by Mike Luoma
Guess I had to return eventually.
Funny to not be meeting on Wentworth Station… But Wentworth will still be at the meeting. He says he’s got updated figures on ships and readiness from Anita. And we may have cracked the plague’s code, finally. Hope we can stop it from changing… and killing more of us. Wentworth Station... Huh. I’ve kinda gotten used to the place. I remember how intimidating it used to be. Course, the place never looked as good to me as it did when I got there after failing miserably on Mars.
What’s that noise?
BC opens his eyes, as Drex, once again his pilot, turns on a newsfeed. The voice echoes through the bridge.
“In tonight’s news, Ibn Al-Salid of Mars again postponed the peace conference which had been proposed to take place on the Moon this coming weekend.”
“Goddamn…” BC can’t help but let out his disappointment. He gets up out of the berth at the back of the bridge and comes forward to sit up next to the pilot.
“Salid blamed the delay on his continuing health problems,” the newsfeed continues. “But this is the fifth time Salid has caused a postponement in the talks.
“Pope John Paul the Fourth, acting pope for three months now, again indicated the NcC’s readiness to attend the talks. The pope gave as an example the continued presence on the Moon of the former Pope, and current Vatican Envoy and UTZ Council Chair Bernard Campion, the NcC and UTZ representative and chief delegate for the talks.
“Campion, who could not be reached for comment, maintains a residence on Lunar Prime, so this is not the unilateral play for peace that it might at first seem to be on its surface. When the Pope himself bothers to make the trip, then there may be more to report.
“This is the Lunar Prime News Network.”
Cynical bastards. But I’m not on the Moon right now! Can’t even get their facts straight. BC chuckles as the ship continues down to Earth.
“Alright, Drex! They don’t know where I am!”
“Guess not. Guess it’s good that I do then, huh? We’re almost at Vatican City, anyways.”
“Thanks, Drex,” BC says, still chuckling to himself over the report placing him on the Moon. It is kind of comforting to know that they don’t know where I am at all times. Not that they don’t try. It’s not quite as bad as when I was Pope.
The drop down to Earth is uneventful. His appearance at the Vatican is not. No one speaks to him directly, but everyone is looking at him, either staring or glancing sidelong. Damn… I’m the center of attention! Feel like a walking freak show. Guess it serves me right. I did walk away from them, abandoned them. Like Fortune Station on a grand scale. Always disappointing someone, aren’t you, BC?
Had to be done.
BC ignores the eyes and walks on to the Papal Office Building. He soon finds himself in M’Bekke’s study.
“M’Bekke! Great to see you!”
“BC! But you know it’s John Paul now…”
“The Fourth!” BC exclaims as he shakes M’Bekke’s hand and then gives him a quick hug. “You’ll always be M’Bekke to me.”
BC and M’Bekke catch up briefly, but their talk soon turns to more serious business.
“Is he here yet?” BC asks.
“Just landed. I see his ship on the display. He’ll be here soon enough, by the look of it,” M’Bekke speculates.
A brief commotion stirs outside the doors of the study. The doors open. Wentworth enters. He’s dressed in an environment suit that mimics the look of his usual business attire yet keeps him isolated from the outside and from potential exposure to the plague.
“Gentlemen!” Wentworth trumpets out as he makes his entrance. He strides in and shakes each man’s hand.
“Your eminence,” he says, deferring to M’Bekke, “Pope John Paul the Fourth. Campion,” he says with a nod to BC. Wentworth smiles. He looks from M’Bekke to BC. “You know, this makes more sense to me. I’m a lot more comfortable with you as head of the UTZ than as the Pope,” he tells BC. “Just suits you better.”
“Yeah,” BC agrees, “M’Bekke, uh, John Paul… excuse me… is a natural, isn’t he?” M’Bekke smiles at the compliment.
Wentworth brings out a small valise. He opens it, revealing a small three dimensional display of charts and figures.
“Let’s get right to it. As you can see,” he says, addressing the other two men and getting down to business, “We now have fifty-two of these new Transpace Jumpships. We’re calling them ‘Stingers’. Figured the originals were ‘Flashers’, so we’ll call these Stingers. The only problem we’re running into now is training up crews to fly them all. We’re actually building ‘em faster than we can crew them up!”
“How many crew on each one?” BC asks.
“Three,” Wentworth answers, “Pilot, gunner and engineer.”
“How long ‘til we have crew for all fifty-two?”
“We’ve got thirty-two of them crewed up and battle ready now. Figure we’ll have another ten up in a month. But, you see, by then, we’ll have seventy-five ships ready, at the pace Anita’s got the Moon’s shipyards running, so we’ll need another ninety-nine crew members.”
“We’ll be constantly playing catch-up,” BC says with dismay. “Isn’t there any way we can train up more people simultaneously?”
“We’re working on that,” Wentworth says, “but it’s a question of who we can spare to actually do the training. We take too many trainers off of ship’s crews and we’re going backwards.”
BC thinks a moment. “We might need to take a step back, if it will afford us a greater capacity to train larger numbers. But I’m not sure we have the luxury of the time that’ll take.”
Wentworth looks BC square in the eye. “How much time do you think we have?”
“Two months? Maybe?” BC speculates.
“I don’t believe we have two months,” M’Bekke cuts in darkly.
“What?” Wentworth asks.
“Why?” BC wants to know.
“You both need to see a communiqué I received yesterday,” M’Bekke says. “It’s the reason I called you both down here.” He presses a couple of buttons on his desk. The floating head of a dark-haired man appears over the desk. The hair is darker, but BC knows who it is immediately, before the image even speaks.
I’ve never actually seen him… but I KNOW it’s him!
“Greetings, your holiness,” the man begins. “I wish to speak to you, teacher to teacher, holy man to holy man. Due to his ongoing illness, his holiness Ibn Al Salid has designated me as his emissary to the upcoming talks. My name is Ibn Al Dolomé, and I was hoping we could discuss the agenda for the meetings prior to the convening of the conference.”
M’Bekke pauses the image. Dolomay’s head hangs in the air over the desk.
“Holy shit,” BC says quietly. “It IS him.”
“So,” Wentworth says cautiously, “That’s him? Finally out in the open? The Ancient Enemy?
That’s Dolomay, the one you told me about? The psychic?”
“Not ‘psychic’,” BC corrects him. “Psionic. Telepathic. He can read minds, influence others through the strength of his mind, communicate by thought.”
“Right,” Wentworth acknowledges. “Telepathic. Well. There he is, anyway.”
“This only confirms what we already know,” BC says. “I say we play along. We don’t want Dolomay and the UIN to know that we know who he really is.”
“Don’t you think they know we already know?” M’Bekke questions.
“I don’t know,” BC admits. “But I don’t think so. He knows he made contact with another mind. But I don’t think he knows exactly who I am. Only that I exist. And can resist him.”
“You resisted him?” M’Bekke asks.
“So he says,” Wentworth says, dubiously.
“He’s got the ability to bend other people’s minds to his will, according to the Eldred,” BC says.
“But I was able to shut him out. I think. Al Salid was certainly affected by something,” he says, sh
aking his head as he thinks back to his ill-fated trip to Mars. “But, yeah. They may not know that we know who he really is.”
“I wonder what that communiqué really means,” Wentworth says. “I don’t think they intend on attending any peace conference,” he speculates.
“No?” BC asks. “Why keep stringing us along?” he wonders aloud.
“So they’ll have time to build more of these,” Wentworth says. He switches to a new page on his valise. A fuzzy picture appears in the air over the case.
“Is that a shipyard?” BC asks.
“On Mars. Hold on,” Wentworth says. He leans in and focuses the picture into clarity. “Our mole on Mars,” he looks at BC knowingly, “got these for us. Seems they’re building a new fleet, just like we are. Remember when you said we needed to watch to see if they were modifying their ships?”
Wentworth asks BC.
“Of course.”
“Well, here’s the proof they are. A full scale operation, bigger and more overt than we feared.”
“So, they tell us they want peace while they arm for war,” M’Bekke observes. “As we do, I suppose.”
“Well,” BC says, “They’re not ready yet, I don’t think. Or they wouldn’t be talking to us. But that still doesn’t explain why Dolomay is contacting you, M’Bekke.”
M’Bekke nods at the hovering head above his desk. “He goes on to say he wants to meet with me in secret, off the record.”
“Right!” BC figures it out. “That’s it! He wants to get you alone so he can fuck with your head!
No doubt!”
“Do you think so?” M’Bekke asks.
“Of course!” BC insists, convinced. “Think about it. If he could get to you, mess with your head, turn you to his side… He probably figures he could take over without bloodshed, and then use our combined forces to go after his real enemy.”
“And who might that be?” Wentworth asks sarcastically. “Not us?”
“Not us. We’re probably a distant second on his list,” BC says. “Dolomay’s number one enemy is the Eldred. But he might fight us to make points with the UIN population.”
“And what about the Eldred?” Wentworth asks. “Any word from them?”
BC shakes his head. “No. They haven’t contacted The Project in sometime. And we have no way to contact them,” he admits.
“Pretty one-sided communication,” M’Bekke observes.
“Always has been, from what
I’m told,” BC says. “They have never been very forthcoming. On anything. We told them we’d found Dolomay on Mars a couple months ago. They hardly even acknowledged the transmission. They thanked us for the information, but since then… nothing.”
“Great!” Wentworth exclaims, the word dripping with sarcasm. “With friends like these…”
“Don’t kid yourself,” BC cautions Wentworth. “They are not our friends. Matter of fact, I figure they may be gearing up for an all-out assault… against all of us. Mars, the Moon, Earth, Dolomay, the UIN, the UTZ, the NcC… all of us.”
“This keeps getting better,” Wentworth grumbles.
“Did you respond to Dolomay?” BC asks M’Bekke.
“No,” he tells BC, “I didn’t know what to say.”
“Good,” BC answers. “Call him back. Get in touch and tell him you’ll meet with him.”
“What?” M’Bekke and Wentworth react simultaneously with shock to BC’s suggestion.
“Why not? We arrange a meeting and then take him out. Bang, done. Why not?” BC proposes. Seems plain enough to me…
“Will that work?” Wentworth asks.
“I don’t know. We’re no good against him one on one, we need to face him with numbers. That at least might work. Maybe we can overwhelm him. I don’t know the extent of his mental abilities. But you can bet we’re better off surprising him.”
A quiet alarm bell rings out.
“What’s that?” Wentworth asks.
“The com,” M’Bekke explains, and then takes the call. “Uh huh. Yup. He’s right here.”
M’Bekke hands BC an earpiece. “It’s for you. It’s Anita. The Project’s asteroid base – It’s under attack!”
“Put her through,” BC says.
“Hey BC,” Anita says over the link.
“Hey yourself. What’s up? What’s going on?”
“I’m here at the asteroid base. We’re looking at a fleet of about thirty UIN ships. At least, I think they’re UIN. Their ships look… different. Haven’t seen anything like them before. Anyway, they’re surrounding the base. No shots yet, but they certainly look threatening. How did they know where we were, BC?” she asks.
BC has a guess.
“Dolomay.”
The three of them look at each other.
So, then… this is it. Is this how it starts?
“Wentworth,” BC starts, “Scramble the thirty-two ships that are ready and any others we have that can make the jump out to the asteroids. Have one of them pick me up here. Let’s get out there,” BC
says. “It appears the war has started back up, gentlemen, whether we want it or not. I need to be out there. Now,” BC says with the voice of authority.
Chapter Four
BC’s ship jumps back into “normal” space as close to the Project’s asteroid base as possible.
“Get us in there now!” he barks at the pilot, who ignores BC to concentrate on weaving the ship’s way through the chaotic flying rock field.
“They still haven’t attacked!” Anita tells BC over the com. They’ve kept in contact since she called the Vatican five hours ago.
“Well… Keep your eyes on them,” BC tells her. “They might attack at any minute, especially when they see our greeting committee.”
BC’s pilot steers their ship in past the UIN ships. They scoot in towards the asteroid base, apparently without attracting notice. The UIN ships don’t so much as flinch. They’re obviously waiting for something… but what?
“Mr. Wentworth on the com for you, sir,” the pilot tells BC.
“Wentworth! We’re landing on the base now. The UIN cruisers are holding position for the moment. Nothing from them yet. Did M’Bekke call Dolomay?”
“He did, but Dolomay’s people told him he’d get back to him. He delayed his response.”
“Interesting,” BC muses. “Why the feint? Why call M’Bekke while sending ships out here?”
BOOM-CHANG!
The ship rocks sideways and BC is thrown to the deck.
“I think we’ve got action!” BC states the obvious. “Contact our other ships. Find out what’s happening. Give ‘em permission to engage the UIN ships! Auurgh!”
BC’s head erupts in pain.
YOU AGAIN, EH?
Fuck you!
ARE YOU IN COMMAND OF THESE POOR EXCUSES FOR WARRIORS? NOT TOO
IMPRESSIVE! I EXPECTED SO MUCH MORE FROM THIS LEGENDARY ‘PROJECT’ I’VE
HEARD SO MUCH ABOUT.
How do you know…
BYE NOW!
BC is blinded by pain.
He blacks out.
He comes to lying on the deck of the bridge of his ship. He looks up to see stars and rocks whirling past the viewscreen.
Back out in space off the base… must be in the battle!
“Sir, you’re awake!” the pilot says.
“Yeah,” BC acknowledges.
“We’re getting clobbered, sir!” the pilot informs him. “These UIN ships are new! Better! It’s a lot different fighting them now – they’re modified or something, faster, a lot more controlled. More deadly!”
BC can’t tell from the viewscreen where they are. The stars and asteroids reel by chaotically. There are no other ships in sight.
“Where are we?”
“On the other side of the asteroid base, opposite the main action,” the pilot informs him. “Our guns got hit. We’re kind of useless right now. And you’ve been unconscious, so I guessed this was where we should hang out for now.”
; “Is he awake yet?” BC hears Anita’s voice on the com.
“Anita!” BC calls out. “What’s happening?”
“It’s bad, BC. Where are you now? And… wait a minute… What the fuck?”
“Anita?”
“We’ve got more ships here!”
“What?”
“More ships, flashing in out of Transpace. If these are their reinforcements, we’re screwed!”
More ships…
“BC, it’s The Eldred!”
“The Eldred?”
There’s no answer.
“We’ve lost contact with the base,” the pilot tells him.
“Bring us around the front of the asteroid base,” BC commands.
They come around the asteroid and see flashes, flares, and lingering explosions in space, the battle raging before them.
“Who’s who?” BC asks.
“Heads up display!” the pilot calls out. A graphic overlay lights up across the viewscreen with combatants labeled in red, light blue and green.
“Shit,” BC lets out.
There are a few green dots representing the UTZ ships left intact and maneuvering. None of the still intact UTZ craft currently appear to be engaged in fighting. There aren’t many of the red dots – UIN ships – left, either. A line of light blue dots is sweeping through the red dots, and as they do the red dots are disappearing. The Eldred!
BC watches the blue dots, the ships of the Eldred, surround the red lights, the UIN ships, and then methodically disable and destroy them.
Even as the line of Eldred ships approach UIN ships that the heads up display has labeled apparently disabled, they destroy them.
BC calls up small displays in front of him to try to get a closer view from one of the other UTZ
ships. He finds a feed from one of their ships that shows a line of four sleek, silver Eldred ships approaching two UIN craft.
The UIN ships are heavily damaged, ragged gashes torn in their sides. Blast holes, back where their engines used to be, spark and glow with orange fire.
The Eldred ships approach the crippled craft and fire repeated blasts into the wreckage, reducing them to small glowing pieces.