by A. S. Deller
The last time Charles had seen Donal Banyan in person was two weeks after the attack on the Valgon Alliance launched by the Star Navy at Post-Ravage Mars. His daughter, Reina Lancer, was Captain of one of the Navy ships—-the Talisman--that pursued an escaping Valgon craft all the way back to the immense black hole-taming lek essel that the Valgons and Malign had built, under our noses, between Mars and Jupiter. The last data transmissions any star dock had received had the lead battleship, Hartford, being destroyed in the same moments that it and the Talisman were yanked into an activated wormhole. Up until that point, the Talisman was intact, and Reina Lancer was probably still alive. What happened on the other side of that damned tunnel through space-time, no one on this spiral arm of the galaxy knew.
Charles and his wife Yuko left their home in Chicago-Mil as soon as news of the battle reached Earth, and lobbied for search and rescue missions. Banyan was a longtime friend of Charles’. Charles had even helped finance Banyan’s lofty plans to bring together dozens of countries straining under pressure from sanctions imposed by the Incorporated Asian States. It took years and hundreds of billions of Units, but Donal Banyan brought them together, forming the single largest and most powerful political entity the planet had ever known. If it hadn’t been for Banyan, the Torrent sent by the League of Kindred Worlds might never have stopped and delivered humanity the keys to another realm.
Because of Charles’ generosity and belief in Banyan, he expected the First Executor of the United Powers Congress to be more willing to listen and act. But galaxy-wide war had just come to his doorstep, and the fires needing to be extinguished were endless. Instead of capturing the lek essel, Banyan asked that it be annihilated, and the Admirals of the UPSN complied wholeheartedly.
It was their first defeat at human hands, and the Valgon Alliance was not going to let that dishonor go lightly.
They began bombarding the Solar System with superluminal projectiles—- ten-ton iron asteroids accelerated through thousand-mile long vacuum energy barrels. These were hastily constructed by Malign fleets at several interstellar locations and aimed like so many rifles at Earth. Luckily, the League’s defenses for the Inner Solar System, built and managed by the Kenek, were able to detect and counter the daunting weapons before they came close enough to do serious damage. Soon enough, strike forces were dispatched to eradicate the monstrous mega-guns.
Space was a huge place. By definition, it was a nearly infinite volume. No species, no matter the level of their technology, had yet (on record) seen to the very edge of the ever-expanding universe. The Milky Way itself was so large that finding any one particular thing was impossible, unless it output an energy signature large enough that it might traverse distances of billions of miles in all directions at once. It was easy to find the Valgon superluminal cannons because there were trajectories to follow back to their sources. But the Talisman, on a galactic scale, was only a small sliver greater significance than a flashlight when it came to energy imprint. Charles’ daughter was drifting somewhere out there, the proverbial “needle in a haystack”, but only if the haystack were as large as the galaxy.
Then, as Charles walked in tandem with his eldest son on their way to meet the person who held the highest office in the United Powers, he found his steps falling out of sync. His wife, Yuko, had passed away just six months prior. No matter what the outcome of today is, he thought, Yuko will never know if her daughter lived or died on the day she disappeared from our lives. Well, perhaps. Infinitus willing, there was a way for them all to meet again. Perhaps mother and daughter had already been reunited in eternity.
But if not, Charles Lancer would make damned sure to get Reina back.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
The androids were sleek, six-foot-tall, white and gray beings of carbon fiber reinforced polymers. The three of them each had a single, large black circular eye sensor in the middle of their faceless heads, and the trademarked logo of Lancer Interplanetary Intelligence stenciled on their chest plates. The logo, a silhouette of half of Saturn, with its rings arching through stylized L-I-I initials, was a constant, pestering reminded of Banyan’s strained relationship with longtime acquaintance, and sometime friend, Charles Lancer.
But he’d be foisted if he couldn’t admit that his old ally didn’t build the best damned androids on Earth.
The three robots circled Banyan in his personal training dojo, uncanny in their perfectly-balanced movements. They were controlled by a single subroutine of the United Powers Capitol Building’s AI, Churchill, so were not autonomous. Even so, they behaved like three unique, individual aggressors. Donal had Churchill set the androids as stage seven combatants, on a scale of one to eight, with stage eight representing the equivalent competency of a nearly untouchable Sik’nath master. He had fought a lone stage eight before, and won, as well as two stage sevens. If he could succeed against three stage sevens, he was going to treat himself the following day to a bout with dual stage eights.
One android launched the attack sequence with a flying knee toward Banyan’s temple. He blocked with an elbow, simultaneously counterattacking with a right hook to the android’s kidney area.
In his peripheral vision, Banyan saw one android whip a lightning-quick front kick at him, while the other shot toward his legs for a takedown. Donal leapt and did a backflip to avoid the leg grab, and came down with a knee onto the thigh of the kicking android. This registered as a likely hip fracture on that attacker, which promptly shut it down with a loud beep.
One assailant down, two to go.
Just as Banyan was readying his next series of moves—- throw android number three into android number one, and then put android number two into a choke hold—- Churchill pinged him over his comm implant. This action concurrently caused the remaining androids to pause, averting harm that might come from distraction. Donal grunted in disappointment as the androids froze in mid-movement. He dropped to a knee, unable to perform his stratagem, and caught his breath. The two standing androids were locked in place, both precariously balanced in positions that no human could hold for more than a few seconds, thanks to brilliant gyroscopic engineering.
Churchill’s lilting, feminine voice called to him in his mind, “Executor Banyan, Charles Lancer has arrived ten minutes early.”
“Let our guests know I will be with them at the scheduled time. I need to clean up, anyway,” Banyan said as his respiration returned to normal.
“Hello, Charles. And Joao, it’s nice to see you,” Banyan said, extending a hand to Charles’ son. “This is your first time in the Capitol complex, yes?”
Joao shook the proffered hand and said, “It is. Quite the sight.”
“Allow me to introduce you both to Doctor Shruti Rangan. She runs the Institute for Interspecies Study, located in the complex. She’s been advising me on some issues lately,” the Executor. He motioned for everyone to sit at his personal table in the Capitol dining hall. “I thought we could enjoy a small repaste while we meet. Please.”
“Very pleased to meet you,” Dr. Rangan said.
Charles, face inscrutable, sat next to his son, and across from Banyan and Shruti. Two of Donal’s hand-selected bodyguards, both tall and strapping in dark bistre suits, stood off to one side in front of a massive window overlooking the city.
Joao felt somewhat uncomfortable. He could feel the other diners in the 5000 square foot room glancing his way while trying to seem unaffected by the Executor’s presence. Sitting on the raised platform at the same table as the most-recognized man in the United Powers could be disconcerting, even for a young man used to a certain amount of public scrutiny. He looked back to his father and was surprised to see the older man just staring at Banyan. Joao’s discomfort increased tenfold.
As several well-dressed servers sat small plates of succulent, fragrant gourmet dishes before them and poured crystal goblets full to the brim with sparkling water, Donal Banyan put on his most beguiling smile. He said, “Charles, I’m glad to see you are still doing well
. Fit and trim. And business has been chugging along. My investments in LII have proven very fruitful over the years.”
“You only help yourself by helping others get what they need,” Charles spoke lightly, his expression unchanging.
Joao cleared his throat, just loud enough that he hoped his father might come to his senses before something went wrong.
Banyan’s face dropped, a bit too suddenly, the smile replaced by a disconsolate aspect. “I cannot even begin to express how sorry I am for the loss of Yuko. She was an...an amazing woman. Such a loving and generous soul,” the Executor said, cautiously sliding his hands over the tabletop toward Charles’.
The elder Lancer pulled his hands back a few inches and crossed them. “Hmmm. Yes, yes. Thank you for sending the flowers. Yuko would have liked them. And the card,” Charles said plainly.
“The wild raspberry compote is superb with the crumbled tempeh,” Shruti said.
“It was the death of my wife, you see, that made me want to see you again, Donal,” said Charles. “The last thing, the last real thing, we talked about on her deathbed, before the prionic encephalopathy took away her senses, was our daughter. Reina. And I promised Yuko that I would never give up.”
Banyan nodded and sighed, “Why else would you come to me again? Of course, it would be this. I knew it.”
Joao considered whether or not to place an arm around his father’s back or not. Maybe it would calm him down.
“Your daughter, Charles—- and your sister, Joao—- is dead. And you need to accept that,” the Executor stated.
Charles rapped both palms on the table, shaking the glassware and startling Shruti. “You can’t just leave them!” He hollered. He stood, his face reddening, and leaned over Banyan. Both of Banyan’s bodyguards started forward from their positions by the window.
Joao wrapped an arm around his father’s waist and locked one of his hands around Charles’ bicep. He could feel the older man straining, wanting to throw a punch. Joao could almost hear his mother once saying, “You don’t put your fist in the face of a man like Donal Banyan! You put your faith in him and keep the fist behind your back.”
The entire dining room fell to silence, save for a few clinks of silverware. Joao whispered to Charles, “Fist behind your back, Dad.”
The awareness hit Charles like a sandbag, and he immediately dropped back into his seat. Donal mustered a hearty laugh and held up both hands, motioning his body guards away. “I’m sorry I upset you, Charles. I didn’t want to. It was the last thing I wanted,” he said, loud enough for all to hear.
The noise level of the great hall returned to normal momentarily. Charles relaxed a bit, and under the table he gave his son’s hand a quick, grateful squeeze. “No, I’m sorry, Donal.”
Banyan shook his head, “Don’t apologize. Well, maybe to Dr. Rangan here. But not to me. We have too much history. I know why you feel the way you do. You need to understand that the League hasn’t cracked extradimensional signal processing. Without it, we can only battle the Alliance across the short scales of our lifetimes. The Malign, by their very nature, guarantee the Alliance immortality. We are doing everything we can simply to keep Sol System secure, and help the League wherever we are able. Sending a search and rescue operation out into the deepest reaches of interstellar space on a whim, with no evidence to support our hopes, is not prudent.”
“You say you hope they’re alive, too. I believe you. I also believe that you can actually keep Sol System safe. But the Donal Banyan I met 38 years ago would have sacrificed anything, including his own life, for the life of nearly any other lone person on Earth,” Charles said, still tempering himself.
“Maybe we should all take a break. A walk?” Joao tried.
Charles pressed, “What will it take?”
Banyan and his old friend just glared at each other, across a gap of three feet and a gulf of thirty-eight years.
“I didn’t just come here without a plan. I’m ready to offer everything I have. In service to you, to the Star Navy, the League. Whatever it takes.”
This was news to Joao. He had thought his father was going to talk, and nothing more. In hindsight, he should have known something else was in the cards.
“Fifty percent. The entire margin on all of the LII software and hardware. Gone. You can have it all for just the cost of materials and operations,” Charles stated blankly.
Banyan huffed, “You can’t be serious! Charles!”
“I work for your cause, from now, until I find my daughter,” Charles exhorted.
“Father, this is too much, don’t you think?” Said Joao, chagrined.
“You can build whatever ship you need, hire the crew, the mercenaries. You don’t need me or the UPSN. You have all the Units you’d ever need to mount the mission you’re talking about,” Banyan said.
Charles leaned in and spoke urgently, “You’re right. Absolutely right. And it’s all ready and waiting. But even a trillion Units can’t buy what you can give me. If we’re going to have a chance of finding my daughter, I’m going to need an entire Star Navy task force to escort us into hostile space, just far enough to give us a fighting chance.”
Joao lowered his face into his hands, a glum, sick feeling growing in his stomach.
Donal Banyan uttered assuredly, “Your contribution to the war effort will be rewarded.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
After Charles left, promises in hand, the Executor retired to his penthouse suite with Shruti Rangan. Guilherme was already waiting for them in the master bedroom, and the three of them made love.
Eve Banyan didn’t join them. She chose instead to take some sunlight on the garden rooftop. She lay nude beside the Olympic-sized swimming pool, listening to the rhythmic waves as they were generated in the water. A nearly cloudless sky reflected in the topaz surface of the pool as the unobstructed sun warmed Eve’s smooth, tawny skin.
She thought about the freedom one must feel when on a trek between the stars. Eve had never been on such a journey. Oh, she had sightseen on Mars, and visited the Moon and numerous star docks on official state business. But she’d never taken a journey. She’d never been on an adventure.
“Eve?” She rolled over at the sound of Donal’s voice. He was walking soundlessly out of the elevator. There were numerous things she had come to dislike about her husband; his silent way of moving about was one of them. It reminded her of tiptoeing, which reminded her of sneakiness, chicanery, duplicity, unfaithfulness, treachery. And she knew for a fact that her husband was better at some of those things than most people suspected.
She sat up, instinctively covered herself. “I heard you come in. I told you before that I don’t find Dr. Rangan attractive.”
Banyan wore his most enamoring smile as he sat on the bench beside her. “You’ve never seen her without her clothes on, my dear.” He reached out and put a hand on Eve’s knee. She sat straighter and pulled one leg over the other, letting his hand drop to the chair under it. Banyan harrumphed and shook his head. “Alright, what is it?”
“I watched the whole thing on your logs.”
“What whole thing? And you’re watching my logs?”
“They’re open to my level of diplomatic service and above,” Eve stated.
“What did you watch?”
“The conversation with Charles Lancer.”
Banyan stood abruptly and started pacing. “Remind me to try and set the privilege for the viewing of executive logs at a higher level.”
“Don’t be an asshole. Of course I was going to watch what happened when your old friend showed up again. I thought you would do the right thing this time. The proper thing. And tell him,” she scolded.
“Yuko is dead. What happened between us was a decade ago. Telling Charles now would do nothing more than add insult to injury,” Donal Banyan explained, trying to pardon himself.
Eve stood then, and strode over to her husband. He remained with his back toward her as she said, “I’m going to go with hi
m.”
“What the hell do you mean?”
“To find his daughter. I was an engineer before I met you and you pulled me into...into this life. I can help.”
Banyan turned to face her. “You know where he’s going, there’s probably no way back. Where the Alliance came from, to attack us, that’s their realm.”
“I know.”
“I may never see you again,” Banyan beseeched.
“It’s something I want to do. I’ve always wanted it. And you can’t stop me,” said Eve determinedly.
“I could,” her husband said, suddenly grabbing her arms.
“You will not,” Eve declared.
The Executor looked into his wife’s eyes and saw them fixed with anger and passion. The passion was not for him.
He pulled her into him and embraced her. As he did so, Eve felt him letting her go. She smiled.
The time had come for Donal Banyan to meet with General Viktor Petrovich, Czar of the Incorporated Asian States. Dressed in his most intimidating, eye-searing platinum suit, Banyan sat with Elder Prox and Tanadith for a quick recap of the issues as the League viewed them, and left them to join Senior Councilor Danika Weller in an anteroom.
He held out a hand in greeting to her, “Danika, thank you for being available to join me today.”
Danika Weller was in her early sixties, but looked no older than a thirty-five year old woman. Rather tall and striking at 5’10, wearing a charcoal gray suit, her face framed by shoulder-length, slightly wavy henna-blonde hair, she took Banyan’s hand in a firm grip. “I’m happy to be hear, Donal. Anything I can do to help.”
“I know you were expecting to just answer a few questions, but I’d like you to sit in there with Petrovich and I,” Banyan said, mincing no words.
“That’s quite flattering, but I think he only wants to speak with you,” she said nimbly.