Star system NP-44
M AJ. AIDEN NILSSON STAYED INSIDE his quarters for most of the journey through the Fulcrum. He believed time away from the Praxis bridge would heal his wounds and solidify his loyalty as an officer of the Guard. Sleep off the rage, he convinced himself. They are your superiors. They have the best interest of the Chancellory in their hearts. He didn’t believe this. They were saving their reputations and their descendancies, but the greater good? No longer on the agenda. Rather than cleansing and revitalizing his spirit, fifteen hours in transit packed the salt deeper into Nilsson’s wounds.
He heard all the shipboard notifications. First, arrival at Nexus Point 44. Later, rendezvous with the attack fleet 1.6 million kilometers inside this uninhabited system. Most recently, the off-loading of personnel and materiel to finish the jumpgate. His talents wouldn’t be needed for many hours. Which is why he was surprised to receive a direct stream from Capt. Forsythe.
“Major, please report to the bridge without delay.”
“Yes, sir. At once.”
He straightened his bodysuit and hair before a holomirror. As he did so, he recited their names for the seventy-fifth time.
“Broadman, George, Carver, Muldoon, Learner.” He hesitated but finished the list, even though he couldn’t be sure: “Cooper.”
The Praxis command bridge was abuzz with more activity and officers than his last visit. He did not recognize most faces, but they busily reviewed windows of data packages, mechanical schematics of the jump gate, and classified survey reports on Hiebimini.
An orbital view of Tamarind showed a fiery mass spewing from the surface to the upper atmosphere. It was as if the planet sprung a leak, shooting out energy from its molten core. He started toward the team analyzing it but halted when he heard his name.
“Maj. Nilsson, to the dais please.”
Capt. Delano Forsythe awaited, hands behind his back. He shaved off his white moustache during transit. Nilsson thought he looked twenty years younger. Behind him on the captain’s dais, three officers studied images of the jumpgate’s exterior struts.
“Reporting as ordered, sir,” Nilsson said.
Forsythe smiled. “I did not request you, Major.”
As the captain looked over his shoulder, one officer on the dais took a familiar profile. Why didn’t he recognize her right away?
“Major, may I introduce Supreme Admiral Angela Poussard.”
Nilsson stood at attention as the most famous redhead in the Unification Guard turned about face. She was more impressive in person than on CVid broadcasts. Tall and lean, Poussard carried none of the muscular might of a soldier yet filled the room with an imposing aura of someone who still remembered how to kill with the best of them. Her ginger hair was pulled back into a tight ball, which accentuated her rock-hard facial features. Her jade eyes revealed a compassionate woman and an officer who dared anyone to question her orders. She dressed plainly, a simple regulation bodysuit with a top jacket highlighting her stripes and bars.
He saluted with a side-nod, which she reciprocated.
“Major, thank you for coming. I’ve been most eager to speak with you.” She shook his hand, a move which floored Nilsson. “I wanted to see you sooner, but they’ve kept me on my toes since arriving. This is an unprecedented operation.”
“It is, Admiral. I must admit, your presence is …”
“Shocking?” She laughed through closed lips, a guttural sound. “When was the last time a Supreme was seen outside the GPM? Officially, twenty-two standard years ago.” She turned to Forsythe.
“I transferred my flag to Praxis. Delano has been gracious in ceding command. Praxis will be jumping first to scout the enemy, and I do not intend to sit idle.” She refocused on Nilsson. “The Chancellory has never faced a more serious crisis or a deadlier enemy. Our very existence may ride on the success of Project Drawbridge. I felt a deep obligation to oversee this mission firsthand.”
“I have no doubt you will motivate the troops, Admiral.”
She turned to Forsythe. “The Major and I are not to be disturbed.”
Forsythe saluted. “Of course, Admiral.”
Poussard leaned into Nilsson. “Walk with me.”
They left the bridge. Nilsson didn’t know what to make of this woman beside him. He visited the GPM once and saw a palace where the elite lorded over the Collectorate while distancing themselves from the realities of what the Guard became since the Fall of Hiebimini. The Admiralty were old and rusted soldiers who spent more time plotting against each other than focusing on control of the colonies. Until five minutes ago, he believed Poussard another in this long line.
“Major,” she began as they entered an empty corridor. “I was briefed on your verbal response to our shadow operation. Your anger is understandable, but your loyalty is not in doubt.”
“Thank you, Admiral, for the reassurance. May I speak freely?”
“By all means.”
“I lost six outstanding soldiers, each of them a credit to the Guard. Even 3rd Lt. Cooper. In some ways, he distinguished himself more than any. At a time when the Chancellory has never been more humiliated, we sacrifice six warriors who defend our interests, and I see nothing to justify this act. I never thought I’d have a chance to look you in the eye and ask why. Please, justify their deaths.”
Poussard nodded with the anticipation of Nilsson’s demand.
“Major, I can only quantify their sacrifice in terms of the role they played in the success of our mission. We killed an estimated fifty of the enemy on Tamarind and destroyed two of their wormhole-capable ships. One of the enemy was a Berserker. In addition, we destroyed a third craft on Euphrates. We have significantly weakened James Bouchet’s terrorists in advance of the invasion.”
“Could we have achieved this goal without sacrificing my team?”
“Yes. But after I agreed to maintain the illusion of an active research station, I felt it necessary to give our civilians the best chance for survival. They needed your team. The enemy’s forces proved overwhelming, and our stealth ships arrived too late.”
She said exactly what Nilsson expected but no more.
“The old Unification Guard would never have allowed this to happen, Admiral.”
“You’re correct, which is why I chose to take personal command for the final run. There is another positive, Major. You no doubt have seen what’s happening on Tamarind?”
“Briefly.”
“So far, we estimate sixty-three thousand casualties. Tens of thousands more are presumed dead. We’re not sure how it happened, but the cataclysm appears to be eating the planet from the inside. It’s an open question whether this event will destroy Tamarind, but we are using it as an opportunity to undermine the terrorists among their allies. Our marketing division is preparing a CVid for mass distribution. We will pin this on Salvation.”
The picture cleared for Nilsson.
“Ah, and after we eliminate them on Hiebimini, we forgive the indigos and invite ourselves back to their worlds.”
“Forgive, yes. Forget? Another matter. Speaking of Hiebimini, I’ve been reviewing the parameters of your next op. Your talents will be a perfect match for what we need. I’ll brief you and your new team in three hours. In the meantime, I need your assistance.”
They arrived at a lift and stepped inside. “Admiral?”
She ordered the AI to Level 3 but otherwise did not acknowledge Nilsson. He didn’t care much for what might lay ahead on Hiebimini, especially his own role. He found the whole matter detestable, but it kept him alive for another day and it fit his service history.
At Level 3, Poussard continued.
“I’ve had to make difficult choices in the past year,” she said. “I stripped Bastian Grandover of his office because of his illicit conspiracies and because I had the legal authority. I did not push him aside for ambition, as some in the Admiralty contend.”
“The ones who will strip you of command if this mission fails.”
&n
bsp; “Indeed. Major, the situation back home is far worse than you’ve been led to believe. The schism between the Admiralty and the civilian Chancellory is larger than ever. Last year’s events fractured the bond we’ve shared for centuries. Many hard-liners want to follow the Celia Marsche model. They revere how she took control of the Admiralty, even though she also worked in secret with James Bouchet.
“We need this final victory over Salvation, and we need the Carriers out of the Sol system, back where they belong. Otherwise, there will be a shooting war, and the Chancellors will eat each other alive.”
Nilsson wasn’t surprised by this forecast. A billion humiliated, degraded Chancellors was not a recipe for anything productive.
“Why do you tell me this, Admiral?”
“Because, Major,” she said as they approached a room guarded by two soldiers, “while I did give the order for the operations on Tamarind and Euphrates, the plan was not my idea. I thought you might appreciate a visit with the architect.”
“Admiral?”
She dismissed the guards and pressed the printlock. The door slid away, revealing a luxury suite. Nilsson followed her.
A familiar face appeared to be enjoying a large meal with a tall glass of wine. The woman wiped her lips with a silk napkin.
“Ah,” said Frances Bouchet. “Angela. A pleasant surprise.”
“Please, no need to stand,” Poussard said. “We won’t be long.”
Frances did not hide her displeasure at Nilsson’s presence.
“Maj. Nilsson,” she said, her tone curt.
He never cared much for the woman – especially the haughty style that demanded all eyes train upon her. He didn’t lose anyone in SkyTower, but Nilsson hated how she and her husband eluded justice and now worked hand in hand with the same power brokers.
“Angela,” she said with the air of speaking to an old friend, “how much longer do you anticipate my confinement?”
“Almost at an end, Frances. I do apologize, but my personal staff and the troops, for that matter, don’t know about you and Emil. The disruption will be less concerning after we secure Hiebimini.”
“I understand.”
“Frances, I only have one piece of business, and then we’ll be off. I asked Maj. Nilsson to be present since his team was an integral part of our operation, and they did sacrifice greatly.”
Frances put down her wine and offered a patronizing smile.
“Naturally. Major, my condolences. I’m sure the Admiralty will memorialize your team at the appropriate time.”
“Thank you, Frances,” he said through gritted teeth.
“So,” Poussard continued, “I am here to confirm that you have turned over all relevant data regarding the Anchor project.”
Frances leaned back in her chair. “Absolutely, Angela. You have everything to build a jump network that will revolutionize the Collectorate. A thousand-year leap forward.”
“Brilliant. And the loss of additional Void energy will not impair our future efforts?”
“No, not at all. We categorized more than thirty-five million quantum signatures into holographic pattern sleeves. I made it available to Forsythe on the Praxis holostream.”
“Outstanding. And the data for the fostered immortals?”
Frances squirmed. “Now, Angela. You haven’t forgotten our deal. After the tribunal’s findings are retracted and our sentence is revoked, you’ll be able to hunt down the other children.”
“Of course, Frances. Why deal all your chips before endgame?”
“Precisely, Angela.”
The Admiral thought for a moment and pivoted to Nilsson.
“Sometimes, victory is sloppy. Would you agree, Major?”
“I would, Admiral.”
“Good.” She swung back around to Frances. “Your husband is dead. CVid drones from the facility on Euphrates captured the moment. Your oldest son incinerated Emil.”
Frances withdrew, her face turning a sickly pale.
“That’s impossible. Emil would never have allowed himself to …”
“He never left the facility because I made sure he couldn’t. My agents were supposed to eliminate him, but they failed. Fortunately, he met with a more ironic end.”
Frances stood. Nilsson saw it in her eyes. The truth always hit hardest against those most certain of victory.
“What is this?” She said. “Why is he here?”
“Frances Bouchet, you and your husband were convicted of crimes against humanity and sentenced to death in absentia following the SkyTower inquest. It is my lawful duty to carry out the sentence.”
Frances pushed the table aside and rushed Poussard, who threw the woman to the floor with ease. Frances screeched:
“How dare you? We had a deal. Our work saved the Chancellory. Again! Our jump research guarantees control of the Collectorate.”
“No, Frances. What you’ve done is given us the ability to clean up the mess you and Emil created. Did you honestly believe we would rehabilitate the Bouchets into heroes? Your arrogance cost the lives of more than two million Chancellors.” She turned to Nilsson. “Including six very brave warriors under the command of this man. Major, please take your sidearm and carry out the sentence.”
Poussard played him perfectly, setting him up to do what she didn’t have the stomach for. Nilsson didn’t care. Something good had to come out of this. He grabbed his pistol and faced Frances.
“Broadman, George, Carver, Muldoon, Learner, Cooper.”
Frances didn’t believe it was real. Assumed she was going to escape. Nilsson saw the denial in her eyes, which is where he aimed.
“Goodbye, Frances.”
The blast seared a coin-sized hole into her forehead, just above the bridge of her nose. She died with tears and open eyes.
“Well done, soldier. For the record, you were never here. As far as you know, Frances and Emil Bouchet died in SkyTower. Your dramatic increase in pay grade is in no way connected.”
“I understand, Admiral. I assume all records of the Bouchets are being revised to end at SkyTower?”
“Yes. We’ve been redacting their existence for months. Many Chancellors are much wealthier as a result. And the ones who resisted have also been redacted.” She faced Nilsson. “We may not be good people, you and I. But we are loyal. And we’re going to make this right. Are you with me, Major?”
“I am, Admiral. What about …?”
“Oh, that.” She pointed to the body. “Leave it. Someone will be along soon. Now, what do you say about a meal? Just the two of us. We can discuss the coming victory.”
Nilsson said the only thing he thought permissible.
“Nothing would give me more pleasure, Admiral. After you.”
52
JaRa
B ROTHER JAMES DESPISED SKULKING, but he accepted it as a necessary evil. He waited inside an empty habitat dome in the northeastern quadrant, as far removed from the residential and industrial sectors as possible. A glow pod kept him company. The hour was late, but sleep was not part of his plan as long as Valentin lived.
The others objected to this meeting, still trying to work through their grief over the loss of Ulrich Rahm. Yet they accepted James’s explanation that certain matters were too sensitive to discuss within the collective mind.
“Come,” he told them, “if you love me.”
They arrived at different times, as agreed upon. First was Bartok Hyam, who lost three unborn children months ago when Sister Ursula Amondala was killed onboard Lioness. He too never forgave Valentin. Second was Nya Pasqual, whose two boys lost their father, Ulrich, and whose three unborn daughters would one day have to be told stories of him. She accepted James’s explanation that the bungled operation on Tamarind lay at Valentin’s feet. Finally, Joakim Cardenas – father of quadruplets, two of each gender – took his spot. Joakim and Ulrich developed a strong passion for each other after their rescue from Chancellor observers, but before James established an imperative to procreate hybrids. James rem
inded Joakim of those times and insisted that Ulrich loved him very much to the end.
James trusted the hybrids who did not show, but too often they expressed admiration for Valentin’s military leadership and ability to discipline the immortal army. He didn’t believe they would fall in line at such a sensitive time.
All four took their seats on the floor, conspirators with faces glowing like ghosts.
“Where is Sister Rayna?” Bartok asked.
“Tending our newborns, of course. But her end of the plan is already in motion.”
“I never imagined we would reach this point.”
“But I did,” Nya interjected. “We know how your relationship with Valentin has disintegrated over the past year, Brother James. His jealousy has been on full display. Ulrich often spoke of conversations he had with Valentin on diplomatic or sabotage missions. The questions Valentin asked about you, Brother James, reeked of disrespect at best and sedition at worst. Joakim, what of you?”
Joakim ignited a pipe; he was the only hybrid who smoked.
“Valentin tried to play on my emotions. On multiple occasions, he encouraged me to revisit my relationship with Ulrich despite the family I formed with Cecily.”
“Why would he do such a thing?” Nya asked.
“He said because I obviously loved Ulrich and I should not resist my passions. He reminded me that Brother James did not require sexual fealty to anyone so long as we followed the procreation mandate.” Joakim pulled hard on his pipe. “But his true motive was conspicuous. He sought to undermine the sexual dynamics between the original ten hybrids and slow our procreation. He fears us. He believes if we reproduce sufficiently, we will rely less on his army and end the colonial liberation of immortal children.”
“Here, here,” Bartok said. “You’ve been very clever, Brother James, in limiting rescue missions. He’s been given just enough new recruits to satisfy him without weighting the scales beyond our control.”
Joakim weighed in. “We’ve all seen evidence of Valentin’s military incompetence, his jealousy, and his divisive behavior. Beyond what you have shared with the collective, what other damning intelligence is fueling your decision, Brother James?”
The Impossible Future: Complete set Page 137
