Fates and Furies
Page 4
Beyond the barricade was a lesser cavern crammed with stolen goods from any number of raids. It looked to Viktor like a fortune in Alliance gear.
“Let’s get in there,” LT prompted. “We got precious little time ta see what we can see before the Alliance takes this all back.”
“On it.” The party’s senior chief organized a scanning crew to record the trove and gather as much info as they could about Alliance tech. Viktor bent to the task, close to drooling. His suit’s exoskeleton worked in the moon’s barely-there gravity to let him heft crates weighing three and four hundred kilos with only modest effort.
“Where’s all this shit goin’?” he asked anyone.
“Don’t break out the tissues just yet.” LT’s tone cooled him off. “If this was serious Alliance tech, we’d never get anywhere near it. Yer lookin’ at nothin’ but local Chufh junk.”
Viktor ground his teeth. All this effort for next to nothing. “Then, why’re we scanning it?”
“Chief...” LT passed it off.
“Wellp,...” the senior chief took a breath as he chose his phrasing. “If your hot little honey’s daddy thinks a good time is havin’ you over for a family dinner, you gonna have seconds, ain’tcha.”
A couple of chuckles came over the comm and Viktor got it. The Alliance wanted Earth to think it was getting a meaningful glimpse at better tech, and the best play was to act like we didn’t know any better.
He broke into a sour grin. “Guess we don’t wanna be rude.”
LT slapped the kid’s back. “Welcome t’the fleet.”
BOOK II
* * *
7
* * *
EFS TIRADE – ALLIANCE SPACE – OCT 17, 2355
Freshly-promoted full lieutenant Viktor Ionescu used his arm as a barrier against the eager men filling the corridor. On the other side of the hatchway was a raider ship with upwards of forty-five well-armed crew. Would they be waiting in the wings, or were they too busy liberating their ship from Tirade’s boarding clamps?
Ionescu’s heart beat heavy against his chest armor. He’d made plenty of boardings in his three-plus years aboard Tirade, but this was the first under his direct command — and his first action under their new skipper. Courne had moved on to a frigate and taken Ticker with him, allowing Tirade’s second lieutenant to step up as exec under a new captain — one LCDR Tannis Morgen.
Courne had recommended Viktor for accelerated promotion when the shift in command created room, but now he was at the very bottom of the lieutenants list. Once again, he had some proving to do.
The telltale squeal of the airlock spurred Sergeant Everson’s hands into a flurry of action. The hatch hissed as the two ships’ atmospheres equalized, and Everson peered through the small crack. He waved the all-clear and sent the hatch into its pocket.
Without so much as a sniffle, Viktor and his men crept onto the raider with their close arms hot. Only dispersal guns could be used aboard ships, since they wouldn’t pierce the hull. They could sure do a lot of damage to biologics, though, envirosuited or otherwise.
One by one, Tirade’s men stepped into the raider’s gravity field and dropped upward, finding themselves on the ceiling in a menagerie of unexpected postures.
“That’s new,” Everson grumbled as they all righted themselves in the strange orientation.
“On purpose, or malfunction?” Viktor quizzed his second-in-command.
Everson shrugged. “m’I a pirate?”
They both leveled their weapons and scanned forward.
“Vance ’n Gabriel, take point.” Viktor used the targeting laser of his disrupter as a pointer and the two corporals squeezed past. They got about halfway to the next hatch when a fire broke out from above — or below? — its smoke billowing through the ventilation system as thick as liquid.
Everson molded himself to the curved bulkhead as scorching flames shot past, but Viktor pulled his legs up under him and fell to the ceiling harshly. Now he’d have to crawl forward.
Neither corporal could be seen through the roiling orange flood, but their voices were strong and coherent. The corridor was like the inside of a torch and just as loud. Viktor couldn’t make out what the point men were saying, but those weren’t the cries of the dying.
“C’mon, Sarge!” Viktor used his voice like a grappling hook and got Everson on his belly behind him. The closer he got to where the corporals should’ve been, the more it seemed the fire was cover for an ambush.
Scrabbling along the ceiling and sucking breath like he was slurping water puddled on the floor, Viktor reached Gabriel’s boot and found the man firing away into the thickest wall of flame.
Gabriel looked down at the unexpected touch, grimaced in a way that made Viktor’s chest nearly burst with pride, then turned back to his enemy.
“Where’s Vance?” Viktor demanded, climbing to his feet beside him.
“Dunno, sir. He was ahead’a me by a few steps. I could still hear ’im ’til just a second ago.”
“Aw’right. You make damn sure you shoot above me. Got it?”
“Yessir.”
“Dynamic fuckin’ response,” Viktor hissed, crawling forward into the orange glare.
“LT?” Gabriel called after him, but Viktor kept going. A few meters up he found a notch in the corridor filled with a huddling Vance. The corporal was shielding his face from the heat.
“Ya hit?” Viktor asked. Vance stared at him blankly. There was no blood, but disruptors didn’t leave any. At least the kid was blinking. Viktor scanned the fireball ahead and judged the moment, then tugged Vance back onto the ceiling and dragged him out toward Gabriel. He met Everson on the way.
“Disoriented. Have Gabriel get ’im back ta Tirade ’n send up a new team. With me?”
“Yessir.” Everson was calm. “What about you?”
“I got a plan. Get goin’.”
Everson shuffled away with the stunned corporal, leaving Viktor to scope out the ventilation. The flames were eating up a lot of atmosphere. Either the raiders had backup built into the system for this kind of assault, or they were just desperate. Either way, Viktor figured he could turn it to his advantage. He pulled out his sidearm — the ancient ballistic kind that he wasn’t supposed to bring along — and fired into the ventilation ducts.
Odd alien cries from far up ahead met his ears.
“Sarge!” he shouted into his comm. It crackled for a second, then Everson’s panting voice:
#Go ahead.#
“Get everyone back on Tirade. I’m over it.”
#Lieutenant?# Everson sounded concerned.
“We’re done here. Stand guard for me at the airlock.”
#Aye aye.# Everson’s puzzled voice brought a smile. Commander Morgen might question his solution, but it would be decisive.
MOSCOW MEGAPLEX – EARTH – OCT 17, 2355
The call label Ministry of Global Affairs gave Nazanin a start.
“Answer,” she agreed, inhaling any poise the air could offer.
“Doctor Sukho...?”
Nazanin faced the holo of a polished young Aussie woman, and she hoped her daughter’s show in the next room wasn’t too loud.
“My name is Evangeline Whitney,” the woman began. “I’m calling from the Office of Global Affairs. Have I reached you at a good time?”
The holo lasted less than half a minute and left Nazanin with just enough time to gather up little Zo and ready herself to meet Earth’s chief minister on the far side of the world.
The limo was a sleek government-blue SkyFury that hearkened back to a time when flight was still about wings. It hovered while mother and daughter settled into its tasteful interior, then rose easily skyward into sub-orbit.
Not quite two, little Zo spent the hour-and-twenty flight from Moscow glued to the viewport watching the Earth go by, which left Nazanin free to mull over what she might possess that the Minister of Global Affairs could possibly want.
Rumored to be uncommonly personable, Haleigh Ta
mmeister held the most important administrative post on Earth. It would really be something to meet her face-to-face, but why was it happening?
I’m not the only beliefologist around, she puzzled. Not nearly the best known. It’s gotta have something t’do with the Crusaders, but she’d get Dr. Weiss for that.
Maybe she doesn’t like what Weiss has to say. Orrrr...maybe she already called him and he’s not interested. Second choice. Surprise surprise. Everyone else busy? I know...let’s get Nazanin.
The shuttle was spiraling its way down to a pad at the ministry and she set the skeptical part of herself aside. It wouldn’t do to greet Tammeister dressed in her psychological rags.
“I dunno how long this’ll take,” she told Zo while an aide ushered them into Government House. “We’ll hafta see if there’s somewhere you can hang out. Maybe a media suite or something. ’Kay?”
“Doze!” Wide-eyed Zo pointed to the flower-bright government grounds with intensity. Springtime Sydney couldn’t have been more different from Moscow in fall.
“Welcome, Doctor Sukho.” A smartly-dressed female aide with a spiky stack of sunbeam hair approached them, all eyes for Nazanin’s clone-like daughter. “I’m DeVonne. The Minister thought Zo might enjoy a tour while you’re meeting with her.”
“Sounds like the minister’s a mind-reader,” Nazanin sighed, reaching for Zo in the split second before the curious toddler became a comedy skit.
“Then, we’ll let you get going,” DeVonne prompted, reaching for the unbothered girl. “We’ll meet up with you when you’re done.”
“Be good,” Nazanin breezed, but Zo’s attention was on DeVonne’s glittering earrings.
8
* * *
EFS TIRADE – ALLIANCE SPACE – OCT 17, 2355
Still cocooned in the raider’s superheated corridor, Viktor backed away toward Tirade, sending disruptor fire into the flames. It meant nothing but it made him feel better. When the airlock was in view, he cocked his sidearm again.
“This, children, is how not t’make friends with aliens.” He fired on automatic, sending rings of supersonic flak cascading through the bulkheads at the best angle his heat-bleary eye could guess.
The corridor’s superheated fabric surrendered instantly, ripping away in chunks and enveloping other sections of the ship in flames.
He sensed mayhem in nearby compartments as raiders frantically rushed to rescue their command center. It brought a grin and he remembered the parting look on the face of his old CO, Jonnar, as he launched into a sprint for the airlock.
“Back away, Tirade!” He called over the comm and leapt, shoulder-rolling through his waiting men like a bowling ball while Everson sealed the airlock behind him. By the time they helped him to his feet, Tirade was pulling away to let the crippled raider tear itself apart.
The ship lurched forward trying to flee, but it only brought snickers from Viktor’s men. The raider’s engines spiked and the ship lost control, cartwheeling through space with Tirade shadowing. Soon enough, the engines gave out altogether and the derelict ship tumbled forward on momentum.
Up on Tirade’s flying bridge, a smug young skipper waited long enough to be sure the raider wouldn’t explode. Then he maneuvered Tirade to mount the other like a bitch, using the grapplers to secure their prize. Carrying off a raider under his new command would be a big feather in Morgen’s cap, and his men would appreciate the unexpected RnR on Starbase 4. After all, they had to haul their catch somewhere.
SYDNEY MEGAPLEX – EARTH – OCT 17, 2355
“Madam Minister? Dr. Sukho...” The original aide led Nazanin into the bright, domed office. Government blue was everywhere, but rich woods and marbles took the décor to a new level.
Right. ‘Madam Minister’, Nazanin advised herself. She met Tammeister’s eyes as the minister got up from her desk with a cheery smile and dismissed the aide. In the few years since she’d taken office the minister had gained considerable weight, and she now wore her wavy blonde hair short and matronly. It made a tasteful ensemble with her robin’s egg blue suit, but Nazanin couldn’t help picturing her with eyeglasses despite nobody needing them anymore. They might’ve added a certain something.
“Dr. Sukho, welcome to Sydney.” Tammeister took Nazanin’s hand warmly and drew her into the office, somehow getting them both situated in the salon without fuss. “Thank you for coming on such short notice.”
“I’m honored, Madam Minister. And unfortunately, very much in the dark,” Nazanin settled into the plush sofa.
“I apologize for that. The nature of this visit is quite sensitive and I didn’t want things to leak out.” Tammeister paused for her secretary to withdraw. “Have you been keeping up on the recent Crusader attacks?”
Called it. Nazanin ticked an imaginary checkbox in her mind.
“Just bits ’n pieces here and there.” She held her cards close. A twitch of the minister’s mouth said she knew full well it was Nazanin’s main concern.
“Thing is...” Tammeister started in, “their attacks are growing more and more organized. Troublingly so. What used to be random acts of religion by unrelated cells here and there have taken on a distinctly unwelcome structure and regularity.”
“You think they’ve united into a coalition?”
“I think they’re in process.” Tammeister shifted. “We’re in a precarious position, Doctor. You’re as aware as anyone of how little love the Alliance has for us. Imagine a jihadi group running amok in space and terrorizing our Alliance overseers. They’d slam us back to the tenth century with half a thought. Maybe less.”
“I appreciate the situation, Madam Minister, but–”
Tammeister cut her off with a casual wave. “I despise being a madam, Doctor. Can we agree on first names?”
“Of course.” Nazanin felt a touch of heat in her cheeks. Earth’s head minister wanted to be casual?
Meanwhile, Tammeister paged her secretary for some tea, then motioned for Nazanin to continue.
“I guess I don’t understand why this calls for a rush limo ta bring me here,” Nazanin fished.
“Because I’m calling a congress.” Tammeister announced as if it answered everything. “A collection of the finest minds and most influential personalities from all of Earth’s faiths, gathered together to determine how t’present a unified front.”
Nazanin stared at her blankly. “Forgive me, Mad–...Haleigh..., but are you serious?”
Who knew Haleigh Tammeister had a mischievous smile beneath all that professional poise? The woman leaned forward, and for a moment Nazanin thought she might feel the hand of the most powerful person on Earth resting on her knee like they were lifelong confidantes.
“Nazanin, this is a radical moment in history. It calls for radically different thinking. That’s why I want you to moderate.”
Nazanin stared at her again, not so blankly this time. “Good...LORD!”
“Perhaps.” Tammeister peaked an eyebrow before continuing, and Nazanin began to understand the woman’s popularity. She had elevated the charming nuance to high art. But Tammeister was marching on:
“We have a global economy, global technology, global standard of living, global culture and a global language. What we don’t have is a global belief, and my cabinet insist you’re uniquely qualified to mediate the assembly that can give us one.”
“I...I can’t think why,” Nazanin balked. “There’re plenty of others with much more visible bodies of work. I’m an insignificant note in a...global chorus.” She was pleased at having the presence to mirror Tammeister’s own turn of phrase.
The minister paused as tea arrived, visibly enjoying the precision with which her secretary laid out the arrangement.
“Thank you, Paula,” she said matter-of-factly, then turned back to her guest. “Nazanin, you have the distinction of being both impressive and obscure, culturally speaking. Your career is distinguished without having propelled you into the limelight where personality tends to replace substance.
Nazanin digested the news as graciously as she could, grateful that there was tea to provide an excuse to think. It occurred to her that Tammeister might’ve had it brought in for exactly this reason. She also realized her hostess had dropped the first name routine.
“Well, Madam Minister,” she offered a bit helplessly, trying to ignore the Japanese beta fish murdering each other in her gut. “When does this bloodbath take place?”
“Wednesday,” said Tammeister. “Prime time.”
Standing at the mouth of the grounds awaiting Zo and DeVonne’s return, Nazanin reflected on the situation.
It had been tried before, of course. The monstrosity of Chrislam had emerged from the laboratories of mad sociologists insisting the world’s two largest faiths could come together in shared purpose. In practice, all they’d done was unite both sets of believers in mutual outrage, and the notion of a blended religion was dropped like a fresh lump of uranium. Some even speculated that the obscenity of Chrislam gave birth to the crusaders.
“Everything go well?” asked DeVonne, handing a sleepy Zo back to her mom.
9
* * *
SYDNEY MEGAPLEX – EARTH – OCT 19, 2355
“Let’s meet up in the main square,” Nazanin told DeVonne before heading to the symposium. Zo would’ve gone berserk sitting in a room without her momma, so DeVonne was taking her on a tour of Sydney harbor. Ships of any kind, whether water-borne or spacebound, fascinated the toddler and would make DeVonne’s job a piece’a cake.
“Bye, sweetie.” Nazanin gave Zo a quick peck on the cheek.
“Mommm...” Zo clutched at her mother’s hair but easily turned her attention to the bustling harbor as Nazanin resigned herself to fate. Twenty minutes left and she desperately needed to collect her thoughts. To call her nervous was to call the universe ‘big’.