by Nick Cole
Krenz figured he could change into his Republic maintenance coveralls and find the right ID pass in ten minutes. Another twenty minutes of travel time, maybe eight minutes through the comm relay station. Eight more minutes back… still a pretty payday if he brought the relay down in that amount of time.
More money than he needed.
Krenz smiled at that.
There was no such thing as more money than you needed.
House of Reason
Utopion
The light on Orrin Kaar’s comm station pulsed, indicating an incoming comm. Admiral Devers. Kaar shifted in his chair and returned his eyes to Delegate A’lill’n. The vice chair of the Security Council had been after him yet again to call a meeting. Word had reached Utopion that Tarrago’s orbital defense fleet and the moon itself were now under attack. The time to stall was finished. If he put this meeting off any longer, he himself might come under suspicion from some hotshot young delegate looking to weasel his way into this office.
“Delegate Kaar?” A’lill’n asked, still waiting on a response to a question. Though Kaar could not recall what she had asked.
“I’m sorry,” Kaar said, doing his best to look bewildered, as though the events and his age were conspiring against him. “The magnitude of what may be before us is… has me lost in thought. We’ve worked so hard to avoid another Kublar for our Republic, and now…”
Kaar let the sentence linger, leaving it open to the hearer’s interpretation.
“So you agree that a meeting of the Council is required?” prodded A’lill’n.
“Yes,” Kaar said, a sudden resolve ringing clear in his voice, a reminder of the tremendous oratory ability that granted him perpetual election. “Please inform the other members that we will meet in thirty minutes. I have much to do. I’ll see if I can obtain Legion Commander Keller’s assessment, assuming he is aware of the situation. Admiral Devers’s fleet is near the system. I’ll call upon his expertise.”
“Admiral Landoo’s Seventh Fleet should be stationed near Tarrago as well.”
“Yes,” Kaar said somewhat absently. “We’ll make sure the pieces are in their proper places.”
A’lill’n signed off, and Kaar immediately took Devers’s comm message. “You have news?”
“I’ve engaged Tarrago’s defense fleet, causing crippling damage. They won’t last long.”
Kaar nodded grimly. “I wonder what will come of reports that it is Republic destroyers assaulting the planet…”
Devers was confident. “At this point, my super-destroyer is more than capable of scrambling comm relays. I intend to broadcast over all Republic channels, announcing that the defense fleet was mutinous, and that I have been sent to restore order.”
“Good. That message needs to be broadcast galaxy-wide. I’ll announce it at the meeting of the Security Council.”
Devers smiled weakly. “It will do until further reports of the attack reach Utopion.”
“I’ve arranged for Tarrago’s comm relays to shut down momentarily. The truth will never reach Utopion. You are the hero of the Republic, Silas. Send your message, then remember a lesson from your time in the Legion: kill them all, and kill them first. Leave no one alive to challenge your narrative.”
“Understood, Delegate.”
Comm System Relay Command and Control Station
Tarrago System
Sanatole Krenz whistled as he made his way through the comm relay command station in the Tarrago system. Each system had at least one manned comm relay station, or more depending on size. Tarrago had just the one, along with several satellite relays. Of course, these were all redundant, and the network was designed to continue working with the loss of up to sixty percent of satellites and the manned relay station itself.
The Republic comm system—private, public, and military—was an engineering wonder. But it wasn’t flawless.
Krenz stood outside the secure control room. Inside, there would be one Republic employee monitoring the comm relays for overall health. He would be unarmed.
The control room’s exterior security protocol sprang to life as Krenz approached. It gave a low, singsong chime. Dee-dah. This meant that Krenz had ten seconds to sing the six-note tonal response. The genius of this security check was that it was so unique. Sure, some species in the galaxy had tonal or singing dialects, but most did not. Intruders without the necessary layers of training, voice lessons, and know-how that came with being an employee of the Republic Comm Section simply would not know what to do when greeted with the security chime.
And then they would be vaporized with particle atomizers recessed in the walls.
The Republic might be a lot of things, but clueless about the need to protect its comm relays from disruption was not one of them. That’s why the job paid so well—though gambling did have a way of cutting into that salary—and why Krenz had been forced to go through multiple psychiatric and character evaluations, background checks, bio-temperament scans, and an eighteen-standard-month wait period just to get the job.
It was also why an independent investigator was to monitor all comm section employees no less than twice per year.
When Krenz first succumbed to Aldo Kimer’s offers of big money for easy work—his first job involved forwarding comm relays between a low-level senator’s aide and the senator’s mistress—he was sure that the control room door would blast open and a kill team would take him away, never to be heard from again. He didn’t realize then that he was far too small a fish to attract a kill team. But when no one noticed, he did believe Aldo Kimer. The integrity inspectors near Tarrago were lazy, and no one paid him any mind beyond a cursory interview.
“Have you been a good boy, Sanatole?”
“Oh, yes, sir.”
“Excellent.”
End of interview.
And so things went swimmingly for a while. Krenz helped to report comm messages of all types, even black-channel contracts, and always got a cut of the action. If it weren’t for those crossed wires at Bocccy… No. That was in the past. Kimer called on him for this, and that meant the good times—and the credits—would keep coming.
Krenz sang the tune to disarm the security, then keyed in his authorization code. The door swooshed open and the shift’s controller, a family man named Lariot, swiveled around lazily in his chair.
“Oh, hey, San, I thought you were off duty for Unity Day?”
Krenz gave a sour frown he’d been practicing the entire trip. “I was supposed to be, but Victor said there’d probably be additional comm traffic, and since I wasn’t doing anything, I should come in and help. So how is it?”
“The traffic?” Lariot swung around in his chair. “Actually pretty jumpy. There’s something going on by the shipyards, but I can’t get an idea of what. MCR hit and fade is my guess.”
“Interesting,” Krenz said, as he pulled a stinger pistol from his belt. He aimed the tiny weapon at his co-worker and shot a dart into the back of his neck.
Lariot slapped at the wound as if he’d been stung by a hiver, then slumped unconscious onto the control board. He wouldn’t remember the last fifteen minutes when he woke up. And once Krenz falsified the security logs and holocams…
Krenz pushed Lariot to the side and frowned. Lariot was a good guy. He had a family. He would probably get fired for this.
Krenz shrugged and began working the comm station. He would pay off the man’s mortgage once his payment came in.
***
Sanatole Krenz sped through the comm station, his work finished. Before the Tarrago comm relays had all gone dead to the rest of the galaxy, he received a message from Aldo Kimer. A Nimbus Rover performance ship was waiting for him at the port docking station. Kimer made a point of saying he’d spared no expense. And with a ship like that… he wasn’t lying.
Practically bounding up the narrow docking tube that snaked out from the comm station to the waiting ship, Krenz saw the brilliant yellow sunburst paint of the ship. It was breathtaking. And h
opefully it had a decent AI. Krenz wasn’t much of a pilot.
His fears were allayed when a congenial bot with pilot’s wings stenciled on its chest plate greeted him at the cabin door. “Hello, sir. Where shall we go?”
“Someplace with white sand beaches and beautiful humanoids,” Krenz said, shouldering his way past the bot.
“I will enter those parameters into the ship’s navicomputer,” the bot said as it sealed the cabin door. “If you’ll excuse me, we must make haste.”
Krenz dismissed the bot with a wave of his hand. The robotic pilot entered the cockpit, and seconds later the ship began to hum.
Flopping into an amply stuffed leather lounger, Krenz fished around a chiller for a bottle of chamblisies. He found one, popped the cork, and poured himself a frothy glass of the magenta liquid.
The ship gently detached from its docking station and drifted into space before activating repulsors. Krenz lurched slightly, just enough to spill a little chamblisies on his uniform. “Should I buckle in?” he asked the pilot. “Or are you going to get the inertial dampers adjusted to a level adequate for humans?”
“That won’t be necessary,” the bot said over the shipboard comms. “I will attempt to adjust the dampers. They have been troublesome.”
“Fine by me. Those belts are never comfortable.” Krenz took a drink, and immediately went into a coughing fit. This was a bit stronger than he was used to.
“Mr. Kimer asked me to relay a message to you, sir,” the bot said.
“Oh yeah? What’s that?”
There was a loud thunking from somewhere in the rear of the ship—then a rumble that shook Krenz in his seat. He dug his hands into the folds of his seat looking for a safety belt, but found none.
A roaring alarm sounded, and Krenz felt a drastic change in cabin pressure. A rush of wind swept past him, and he found himself ripped from his seat, along with every other item not strapped down. When he flew out of the open cabin door and into the vacuum of space, there was chamblisies in his eyes.
Aldo Kimer had spared no expense.
And, per Orrin Kaar’s instructions, he had left no witnesses.
Nebula Cloud Apartments
Tarrago Prime
As Vigdis watched the local holonews, she felt a heaviness over what might have been. Image after image flashed past. Republic assault shuttles landing around key supply depots and the shipyard itself. A pitched blaster fight between legionnaires in odd black armor and the local security forces. Dead revelers on the streets. It seemed as though the entire planet was under subjugation. And the journobots were reporting still more casualties—citizens who had found themselves caught in the crossfire or crushed beneath Republic tanks.
Vigdis’s and her husband’s shifts at the shipyard were supposed to have started nearly thirty minutes ago. The couple had been irritated over the fact that, in spite of requesting this time off nearly a month ago, they were nonetheless scheduled to work on Unity Day. But that job in the shipyard, inspecting impervisteel for impurities, had saved her life. Her husband’s, too. Had they not been at home preparing for their shifts when the fighting started…
Vigdis shuddered.
“Any luck getting a comm transmission off-system?” Vigdis’s husband Edward called from the window. He carried a single-action blaster rifle in one hand as he peered through an opening in the electromagnetic shutters, watching for danger. “Your mother is going to be worried sick.”
“No. I can’t get anything beyond Tarrago, and most of what we receive are prerecorded messages advising comm use for emergency purposes only.”
“Not sure what else you’d call this…”
Vigdis smiled. Edward could find humor in anything. It was why she’d fallen in love with him.
Every holoscreen in the couple’s modest apartment lit up with the crest of the Republic. Vigdis gasped at the sight of the handsome man that appeared: Admiral Devers, the Republic’s greatest living hero.
The admiral spoke with confidence and authority. “This is Admiral Silas Devers of Republic Navy, Third Fleet.” He paused as if to let the weight of his position sink in. “I have been sent by the Senate Council and House of Reason to put down a terrorist rebellion seeking to capture or destroy the Kesselverks Shipyards. The Mid-Core Rebels have infiltrated the local security forces and the planetary defense fleet and are actively fighting against Republic forces. Do not be alarmed by the legionnaires in black armor. They are a new evolution of soldiers serving in the Third Fleet. They will not harm you. Citizens of the Republic, I urge you to stay in your homes until Republic order is restored. And to the insurgents I say: You will not have the victory this day.”
The message ended, and the screen reverted to the crest. The message would repeat every five minutes.
“Well,” Edward said. “I guess we stay put.”
Vigdis nodded, fingering the necklace resting against her chest. “Yes. I feel so much better knowing the admiral is here fighting for us.”
Black Fleet
Bridge of the Imperator
Off Tarrago Moon
0216 Local System Time
A sick feeling was beginning to grow deep inside Admiral Rommal’s stomach. And truth be told… it had been there for as long as he could remember. Some kind of unspoken fear and anxiety that had always been his constant companion.
Of course, in any operation there were bound to be mistakes. But that buffoon Devers had just ruined everything.
“We’ll have to inform… him,” Admiral Crodus had murmured as they sat reviewing the status updates.
Yes, thought Admiral Rommal as he stepped away from the bridge’s real-time holographic tables and over to his personal comm station, the fault will be yours. You, after all… are the one in charge.
He touched the comm and tried to wash away the image of Devers jumping in three destroyers to shoot up the sector defense fleet. They’d scored direct hits and knocked out critical systems. But that hadn’t been the plan. The plan had been to jump in one destroyer full of shock troops and drop them over the shipyards for a surprise attack. Then that destroyer would’ve jumped out to re-form with the rest of Devers’s fleet—just another Repub ship transiting through—instead of attempting to shoot everything up, thereby alerting the rest of the in-system forces.
Devers had shown all their hands far too early. The idiot. Was he attempting to frame himself as some kind of victorious cavalry officer who wins the battle in one swift stroke? Instead, his actions had resulted in the activation of system-wide defenses, including the gun batteries around Fortress Omicron—which in turn had stopped the fleet’s bombers cold.
There are no contingencies for a fool in your own ranks, he thought.
Goth Sullus appeared on screen—as much as he could appear. All that really showed were blue shadows and darkness, and just the barest outline of the lower half of his shadowed face. The rest remained hidden by the hooded cloak he wore.
Shrouded.
The man in black. That was what everyone called him when no one was supposed to be listening.
Rommal knew what went on among the troopers.
“I have an update for you… my Lord.” Admiral Rommal never was quite sure what to call Goth Sullus. Nothing seemed appropriate. Nothing seemed natural. Nothing had been required. What was respectful had seemingly eluded the high command staff who interacted with this wraith.
“Go on,” whispered the sepulchral voice of Goth Sullus.
Rommal could feel the entire bridge of the Imperator watching him now. Even though they shouldn’t be. And yet, secretive and furtive glances were cast quickly, and ears strained to hear things they probably should not. Things they would wish they had not heard in the years that followed.
Admiral Rommal straightened and cleared his throat. “Our strike against the gun has failed. The local fleet in orbit is engaged with three of Admiral Devers’s destroyers. As of this moment, we have not achieved the total surprise we had planned for. Nor, I fear, shall we.”
Long pause.
“This does not alter my plan, Admiral,” Goth Sullus replied. “Proceed with the landing beyond the main gun’s defenses.”
The screen went dark.
And Rommal began to breathe again.
Black Fleet
Flagship Imperator
Beyond Tarrago
0230 Local System Time
With a wave of his hand, the massive locks disengaged, and the doors parted. Beyond, within the octagonal chamber, it waited. The air here was reverential. Sacred even. Throbbing with power.
Sullus stepped within the chamber and approached the design table where the armor had been re-forged, improved, and made whole again.
The armor of Tyrus Rechs.
Where it had been beaten and burnt, gouged and gashed, and still noble, now it was made new, or almost new, and really… far more dangerous than it had ever been. It gleamed in the darkness like the sleeping body of some mythic monster carved in dark steel, polished like a mirror reflecting the soulless void of the darker regions of the galaxy.
Goth Sullus lay one hand against it.
He had not expected to need it this day… but things were changing. And if need be, he would don it and go forth into battle just as Tyrus had so tirelessly done so many times. Except this time, the outcome would be far different. Far more terrible.
Beneath his hand he felt power… and it was good to him. The power that waited inside his own skin craved all this and so, so much more.
The mythic armor was a thing of dangerous beauty to Goth Sullus. And a tool for the means to an end a long time coming.
Where Tyrus had failed, he would not.
Bridge of the Carramo, Republic Sector Defense Flagship