The Belt Loop (Book Three) - End of an Empire

by Robert B. Jones

  Teeluur almost broke his cover. The man was just identified as Captain Fraze. The Captain Fraze that Teeluur thought he had shot in the head back in Narid a few months ago when the spy network had come unraveled. He had shot an imposter. These human malcontents were just as devious as the Malguur. It took all of his effort not to raise his head and look at this man.

  “Well, I still have a few aces up my sleeve. I still have a few people still in place down on the Weyring Base. As soon as I can get to a secure transmitter, I will make my presence known. I still have a storehouse of valuable information I’m willing to sell to the highest bidder.”

  “Your information is about as useful as tits on a bull, Berger. What makes you think they haven’t changed all of their codes, operational protocols, personnel assignments? They’re at war, remember?”

  She moved away from him a few steps. Teeluur cracked his lids again and followed her steps.

  “But, I know something you don’t. Something I heard on my last day in the brig.”

  “What? They finally set a date for your execution?”

  A big pause. Maybe Berger was reaching for her shovel, Teeluur imagined. “Funny,” she said at last. “You should be a little more circumspect, captain. I’m sure I could get a sizeable sum for your sorry ass should I decide to turn you over to the Varson. I’ve heard their interrogation techniques are highly refined and most subjects usually spill their guts, both literally and figuratively.”

  He grunted. “Don’t even think it, Berger. You know, I could still show up at the Admiralty with you and this Varson spy in tow, spin a tale of kidnapping and torture, heroic escape, fugitives captured at great risk to my personal safety. Navy Cross citation material if you ask me.”

  “Dream on,” she said. “You’d be outed as soon as you show your traitorous face on Weyring. I’ve left instructions in place to identify all of the ring leaders in this little enterprise. You wouldn’t get past the main gate.”

  “Well, that would also out your anticipated help. Your plans of escape would come to a screeching halt. Either way, you’d be back in the brig facing a general court and ultimately a firing squad. Hey, I could just fade back into the low-life charade that has kept me alive for these past few months. I don’t need you as much as you need me.”

  Teeluur found the exchange humorous. He remembered having the same basic conversation with both of them in the past. The situation was shifting back and forth like a game of hynoopt — chess — only without the violence. That aspect of the game was sure to come as these clueless humans bickered back and forth.

  “What I was going to tell you, Fraze, concerns the big party they’re having tomorrow afternoon at the War College. A bunch of promotions. Lots of activity, flyers from Weyring bringing all of the honorees up here for a mass advancement ceremony. That could be our ticket out of here. There’ll be ships arriving and departing all morning. It wouldn’t take much to get one of them. If they use any courier boats, we could steal one and make our way into the fold.”

  Fraze was silent and his pacing stopped. Teeluur could imagine him turning to face Berger.

  “Tell me more, Berger. I’m all ears,” the man said.

  “Let’s go back into the kitchen. Coffee would make it easier to digest this.”

  Teeluur heard the footsteps retreating. He worked on his bonds in earnest as soon as they left the room.

  Ships coming to Narid.

  He finally had a possible way to get off this human dung heap.

  Chapter 25

  “I don’t see the problem, Chaz. I go up there, take a few pictures, hit the bar for a couple of rounds, get some candids of the newly decorated and promoted sailors, and come home. Palis can get some footage of the ceremony, too. It’ll make a great end-credit roll, trust me.”

  Holli Leaf was in her boss’s office pleading her case. She had received a special invitation to the events at the War College for tomorrow afternoon and she was trying to convince Chaz Troup, human interest producer at BayCom, to let her go get the money shots. He was reluctant to spend another dime on her documentary. The invoice from the Navy bean counters was in his reader and he marveled at the cost of Holli’s little three-month cruise on the Hudson River. Now she was asking him for another trip, two days’ expenses, additional editing and production costs, and all for what?

  “You mean to tell me the footage and pictures you already have aren’t enough? You took enough stills on the ship to paper her hull with them. I just don’t see the value of going overboard on this, Holli,” Chaz said.

  He was a not-too-stout little man in his late forties with a wide mouth, beady eyes and a receding chin. He reminded her of a ferret. As long as he was the one signing the vouchers she had to plead her case. “The review committee looked at the stuff already in the can and the words ‘Horace Baum’ came up a lot. That’s the Baum Award, Chaz. Something you might not be familiar with? You know, prestigious journalism, highest caliber reporting, sure hit at the turnstiles and all of that. Something you haven’t come close to winning in the last six years.”

  “Yeah, well, after looking at the millions of shots you took of that Captain Haad, I think your sentiments are a little skewed, Holli. This isn’t a campaign for your personal interests, you know. I have a business to run, I have my bosses to answer to. Where’s your objectivity in all of this?”

  She put her hands on her hips and glared at him. “Okay, so I’ve got a personal interest in this. I spent three month’s of pure terror out in space with the Hudson River and her crew, and, I must admit, the captain and I got pretty close. But, to have you deny me this last request, the last opportunity to get the closing montage for my film, this whole thing is ludicrous. You let me write a great story and now you want me to leave the final chapter out. Fucking unbelievable.”

  Chaz Troup spun around in his swivel chair and stopped when he had his back to her. “So, I’m correct in assuming your interest in this Captain Haad is more than professional,” he said over his shoulder. The day was starting to give way to blue skies and most of the early morning clouds were burning off. High in the east thin contrails of jet exhaust criss-crossed the blue canopy with fine tendrils of chalky white vapor.

  “Get off your tight-ass wallet and let me finish this, Chaz. No bullshit. Let me finish or I will quit right now,” she said to his back. He remained motionless, his gaze fixed on the window. She wondered if he had even heard her threat. Holli was just about to repeat it when he suddenly turned back around.

  “Okay. One b-roll guy, one sound tech. That’s it. You and Palis and two others. Take the train. You’re so far over budget on this film that I can’t even justify paying for you to have a cocktail in the dining car. Get the shots and get your ass back here on the double. I’ll give you two days in the editing room to get this thing cut and ready to go. No screwing around up there, Holli, get your work done and get back here.”

  “You got it, boss,” she said. She dropped the requisitions on his desk and he begrudgingly signed them. She planted a wet kiss on the top of his head, grabbed the papers before he had a chance to change his mind, and headed for the door.

  All Troup could do was watch her switch her behind out of his office. The gal was good, her work was top-notch. If he didn’t find a way to slow her down some, she would be his boss before the end of the year, he lamented.

  Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad, he thought, as he rubbed the top of his head.

  * * *

  The meeting room quieted as the dispatch from the WIN CinC ramped up. It took a few minutes for the message to get to the issues at hand and at first Haad thought the whole thing was going to be nothing but a jingoistic diatribe describing the superior greatness of the premier military force in the known universe. About three minutes into the dispatch, the images of the WIN Fleet accomplishments and the rapidly-changing still pictures of the WIN ships and activities ceased and the image of a sturdy-looking man in a WIN admiral’s uniform appeared on the screen. Behind h
is desk was an array of flags, from all kinds of political jurisdictions, and at least twenty of them were in the camera shot. The crawl of words across the bottom of the screen identified this man as Admiral Hiram Johnson.

  Captain Haad sat up straighter in his seat and listened intently. After a minute of opening remarks and gratuitous WIN propaganda the message played out.

  “It has been years since a development of this significance has occurred. Now we can traverse the vast distances between our worlds in almost real-time journeys. The new Dyson Drive modifications are not only easy to install and maintain, they build on over four hundred years of continued research and developmental engineering that will propel our efforts of exploration and colonization to new heights. The most significant improvement will be noticed in the transit times between the Colonial Alliance of Planets and Earth. What used to take almost a proper year of sailing the fold will now only take a matter of weeks. And these journeys may now be accomplished without intermediate stops along the way for replenishing stores. In effect, we have managed to fold the folds of space travel. It has been decades since the World Integration Navy has sailed a Great Black Fleet into the void to showcase some of our most impressive technologies. It has been ordered by the World Integration ruling committee that we sail a fleet of ships to the Fringes to demonstrate our advanced ship systems and to offer the new technology to the Colonial Navy under our standard patent exchange program. It is with great pride that I announce this day the signing of the sailing orders and request that you make available hospitable accommodations to the senior staff of officers and WI representatives that will arrive with the Great Black Fleet around Proctor-34 on or about 06 March 2790 Earth-Standard Reckoning. Several of the new drives will be made available for your inspection during this visit and the appropriate engineering specifications and manufacturing protocols will be disseminated at that time, subject to the approval of your CAP legislative process. Gentlemen, the galaxy has been opened up to us in a way that will forever further the human imperative: exploration, discovery and humility in the name of our Creator. This is Fleet Admiral Hiram Eustis Johnson, Special Commander-in-Charge, World Integration Navy. Authorization and authentication codes to follow.”

  The admiral’s image was replaced by a block of spatial coordinates, authorizations, endorsements, and, if Haad guessed correctly, his little speech had left the room without air. Earth sending the Great Black Fleet to the Fringes! New drive technology making its way into the Belt Loop and beyond. Moans and groans followed by a smattering of applause greeted Admiral Paine as he stepped back to the front of the room. The lights were restored and the shades found their way back to the top of the windows.

  Paine tried to wait out the spontaneous reactions circulating around the room and decided to give the tide of mixed emotions another minute to ebb. As far as he was concerned, the arrival of the Earth WIN Fleet could not have been planned for a more fortuitous time. Admiral Geoff’s slow-boat dispatches to Earth surely would not have arrived there this soon, the dispatches describing the latest conflict with the Varson Empire, and, more specifically, the dispatches covering the destruction of Canno. While the conflicts out in the Fringes usually evoked nothing more than a few grunts from the power-brokers on Earth, a species with the ability to wipe out an entire colony should be brought to the attention of the home world. If the Varson were not stopped here at Bayliss or Wilkes, there was no telling where they would strike next. Some on his staff even envisioned them making a push for Earth after all of the colonies were ravaged.

  Paine nodded to his aide and Lieutenant Commander Ignat raised a small annunciator module to his lips. “Attention!” he barked. “Admiral on deck!”

  The room quieted at once and the officers stood rigid and faced the front. Paine told them to stand at ease and sit. Slowly he brought the meeting back to order.

  “There must be a thousand questions floating around the room right now. I don’t have any answers for you as yet. What you just saw was viewed by Admiral Geoff and myself just a day ago. We’re fortunate Admiral Teals had the foresight to get that dispatch off of Luna-II before the Varson struck. So, we have visitors on the way, massing at Wilkes. I know some of you senior captains suspect Wilkes is going to be the next Varson target and I appreciate your concern. We have nothing to back those suspicions, no hard facts. The IS boys are pouring over every detail of every intercepted message they can, and still, nothing to confirm or deny any Varson targeting options. As soon as the ceremonies are concluded tomorrow, Admiral Geoff will do two things: first, a task force will be sent to Wilkes to rendezvous with the Great Black Fleet; secondly, the admiral will meet with his newly promoted staff officers and plan the defense of Wilkes. Our only hope is that the Varson warlord decides to attack Wilkes and not Elber Prime. At least we have some help coming.”

  Captain Fuller stood and addressed the admiral. “Pardon me, sir, but how can we be sure the Great Black Fleet will even give a shit about what’s happening out here in the Fringes? I mean, after the first Varson War, Earth sent a couple of hospital ships and a lot of fruit baskets. They made no effort at all to help us rebuild our Navy.”

  A chorus of agreement wafted around the room. Paine waved the voices down with both hands. “Good question, son. We don’t know. I still think once the Fleet is on hand and they find out what happened to Canno, they’ll be anxious to get into the fray. That’s just my guess.”

  Paine suggested to the room that they just hold their thoughts until the Great Black Fleet arrived in five days. Operational orders and liaison duties would be filtered down through normal channels and captains and crews should be on alert for deployment orders on short notice. He declined offers to discuss the matter further, citing a mountain of other duties he had to climb before tomorrow’s festivities. He grabbed his stack of orders, plopped the message cube on top of them and waited for his aide to announce his departure. The room braced and saluted as the admiral made his way out and the room was dismissed by Lieutenant Commander Ignat.

  Haad saw a human wave of officers headed directly for him and he steeled himself for what was sure to be an hour of speculative questioning and second-guessing. The first thing he told his crew was that he knew exactly what they knew.

  Nothing.

  Chapter 26

  Captain Robi Zane, soon to be Rear Admiral (lower half) Robi Zane, made his way carefully from the building. He declined all offers of conversation from members of his crew, suggesting they just wait and see what would develop after tomorrow. He was as clueless as they were about the impact of the Great Black Fleet’s arrival, its purpose, its “new technologies” and such. All he really knew was he had to make a call. He had to pass this latest information up the line, pass it off to his control, pass it to Coni Berger.

  Once he’d heard of her escape, he felt overjoyed and scared shitless at the same time. For the last few months he had been living with the constant fear that Berger would give him up, would betray him to the Admiralty. After her incarceration he knew it was only a matter of time before they cast the shadow of suspicion upon him. That freaky Lieutenant Mols and her geek squad, that nosey Lieutenant Rand and all of his questions, had driven him up the wall. He silently applauded his careful demeanor throughout the vetting process. He survived the grilling with his security clearances intact and he didn’t have to roll over on anyone.

  Now, he had to make contact again. This war business was spiraling out of control for him. He realized he had his limitations and his career in the Colonial Navy was, for all practical purposes, over. Oh sure, they were going to give him a star for his twenty-plus years of faithful service, for his devotion to duty and all of that crap, but, deep in his heart, he knew the end was near for him. After the last war he’d just gone through the motions and had not genuinely put any effort in his command. He relied on his partner Pax Curton to get him through the intricacies of commanding a ship out in the Belt Loop and the Fringes. He was always in the wrong position, often two
hours late for his assigned rendezvous stations, seemingly always a few minutes short of a full hour. His peers had carried him as far as they could go. The rest was left up to him. He wanted nothing to do with more command responsibilities. He had raked off enough credits to retire comfortably on his acreage on Haines-II and take up the role of a gentleman rancher. All he had to do now was get a message to his mentor Coni Berger. After that, he was done. He would get his star pinned on tomorrow and immediately, over the next couple of weeks, find a reason to resign his commission. Once he tells Berger about the Great Black Fleet heading toward Wilkes, maybe she can get herself off the planet and fade into relative obscurity somewhere and his duplicity during the last decade can be conveniently forgotten and everything would work out just fine.

  Berger had given him a secret VOX number to be used only in dire emergencies. Robi Zane considered this to be just that.

  He made his way to the cab stand at the transportation depot near the main gate. After a short wait, he jumped into a ground-car and headed for downtown Weyring. There were a few places he regarded as safe, a few establishments off the beaten path, a few shady hangouts where for the right amount of grease he could get a private call made without the fear of Colonial Navy eavesdropping. He gave the driver an address and fifteen minutes later he walked through the front door of The Nest. He found a table near the back of the watering hole, ordered a beer, and waited.

  After his second bottle of suds he saw no reason to wait any longer. No one else had come through the door that he recognized. The Nest was one of the places on the bottom rungs of the favorite places to visit ladder. Zane signaled for the bartender to come over to his table. The man threw a bar rag over his shoulder and approached the small table. Zane whispered something to him behind a hand with a folded hundred-credit note in it.