by Reg Franklin
Eventually he would reveal the truth; there really was not any choice in the matter if only because he was damn well tired of having to apply that garbage to his face daily. His evolved state might heal at accelerated levels, but it did nothing for discomfort.
He stood and had walked to his private bath to remove the remaining glue and latex from his features, when the call came. Swearing colorfully, he set it to voice only. “What?” He snapped, fingers drumming impatiently. It was Dr. Peters, who needed to see him right now.
“Simon, unless you’ve discovered how to, I don’t know, convert Jupiter into a breathable atmosphere, I really don’t-” then he stopped, listening intently. An instant later, he was headed for the pediatric ward, ignoring his aged makeup in his haste.
As he tore through the doors, heedless of anyone in his path, he drew stares from the staff at his younger appearance. “Where?!” Stragdoc barked, ignoring their curiosity. Peters emerged from a side room.
“My lord, forgive me but you insisted we notify you immediately…” The scientist stammered, fearing for his safety.
“Never mind and show me.” Stragdoc commanded the timid scientist. Peters brought him to an observation room. On the other side of a window, they saw a young child, no more than a toddler really, racing toy cars around.
He was not touching them. Merely watching and laughing as he mentally commanded them to compete.
“Y-you were right, sir. He was born from two Alphite parents, and began manifesting psionic ability forty-eight hours ago. They only brought him in 3 hours ago.”
Stragdoc began to grin again. He had suspected that developing minds would be the first to emulate his own abilities, but needed proof. “Keep him under observation for another twenty-four. I want the gamut of non-intrusive tests run on that child’s brain: EEG, MRI, everything.”
“Sir?” Peters looked confused.
“This is only the first. I need a baseline that we can start checking newborns for.” Stragdoc turned to face the scientist for the first time since entering the room. The grin twisting his features was appalling, forcing Peters to unconsciously recoil.
“Eventually, I will have an army.”
9.
While this was occurring, the Earth Alliance was not idle. Scientists and engineers from formerly opposed nations began collaborating in earnest. Before long, the first fighter craft capable of both atmospheric as well as low orbital combat was produced. Of course, knowing the exact distance the Chancel was from the Earth, low-orbit was insufficient for a first-strike scenario. As such, the prototype craft were assigned patrol duties as it had become obvious that Stragdoc was still involving himself in Terrestrial affairs.
Those outlaw nations who refused to join the Alliance suddenly began wielding weapons of obvious Psi-Omegan manufacture, warning others from their borders with them. Organized crime groups in various Alliance countries committing crimes with similar weaponry further strained tensions. Whether they had purchased them from Outlaw Nations, or from the Empire directly was deemed irrelevant by the Alliance Congress, who labelled these criminals as terrorist allies, allowing the Alliance to begin using military force against them, causing several cities across the world including New York, Montreal, St Petersburg, and others to become miniature war zones. Following that, the Congress began exploring options to isolate the Outlaw Nations from further weapon shipments.
---
Elsewhere, the youthful-appearing Jennifer Safyo was meditating, trying to strengthen herself. Certainly, she was capable of telepathic contact over a massive distance, but she knew that Stragdoc had spent more time honing his abilities. She had never attempted the level of telekinetic carnage he had caused in London, nor did she particularly want to, but she wanted to be far more precise with it. He was a storm, capable of crushing buildings and lives. She wanted to be able to unleash that kind of force, directed at a single point.
To that end, she was levitating nickels, getting a firm mental grip, and then hurling them into a piece of sheet metal. She imagined his face leering at her, challenging her.
“You don’t understand?” His voice mocked her from the past; so long ago, but the betrayal was still fresh. “They have to die. Because then we can rebuild the world.”
He had taken their school hostage. Him and friends who shared his insane vision of a world run by him. In addition, one lovesick girl, confused, torn, who had known him from childhood. He was going to kill the student body, he said, to prove that he was best suited to decide who could live and who could die. In his mind, the fact that he simply condemned them without personal malice showed that he was the right man for the job of ruling everything.
Thunk. One of the coins embedded itself in the metal.
“Paul, we don’t need to murder! Don’t you understand, this whole thing has gone way too far! If we stop now, perhaps the authorit-” He had struck her then, a look of confusion on his face.
“You don’t get it! After all this, if we turn back now, the appearance we project will be weakness!”
Another coin shot forward, penetrating a little deeper than the first.
She had fallen to the floor. A small trickle of blood formed at the corner of her mouth. “Mercy isn’t weakness.” She stated flatly.
“To you, maybe. But to those in power?” He sneered. “Ruthlessness is the only power they recognize. The only language they speak. So I will speak to them in such a fashion, if only to claim my birthright!” She realized at that moment the enormity of the lie she had perpetrated on herself, how utterly mad he actually was. His ‘accident’ when he had his skull fractured years and years ago had warped him so utterly that hate, anger, pain were the only things that he understood. When he turned from her to radio instructions, ordering the slaughter, she had tackled him, driving his head against the wall, knocking him out long enough for her to get away. To fake new orders ordering that everyone evacuate, while she activated the bomb he had planted. It was designed to take out their school as a distraction, he had told her.
He had lied to her.
This time the coin shot halfway through the sheet of metal.
Better.
II.
Six Months Later
10.
“They’ve made their move?” Stragdoc asked, not even bothering to turn around to face Calixta as she entered his sanctum. His gaze was centered on new construction work being done to the vessel, as large non-vital portions of it were carefully disassembled and re-configured, lengthening and streamlining it.
“Yes, sir. The outlying nations opposed to the Alliance have been attacked by member nations. The Alliance is determined to stop the flow of our shipments to the surface.” She shifted uncomfortably in the new uniform she had been gifted along with her promotion to Chief of Intelligence, putting her in charge of monitoring events on the planet. “Additionally, the Americans are continuing to experiment with orbital craft, trying to find a design that could conceivably come after us.”
“Let them try.” The Emperor still had not turned to face her.
“Sir? Have I done something to displease you?” she fretted at his seeming indifference.
At that, he slowly turned to face her. “Not at all.” Like others, she had been stunned at the revelation of his true face. He looked her age, which was very disconcerting. “If anything, I should apologize to you. I never should have trusted the humans with your safety.”
“Sir, that’s...that’s not necessary.” Calixta stammered. “You couldn’t have known-”
“That makes me a poor leader then, if I couldn’t have predicted what was going to happen.” He sank slowly into a nearby chair. “Look at that.” He gestured to the great work taking place outside. “If I were any kind of leader, would this be necessary? A plan for escape and resettlement?”
Calixta kneeled next to the chair, looking pained. “Sir, you are the best possible leader we could’ve asked for. Without you, so many of us would be dead or dying. I would be dying.” At t
he time of her undergoing the Alphite process, she had been diagnosed with ALS. The early signs - the muscle weakness, the slurred speech - had already begun. Forty-four hours after the first injection, she had been cured completely. Her loyalty from that point had been absolute; her loyalty from the point of her rescue had been fanatical.
“True, I suppose.” Stragdoc sighed yet again. “I’m probably just homesick.” He waved halfheartedly at the nearby moon. “We mustn’t forget that the surface of Earth is where we came from, and to be forced into this exile, well.” He closed his eyes. “I long to feel the soil beneath my feet, to hear the lapping of the waves.” When he opened his eyes, they were cold. “And I am denied that.”
Calixta nodded. “What can I do, my lord?”
Stragdoc turned to face her, reached out and touched her face. “Hurt them, dear Calixta. Make them suffer.”
At that she nodded again, and without a word left his side planning how best to fulfill his desire. She felt a headache beginning, something that had been happening a lot lately to most of the Alphites, and thus distracted did not notice the Emperor’s expression change behind her to one of perverse pleasure.
“I should have entered politics years ago.” he murmured, chuckling. While it was true that he did miss non-recycled oxygen and water, the melancholy was simply an act. He was curious how motivated his people would be if he appeared distressed. It was an interesting experiment for him, nothing more.
He looked again at the rebuilding efforts. More children had been born and were displaying psionic talent. On top of that, he had begun sensing flickers of ability all over the vessel. His people were waking up, and he would need to do something soon, before they tried to break from his control.
11.
Calixta returned to her office, determined to prove her dedication to the Emperor. Calling up the most recent intelligence reports, she scanned them furiously; looking for something, anything that could be turned to their advantage. The headache she had developed was intensifying, forcing her eyes shut…
-a shipment of arms had been seized from Northern Korea, delivered to the American government. The President was making a speech in front of the crate about how America was dedicated to fighting terrorism since the start of this century, and as the shipping container was opened, a fireball erupted over him and the crowd…
Calixta’s eyes snapped open. “What the…” She murmured. That had been so real, not like any dream she had ever experienced. Glancing at the clock, less than a minute had passed since she had closed her eyes.
Moreover, the headache was gone.
She realized how easy it would be to rig one of their cargo containers to explode on demand, how utterly simple arranging it to be captured was, and knew that this would please her Emperor.
---
Within the day, the arrangements had been made with their agents on Earth. The incendiary devices were built into the sides of the container, rigged with a camera so that they could verify the appropriate target before detonation; she did not want to annihilate some minor functionary, after all.
When everything was prepared, she approached the Emperor to present him with the triggering command.
“How amazingly devious of you, Calixta.” He grinned as they watched the camera uplink.
“Thank you, sir.” She blushed.
“However did you come up with such a brilliant scheme?” He was genuinely curious.
She explained the vision she had had, and felt the intensity of his gaze on her. On the screen facing them, the container began to open. “Sir?”
“Of course.” He murmured. Glancing away from her, he saw the crowd, the President. He tapped out a command, and the feed cut out as the flames belched over the people.
“Beautifully masterminded.” He smiled again. “Of course, you know what happened, don't you?”
“Sir?”
He stroked her face gently. “The plan was destined to work, because you had already seen it work. You saw an outcome and worked backwards from that.”
“I still don't know how I saw it happen, though.” She admitted.
“Simply another gift you have received from me. First I gave you back your life, then I gave you purpose. Now, you can see things as I can see them. All of you aboard this vessel are growing powers like mine. The children are strongest, but before long, with practice, your powers will grow strong too.”
Calixta stared at him in shock. To be free of disease and age was one thing, but to be able to do what he was capable of…
“I can't say precisely how strong your gift will be, unfortunately.” He continued, gleaning the gist of her thoughts. “But precognition? That in itself is an amazing ability. You should be very proud.”
“I am, sir.” She gazed at him adoringly.
Stragdoc knew what she wanted, and took her in his arms.
---
Later, he gave her a special assignment. She was to return to Earth to supervise a special project, as well as secure several intelligence assets.
She pouted slightly, not wanting to be separate from her savior for long, but he assured her it would be for no more than two weeks. Even that seemed an eternity to her, but she acquiesced. After she left for her quarters to prepare, Stragdoc brooded. He had had other lovers before, but none who’d essentially worshipped him. Or who were gifted with precognitive visions, for that matter.
He did care for her, in his own way; but it amounted to the way a gamesman would care for a valuable piece on the chessboard. Not a pawn, but not yet a queen. He shook his head; his metaphor was getting away from him. The mission she was on was relatively minor - low risk to herself - but if something went wrong, he would miss her.
For a time.
12.
Jennifer looked away from the news reports regarding the American President's death. The investigation was ongoing, but authorities were not willing to call it an assassination quite yet. Jennifer knew different, and that worried her. How had Paul known where that container was going? That the President would schedule an impromptu press conference against the wishes of his advisors to show off how effectively they were intercepting Psi-Omegan contraband?
She now stood gazing at his former headquarters in Toronto. Following his arrest, the authorities discovered a vault near the top of the massive skyscraper, and demanded Paul open it. He refused. They told him they would simply cut their way in, and he had grinned.
“Oh, that would be a bad idea. See, it's tamper-proof. Either entering the incorrect combination or trying to physically crack it sets off a series of sensors in the structure of the building. Then the building explodes. One of my more ingenious ideas, if I do say.”
Police had checked, and had indeed found massive amounts of explosives wired into key points of the building. Simply observing them, trying to determine if they could be disarmed. Experts from around the world had come to see, and had all the same conclusion: if any of the devices were removed, they would all detonate with enough force to level a five-block radius around the building.
Upon being told that they were adding additional charges regarding the explosives against him, he merely laughed. The only recourse they had was to assign a military guard to the building to deter anyone from entering and possibly destroying a portion of the city until such time that they would be able to disarm everything within the skyscraper..
Jennifer knew that although he was probably sadistic enough to simply leave an empty vault designed simply to mess with people, he might have actually left something there.
Maybe.
Perhaps.
There really was only one way to find out. In addition, she suspected that the only reason that the vault had not been unsealed was that Paul had locked it in a way that only he would be able to open.
And if she were right, she would be able to open it too.
That night, she checked the perimeter. The guards had gotten unfortunately lazy in the years since Psi-Omega had fled the building, no one t
ried to enter it because why would they? Only a select few knew about the vault, and she had had to scan their minds from afar to get the information. She hated doing that; it was too much like invading their homes, but it had to be done. The guards were clustered around the main entrance to the building; they would not see her from where she was...which was good, because if her plan did not work, she did not want an audience as she plummeted to the street. (Could she survive that? Would her body piece itself back together? Better to not think about it really.)
Steeling herself, Jennifer let her mind travel to the top of the building; getting a mental grip on the roof not unlike the one Paul had used to tear down the embassy. But she was trying the opposite: instead of pulling the building down, she started pulling herself up.
