by GARY DARBY
He stretched out his legs and rubbed at sore knees. “That’s too bad, I guess we’ll just have to hope that the communications link lasts a little longer than fifty kilometers.”
Stinneli gestured toward the flight controls. “Anything in here or the battle pod that indicates a preprogrammed flight plan?”
Jadar shook his head. “None that we’ve found, yet. I would be surprised if there weren’t, but we might not have time to winnow it out of the works. That’s why I was hoping the ape might provide a possible solution.”
Jadar stretched and rubbed at his eyes to relieve some of the weariness. He was tired and needed to catch up on lost sleep going back to when General Rosberg had pulled him back Earthside, but he’d catch up after they finished what they had to do first.
Glancing around, he caught everyone’s attention. “Does anyone have any last-minute questions?”
He waited, but no one spoke up. He took the last bite of his ration and stood. “Doc,” he ordered, “bring the ape up and let’s get it in the chair to do some test runs. Once we’re confident it can do the job, we’ll get this bucket of bolts moving and go to battle stations.”
With a lopside smile, he muttered, “I just hope the Mongans have never studied Terran history or they’ll know a Trojan horse when they see one.”
He hitched at his torso vest and said firmly to his companions, “We’ve got scouts who believe that someone is coming to rescue them, so let’s not disappoint our comrades.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Star date: 2443.097
Geneva, Switzerland, Seat of the Imperium
Strolling along an outside parapet of the Imperium’s Grand Hall, Adiak Peller let his eyes follow the long, ingrained stringy veins of white granite that snaked through the smooth, smoky quartz stone beneath his feet.
How much the thin snaky lines of the snowy stone set inside the ebony granite remind him of the High Council, even the Imperium. No longer united but rather with cracks and fractures running all through the empire.
And that’s exactly what he wanted.
Restlessness, fear, even chaos. They all worked to Peller’s advantage and soon he would make his play to reunite the Imperium.
Only, it would be he that sat upon an Emperor’s Throne and ruled with complete and unstoppable power.
After all, that was his destiny, that was his fate and nothing less would suffice.
He inhaled deeply, filling his hawkish nose with the pungent fragrance of a thousand Turellian Bittersweet Shimmers from the nearby Pictor Botanical Gardens.
His companion, Councilor Krause, muttered in a disgusted voice, “I don’t understand what possessed those fools to take such a drastic step. They must have been out of their minds to dissolve the Grand Assembly at such a critical time.”
In a bear like growl, she said, “What were they thinking?”
Peller smiled inwardly, thinking, the same as me, use the crisis to gain more and more power. After all, it hadn’t taken much of a push from his operatives inside the assembly to get them to do what he had wanted all along.
“I suspect,” Peller answered meditatively, “that certain members thought that this crisis made for a perfect opportunity to break away and establish their own domain.”
“You sound as if you approve,” Krause replied with raised eyebrows.
Peller waved a dismissive hand. “You mistake my insight and stark analysis for approval. You forget that in my previous position I spent much of my time dealing with the Lydorians, the Combine, the Sagittarians, and most importantly, the Sadoc.
“Not to mention a dozen other star systems which didn’t hide the fact that they considered living under Imperium rule a temporary thing.”
“But why now?” Krause demanded. “When the Imperium faces its greatest threat ever?”
“From their viewpoint, it couldn’t be a better time,” Peller stated. To himself he thought, or a better time for me, either.
“But it’s left us without a quorum within the council,” Krause replied. “Lindon, Acren, Bar’oth, Plano, LaRoche, Wazinski,” she began, rattling off several High Councilor names, the ones who had left to join the breakaway planetary systems.
Peller was quick to raise a hand. “You do not have to recite the list to me. I’m aware of who has left and who has stayed.”
“Of course,” Krause replied quickly, seeing that she had caused ire with Peller. And that wasn’t something she wanted to do these days.
“My point was that until we can hold elections to fill their seats, we don’t have the legal authority to govern. The bureaucracy and military can function in a limited mode, but we don’t have the legal grounds to issue or change any laws that might be necessary.”
She stared straight ahead and her voice held a note of incredulity. “The Imperium is crumbling. Who knew that the Imperium was so weak, could fracture so easily?”
“Yes,” Peller muttered and hid a fleeting smug lift of his lips from Krause. “Who knew?”
Though he concealed his real feelings from his companion, inside, Peller was puffed up in pride and self-satisfaction. The years and years of bringing selected assembly members into his web had now paid off.
Of course, spreading certain false rumors that the High Council was in a panic, that Imperium forces were in full retreat and that their defensive plans called for protecting only the Inner Worlds had also paid dividends.
So, in a frenzy of near hysteria the assembly had voted to dissolve itself in favor of more decentralized control of their respective self-defense forces against the Mongan threat.
A stupid move, of course, but terrified individuals have a hard time seeing the truth through the fog of terror.
That left rule of the Inner Worlds, the richest and most powerful planetary systems, along with the Imperium military and governmental organizations under the High Council’s control.
And if Peller’s scheming continued to pay off, the High Council itself would soon come under his sole domination. He wasn’t there yet, but he was close, so very close.
Just then, there was a noise in the open courtyard. Peller and Krause turned and peered over the small, notched wall.
A phalanx of Imperium Honor Guardsmen marched in perfect synchronization. Their blood-red tunics blazed against the pavement’s white stone and their golden scabbard sheaths glinted in the setting sun’s rays.
Peller sniffed delicately as he watched the scene below. “Since those who have left the council have chosen their course, misguided as it is, we must turn our attention to taking the necessary steps to ensure the Inner Worlds’ safety.”
He made an emphatic gesture with one hand. “But we must consider the political and governing situation now as well.”
“But without the necessary quorum, what can we do?” Krause returned.
Peller considered her question and then gestured toward the guardsmen. “Consider our protectors, how perfectly organized and in lockstep they are.
“That was the state of the Imperium yesterday—its various pieces working in synchronization, our civilization melded together by profound laws with the capstone being the Grand Charter.”
He peered again at the honor guard as they went through their intricate and showy maneuvers with the changing of the guard.
“These guardsmen did not learn their precise steps, their perfect facings on their own. No, they had a teacher, a master disciplinarian who formed, sculpted them into a perfect union.
“Without such, they would be nothing more than a disorganized, ragtag band with no sense of purpose, or direction, unable to carry out the most basic functions of a military unit.”
Councilor Krause stared at Peller for several seconds. “And just what are you suggesting, Councilor Peller?”
She took the bait, Peller thought, but you must reel her in slow and easy, with only the slightest of pressure or she will throw the hook and leave you with nothing.
“I am suggesting,” Peller replied evenly, “t
hat we must consider carefully how to preserve the greatest, most magnificent civilization in humankind’s history from the grave danger that it confronts from both within and without.”
He raised his shoulders in a tiny shrug, “That’s all.”
Councilor Krause placed her hands on the smooth, waist-high wall and stared as the honor guard completed their task and marched from the courtyard. She gestured toward the disappearing soldiers.
“They never look to the left or right,” she murmured. “Each supremely confident of where their next step, their next facing will be. Steps precisely counted out, never a misstep, each article of their uniform in its proper place.”
She shook her head in consternation. “Their precision against the Imperium’s disarray, what a contrast.”
“But the question is,” Peller replied, “does it have to be this way? Do not the good citizens of the Imperium deserve better? Don’t they deserve someone who could restore order, restore security, and—” before he could finish a movement against a far wall caught his eye.
For a second, a figure dressed in black stepped from the shadows for him to see before retracing her steps into the gloom.
Peller immediately turned to Krause. “Will you excuse me, councilor? I see that one of my associates needs to speak with me. I’m sure that it will only take a moment.”
“Of course,” Krause replied.
Peller hurried over the ebony stones to where the woman waited. Her straw-colored hair contrasted with her dark outfit, but unlike his loud footsteps over the black pavers, she had made no sound when she appeared from the early-evening shadows.
With a nod of her head, she drew him around the corner, out of earshot and eyesight. “What—” he began, but her interruption was harsh and quick. “We’ve got trouble. Someone attacked our base in the passage.”
Peller stopped dead in his tracks. The surprise and shock were so great that he was speechless for several seconds. “That’s—that’s impossible,” he sputtered. “There must be some mistake.”
“There’s no mistake,” she answered emphatically. “We received one brief message from the base but they haven’t responded to our attempts to reestablish contact.”
“The SlipShip?” Peller demanded.
“I don’t know,” the woman answered. “The message said, ‘Attack on complex—’ and then nothing.”
“Any idea how and who?” Peller demanded. She shook her head in response.
Peller paced away, his hand covering his mouth. He had taken a huge gamble, made an assumption that his base in the Planemo Passage would be so out of sight, so hidden away, that it would be invisible to the Imperium’s prying eyes or anyone else’s.
He had stretched himself too thin, had too many pieces in play, and didn’t have the resources to place a more formidable guard at the base.
Counting on the base’s utter isolation as being its best protection, he was now paying for his miscalculation.
He pounded a fist against the cold, cobalt-colored wall. If this was true, then it was possible that he had lost the SlipShip. He spun around to the waiting woman. “What actions have you taken?”
“I’ve alerted our ships on Cerelus and Dena Two. They’re the closest. Eight ships ready to launch at your word.”
Storming away, Peller took several steps, his fists clenched in rage and fury. He whirled back to his Faction lieutenant. “The SlipShip was our answer to—”
Throwing his head back in anger, he brough a hand down to slam against the nearest wall. “And now it’s gone!”
“We don’t know that yet,” the woman replied firmly. “It could be that our men held them off but their communication’s array was destroyed or damaged in the attack, and they simply haven’t been able to make sufficient repairs.”
Peller stopped at her comment. Could that be possible?
If it were, then there was still the faintest hope of a grand fleet of hyperfold craft enforcing his will throughout civilized space and destroying any who challenged him, including the Mongans or Sha’anay.
“How soon until our ships can reach the complex?”
“Twenty hours,” she replied. “That galactic wanderer is a long way out.”
He straightened and faced her fully. “Give the order. In the meantime, find out what you can, I want to know who carried out the attack.”
“But” she interjected in haste, “you know it had to be the Imperium Navy. They’re the only ones who could project an attack force that far out in deep space.”
Peller nodded and replied slowly, “Yes, but if so, why is a naval vessel that far away from the fleet, who ordered them there, and how did they find out about my base?”
He stepped back, took a breath, and calmed his mind, using the knowledge that he might not have lost his queen in his grand chess game after all.
Abruptly, he changed the subject. “What about my envoys to the Mongans? Have they made contact?”
“They’re sending the message in a continuous, tight beam,” she replied. “But the Mongans haven’t responded. I’ve ordered them to stay on station until they get a reply.”
Peller considered her answer for a second and then ordered, “I want to know the instant the Mongans answer, is that clear?”
“Of course,” she replied.
His dark scowl caused his mouth to stretch out of shape as if it were made of putty. “In the meantime, I’ll work on this end to find out who ordered that attack on my base.”
He waved a bony finger at her. “Once I do, you make sure that that particular Navy ship gets listed as ‘destroyed in action.’”
Drawing in a deep breath, he let it out in a rush. “I’ll personally take care of whoever ordered the attack, and they’ll forever wish that they had never heard of the Planemo Passage.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Star date: 2443.098
Rendezvous Point, Pegasi System
“Tor’al’s on Earth,” Dason declared. “It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
Using his hand to make his point, he went on. “Remember what they told us on that moon? They were torturing the Sha’anay. Well, I think they did the same thing to Tor’al, but he was too tough, wouldn’t give them what they wanted.
“So, they drugged him with that slaver spit stuff, then used him to make the SimLife mold, and had him record in Sha’anay that speech the SimLife made to the High Council.”
Shifting in his chair, Brant looked around the group and scratched at his head. “If they had a live, pliable subject, it wouldn’t have been difficult to synch the SimLife’s speech patterns, head movements and so forth to match the Sha’anay.”
Brant turned to Doctor Baier. “Are you familiar with the Imperium’s current affairs, particularly the matter of the aliens known as the Sha’anay?”
“Somewhat,” the doctor replied. “Kardis may be on the outskirts of civilization, but we still get the news. I believe you’re referring to the alien that is some sort of an ambassador to the Imperium?”
“Exactly,” Brant answered. “His name is Elder Tor’al and among the Sha’anay, his race, he is of great importance. We believe that the Faction kidnapped him and now hold him captive.
“Our mission is to find the elder and return him to his people if we can. It’s a rather long story, but we’ve searched for him on several other worlds. We thought we had clues indicating that he might be on Pegasi Three.”
“And, that’s why you were in that complex,” Baier said. “You believed he was being held there?”
“That’s right,” Brant answered. “But we didn’t find him. What we found though, leads us to believe that the Faction made a SimLife replica of Tor’al. One that is so lifelike that it’s able to fool a lot of people, including the High Council.”
He gestured toward Dason. “If Scout Thorne’s hypothesis is correct, then our task is even more daunting.
“But before we get to that, let me ask, do you have any idea if the chemical composition you desc
ribed would affect an alien species as it does humans?”
Baier pursed his lips and stroked his beard as he answered, “Without knowing the baseline of their physiological and chemical nature that would be very difficult to say.”
“We’ve breathed their air,” Dason interjected, “drunk their water, eaten their food without being affected. Doesn’t that indicate that our makeups are similar?”
“Yes, to a point,” Baier agreed. “It would appear that they are a carbon-based species. If so, then Dioxyscopolamine could affect them in a similar manner. However, that doesn’t mean that they metabolize all chemical substances the same as we.
“For example, the chemical makes us psychologically pliable. But if a Sha’anay doesn’t metabolize it correctly it might turn the victim into a raging fiend, or, kill them outright.”
His words became sharp, angry. “To administer the substance to an extraterrestrial without first doing a complete medical workup would be playing a dangerous game that could have lethal consequences.”
Baier’s sobering words caused Dason to turn and to stare out the sylcron window at the other Zephyrs who floated off their port beam less than a hundred meters away.
Beyond them riding in the starry firmament was a majestic gas giant. Its six enormous alternating stripes of gold and aquamarine made it appear as if it were a giant holiday ornament hanging in space.
Several small planetary bodies in fast, tight orbits crossed in front of the huge orb, their shadows resembling tiny dark freckles that sped across the giant’s face.
Turning from the mesmerizing sight, Dason felt his insides churn, and he clenched and unclenched his fists at the thought that Tor’al, his friend and lifesaver, was in the hands of people who would act in such an inhuman way.
Dason had felt hot anger previously, but now there was a cold, resolute hatred that seemed to hold him in a viselike grip. He shook the feeling off to ask hoarsely, “Doctor, are the effects of the chemical reversible?”