one. Jack watched the displays go dark, knowing the gesture was being made to impress him, and knowing that nothing kept Pepys from recording secretly. But he was supposed to think that Pepys would not stoop to that, although Jack knew he would.

  The emperor waited for several long minutes, bright green eyes peering at Jack over the steeple of Pepys’ hands. Jack forced himself to wait coolly.

  “Why did you murder Winton?”

  Jack looked into Pepys’ shaded eyes. “I did not murder him. I killed him in self-defense.”

  “A man in battle armor against a man without?”

  “Winton was not helpless.”

  The emperor dropped his hands into his lap. “No, I suppose he was not. He was not the sort of man who would ever be. He did not trust you, Winton didn’t.”

  They stared into one another’s faces. Jack thought of Amber and how much she would relish this game of words and façades. He did not. He shifted his weight in the chair from one lean hip to the other. “Why?”

  Pepys’ hair crackled upward. “I’m sure I haven’t an idea. He was in charge of the World Police. It is possible he thought you were a security threat.”

  “I haven’t been on Malthen long, your highness—but I’ve never heard that the WP was shy when it came to arrests or trials.”

  “No.” Pepys gave a twitch of his lips and looked away briefly. “Your interest in the firestorming of Claron always bothered him. You championed it when you first came to me. The… incident of Claron was a regrettable one. For reasons of security, what happened there can never be revealed, and yet you don’t strike me as one who would accept that as an answer. Give me reason to believe that Winton was wrong about you.”

  Althoug
h Jack’s face did not twitch, his gut screwed tight. Damn Pepys for making him trade off Claron’s lease for new life against the greater good. Damn him. It was the Thraks or Pepys, and Pepys could thank god that he was the lesser of two evils at this point. He made a choice. “No.”

  Pepys’ face went whiter still, verging on gray, but his eyes lit up and he leaned forward in the chair. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, your highness, if my service as a Knight is not evidence enough for you, I can’t please you.”

  “Can’t or won’t?”

  “My point is made.”

  “But not mine. Do you like your commission?” the emperor asked abruptly.

  “I appreciate it,” Jack answered.

  The emperor thrust himself out of his chair and began pacing. “What am I to do with you, Jack Storm?”

  “Send me wherever you want the Dominion Knights to be stationed. Then let me do my job.”

  Pepys turned at the edge in Jack’s voice. “You imply, without interference.”

  “If necessary. You tried to keep Kavin on a short leash. To paraphrase, he hung himself on it. He died fighting, not the enemy, but Winton.”

  “I know that.”

  “Then you should not have allowed it to happen.”

  Pepys brought himself up. His pointed chin trembled for a second, then dimpled as he fought to calm himself. “As if anyone could control Winton. He plotted against everyone. Even me.”

  “A dangerous man.”

  “Less dangerous to have under one’s nose than a galaxy away.” Pepys cut the air with the side of his hand. “I won’t be judged by you.”

  Jack did not respond.

  Finally, Pepys dropped back into his chair. “What happened after Bythia? What do you know about the Opus incident?”

  “Only that the monitoring equipment aboard the freight transport was primitive, at best. The Thraks had done their best to board us. I couldn’t allow that to happen. I think they intended on taking hostages. When they attempted to overtake us, an unknown interceded and shortly after, our readings indicate that the planet was irradiated.”