WOLF DAWN: Science Fiction Thriller/ Romance (Forsaken Worlds)

by Susan Cartwright

  Neopol smiled, recalling Tennison, his last aide. Tennison lasted less than three months. Neopol felt a momentary twinge of regret. The fawning bootlicker had genuinely tried to please him. It was no surprise when he hanged himself. Neopol had predicted it. But so soon. He thought Tennison would survive at least a year — a misjudgment of character on his part. Ah, well, he consoled himself, he would know better next time. He had overestimated the fellow’s ability to cope. His type was a pleasure to break, but far too easy. If that sort would only last longer, the Admiral thought wistfully.

  Then there had been the aide before Tennison, Reynolds. Neopol had driven him close to the edge, long before he had the opportunity to firmly push him over. Reynolds, a more resilient personality altogether, was able to weather his continuous barbs, the unrelenting attacks that made up his amusing little war of attrition.

  Reynolds, like Janson, didn’t react. If the Admiral looked closely, he could sometimes tell that the man was seething, deep under his calm facade. He felt a thrill of adrenaline, recalling the anticipation he had enjoyed. Reynolds had kept up the front well. That was until Neopol had regularly brought Reynolds’s fourteen year-old daughter into their conversations.

  Wasn’t it funny how one topic could cause such fantastic reactions, while others wouldn’t even create a twitch? Reynolds had, in a moment of passion, taken a knife to him.

  Silly man. Neopol felt a predatory smile curl his lips. The fellow should have thoroughly planned the maneuver, if he actually considering killing his CO. Still, it had been satisfying to know that he had predicted the precise day and almost the exact moment of attack. It was synchronous, of course, with Reynolds breaking point.

  Everyone had a breaking point, Neopol consoled himself, stroking his short black hair with one hand. He would find Sub-Lieutenant Janson’s. But four years — by the hells of Perdition. The man had set a record.

  Admiral Neopol gazed out the viewing portal at his Aide. Hands by his side, the man was motionless. Janson stood so close that Neopol clearly observed the readout showing nil. Unlike the gauge, Janson’s emotionless face gave nothing away.

  Did Janson hate him? He couldn’t imagine how the man could take the abuse that he had given him over the past four years and not abhor him. Neopol exhaled, comforted. It would be interesting to find out exactly what Janson thought. Never mind. He would find Janson’s breaking point. Then he would use it to destroy the man completely.

  Lieutenant Commander Pagett arrived and stood to attention. “Sir, as you can see, the air is safe. The troops will disembark at your command.”

  “Tell them to form groups and take the speeders to every major center of population. They know the drill: anything of value, jewels, artwork, credits and gold. The first to find the Delian Testimonials of Truth or the Talisman will receive one hundred credits, enough for quite a holiday on Seira Nuvon, eh? No one may search the castle, which I will attend to myself. All troops will be scanned to guarantee no one appropriates anything.” His eyes narrowed, but he said in a normal tone of voice. “I have the authority to ensure anyone guilty of theft executed. As such an extreme action would grieve us both, please ensure your men understand the situation. Are we clear?”

  “Yes, sir,” Lieutenant Commander Pagett saluted and forwarded the order. Notified by Icom, the troops left the shuttle through the lower portals.

  Pagett took a deep breath. A service veteran, he had the alert yet relaxed demeanor that categorized so many experienced naval men. His neutral expression successfully concealed how much he hated every aspect of this mission. At times he had disliked his superior officers while in the service, but he had never despised anyone like he had learned to despise Admiral Neopol.

  The sun was directly overhead. The air felt warm outside the shuttle, and Pagett’s service uniform felt too tight. A few pillow-shaped soft white clouds decorated a blue autumn sky. Delian was a pretty world. Pagett’s shrewd, farm-bred eyes scanned the distance. No sign of rain, yet the air had slight moisture in it, perhaps from that large lake he had flown over. As the Admiral disembarked the shuttle, Lieutenant Commander Pagett followed him, prepared for any last orders. Neopol moved quickly toward his aide and a waiting speeder.

  As Neopol moved, he came across the dead body of a young man. It was a peculiar blue-green. He kicked it as he passed. “Get rid of this bug-ridden body.” He gestured to one of the men who were lined up with the rest of the troops, boarding shuttles and speeders of their own. “It’s bad enough coming to this Godforsaken world. I shouldn’t have to step over every stray corpse.”

  “Yes, sir,” the man responded.

  Neopol and Janson boarded a speeder and, to Pagett’s great relief, they left.

  Lieutenant Commander Pagett let out a breath. His superior officer was inhuman, he thought, or perhaps insane. He didn’t trust Neopol. There was something about him. Pagett snorted. There were a lot of somethings about the Admiral. From his heavy-lidded, all seeing eyes to his little knowing smiles. The man smiled at the wrong times, it seemed to him. With Neopol it seemed that everything was done for a calculated effect. He had sent his aide out to test the air, without a mask. What was that about? Some sort of “in” joke? Neopol had certainly been smiling then. It had been a sort of wicked, smug smile. His aide, Janson, hadn’t been smiling. Janson had shown no emotion at all.

  Pagett strode around aimlessly, pleased to be under an open sky. It was a quiet world and no wonder — it was empty of life. He had never known of so much slaughter as had seen here on Delian, not even in the Truso meteor storms, and those had killed over half the population. Still, it was an order from HC, and he had to suppose they knew what they were doing. To disobey would have resulted in court martial. Now that he knew the Admiral better, he was glad he hadn’t queried the order.

  His brow beaded with sweat. He wiped it with a hand and felt a cooling breeze against his forehead. It was late in the year here on Delian and this unusual heat was reminiscent of the Indian summers of his childhood. It may even get hot here today. At least it made a change from the ship’s conditioning. He squatted down on his haunches and picked up a handful of soil. It felt soft and loamy and was blood red. It reminded him of where he had grown up on the tablelands of Shaku. Curious, Pagett walked to the entrance of a nearby building. Peering inside, he smelled coffee. Has a percolator been left running, or … might someone be alive?

  He walked toward the nearest door and as it opened, the stench overwhelmed him.

  Although he looked away, he couldn’t escape that horror. Fleeing, he fell to the ground and threw up. The building was a work space with the lower levels holding infant wards and nurseries. The entire area was littered with bodies, children of all shapes and sizes, in different poses — but all of them definitely dead. None looked older than five.

  Admiral Neopol paced from within castle walls. The day was not going according to plan and he was in a rage. He rarely showed his temper to others, as he considered uncontrolled tantrums to be beneath him. Without stringent and herculean efforts on his part, Neopol might frequently succumb to angry outbursts. Rage was natural to a man like him, for he was surrounded by idiots. Who wouldn’t be enraged in such a circumstance? Not that he was averse to losing his temper on purpose. Anger obtained instant and complete compliance. Yet fury must be used lightly, and only when absolutely necessary. Experience had taught him that humans reacted much like dogs — constant beatings made them cower with their tails between their legs. Such abject cowardice made working fleet personnel useless to him in the long run.

  The Testimonials and the King’s Mirror, the Damithst armguard, could not be found. Yet a ship couldn’t have flown them out. Such a departure would have been discovered. He would have been notified immediately. Neopol looked around the disordered palace sitting room. He was becoming fatigued, and in the heat of the day the castle was really beginning to stink. He sat down to think.

  An unpleasant thought occurred to him.

  What if th
ere was a spy on Conqueror? If a traitor was correctly placed, any number of vessels could have escaped. Had he been tricked? Had the Delians been evacuating?

  Neopol’s face warmed. The thought of being fooled by those idealistic idiots made him furious. He moved quickly from the room with his aide hurrying to keep up. “Back to the shuttle,” Neopol ordered, getting into the speeder. He could use Icom, but he preferred to deliver important orders in person.

  “Yes, sir,” the man replied, accelerating to top speed.

  Arriving at the shuttle, Neopol strode up to the Lieutenant Commander, brisk, determined … and anxious. “Quickly, man, is there any way to tell if a vessel has lifted from Delian in the last few weeks?”

  “Yes, sir.” Pagett answered. “Particles linger. We have sensors that can measure a ship’s departure from five to seven days afterwards.”

  “How many people will you need?”

  “Ten men with speeders. I’ll check known spaceports first; it is unlikely a ship would depart from anywhere else. If I can’t find anything, we can do a planetary grid search.”

  “Good.” Neopol grinned, intentionally using his “we are all here in this together” smile. He could achieve much using this practiced boyish charm. “Get it done immediately and get back to me. This is top priority, Commander.”

  “Yes, sir,” Pagett said with a strained face that seemed unusually pale.

  Neopol’s eyes narrowed slightly as he scrutinized Lieutenant Commander Pagett. The man was worried, but … no, that wasn’t it. He was upset. Neopol had observed these symptoms before. The man was hiding something. Was he a traitor? He resolved to watch the Lieutenant Commander closely until he solved the mystery. He said to his aide, Lieutenant Janson, “Go with Pagett and supervise his work. Ensure nothing is overlooked. I’ll be in my quarters.” He looked at Pagett once more. “Notify me instantly on Icom and in person if there is news of a ship’s departure.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Lying on a bunk in the shuttle, Admiral Neopol started a set of exercises he had fashioned. He slowly counted backwards from fifty. Then, in silent reverie, he recalled the entire day sequentially to the present. He went over each expression, every comment, every obvious thought or action on the part of anyone he had been in contact with.

  Once relaxed and aware of the day’s details, he evaluated. Neopol let out a long sigh of pleasure. The mystery of Pagett’s distress was straightforward and obvious. The man was simply disturbed by the extent of death on this world. He looked the type. Neopol would test that theory. Smiling, he placed his hands behind his head. This was the perfect position for a man of his abilities, where he could continue his research into the human animal. What motivated it? How much could it take? What made it give up? When was it hiding and what did it consider necessary to hide?

  The management and control of people was a project he had set himself from his earliest childhood. As Neopol had discovered, back when he was a vulnerable young woman, humans were extremely dangerous. They were destructive, erratic and impulsive. They needed to be controlled. In the entire history of civilization no one had ever discovered how to successfully predict or dominate individuals or the masses. Neopol planned to find the key. So far his extensive research was invaluable. Soon he would hold the solution.

  Then he would feel safe.

  There was still one Delian waiting for him aboard Conqueror. He sighed with pleasure. He had finished tests ordered by HC and had found nothing unusual. This last Delian was his to dispose of as he wished. Neopol grinned. He had a few experiments of his own in mind. He would find out for certain if she could read his thoughts or not.

  He wondered if there was a spy on Conqueror. If there was evidence of an exodus from Delian, he would use mindtap to get to the bottom of it. HC would give permission under the circumstances. Lord Andros had counted on no one discovering the annihilation of the Delians until the next trade run in six months time. By then any evidence that Conqueror was responsible would be gone. The crew of Conqueror would be given a memory wipe and a false memory implant, and the genocide on Delian would remain a mystery forever. Renegades would be blamed for the slaughter, or better yet the Alliance.

  From his bunk he stared at the convex ceiling of his quarters in the shuttle. If even one ship escaped there could be repercussions. He was Lord Andros’ right-hand man, but Andros didn’t tolerate failure. If the Freeworld Police investigated and reported to a lower echelon of the government it could have serious consequences for HC — perhaps even for himself. It could be construed as ineffectiveness on his part. Unthinkable. If a ship escaped, those responsible would suffer before he let them die.

  Neopol smiled. While understanding human behavior was his main priority, he was not beneath the occasional need for revenge.

  Anger spent, Admiral Neopol sat on the shuttle, drinking Scotch and watching Delian shrink in size. Lieutenant Commander Pagett had found that a ship had departed Delian from a desert area in sector G. The vessel lifted off five days previously, just prior to gas release. One ship, no more. By the size and shape of the liftoff markings, the escaping vessel had most likely been a Needle-Class warship.

  Neopol sighed. It was probably one of the old Delian Fleet. Registration and listings showed a number of such decommissioned vessels; he would soon find out which one had escaped. He swirled the ice in his glass and drank the last of his Scotch. He put the glass in a special compartment. Technically he should have waited, or drunk from a flat flask container. The flat flask was designed to be sucked or squeezed in order to prevent spillage in space, in case of loss of artificial gravity. Neopol didn’t care. He liked his Scotch on ice. Rank had its privileges.

  There was no doubt now. His suspicions had been correct. There were traitors aboard Conqueror. Neopol’s eyes stung and burned with emotion. He shut them. Such an unexpected sentiment. Was it a remnant of his former womanly self? He felt a pathetically weak and irrational sensation — a strange female desire to cry. He suppressed the urge and ruthlessly replaced the desire for tears with anger.

  He had been betrayed. Again. Was there no one he could trust?

  He opened his eyes and lifted one hand and picked up the data stick that contained all his research. Neopol wore a platinum bracelet to which he usually attached his data device. All his extensive knowledge — every interrogation, every fact he learned — was on this disk. To predict and control all of humankind, that was his goal. He knew so much now, and yet he still could trust no one, except possibly Lord Andros.

  He tapped his lips with one finger. Then his lips curled in a slow, wicked smile.

  Finding and breaking the traitors would be a pleasure. The men in charge of scanning and tracking — one or more of them would be guilty. With his skills he would quickly discover which ship had departed, where it was bound and who had been aboard her. He would find the escaping vessel and complete his mission as ordered by Lord Andros.

  All Delians must die. No exceptions.

  9. In Search of the Spy

  Subsequent to a subtle campaign over a number of years, religious conviction became unfashionable. A source of disharmony, all religions were intentionally lost during the Age of Expansion. What happened then? People created new religions. Why? It’s human nature to believe in God.

  — High Command, private records, Lord John Andros

  Admiral Neopol watched through the viewscreen as his transport moved through space toward the massive battleship Conqueror.

  The operation on Delian had been a failure, despite the recovery of numerous valuable items. Two main mission targets, acquisition of the Delian Testimonials and the priceless Damithst King’s Mirror, had not been achieved. Not only that, but there was evidence that one Delian vessel had fled just prior to the gassing of that world. The Admiral had notified the crew. He intended to find who was responsible. Let any little mice flee and tremble in fear. They could not hide from his traps.

  While on final approach to Conqueror’s docking bay,
Neopol unstrapped. Despite his size he moved gracefully down the aisle, coming forward to flight control. He wanted to watch Pagett guide the large craft, and he thought with amusement, to test his nerve.

  Neopol’s lip curled. Well, well, what did he have here? The Lieutenant Commander must have landed such a vessel a thousand times, but under his scrutiny the man was actually sweating. Neopol wanted to laugh, but he controlled the impulse. Long ago he learned that to manipulate others, first he must be master of himself.

  Pagett ran a nervous hand through his hair. With intense concentration he slowed the craft to a crawl and made a perfect landing. He turned and said, “Sir, you’re at liberty to disembark. Are there further orders?”

  Shadows of movement could be seen through the vessel’s windows and sound penetrated the walls of the ship as various transports arrived and unloaded from within Conqueror’s enormous hold.

  Neopol contemplated Pagett as he attempted to remain still under his penetrating inspection. The man had such lovely green eyes, Neopol mused. Really rather attractive — they had been genetically altered no doubt. A full two minutes passed without the Admiral saying a word, while Pagett showed more and more subtle signs of unease.

  Yes, he thought. Our Lieutenant Commander is uncomfortable. Neopol was enchanted by his discomfort. He let another minute go by. At last he said, “Did you enjoy your visit to Delian, Lieutenant Commander?”

  Pagett, already white with anxiety, paled even further. “Yes, sir.”

  Neopol schooled his face to remain bland, but inside he hid a contemptuous and satisfied grin. It was just as he thought. Pagett was simply upset by the death of the Delians. He wasn’t a traitor. There was no mystery there. “That will be all.” He dismissed him with a wave and turned. “Sub-Lieutenant,” Neopol snapped.