The Regime

by Andrew Iddon

  “Because he shot the front of my shoulder, where the butt of my rifle rested, bringing no harm to me or the rifle. That is the kind of shot you take on an armed criminal, if you are merely trying to disarm, and not incapacitate, him. I dropped my rifle, and discovered that the bullet dent was in the perfect spot that, if it had pierced my armor, I would not have bled, or lost function in my arm. It was a perfect shot, with a handgun from maybe thirty yards off, and against high ground,” answered Greg, sternly.

  “These people don’t seem to be mere criminals or mercenaries. They are organized, and their equipment advanced. They stole something from the rebels; something that the rebels stole from us. Whatever was on that disc must be worth the risk, if they did not even engage us, but only covered their retreat with return fire,” Greg said.

  “Very well, I have heard enough. General Tanner, I want you to travel to Mandredar city, and speak to the Chairman of Universal Incorporated. He supplies the entire galaxy with goods, so he may know something of the equipment these people are using. Ambassador Grould, I want you to look into a full investigation of Nassau, and that facility. Take as many men or supplies as you will need. I want all sector control platforms on full alert; these beings are going to strike, and we will be ready. Oh, and Grould, Agent Strauss is awaiting briefing; perhaps it is time we began,” dictated Victavius, as everyone in the chamber began to gather their things and leave.

  The council was then adjourned, and Greg made his way to the 129th Earthborne regiment’s barracks, where he and his troops were stationed.

  Greg was a little pleased with the Emperor’s reaction, leading him to believe that Victavius was not hiding anything; however, the possibility still existed in his mind. Hopefully, Grould and General Michael Tanner would find something else, unless they already knew, and it was all just a ruse. Greg also wondered who Agent Strauss was, and what he was awaiting briefing of.

  No one was to be trusted, not even Vulture, or the Skullz, who had failed to report anything in the months that followed. Greg found himself at a bit of a loss, a loss of ideas on how to continue his own personal investigation, as well as how to continue his normal routine with all these secrets and conspiracies going on.

  CHAPTER 8

  Days turned to weeks, and weeks to months, with still no word from Vulture or from the Emperor. The news showed nothing of the progress of the investigation, and when Greg questioned his commanding officers, he was rejected, or refused. He saw fit to try to return to his normal duties, hoping that all that had transpired would go away, and that the mysterious enemy did not find what they wanted, and give up. Knowing his luck and the luck of mankind in general, he deemed it doubtful.

  Meanwhile, as Greg continued his normal routine, Vulture was trying to make good on his end of the deal. He travelled to all corners of space, to all the grimy, sketchy cesspools and hideouts, but found nothing. Vulture was beginning to get frustrated; his crew was getting anxious and bored. They hadn’t blown anything up in a long time, and they wanted to get paid.

  He finally decided to return to Baronium, to check again; he hadn’t had a report from his club or base for a while, and was hoping to have some news. He sent his fleet to their hidden star port, deep under the ground of Baronium’s hazardous city, and he returned to his club. He entered, and all was well. He socialized a bit with his bouncers and recruits, bobbed his head to the music, acting casual, slowly making his way to his primary reconnaissance officer, whom he had sent to Imperium establishments. His spy muttered to Vulture quietly, and they both went to his office, sat down and the spy began to report.

  “I may have a little information from which we can make some progress, man”, the spy began.

  “I did some digging around some rather confidential files and documents in the Imperial archives on the Right Hand of God; it seems that the Imperium has been doing some rather controversial research under the blanket. They have been using a lot of resources, trying to discover the perfect way to clone human beings; they managed to succeed in animal cloning, just not humans, yet. Whatever was on that disc must have been data related to cloning, because they had made human clones, but they kept dying and failing. The guys that took the disc wouldn’t be able to use it properly, seeing as how the data was flawed, but if they had the missing piece to the Imperium’s flawed data, then they definitely could succeed in creating human life.”

  Vulture began to scratch his head in disbelief, still not exactly understanding what he had just heard. The spy continued, describing the history of their research, saying that the Imperium had been studying cloning for several years, to no avail. Vulture began to have assumptions as to what the facility Greg described to him was; it must have been a cloning research building. The mysterious foes must want cloning more than the Imperium does. If they had the missing clue to making viable clones, they could start a galaxy wide war, creating as many soldiers, whenever and wherever they wanted. They could create the largest army known to anyone, in a matter of days, depending on the size of their cloning factory.

  Vulture immediately got his hologram communicator, and tried to make contact with Greg, but, since Greg was in the field, he could not be reached. The only way to reach Greg was to travel to the Imperial barracks on Nassau, where Vulture was a wanted fugitive. He mustered up his courage, and boarded his flagship, the aptly named Bird of Prey.

  His flagship, although not company constructed, was of professional quality. It was large and rugged, with sleek and sharp features, mimicking a large bird of prey as thoroughly as possible. It was painted black, with silver stripes, and borders around the emblems and front, with a large bullet and laser-proof window on the wall of his personal quarters. He liked to observe the carnage of battle as his fleet or ground forces were engaged, so he installed a large glass wall in his office. The observation deck also had a reinforced virosteel armor screen that slid in from a hidden storage opening, to cover the window in case things got too dicey. It was a marvel to the non professional armies and professional armies alike. It may not have been as strong or well equipped as a FEC or NUCM ship, but it could hold its ground for a while. It also had been clocked as one of the fastest ships ever built.

  Vulture sped to Nassau, for he had to tell Greg what he had discovered, before anything happened, before anything could stop him. He arrived a day later, landed his ship in the middle of an empty plateau, trying not to be seen by Imperial scouts, and made his way to the barracks where Greg had last made contact. He skulked his way over the small fence, and peeked into the different tents, checking maybe ten tents before he found the right one. Swearing with relief, he entered the tent.

  Greg leapt up with shock and concern wondering what Vulture was doing there. Vulture calmed him, and sat him down, explaining to Greg what his spy had told him. Greg nodded eagerly, beginning to make sense of things, beginning to put the pieces of the puzzle together. The only question left was who could possibly want this cloning technology, who wanted to destroy the Imperium?

  The Imperium wasn’t perfect. It had, however, brought peace to the galaxy, brought law and order, to humans and alien alike. Criminals fought against the Imperium, rebels did as well; however, this new enemy did not favor the rebels at all.

  Greg continued to ponder this, but he figured that he would learn firsthand in the near future. If Vulture’s information was accurate, all the enemy needed was a very small amount of data to perfect the cloning process. If they were so eager to get that disc from the rebels in that facility, one can only assume they had that missing link. Greg felt compelled to tell someone; he had to inform one of his superiors of what he had learned. He thought that it might clear Vulture’s name in the process.

  Vulture stopped suddenly, as he heard a noise from outside. He quickly dove through the opening in the tent, leaving nothing but a plume of dust behind him. As the tent flap closed, another figure came in, and looked around, before addre
ssing Greg, “Who were you talking to, Sergeant?”

  “No one, I was just talking to myself, thinking aloud,” replied Greg, who then realized it was his father that came in.

  “Great, now you’re hearing voices, and talking to them; so, you are crazy, after all,” said Gryphon.

  “Listen, father, I’m sorry I failed to recover the data from the rebels. I know you must be disappointed,” said Greg, sadly.

  “It’s not just the failure of this mission that disappoints me,” replied Gryphon, under his breath.

  Greg started getting defensive, knowing full well what his father meant, “Well, I am sorry that I am that much of an embarrassment as a son to the hero of Falkland Fields. I’ll try not to be as big a failure in the next life.”

  “Let’s not do this now, Greg; this is not the time, or place,” said Gryphon.

  “It is a good time, father. I know you are disappointed in me, and that I have been a poor example as a son to a hero as famous as you. I only wanted to…”

  Gryphon suddenly interrupted, sternly, “Listen to me, boy! You have no position or right to judge me as a father. I have achieved my goals in life, and I am honored and respected because of it. I will not have my legacy sullied by an emotional whelp that is undeserving of my name. You remain my son on paper, but, until you become a man, you are nothing but another grunt, fit for cannon fodder. You have your orders, Sergeant; return to your duties.” Gryphon left the tent in a huff, mumbling to himself gruffly. Vulture re-entered from his hiding spot, overhearing the entire conversation.

  “Wow, I thought my dad was hard to please; what a dick!” he said to Greg.

  “No, no, he is right to be hard on me; he is the hero of Falkland Fields. I have a lot to live up to,” replied Greg, trying to convince himself that he was wrong.

  “How can you say that? That’s no reason to treat your son that way. What is Falkland Fields anyways?” asked Vulture.

  “Falkland Fields rivals the battle of Fraxinos, and the 1991st Regiment. Falkland Fields took place a few years ago on the planet Grentio, an Imperial airbase. It was the last fortification standing against the Algrimnian Horde. You know the Algrimnians, right? They are the dark skinned humanoids, with four arms, known for the vast amount of species that fight for them as slaves, mostly beasts, to ride upon or unleash. Well, the Imperial soldiers there were vastly under armed and unsupplied, but their commanding officer, my father, Colonel Gryphon Simons, decided to mobilize outside of the base, in the clearing known as Falkland Fields. Falkland Fields was a massive minefield where both the Algrimnians and Imperials dropped thousands upon thousands of landmines all around.”

  “Gryphon led a single file line, taking the lead, and marched his garrison through the mines. He was in front, and everyone followed his steps. If he stepped on a landmine, he would be the first to die, and his men could either leave, or take another path. He used either luck or intuition, and led his men to a central area, where a large fueling station was located. It was used to refill transports and aircrafts. Well, the Algrimnians found them, and surrounded them on all sides; they charged with everything they had, thinking they had the advantage. Their numbers were thinned, as the minefield did what it was meant to, but they eventually engaged. Gryphon and his men fought with all their bravery, until Gryphon was the last man alive, fighting off the enemy beasts from atop a mountain of dead, with nothing but an Imperium flag. He then saw the Algrimnian chieftain, and challenged him to a duel to the death; the victor would take the field. My father fought, and slew the chieftain with his flag and combat knife.

  The Algrimnians pulled out, only to be ambushed by a reinforcing army, sent down by the Frenchman, Admiral Jean Paul Papineau. The Algrimnians were utterly destroyed by the Frenchman’s army. My father had called them down two days earlier, anticipating a last stand situation.

  So, essentially, my father planned the whole thing, and was the last man standing. He was promoted to General, and given the Emperor’s Cross as a reward. The campaign was a great success for the Imperium, and the Algrimnian influence over the planet came to a stop. Their fleets fled into orbit from the Frenchman. My father won the war of Pamlrome, and has had a distinct confidence in himself ever since,” said Greg.

  “Wow that is impressive! But, shit, he still shouldn’t use that as an excuse to treat you like crap. I mean, you might get your chance, you might get a Falkland Fields moment of your own one day,” said Vulture, trying to perk Greg up.

  “Thanks, I hope so, too; I want nothing more than for him to respect me. Maybe the events that will take place in the future, involving these new enemies, will give me that chance. Well, you have been here too long; you should go,” said Greg.

  Vulture agreed; they exchanged farewells, and, as soon as the conversation was over, he stealthily sped back to the Bird of Prey, and returned to his hideout on Baronium.

  Greg approached the highest ranking officer stationed at that barracks, one of his most trusted friends and comrades. Colonel Carlin, a respectable older man, could definitely be one to trust. Greg entered his quarters. Carlin’s long silver ponytail hanging over his pressed green officer’s coat, gave off a casual, yet professional, image. He had a scuffled grizzled beard, broad shoulders, and bright blue eyes, which gazed at Greg, as he entered. Colonel Carlin had several medals and awards from his various campaigns and promotions; Greg was always in awe. However, Carlin would never have as many medals or stripes as the Emperor.

  Greg nervously approached, trying to think of the right thing to say, still pondering the thought of treachery, even with his good friend, Colonel Carlin. Carlin stared blankly unaware of the seriousness of the conversation that would follow.

  Greg began to explain. Carlin stood stiff and serious through the entire story, nodding along at the appropriate times, and remained silent for a good two minutes after Greg was finished.

  Carlin motioned for Greg to go walk with him. He began to explain his thoughts to Greg.

  “Listen, Sergeant, there are some things you do, and there are some things you don’t do. What you have just told me is very disturbing; yet, I’m glad you told me. You see, the general told me not to help you. We knew what that factory was; it was a cloning research facility, and the rebels had their eyes on it for a while. However, we had assumptions that other people wanted it, too. What we did was abandon the place on purpose. We waited for someone apart from rebels to sneak in, and then call in the most naive troopers nearby. We used the factory as bait to identify our enemies; however, those guys in black made good to hide themselves. We also didn’t expect them to have the actual data; we destroyed all evidence of our cloning projects years ago. They must have had a defector on our research team, who kept a copy of the data for their own personal gain. Not only that, but a good portion of our cloning research team went missing not long after we abandoned the project, including our head of human cloning research and technology, Dr. Markus Groebner. We assumed that you would have at least killed one of them. Unfortunately, their equipment is more advanced than we expected; this means that this army is very professional, and has to be found. So, what I, personally, am going to do is assign you a mission directly under me, and it will be confidential. I want you to devote the rest of your time to finding these bastards. Report to me so I can inform the council, and we can prevent the coming darkness. If we don’t, then the entire Imperium and alienkind, for that matter, is at risk.”

  CHAPTER 9

  Greg nodded, saluted, and then exited the command tent, ready to begin his mission, the mission he was destined to accomplish ever since this whole mess started. Greg made his way back to Baronium to thank Vulture, and to continue his investigation. He arrived near midnight, and entered the club; he was now a familiar there, and the guards knew he was cool with the boss. He walked through to the primary dance floor, undeterred, until something caught his eye.

  From acr
oss the dance floor he noticed a woman, a very beautiful woman; they exchanged glances, and Greg smiled naturally for the first time in ages. The look in her eyes sparked memories of the past in Greg’s head; thoughts fluttered and exploded with fantastic happiness until his mind stood still. It stopped flowing when it reached the last memory of love he had experienced, the girl from high school, from prom, Katy Morris.

  He wondered to himself, what could have happened to her? She left him after something serious happened, and then stopped talking to him before her house burnt down while she was asleep. He struggled to remember why she left suddenly, when it came to him. His mind reared to a stop once again, like a car screeching her wheels; it stopped on his old friend, Freddy Rickson. Good old Freddy Rickson; whatever happened to him?

  Greg stood motionless on the dance floor as his reminiscence made him sink with sadness, sadness of how he betrayed his closest friend and ally, for a girl. A special girl at that he thought, but still, the guilt of his past decision pained him. Greg knew he never should have done that; Freddy loved that girl more than life itself, but that might be it. Greg nearly groaned at the thought of his friend killing himself over what he did. Greg couldn’t help it if the girl loved him instead of Freddy.

  “Freddy should not have joined the FEC in the first place, the traitorous bastard!” Greg muttered to himself.

  His guilt and shame turned to anger, anger that his friend overreacted, when he felt a nudge on his shoulder. He gasped with a quick start when he realized he had been daydreaming, and that he was in the club. Vulture was standing next to him, looking very puzzled, and questioning what Greg was talking to himself about. Vulture led him up to his office, and, upon entry, Greg saw two interesting, and new faces. Two different looking men stood in the office; Vulture stood in between them, and began the introductions.