A soft scraping alerted him that he was no longer alone on the catwalk. He dropped the scope and rolled, reaching for his weapon just as he felt an impact against the base of his head, below his right ear. His skull, reinforced with a stacked lattice of single-layer magic-angle carbyne, or MAC, was virtually impenetrable, although the momentum transferred by the impact hurt and it bled like hell.
His hand scrabbled for the weapon as he kicked out, noting as he did so that his transmission had been cut off. Whatever he’d been hit with must have had a suppression web attached to it.
His foot met air as the Akkadian woman sidestepped. He flung the duffel he’d been using to prop the scope at her head, and twisted, reaching to reacquire his weapon.
A soft click and a whoosh sounded as he did. His brain catalogued the sound as that of a pressurized cartridge powering a flechette pistol at the same time searing pain traced its way across his lower back and up through his bicep.
His arm flopped uselessly beside him, victim of the vaned, pointed-steel projectiles the weapon had fired. A nauseating agony settled where his kidney had once been before the nano reserves controlled by his SI implant began triaging his body. Blessed numbness descended as pain-blocking medication was pumped into his system.
The stimulant that automatically triggered on the heels of the anesthetic was intended to provide the necessary boost to help him evade his opponent and get to safety. It might have been effective had another round of the tiny metal arrows not torn through his back.
His mind distantly registered that the pool of warmth spreading beneath him was his own blood. He commanded his body to move—and realized he was paralyzed.
His head rolled to one side, his cheek coming to rest against the cold deck of the catwalk, the woman’s form blurring as he blinked away the blood dripping into his eye. She crouched beside him, nudging him with the barrel of her weapon as if annoyed that he was taking so long to die.
The agent’s SI flashed a warning onto his retina that his wounds required immediate intervention. He wheezed a laugh at the obviousness of that statement. Like he could do anything about it at the moment.
The woman stood, holstered her weapon, and turned to walk away. As her steps receded from his hearing, he heard the plink of something dropping nearby, but could not turn his head to see what it was.
A deep chill settled into his core, and he found his mind wandering. An image of his wife and son drifted across his consciousness, a vague remorse coloring his thoughts.
His eyelids fluttered closed, his body succumbing to the injuries inflicted. As he drew his last breath, a single tear slipped from the corner of one eye, trailing across his cheek and dripping onto the catwalk to mingle with the ever-widening pool of blood.
POWER PLAY
Headquarters, Ministry of State Security
Central Prefecture, Eridu
Akkadian Empire (Alpha Centauri A)
Citizen General Che Josza hadn’t seen the inside of the State Security building in months. Eight and a half, to be exact.
The last time he’d walked its halls, he’d been brought before the minister of state security, Rin Zhou Enlai, to explain his failure to acquire the Alliance materials stolen from Luyten’s Star. The minister had allowed him to keep his position as the leader of the Junxun, but had reduced his rank from general first-class to general third-class.
The demotion made his job difficult, doubly so since his humiliation was public record. Anyone in the Junxun could access it.
The Junxun, or military training regimen, was compulsory for all citizens. Its curriculum was Che’s creation. All Akkadians of age were required to spend the first year of their adult lives under his tutelage. It was a crucible of indoctrination, a way to forge young minds and bodies into the perfect weapons the State could wield.
Che had a talent for finding the most gifted among them, but his skills had been sorely tested in recent months.
His students did not know of his sins; they only knew he’d been demoted. Some took this to mean he was unworthy, as life had not yet tempered the hubris of their youth. They’d not faced their first real trial, did not understand that sometimes a battle was unwinnable. These were the ones who tried him and found him wanting.
It was difficult indeed to refine the edge of the carbyne blade when the blade itself refused to cooperate.
Rin Zhou knew this, of course. It was part of the punishment she had meted out. He thought he’d accepted it with stoic equanimity, gratitude even. His behavior since that time had been exemplary. He’d carefully avoided the spotlight, toed the line, rendered his obeisance with dignity and respect. Or so he thought.
He strode down the cold, stark corridors, keeping pace with the guard sent to escort him to the minister’s chambers. The escort symbolized another privilege that had been stripped from him during his demotion, as only generals first-class were granted clearance to enter the State Security Building unescorted.
Outwardly, his countenance remained impassive. Inwardly, his mind worked feverishly to figure out what he’d done, where he’d gone wrong.
He could think of nothing.
Che’s thoughts drifted to his small holdings, just outside Central Prefecture—all that remained of his fortunes since his fall from grace. He wondered if he’d be returning to his home, or if that, too, would be stripped from him.
Perhaps this time, his luck had finally run out.
What luck? he asked himself bitterly. Surely what little I had abandoned me on that suns-cursed station in Procyon nine months ago.
The imperialist bastards who ran the Geminate Alliance had waged an aggressive campaign against the small tactical team he’d led that day.
It should have been a simple extraction. An in-and-out job. Retrieve a valuable sample case filled with research material carefully culled from deGrasse torus. Bring it back to Akkadia, where it would be used to further the empire’s goals.
His decision to oversee the operation personally was one he deeply regretted. Had he stayed behind on Eridu, he could have distanced himself from the operation, cast blame upon the ones who led in his stead. But this was a high-profile case, one that held the minister’s complete attention.
He’d rolled the dice, thinking it was a sure bet. He’d lost. The stolen material had slipped through his fingers, and he’d been left to bear the burden of responsibility.
Part of him had been surprised to come out the other end with his life. Another part recognized that Rin Zhou was harsh, but fair—more so than any of her predecessors he’d worked with during his career. She knew, as well as he, that the weak link in the operation had been the sleeper agent they’d activated.
Clint Janus was both a narcissist and a sociopath, and just a little bit unhinged. The man had nearly cost Che his very best agent, Dacina Zian, his Fierce Dagger.
The assassin he’d assigned to Janus as his handler was very nearly lost to him—and for what? An egocentric scientist whose goals only aligned with his motherland when he found it convenient.
Che allowed a small, grim smile to play about his lips. His Dacina had taken care of that last. She’d run Janus through a deep indoctrination program during their return voyage. The man would not soon slip his leash.
Small comfort, at this point. His mind returned to his current problems and he wondered anew why he still lived.
Likely, she thinks death would be too much of a mercy, he thought with asperity. Living with shame in Akkadian culture, to lose face… Death was preferable.
His musings crashed to an abrupt halt as they stopped before the minister’s office suite. The Synthetic Intelligence embedded in his skull proffered his security token to the SI that stood guard over Rin Zhou’s chambers. Once accepted, the doors slid silently open.
The guard retreated, leaving Che alone to face his minister.
His pulse thundered in his ears, testament to the tenuous nature of the situation. He stepped forward, the doors sliding shut behind him.
/> The minister stood before a floor-to-ceiling expanse of clearsteel windows, looking out over the hazy skyline. Beyond her, Che could just make out the silver ribbon of the planet’s main space elevator glinting in the distance.
Rin Zhou looked up as he halted just inside the entrance. With an impatient wave of her hand, she motioned him forward.
He found his feet responding instinctively to the unspoken demand. “Minister,” he murmured, head bowed.
“Citizen General,” she said. “Your premier has need of your services once more.”
He looked up at that. His surprise must have shown; it brought unexpected humor to her eyes.
Lips twitching slightly in amusement, she asked, “Not what you anticipated?”
Che chose to be candid. “No, Citizen Minister. Given my circumstances….” He let his voice trail off, and she nodded her understanding.
Rin Zhou waved him to a low table where the setting for a ritual pour had already been laid. He settled into the cushion she indicated and waited for her to join him. To his utter shock, she picked up the steaming carafe of water and began the service herself.
“I….” His voice trailed off.
They were in uncharted territory.
He swallowed, his gaze locked on her hand as it wove gently over the freshly-ground coffee, swirling the water in smooth arcs. He tried again. “Citizen Minister, please. Allow me.” His lifted hand froze as she brought her free hand up sharply.
“Is it not true that all Akkadians are equal?”
“I—Yes, but….”
How does one refute the party line to one’s superior? Everyone knew some were more ‘equal’ than others. There would always be the need for leadership, and yet—
“As Minister of State Security, all Akkadians are in my charge,” Rin Zhou continued, tone mild. Her eyes cut sharply to meet his. “Even those who have fallen and are working to atone.”
He inclined his head respectfully.
There was nothing he could say to that, nothing at all.
Rin Zhou finished the ritual pour and sank gracefully into the cushion across from him. He waited for her to pick up her own cup, hand waving gently across its surface to release its aroma. It was customary to inhale prior to the first sip; it prepared the mind to properly appreciate the drink.
He followed suit, his hand bringing the coffee’s bouquet wafting to him. He breathed the bean, his hand lifting the cup.
“You said the premier has need of me,” he began carefully, after his first swallow. “How may I be of service, beyond the training of the Junxun?”
Rin Zhou sipped thoughtfully, taking her time before she replied. Her mouth moved, tongue rolling the coffee around to experience its full flavor profile before swallowing. When her words came, they weren’t an answer to his question. Instead, they posed another, more disturbing one.
“How far would you go, Che Josza, to restore your honor, I wonder?” she mused. “Would you embark upon an unsanctioned mission, one the premier would surely disavow, should news of it reach his ears?”
Che’s hand stilled, cup halfway to his lips. Very carefully, he set the cup back down. His hand smoothed the fine linen serviette lying to one side of the ritual place setting, his mind racing.
The minister was well aware of his service record. She knew Che was an exceptional tactician. The number of complex, high-risk missions he’d successfully completed on the people’s behalf were known only to a select few, due to their sensitivity.
The recent, more public failure that had forced his demotion hadn’t been his fault, and yet he’d been made scapegoat. It had been necessary at the time to lay the blame at his feet, for to cast the blame on the one truly responsible would have meant burning two very high-value assets embedded within the Geminate government, and the cost had been deemed too high.
It was Che who had ended up paying the price. Was the minister’s question, then, a way by which he might publicly ‘redeem’ himself, and reattain that which he had lost?
“I would take on any task, regardless of its difficulty, if it served the people.” His words came slowly as he measured each one out. “My life is Akkadia’s. It would be an honor to spend it in her service, Citizen Minister. I would hope you know that.”
Rin Zhou nodded, and he saw satisfaction blazing in her eyes. “Good,” she said, the flat of her free hand coming down to slap sharply against the table’s surface.
The action triggered a series of preset functions the room’s Synthetic Intelligence was programmed to execute. Che suddenly found himself cut off from both the planetary net and the encrypted people’s military subnet.
They were alone, he and the minister, encased in a provisional SCIF.
The silence, as it was said, was deafening. Sensitive, Compartmentalized Information Facilities were invoked only in the handling of extremely classified material.
What am I getting myself into? The thought flitted through his head as she began to speak.
“As you know, the premier is closing in on his two hundredth birth date.”
She lapsed into silence, one brow raised expectantly.
Che considered her words, turning over what he knew of the premier. This was the man who had wrested control from the floundering of the colony’s original settlers when it had become clear that the financial impact of the Calabi-Yau gates was decimating Eridu’s economy.
The man had singlehandedly forced Akkadia into a new world order. He’d marshaled the disenfranchised, the desperate, and the homeless into an army, overthrown those who held office, and established martial law.
The new Akkadia was a world where everyone was equal and each citizen worked toward the betterment of the colony—or they were quietly disappeared. Only the strong survived; the premier hammered that into the minds of impressionable youth, along with the maxim that hard work and service to the homeland were what made life sweet.
The premier’s brute force approach had been harsh, but the planet had survived. More, the military under the premier’s guidance had become aggressive and expansionist, appropriating privately held business concerns that worked nearby asteroid mines. The monies that came from such ventures funded the struggling colony until Eridu’s infrastructure adjusted to the totalitarian regime the premier had put into place.
His advanced age was something no one ever spoke about openly, but there had been much speculation about who would succeed him, and when. He had a daughter, Yachi. The woman cut her teeth on statesmanship, learning the art of political warfare at her father’s knee. Everyone knew she was destined to be her father’s successor, next in line for the premiership, but had assumed a peaceful transfer of power would ensue at some point.
Che jerked his head back, eyes narrowing. “Yachi will challenge?”
Rin Zhou shook her head slowly. “There will be no challenge,” she said slowly. “There is another whose aspirations eclipse hers.”
Che’s brows drew down. “Who?”
“The ministry has already intercepted two assassins who were foolhardy enough to accept a contract for the premier’s life.” Rin Zhou gestured to his cup as she lifted her own. “We interrogated them. It turns out they had been hired by Asher Dent.”
Che rocked back on his cushion in surprise. “Your predecessor’s son.”
Rin Zhou nodded.
“But Dent chose to run for Akkadia’s seat in the Coalition’s General Assembly. He has power, influence.”
The minister nodded again. “That does not negate a bid for premier.”
“He’s the minority leader for the Coalition of Worlds. He’s made no secret of his ambition. His stated goal has always been to become council president.”
Rin Zhou smiled. It did not reach her eyes. “His stated goal, yes.”
Che gestured ineffectually with one hand. “Why would he try for the premiership when he could hold sway over far more than just one world? Council president would bring him much greater influence than Akkadian premier.”
/> Leaning forward, the minister clasped her hands around her steaming cup. “He doesn’t see it that way, I’m told. Power within the council is a much different thing than the authority of the premiership. Here, on this planet, the premier’s word is absolute. The General Assembly, on the other hand, was established with a set of checks and balances. The president’s position can be overruled, his decisions questioned.”
Reluctant understanding flared.
“I see,” Che murmured. “You’re right, of course. But what does any of this have to do with me?”
“Power has always been something Asher sought. He craves it. It was seared into his brain, branded there by his parent at a very early age.” Rin Zhou lifted her coffee’s stir stick and began to draw it through the hot liquid in a lazy figure-eight. “In order to ensure Yachi inherits her father’s position, we must act preemptively.”
“You intend to back her?”
Rin Zhou looked directly into his eyes. “She will need a great deal of guidance. Advisors she can trust.”
Everything came into focus with sudden clarity. Rin Zhou wasn’t concerned about preserving Yachi’s rightful place; she intended to make the woman her puppet, to rule from the shadows.
The only question now was, would Che back Rin Zhou’s power play, or not?
Che sipped at his drink as he thought through everything he’d been told. It was no secret that Rin Zhou had a hand in ousting the previous minister of state security. If Dent were to succeed in his bid for premier, Rin Zhou’s career—most likely her life—would be measured in days, if not hours.
For better or worse, Che’s own career was closely tied to that of Rin Zhou. If she went down, he certainly would, too.
“What do you propose?” he asked.
Something shifted in Rin Zhou’s expression, her eyes gleaming in the soft glow of her office’s muted light. It caused the hair on the back of Che’s neck to stand on end.
“An operation that will assure Akkadia’s military supremacy while dealing our sister colonies a crippling blow,” she stated. “A success of such magnitude, orchestrated by the premier’s daughter, would make Yachi untouchable.”
The Chiral Protocol – A Military Science Fiction Thriller: Biogenesis War Book 2 (The Biogenesis War) Page 2