She stormed from the hut, out into torrential rain, and across the clearing to Xan Norri’s personal quarters in a longhouse the aborigines had built. Inside, the mecha designer, Vivik Bross, and Marla Stenik were all on their haunches around a fire whose smoke was slowly exiting through the sodden thatch.
“I’ll wager they switched the television back on as soon as you left,” Xan said after Seloy had explained what she had witnessed in the hut. “Nearly everyone in camp is watching the show. They might not be enslaved to her in the same way the males are, but they’re fascinated that one female—one tiny, seemingly guileless female at that—could wield such power over so many males.”
“Fascinated enough to willingly risk detection by the RDF,” Seloy said in disgust, squeezing water from her red hair. She walked in a circle. “I thought we were smarter than that. But, then, I never thought I’d see the day the RDF would create a Zentraedi Veritech squadron, either.”
“We are smarter,” Marla said. “But we’re not without faults and shortcomings.”
Seloy shot her a glance. “Don’t you dare rank us with them, Marla. They envy the powerful. All I want is revenge.”
“Power in another guise,” Marla countered.
Seloy maintained her gimlet stare. “A Zentraedi guise, at least. We’ll never succeed if we conduct ourselves like Humans. We might as well surrender to Anatole Leonard, or seek honorable death here and now. Kara-brek.”
Xan rose and went to Seloy, placing her hands on Deparra’s wet shoulders. “You contradict yourself, T’sen Deparra. There can be no honor in death until Humankind has been repaid in full for the humiliation it has heaped on our people.” She cracked a smile. “And rest assured, T’sen, I’ve discovered a way of doing that without having to rely on any of our comrades—male or female.”
“How?” Seloy asked. “Tell me.”
Xan’s smile blossomed sinisterly. “I’ve been studying Earth’s endless array of spiders, and they’ve given me an idea. In place of terror, we’re going to vector madness.”
In a mecha bay, forward in the much-altered flagship, Theofre Elmikk raised the audio gain on his headset earphones, impatient for word from his confederates that the inner hull of the factory satellite was breached and that the assault on the weightless ship had begun.
Elsewhere in the compartment, scattered among construction teams of Humans and Micronized Zentraedi, additional members of Elmikk’s rebel brigade were engaged in retrofit work. The bay—indeed the entire ship—was less populated than normal, owing to the premiere of Lynn-Minmei’s call-in show on the newly launched Lorelei Network. Excused from duty, hundreds of Zentraedi were gathered in front of giant TV screens or vying for use of the phones that could put them in direct communication with their idol. Even Exedore, Jevna Parl, and Breetai himself had announced that they would be attending a special screening of the show on level eight of the factory. As a result, the flagship was relatively deserted.
And ripe for seizing.
Elmikk’s mind and body were flooded with stimulants only the aroused Imperative could supply. Working in utmost secrecy, in stolen moments when they should have been dismantling derelict ships, his confederates had spent nearly a year cutting and boring a meandering passageway into the heart of the factory satellite. Heavy work drones—the 112-ton so-called “Mr. Arms” models—had helped open a portal in the outer hull, midships, between the three- and six-o’clock pods. From there, under the very eyes of hundreds of slumbering computer-controlled security robots, the passageway had been punched straight into the immense service chase that separated the satellite’s seventh and eighth levels. There, after passing through some partitions and bulkheads and zigzagging around others, it shot ship’s upward—close to where the drops of Protoculture cells had been made when Elmikk’s smuggling operation was up and running—to the edge of the null-g zone where the former flagship of Breetai’s battle group was being transformed into a crass replica of Zor’s fortress.
All along, Elmikk had been vigilant in his search for the proper moment to commandeer the ship. When he had learned about the inauguration of Lorelei Network, he took it as a good omen.
Just now, four Mr. Arms and two skeleton-crewed EVA vehicles were lasering a 200-by-200-foot-wide opening through the last remaining inch of the satellite’s inner membrane. Because the completed opening would immediately seal itself, there would be no turning back for the full-size Zentraedi tasked with storming the ship. While their EVA vehicles were attacking from the outside, Elmikk’s contingent would advance on the bridge, disabling the ship’s internal security en route. Just as their earlier efforts had been eased somewhat by the factory’s still-glitched central computer, the successful conclusion of the plan would owe something to the formation of the Twenty-third Squadron—most of the squadron’s pilots had been drawn from SDF-3 security, leaving trainees to fill in for hardened soldiers.
“Ferret team to control,” a familiar voice said through the earphones. “We’re committed.”
Elmikk employed a coded communications frequency to pass the word to his cohorts in the bay, and the effect was instantaneous: kicks from giant legs undermined scaffolding, sending scores of Humans plummeting to the deck; sweeps of giant arms and flicks from giant fingers sent scores more tumbling and sprawling; claps from giant hands flattened entire teams. At the same time, one full-size hurried across the bay to Elmikk and gently plucked him from the floor. Joined by three others, Elmikk’s runner raced for the levitation tube that accessed the bridge.
Before they had made it halfway, two of the four were brought down by SDF-3 security guards—the factory’s only armed Zentraedi. Nevertheless, Elmikk’s carrier and another managed to reach the tube unharmed. Elmikk knew from his years aboard the satellite that the guards at the upper-level stations were unarmed; more importantly, most of them had taken the day off. Success was assured, he told himself, hoping that luck was riding with the assault team outside the ship as well. The EVA vehicles were at least equipped with industrial lasers that could be used against any resistance.
When the levitation tube had deposited them at the forward end of the bridge, Elmikk instructed his carrier to set him on the elevated catwalk that ran aft to the command bubble. He then ordered his two full-size comrades to wait by the tube egress to intercept anyone in pursuit.
Only two tasks remained; maneuvering the flagship out of the factory and folding it to freedom. Once free of the satellite, the ship would slow only long enough to collect members of the brigade, along with any others who wanted in on the mutiny. As for the fold, Elmikk was confident he could execute the commands in correct sequence. Correct enough to steer them clear of stellar interiors, at any rate, if not jump them directly to Tirol. His confederates were ignorant of the fact that fail-safes hardwired into the fold systemry of all flagships ensured against hyperspace mishaps. Their ignorance served him well, however, since a properly executed fold would accord him with enough cachet to assume unchallenged command of the ship.
And wouldn’t Breetai and the rest be in for a surprise. Vilify Theofre Elmikk though they would, the Zentraedi would have to respect the brilliance and daring of his action.
Behind him, Elmikk heard the clamorous sounds of a struggle; then rapid bootsteps, which he assumed to be those of his full-size comrades. He had just begun to turn his head when he was snatched from the catwalk deck by the tall collar of his jacket and pressed to the transparent convexity of the eyelike command bubble. It was only then that he took note of Exedore and Jevna Parl, standing side by side in the now-Human-sized control center. When he finally managed to look behind him, Elmikk found Breetai’s one good eye glowering at him.
“Had you actually convinced yourself that you would succeed at this?” Exedore asked, advancing a step toward the transparency.
“You’re dead, Formo,” Elmikk snarled. “All of you—dead. The ship is ours. You’ll be sorry you’re not off listening to Minmei.”
Exedore looked past E
lmikk to Breetai and fingered a switch on a console that replicated one on the SDF-1. “Listen closely,” he advised.
Elmikk listened, but didn’t hear a thing.
Exedore cleared his throat. “Allow me to describe what you would be hearing if vacuum didn’t prevent the transmission of sonic waves: the sounds of your heavy work drones and EVA vehicles exploding. The agonized sounds of your confederates in the moments before death. The sounds of your dreams being torn asunder.”
Elmikk went slack in Breetai’s fingertip hold.
“Your apparent self-deception notwithstanding,” Exedore continued, “what made you think you possessed sufficient vigor to command a flagship?”
Elmikk’s mouth twisted out of shape. “I know all about the fold fail-safes, Forma. Vigor resides in the ship, not in the ship’s commander.”
Exedore cupped his chin with his right hand. “Again, you seem to have been misinformed. Command of a flagship is awarded only after one has demonstrated the ability to execute a fold in the absence of fail-safes. This ship has no such backup systemry, Elmikk. You and your brigade of mutineers would have ended your lives in the nuclear core of a star.”
Elmikk shut his eyes and kept them shut for a long moment; then, using his hands to angle himself away from the curved transparency, he risked a turn toward Breetai. “How did you know, T’sen Breetai? Who among my people betrayed me? Grant me that much peace of mind to see me to my doom.”
Breetai growled lightly. “I’ll grant this, Elmikk: Your treachery came to me in a scene.”
No sooner had Tomina Jepp announced the abduction of Lazlo Zand than her location was pinpointed and an encrypted call was placed from Lorelei headquarters in Tokyo to T. R. Edwards in Monument City. Once in receipt of all relevant data, Edwards placed three calls: one to the Special Operations Group’s chief-of-station in Sydney, Australia, the city closest to Jepp’s location; the second to the director of intelligence for the Army of the Southern Cross, in Brasília; and the third, placed some fifteen minutes later, to Niles Obstat, who immediately relayed the data to RDF Command.
Though tuned to Minmei’s show from the beginning, Rick Hunter didn’t receive confirmation on the source of Jepp’s call for almost two hours, and even then he was not apprised of how the call had been traced or which agency had traced it. Rick’s first action was to call Cavern City, where the Twenty-third Squadron was based, and place Jonathan Wolfe in charge of liaison between RDF Command and the Zentraedi Veritech team.
While all this was occurring, a crack Southern Cross squadron of reactor-driven LVT Adventurer II jet fighters was already airborne. Diplomatic protocols had already been seen to, and the squadron commander was in constant communication with Field Marshal Leonard and T. R. Edwards, who was receiving hourly updates from SOG’s COS in Sydney.
Having placed a second call to the Lorelei Network, during which she had issued the Claimers’ demands—the immediate release of Jinas Treng and Neela Saam—Jepp had been positively identified in the town of Alice Springs, in Australia’s Outback, and was under surveillance by operatives there. Confidence was high that Jepp would unknowingly guide the follow team to the Claimers’ base, and, presumably, to the spot where Lazlo Zand was being held.
The base was discovered to be a series of large caves in a feldspar-rich sandstone formation southeast of Ayer’s Rock, where the thirty-six members of the Zentraedi outlaw band were living in feral conditions. Scans by FLIR and an IFF device similar to the one employed by Destroids to discriminate between Zentraedi and Earth mecha revealed that Professor Zand, guarded by two Zentraedi females armed with pre-War assault rifles, was chained to the floor of a small cave more than a mile from the Claimers’ warren.
Under orders from Leonard, the fighter squadron struck at their target on arrival, loosing a dozen Decamissiles straight into the caves. It was doubtful the Claimers even knew what hit them. Zand was not so much rescued as saved by the faulty firing mechanism of the rifle one of his female captors had shoved down his throat shortly before she and her companion in the cave were shot to death by SOG operatives.
Ash was all that was left of the Claimers by the time the Twenty-third Squadron arrived on the scene. Tomina Jepp had been found on a dirt roadway ten miles west of Ayer’s Rock. The story went that, faced with captivity, she had committed suicide by setting fire to her vehicle and herself.
“None of the Little White Dragon videos and laser disks aboard the factory contain the scene you describe,” Lisa assured Breetai. “Every one of them was examined for signs of tampering, and the results were negative.”
“I know what I saw,” Breetai said.
“And no one is doubting you, Commander,” Exedore said quickly. “We simply have no explanation to offer.”
It was the day after the attempted skyjacking of the SDF-3, and the three of them, along with Jevna Parl, Harry Penn, R. Burke, and assorted security officers, were in the factory’s command center. Breetai was standing on the bridge, so positioned that his face was level with the command bubble.
“You’re certain the actor in the scene was Lynn-Kyle?” Burke asked.
“I have no doubt that it was Lynn-Kyle.”
Lisa shook her head in puzzlement, then turned to the chief of security for the factory. “Post photos of Kyle at all checkpoints, and conduct a compartment-by-compartment search of all levels of the factory. Also, I want a review of all background checks done on factory service personnel. And until further notice, no one is to go down the well without full authorization from station control, REF and RDF control, contagion control, and security control. Is that understood?”
The woman saluted. “But permit me to point out that the video Breetai watched ran over a month ago. The person responsible has had almost that long to arrange for departure. He or she might already be downside, Admiral.”
“Then find out if anyone has failed to report for duty, Captain,” Lisa said more harshly than she meant to.
“Sir!”
Lisa looked to a second officer. “Do we have casualty figures?”
“Six Human technicians and eight Micronized Zentraedi died as a result of injuries sustained in the mecha bay; eight Humans and four Zentraedi are in guarded condition in sick bay. Five Humans and three Zentraedi died in attacks on their tugs in the work zone. In addition, three full-size security personnel died inboard the SDF-3, and two others are in critical condition.”
“How many of Elmikk’s people were killed?”
“Our initial total was twenty-one—all but two in the work zone.”
“How many do we have in custody?”
The officer glanced at Breetai. “Until this morning we had fifty-six. That figure includes the twenty members of Elmikk’s labor crew who were outside the factory when the raid occurred.”
“Have the numbers changed since this morning?”
Again the officer looked at Breetai.
“I had all but Elmikk executed,” Breetai announced.
Everyone stared at him in mute horror until Jevna Parl said, “Commander, I must protest. You vowed there would be no executions without a consensus.”
Breetai was stone-faced. “As commander, it was my prerogative, Jevna. Elmikk’s confederates could not have been rehabilitated. We would certainly have had to deal with them in the future—perhaps with disastrous results.”
“But, Breetai,” Lisa managed. “The courts might have sentenced them to Micronization.”
Breetai sneered. “Need I remind you that the malcontent bands are made up of Micronized Zentraedi?”
“Of course not, but … All of this could have been avoided if you’d told me or any REF officer about Elmikk’s plan before he had the chance to carry it out. There still would have been a trial—and sentencing for the guilty.”
Exedore answered for Breetai. “With all due respect, Admiral Hayes, you miss the point. We Zentraedi do not comprehend the concept of punishment before the fact. Any plan, scheme, or strategy, no matter how pernicio
us, is only that until its execution. In other words, there is no crime in the planning. How, otherwise, would the Zentraedi have tolerated the likes of Khyron? Micronization, or some other form of corporal punishment, for a ‘thought crime’ would have been a greater cruelty than honorable death, and substantially more dangerous, ultimately. Consider the inordinate number of former Protectorate residents that have turned to suicide or acts of malcontentism. In the absence of any demonstrable wrongdoing, they have no understanding of what was forcibly done to them.”
Jevna Parl broke in. “You justify an outmoded barbarism, Exedore. The Zentraedi have changed; we are more than what we once were.”
“That had better be the case for every Zentraedi aboard this factory,” Breetai said balefully. “I confess that Elmikk fooled me. But I vow that I will not be dishonored a second time.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO
It was during her brief hospitalization for stress-related depression that [Katherine] Hyson met Crystal Simmenz, the woman who would become her lover and companion. A close cousin of Leonard’s adjutant, Joseph Petrie, Simmenz, living then in Brasília and flirting with the fledgling Zentraedi-rights movement, is now known to have been the person who “recruited” Seloy Deparra for Leonard. The story goes that Leonard, months into the affair, had ordered Simmenz disappeared, along with those who had assisted in Deparra’s artificial insemination. But Petrie intervened, and Simmenz was instead sentenced to spend the next several years on the locked wards of a variety of mental health facilities. How she reached Monument City Hospital, where she encountered Hyson in the spring of 2018, is unknown. Hyson wrote an e-book about Simmenz’s allegations that did not find a publisher until 2050, when Anatole Leonard’s relationship with Deparra was corroborated by the discovery of the Supreme Commander’s private journals, and Miriya Parina Sterling finally revealed what she knew about Deparra and the hybrid child, Hirano.
The Zentraedi Rebellion Page 28