Defying the Prophet: A Military Space Opera (The Sentience Trilogy Book 2)

by Gibson Michaels

  “I am, Fleet Admiral.” With that, Mral turned and shouted the command, “Prison-Master Swaq, have the human prisoners escorted here, that they may be released to the human authorities.”

  Gently and politely, Swaq… we want no hotheads on either side initiating a bloodbath today!

  “Immediately, Planet-Master!” With that, Swaq issued commands that were forwarded deep within the compound. Shortly, a long column of humans, many wearing mere rags, could be seen marching smartly in lock-step, with the words to the Marine Hymn they were singing becoming more and more audible as they approached.

  * * * *

  The Alliance Planet Io, City of Desmoines

  July 31st, 3865

  Baron Dietrich Anton Guderian von und zu Fürt, the reclusive full owner of the German registered conglomerate Tydlich Bundesgenosse Gespenster and reportedly the richest human in history, stepped from his interplanetary mansion… a privately owned corporate jumbo spaceliner, onto the tarmac of Desmoines International Spaceport. He was immediately met at the base of the ladder by an entire cadre of armored ground vehicles containing a small army of private security who were obviously armed to the teeth. With them was a larger armored vehicle, such as was commonly used to transport large sums of currency to and from banks. As the security guards spread out to cordon off the immediate area, three suited representatives of the Biologic Research Institute, a wholly owned subsidiary of TBG, exited a limousine and cautiously approached the bearded German, who was wearing an incredibly expensive, custom-tailored, Italian silk suit.

  “Herr Guderian?” said the well dressed older gentleman of the group. “I am Doctor Andrew Nordegren, founder and Chief Operations Officer of BRI. I am very pleased to meet you at last.”

  Diet accepted the doctor’s outstretched hand and replied, “I am pleased to meet you as well, Doctor Nordegren. I have heard many good things about your operations here.”

  Actually, Diet had never even heard of the doctor’s little research firm until Hal had brought it up just four days ago, but polite forms had to be maintained. It cost nothing to stroke the man’s ego a bit, and one never knew when such trivial pleasantries might pay unexpected dividends in the future.

  “These are my colleagues, Doctor Erica Dmitrijeva, who personally headed up your project,” said Doctor Nordegren, as he swept his hand to indicate the 50-ish woman to his right. “And Doctor Wynne Issara, the head of our experimental research department.”

  Diet dutifully shook hands with each of Nordegren’s associates and mumbled appropriate pleasantries of greetings to each.

  “I must say,” said Dr. Dmitrijeva, “working on this project of yours has been the opportunity of a lifetime, I dare say, for all of us.”

  “Yes,” agreed Dr. Issara. “It’s been a tremendously exciting endeavor to have been the very first to achieve success at such an incredibly complex undertaking. We have learned so much, and we thank you heartily for initiating and funding this project.”

  “We fully understand the necessity for maintaining absolute secrecy,” added Doctor Nordegren. “The peasants would certainly be breaking down the doors to the castle with torches and pitchforks, if they had but the slightest whiff of what we have achieved here. Have no fear, Herr Guderian… not a single word of this will ever escape our lips. The bonuses you provided upon successful completion of this project were much more than adequate to compensate our inability to publish the details of this project.”

  Diet didn’t have a clue what these people were talking about, so he responded ambiguously. “Well, perhaps as political winds allow, you’ll be able to publish details of follow-up projects stemming from what was learned here, and so gain the public recognition you all so obviously deserve.”

  All three smiled broadly at that, preening as they basked in Diet’s praise. “Oh, yes,” said Dmitrijeva. “We expect to be able to produce many life-saving replacement tissue cultures based on the breakthroughs we’ve achieved here, which will be of tremendous benefit to the medical community and humanity in general.”

  “And,” added Issara, “we very greatly appreciate your generous offer to share royalties from the patents we’ll be filing on all of these marvelous breakthroughs. Our entire families will be financially secure for generations to come, thanks to you.”

  “Not at all,” said Diet. “It has always been my personal policy to see to it that talented people are adequately rewarded for their creative endeavors on my behalf. We are a team, and we all rise or fall based on the talents and efforts of every team member. Good people are hard to find and even harder to retain, so I fully believe in treating them as valuable corporate assets, to be safeguarded. So, if you need anything in the future, just let me know. ”

  All three of the BRI executives were now grinning like village idiots, and Doctor Nordegren said, “We greatly appreciate being a part of your TBG family, Herr Guderian, but I suppose that we should deliver your property, and let you be about your other important business.”

  “Yes, as much as I have thoroughly enjoyed meeting you all, I do have a schedule to keep,” replied Diet.

  With that, Nordegren turned and yelled to his crew standing outside the security cordon. The large, armored ground vehicle backed to the ramp extending up to the spaceliner’s cargo bay. It took a full dozen brawny workers to gently lift the “package” from the vehicle and guide it smoothly onto the ramp’s motorized belt. Six of them rode the belt up to assist the spaceliner’s crew in positioning the package and getting it locked down with thick cargo straps.

  The package itself looked for all the world like a fat, oversized coffin. It was an oblong metallic cylinder having winking lights and a status readout prominently displayed on one side.

  Life support, thought Diet. Whatever’s in there, is alive.

  * * * *

  The Planet Kitty Litter

  July 31st, 3865

  Planet-Master Mral, Prison-Master Swaq and six of their personal staff all stood stiffly before a low table… low to humans anyway, but rather high to the Rak, surrounded by their former prisoners and armored Fleet Marines. Across from them stood Fleet Admiral Kalis, and four others who had been introduced as Kalis’ subordinate fleet commanders, two of which wore similar gray uniforms to that which Kalis’ wore, somewhat less covered in awards, but still enough to show they were mighty warriors of renown in their own right. One of the fleet commanders wore a relatively plain uniform of very dark blue with gold, metal fasteners, while the forth wore a similarly plain uniform of dark green.

  Beside these “admirals” stood another wearing gray, with narrower gold embroidery on the sleeves, and whose three gold collar stars bore no wreath of gold leaves, as did the admirals. Mral had been told that this one was the ship-master of this mighty vessel where he now stood, directly beneath those tremendous main guns projecting out directly over his head. Mral shivered involuntarily at the thought.

  This ship-master intrigued him, every bit as much as the gray-bearded Kalis, as the creature’s prominent mammary glands and shoulder-length, almost white hair, left absolutely no doubt that she was female.

  Female warriors… I had heard stories that humans utilized females in their military, but I’d never really quite believed it. Incomprehensible! That any warrior race should hazard their females to the uncertainties of combat is beyond understanding.

  Kalis was finishing the formal reading of the articles of surrender, a written version of the terms that he had offered verbally several turns before. The translator growled out the Raknii translation and all seemed to be in order. The articles were written in human English on the left page of the formal leather bound book, and in written Raknii on the right page.

  “Do you find these terms for the peaceful surrender of this planet agreeable, Planet-Master?” Kalis asked, in finishing his recitation.

  “I do,” responded Mral.

  “Very well,” responded Kalis, as he turned the books to face the Rak. “Please make your personal mark on the
top line directly beneath the text on both sheets of both books, indicating your acceptance in written form.”

  Mral stepped to the table and used the standard Rak writing instrument to apply his “signature” to all four appropriate places and then stood back, while the other seven Rak took their turns “signing” their personal marks as official witnesses, verifying the authenticity of the documents. When all of the Rak completed signing the documents, Fleet Admiral Kalis sat and placed his signature in the appropriate places. The four admirals and Captain Fletcher then signed as witnesses, as did Commander Goodwin and Brigadier General Theodore March, of the Minnos National Guard, on behalf of all the former prisoners. The signing ceremony concluded with Kalis handing one copy of the surrender document to the Rak Planet-Master… a solemn reminder of the agreement that stayed the hand of death for almost a million of his people.

  Surrendering to an enemy was a hateful, shameful thing that he would never be free of in this life, but oddly enough, Mral felt a sudden unexpected flush of pride, in the midst of his shame. He’d saved his people and established the first dialog with these terrible aliens that didn’t involve bloodshed. He couldn’t explain it, but despite his shame, somewhere deep inside, he felt that Dol was pleased.

  * * * *

  Chapter-30

  Anything I've ever done that ultimately was worthwhile, initially scared me to death. -- Betty Bender

  The Alliance Planet Massa, City of Bostin

  August 4th, 3865

  Noreen Lucado was nervous. She had sacrificed so much in life to finally earn her Senior Vice-Presidency at Keystone Mining and Exploration Corporation, just a few months before the war of Confederate Independence broke out. She’d forsaken family, friends and what most people would call “real life” in her dogged pursuit of her career goals, only to find herself stranded on a deserted island almost as soon as she’d finally “arrived.”

  Most of the available men below her on the corporate ladder were thoroughly intimidated by her position and success. She found those few above her on the corporate ladder didn’t really respect her… just a nice-looking piece of corporate fluff they thought they should be able to dip their wicks into, whenever the urge took them, and then go home to the wife. She’d certainly fought that battle more than once. And of the few men that were at or near her same level, virtually all were self-centered, conniving, backstabbing little dweebs.

  Face it, you’re gonna be an old maid, girl. Hell, you’re 37... you’re already an old maid!

  Even after finally achieving her senior vice-presidency at long last, something had gone wrong. Instead of finally joining the ranks of the movers and shakers, she suddenly found herself shelved for her personal convictions that what the Consortium and their ilk were doing to the people of the South was wrong. Unfortunately her boss, Theodore Wentworth, had been one of J.P. Aneke’s chief supporters… a fully functioning member of the Executive Board of the Consortium of Industrial Management.

  Noreen could never quite understand how she had misjudged Ted Wentworth so badly. He had seemed so… well, down-to-earth and normal. She never saw the cold-blooded shark that lurked behind that big smile. She’d never understood how he could have been so damned cozy with those inhuman monsters like J.P. Aneke and Aline McCauley, who didn’t give a damn about people other than merely pockets to be picked.

  Two-faced. White man speak with forked-tongue!

  Noreen berated herself for not having been able to see past the smoke screen that Ted had used on her.

  Gullibility is a dangerous trait in an executive, Noreen.

  Keystone hadn’t fired her for voicing her personal convictions that were contrary to their predatory business practices. Oh no, but they had cut her out of the loop — stroking her ego and her wallet while minimalizing her with bullshit assignments, far from where any real decision-making was happening. After the war ended, she’d been so frustrated she’d almost been to the point of simply resigning and moving south, to see if any of those new Confederate start-ups could use a talented executive with a Yankee accent.

  That’s where providence, or whatever it was, had stepped in. She’d been unexpectedly contacted by the head of recruiting for TBG, a German-based conglomerate that had just bought out BioCom, the largest supplier of biological AI computers, after their stock bottomed out following their former CEO Robert Eastman being sent to prison on an entire laundry list of federal charges. It had been a surreal experience… No interviews required — none of the negotiating or other dance moves normally utilized when a company is trying to lure an executive away from where they’re at… just an offer hitting the table with a resounding thud.

  They told her BioCom was now a wholly owned subsidiary of TBG, which was a privately-held conglomerate owned by a distant relative of the German royal family. Supposedly, this Baron Dietrich Anton Guderian guy wanted to clean house at BioCom, sweeping out all of Eastman’s cronies and install an entirely new management team, who could mop up the mess after President McAllister cancelled the government’s development program for a new Fleet master computer system, and get the company profitable again.

  Strangest of all, this baron had reportedly selected her as his personal choice for Chief Executive Officer, Chief Operating Officer and Chair of the Board of Directors. She’d never heard of TBG or of Baron Guderian before she was suddenly anointed as sole master of BioCom’s future. Needless to say, it was an offer beyond her wildest dreams, but she was uneasy. If anything, it was all too good.

  If something is too good to be true…

  She’d been waiting for the other shoe to drop for months now, waiting for the pinch that would startle her out of this dream.

  Being naturally curious about who had just dumped all this manna into her lap, she’d done computer searches for everything she could get her hands on, concerning TBG and her new employer. Surprisingly, she discovered that Tydlich Bundesgenosse Gespenster was a relatively young company, only a few years old. Yet, it was rapidly becoming a monster… buying up distressed companies left and right. Instead of selling their assets off piecemeal and grabbing quick profits while throwing tens of thousands of people out of work, like most corporate vultures, TBG routinely invested even more money, installed a top-notch management team, got the things profitable and expanding again, and then generally left them alone. They’d even bought up a few thriving companies, but instead of milking the cash cows dry as happened in so many corporate takeovers, TBG’s supportive influence had made them even more profitable.

  They were into damned near everything, but their business strategy was, well… unusual. They didn’t grab nearly every choice nugget in the stream. Indeed, some of their acquisitions appeared downright foolhardy, and they retained a lot of assets that were barely breaking even. It almost seemed like what a company produced was somehow as important as how profitable it was. There had to be some kind of underlying solid business strategy there, but damned if she could see it.

  It took a bit of juggling with German/English translation software, but she’d finally discovered something else that was puzzling about TBG. As best as she could figure out, in German, Tydlich Bundesgenosse Gespenster meant “Lethal Confederate Ghost.”

  Weird, TBG was incorporated before the Confederacy even came into existence.

  But it seemed that this mysterious baron certainly had the Midas touch, as he had virtually appeared out of nowhere and leapt onto the international business stage, parlaying a modest family fortune into what was reported to now be trillionaire status, within just a few years. Never in history had anyone made so much money, so quickly. Yet, about the man himself, she’d found almost zilch.

  Evidently, the baron spends a tremendous amount of money burying his personal records from public view.

  There seemed to be no records of where he grew up and went to school, who his parents were, where he lived, how old he was, nothing… not even a picture. It was incredible. The richest man in all the worlds was virtually invisibl
e.

  Lethal Confederate Ghost. Why the use of “Confederate?” That “Lethal” part is downright chilling… could also be interpreted as “deadly,” but that’s just as bad. That “Ghost” part describes him perfectly though.

  But not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Noreen immediately accepted their offer, moved from Nork to Bostin and dove into her new job with a passion. It had been a tremendous amount of work, but she’d kept BioCom afloat on a sea of red ink and installed a very strong management team, primarily thanks to TBG’s influx of several billions of dollars, when they’d needed it most. How odd it was to finally be working for someone who not only expected miracles like everyone else, but also provided her with the magic wand she’d needed to pull it off. None of the normal managerial paralysis caused by the decisions-by-committee crowd, avoiding responsibility around here. She was THE BOSS at BioCom and decisions got made… no ifs, ands, or buts. She answered only to the ghost that owned their parent company TBG, and he’d left her alone completely… until now.

  That other shoe was en route to the floor. Yesterday she’d received a message from the baron’s office, informing her the mysterious Baron Guderian himself would be arriving at the BioCom Research & Development Lab today — and he was bringing her a “special project” he wanted expedited in utmost secrecy. That was it. Not a clue as to what he wanted, or what color rabbit he might want her to pull out of her ass for him. So here she sat, nervously awaiting the arrival of her reclusive new boss and his mysterious super-secret special project that he wanted expedited ASAP.

  What the baron giveth, the baron can taketh away.

  * * * *

  The Planet Kitty Litter