Danny held up across the street as the driver hopped out and went for the cargo hold. From it, the man pulled three crates, which he loaded onto a hand truck while talking to himself.
Handy skill, lipreading. Danny watched the man’s face.
Muttering something about a crap detail, the driver vanished into the building on his next delivery run.
Danny swept the area with his eyes then trotted toward the vehicle and climbed into the back, mindful to drop the flap behind him. After that, he began checking the crate labels for their respective destinations. Surely, one of them would take the route off base. PX, PX, clinic, officer’s mess, clinic. Danny moved to the stack nearest the drop-gate. Barracks, barracks, PX. He halted. Top crate, third stack to the left read, “Saunders: Region Three.” Perfect!
Saunders Recruiting Station was just inside the Eurial city limits near the Market District. From there, Danny could lose himself in the crowd and plot his next move.
Hinges creaked outside, followed by fresh mutters of employee discontent.
And he’s back. Danny waited for the truck’s engine to start then proceeded to the back of the hold to hunker down for the ride to town. He was on his way.
* * *
A half hour later, Danny watched through a crease in the topper fabric as the vehicle motored past security onto the bridge that would lead them into the city. He adjusted the fabric for a better view.
Tall and sweeping, with breathtaking structures that pierced the heavens in all directions, the Eurial skyline was every bit the postmodern wonder that Danny had heard it was. Whereas Aura’s capital city of Retaun carried a more classical aesthetic—much of its grounds were centuries old—Eurial was still in its infancy by comparison, having only been erected in the last six decades. Truly, it was a marvel to behold.
Shortly thereafter, the truck eased to a stop as civilian voices clamored outside. They’d arrived. Danny ducked in low behind the crate stack before him and waited for the driver to embark on his next set of rounds.
The drop gate slammed shut, and the coast was clear. Climbing out of the hold, all the while trying to look as routine as possible for anyone who might be watching, Danny leapt to the pavement and strolled with brisk nonchalance toward the first set of buildings he could find. One of them was a storefront.
Danny appraised it through the window. It appeared to be a depot of some kind. It was also closed. Odd for a weekday. Then he remembered: today was the third Wednesday of the month, a day when many Alystierians honored the gods by heeding their decree for a rest day.
Thanks for the break, Zeus. Danny scooped up a rock from the ground and used it to break open one of the windowpanes. Once inside, he began scavenging around for the things he’d need: namely, a way onto the public info-net, a gun, and a set of clothes that didn’t reek like hipster armpit in an Everglades summer.
Sadly, he only found the first two. They came in the form of a miniature data tablet with a cracked screen and an antique pistol that, much to Danny’s chagrin, housed a whopping six rounds per magazine.
Wonderful. Danny frowned and shoved the weapon into his coveralls. He then picked up the tablet and turned it on. Now, let’s see if you’re hooked up.
Swiping a series of finger waves over the display, Danny waited for the desktop to appear. From there, he toggled to the network interface then navigated to the public identification directory, where he selected government from the category prompt.
Per Alystierian law, parliamentary officials weren’t required to register their home addresses for public record. They were, however, required to maintain a public profile page on the main parliament site, containing their biographical and contact information along with a current head shot.
It was the latter that Danny required. He swiped past the names ending in Q, R, and S then started into the Ts. Terrance, Tieramond, Tomcilus…Tully. He tapped the name link and brought up the corresponding page.
Flanked by the Alystierian flag, Minister Roan Syfus Tully of Ledington Province was a distinguished-looking man with thick silver hair to his shoulders and a full beard of the same color. The beard served to underscore his high cheekbones and thin nose, both of which rested beneath stark green eyes framed in prominent crow’s feet. In this particular picture, Tully was turned slightly sideways in what Danny guessed to be some sort of stately pose.
Douchebag. Danny snorted and filed down the page. Career history, no. Educational background, don’t care. Marital status, could be useful. He found what he needed at the bottom: Tully’s chamber number in the main parliament building. Bingo.
Danny patted his coveralls for something to write with but found nothing. Then, recalling the pen and pad he’d seen on the stand where he’d found the tablet, he retrieved them and jotted down a note.
His business concluded, Danny tore off the page containing his scribblings then loaded up the tablet and gun to head for the door.
* * * * *
Chapter 28: Discovered
Seated in his office of the imperial alcazar, Masterson was right in the thick of final preparations for the Auran offensive when his desk terminal chimed.
He checked the IDC. “Dr. Kerns, have you finished your reinspection of the hybrids?”
“Yes…yes, sir. I have.” There was a quiver in the doctor’s voice.
Curious, Masterson put down his pen. “And?”
“Sir, I um—” Kerns broke off. “I know this is a secure line, but I think we should discuss this in person.”
Masterson checked the time. “I can appreciate your position, Kerns, but I hardly have the—”
“Sire?” Kerns swallowed hard. “You really need to come to my lab, and you need to come right now.”
* * * * *
Chapter 29: Intruder
Roan Tully scurried into his residence in Eurial’s Garden District and shut the door behind him as a blast of frigid wind rustled the tails of his overcoat. Damn this weather. He’d grown to hate the cold in his old age. It wreaked havoc on his joints. Moreover, it would only get worse as the temperatures fell with the changing seasons.
Tully threw the deadbolt and keyed in his security code, then he took off his jacket and hung it with hat and scarf on the zerawood banister inside the foyer. Next, his shoes came off, and his slippers came on for treading on the new carpet.
Peace at last. Tully massaged his aching head and savored the quiet. Here, there were no protesters to threaten his safety, no ministers to mock his ideals, no reporters to drill him with questions on the scandal de jour. They were all gone—until tomorrow when everything would begin again.
Tully puffed out a sigh. Imperial politics hadn’t always been this way, this toxic. Once, parliament had been allowed to govern. But that had been another time, when civility and compromise—not insults and demonization—had been the hallmarks of political discourse. Alas, such politics were long gone, replaced by backroom legislation and a chancellor’s fist of iron.
Six months. Tully shook his head in disgust. Just six more months, then it’s me, Merissa, and our cabin in the Far Blue Mountains, never to debate a damned thing again. He perked up at the thought of his wife. “Merissa?”
No answer came from the common area.
“Merissa?” Tully returned to the banister to listen upstairs.
Still nothing.
Tully made another sweep of the common area with his eyes, this time catching sight of a note on the fireplace message stand. He crossed the floor and retrieved it.
“Had a craving for arigohl stew,” the note read. “Gone to market for fresh harper root and potatoes. Be back shortly. With love, M.”
Tully smiled and folded the note as his stomach gurgled with anticipation. Gods bless that woman. He froze when something hard touched his temple.
“Hands where I can see them.” The low voice was followed by an unmistakable clicking sound.
Slowly, Tully complied. “Unless my ears deceive me, that’s an old forty-caliber Fraikson. Y
ou don’t see a lot of those anymore.”
The gun’s owner huffed. “The man knows his sidearms. Impressive.”
“Indeed.” Tully’s gaze flicked to the stainless-steel cutting knives in the kitchen to his left. Too far. “Fraiksons were standard issue when I was still in service. I preferred them, myself. They shoot straight and true, always did.”
“Uh-huh.” The man shook the weapon’s barrel toward the sofa. “Move.”
Tully did as instructed. Once seated, he was finally able to get a look at his captor. Fairly tall with a modest build, the man had pale, almost gaunt skin with a head and face covered in light-blond stubble. He was dressed in a mechanic’s coveralls, which were a bit big and smeared in grime—and they stunk.
Tully tried to ignore the stench. “So, I’m guessing by the fact that you haven’t killed me yet that you’re not here to do so. Nor, for that matter are you a thief. Otherwise, you’d have gotten what you came for and fled while the house was still empty. That raises the question: why are you here?”
“I came to talk,” the man said. “Alone. That’s why I waited for your wife to leave before I entered the house.”
Tully gave a slow nod. “I’m grateful to you for that.”
“Sure, whatever. Listen, I’m gonna take this gun off of you, okay? I don’t want any violence here. That said, if you run for it—or worse, if you come at me—I will paint this plush carpet of yours with the innards of your skull. Is that clear?”
Tully stared, perplexed, at the intruder. “Clear.”
Surprisingly, the man did exactly as he’d said. He tilted the barrel away and eased the hammer down then placed the gun in his lap. “I need your help.”
Tully probably shouldn’t have laughed at that, but he did. “My help? Well then, friend, I must inform you that your opening approach leaves much to be desired in the way of inspiration if that’s your end.”
The man’s expression contorted. “Let’s get one thing straight, Minister: I’m not your enemy, but I’m sure as hell not your friend, either. So you can drop that act right now.”
“Then what shall I call you?” Tully chuckled. “Intruder? Criminal? Both apply, you know.”
“How about Danny,” the intruder said. “Danny Tucker.”
Tully’s eyebrows beetled. He’d heard that name in a report last year from the Larrin incident. “Tucker. Correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t you ASC?”
“Used to be,” Danny said. “I got croaked at Coralin 3 ten months ago.”
Tully supposed from the context that croaked, whatever that was, meant killed. “I can see those reports were erroneous.”
“Ya don’t say.”
Tully crossed his legs. “So then, Mr. Tucker. What is it that you require of me?”
“I need your help to stop Masterson.”
“Stop Masterson?” Tully guffawed. “From what? Being a pious ass?”
The faint outline of a smile crested the intruder’s mouth. “We’ll call that a bonus. I’m here to stop his plans for Aura.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Tucker,” Tully said, “but you’ll have to be a touch more specific. The chancellor has lots of plans for Aura, seeing as how we’re at war with them.”
Danny’s smile flattened. “I’m talking about his plans to invade. How’s that for specificity, you pompous, bureaucratic prick?”
Tully paused, eyes widening slightly. “To what invasion are you referring?”
“The one set for launch in less than twelve hours. Masterson’s loading up the Kamuir and about ninety other ships, plus Kurgorian warbirds, to attack the ASC head-on.”
“That’s preposterous.” Tully snorted. “The chancellor is bold, but he’s not insane. There’s no way he’d order an operation of that magnitude without at least consulting parliament on its strategic validity. His power is enormous, yes, but it’s not absolute.”
“Yeah.” Danny scoffed. “Keep telling yourself that, amigo. Truth be told, you and I both know that snake’s held all the cards around here since he folded the commandant’s position into the chancellery and consolidated their powers. Couple that with the perpetual media shitstorm he’s dumped on you morons via his pals at the Sun, and if you weren’t neutered as a governing body before, you sure as hell are now.”
Tully looked away. He wouldn’t admit it, of course, but he knew this man to be right on the latter count. Since taking office and formalizing his treaty with the aliens, Masterson had all but forced his policies down parliament’s throat. The press had been in lockstep with him, too, always there to spotlight the positives—Masterson’s victories or spoils—and gloss over the negatives—his utter rape of the rim for taxes and resources.
“Want to know the crazy thing about it?” Danny scratched his head with the butt of his gun. “All the rhetoric in the empire wouldn’t have helped Masterson amass those wins. The ASC had him beat. It was the Kurgorians who changed the game.”
Tully didn’t respond, partly because he didn’t feel like it but mostly out of shame. He’d been among those in parliament who’d ratified the treaty in a rushed panic over a threat that, if the conspiracy theorists had it right, might or might not have actually existed. He, of all people, should’ve known better.
“You do realize they’re not at all what they say they are, right?” Danny asked.
Tully looked up. “I’m sorry, what?”
“The Kurgorians. They’re not who they pretend to be.” Danny shook his head. “Man, if your people had any idea who you fools got into bed with that day, they’d run you all out of town—alive, if you were lucky.”
Confused and now slightly annoyed, Tully sank into the sofa cushions and rubbed his weary face. “Fine then, Tucker. Enlighten me. Who exactly are the Kurgorians?”
“They’re the race that almost exterminated your ancestors on Aura more than a century ago.” Danny let that hang in the air for a moment. “They’re the Beyonders.”
“That’s absurd.” Tully all but spat the comment. “Is Masterson trustworthy? More often than not, no, he’s not. But he’s also not stupid. There is no measure for the level of backlash he’d receive were such a cataclysmic truth revealed. He knows that. Besides, the Kurgorians were nowhere near Auran space a century ago. That much has already been proven.”
“Oh yeah?” Danny said. “How so?”
“The metasteel substance they use in their hulls. It contains a radioactive isotope that, when exposed to our space for long periods of time, emits a certain signature. To date, no ship that’s entered our territory from the Rynzer Expanse—the Vanxus included—has shown such a signature.”
“You sound pretty sure about those findings.”
“I am,” Tully said. “I know the lead researcher on the project. He’s one of our best. Trust me; the science was sound.”
Danny clicked his tongue. “Funny thing about science…it can say a lot of things when you’re the one footing the bill for the funding.”
Tully rolled his eyes. “And here I thought I was the cynic.”
Danny leaned in. “Who financed the study?”
“What does it matter?” Tully threw up his hands. “It was peer reviewed by six of our finest historians from the university. Believe me, if anything about it was the least bit off, they’d have found it. Their reputations were at stake.”
Danny shrugged. “Academics gotta eat, too, man. That’s all I’m saying. Go back and check the grant documents, or whatever you call them here. They won’t say Masterson on them because he’s too smart for that. But I’d bet a bottle of Smithson’s straight table whiskey that if you dig far enough, you’ll find that whoever did sign off on them is connected to Masterson’s administration.”
Tully pursed his lips. “That’s quite the theory.”
“It’s not a theory—it’s the truth. And I can prove it.”
Tully didn’t miss a beat. “Then do it.”
The intruder reached into his coveralls and produced a miniature data tablet. He activated it and
entered a series of commands. A moment later, a man’s voice came through the speaker.
“Hey, Top, what’s the word?”
“Reeg,” Danny acknowledged. “You got him?”
“He’s right here, sir.”
“Put him on.” Danny faced the tablet toward Tully and handed it over. “It’s for you.”
Tully took the device, sighed, then gasped when his eyes met those of a dead man.
“Hello Roan.” Lucius Zier’s greeting carried its customary cautious warmth. “It’s been some time. How’ve you been?”
Tully’s jaw fell open. “Chancellor Zier. I can’t…I mean, how did…we were told you’d been killed fleeing custody.”
Zier chortled. “I’m sure you were. Alas, please allow me to set the record straight once and for all. The reports of my demise were grossly exaggerated.”
“Yes, I can see that,” Tully said. “But how?”
Zier pointed at the intruder on Tully’s side of the screen. “I owe my life to the man in front of you. He and the Kamuir’s XO, Nathan Briggs, rescued me from assassination at the hands of Masterson’s goons. Were it not for Tucker and Briggs, I’d have never left the Prelyn alive.”
Damn him. Tully closed his eyes and thought of Masterson.
“It’s good to see you again, Sergeant,” Zier said to the intruder. “It’s been entirely too long.”
“Likewise, Chancellor,” Danny replied. “How’s life in Retaun?”
“Not as good as I’d like,” Zier said. “Admiral Katahl and I are searching for a solution to our current crisis. Alas, I fear it does not go well.”
Tully gawked into the tablet. “Wait, you’re on Aura? Right now?”
“Indeed,” Zier said. “I have been for the last ten months.”
“But…” Tully fought through another stutter. “How…why?”
“Yo, gentlemen—I love a good history lesson as much as the next red-blooded American male, but right now, we’ve got real problems in the present to deal with.” Danny stood up straight. “Chancellor, I was just telling our friend, Mr. Tully here, about Masterson’s allies, the Beyonders.”
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