Conquest and Empire (Stellar Conquest Series Book 5)

by David VanDyke

  Markis let his fists unclench, releasing Spectre’s jacket from his grip. “Nothing I can say will sway you, will it?”

  “Not in this instance. All of these people are scum. They’ve been mind-probed by juries of Blends to confirm their guilt. We don’t execute the innocent by mistake as was done in the past. They deserve to die. But don’t worry,” Spectre leaned forward to hiss, “there are always more criminals. You won’t run out. Back then, as Chairman of the Council of Earth, you had the luxury of sending the worst of them to me and I did your dirty work for you. This time, you’ll have to make your own policies and live with the consequences. Can you do that?”

  Markis turned his face back to the inexorable death marching along the line of prisoners.

  “Fire!” The crash of bullets echoed through the courtyard.

  “Yes. I can do that.” Markis took a deep breath. “It seems I have to.”

  Chapter 6

  Three months later.

  “How has ending capital punishment worked out so far?” Spectre asked Emperor Daniel Markis the First as they shared a dinner table.

  “Not so well, as you know,” Markis replied with a grimace. “The Antarctica prison facility is no picnic, but even so there’s been a spike in the number of incidents as the troublemakers are emboldened. Still, policy changes take time. I’m certain that eventually this will let some of the steam escape from the system. Once people see that violence doesn’t get them what they want, they’ll turn against the terrorists.”

  “No doubt you are right. The media is being very friendly to you right now, and the common people are behind you.”

  Markis snorted. “Of course they’re friendly. They’re all run by the state. One item on my long list of initiatives will be to allow private media outlets again, as well as to eliminate the sedition laws.”

  “All fine ideas.” Spectre toyed with his fork, idly dangling a piece of fettuccini on it.

  “But you don’t agree.”

  “If I didn’t agree, I’d still be Emperor. But you don’t have the staff you once did.”

  Markis sat back with a sigh. “I miss Cassie. She was in San Francisco when the Destroyers hit, with no access to a deep shelter. The coastal cities…”

  “A shame. She was a woman to respect.”

  “At least Millie is with me.”

  Spectre grimaced. “I’d trade a thousand good administrative assistants for one devious mind like Cassandra Johnstone.”

  “Nobody to compare among those you found here? Not even Blends?”

  “Blends too often take cheap shortcuts, using their extended abilities instead of their minds. I was a dangerous man long before I began my road to this current state. I try never to forget that this,” he tapped his head, “this is the most effective five pounds of flesh in existence.”

  “You’re doing superbly, running covert ops again.”

  “Covert ops and intelligence are often related, but are not the same thing. I have ample personnel that can conduct operations. My grandniece Naomi, for example. I do have one candidate, though you might have trouble convincing him to work for you. Then again, you might not.”

  Markis speared Spectre with his gaze. “You’re still intent on leaving?”

  “Yes. I’m bored, and when I get bored, I become cruel and depraved. You really don’t want me when I’m plumbing those depths.”

  “Where will you go?”

  “I’m not certain yet. I’ll be sure to let you know when I decide.” Spectre took a sip of wine.

  “Who’s this candidate for spymaster you have in mind?”

  “The leader of the Skulls. Raven. Or Charles Denham, if you prefer.”

  “Raven! He’s one of the people I need to rein in, not give more power.”

  Spectre raised his eyebrows. “Would he have more power as your spymaster or as lord of the Skulls?”

  Markis ran his hand along his jaw, lifting his chin in acknowledgement. “I take your point. It would be one step toward bringing him back into the fold by making him an insider.”

  “And separating him from his personal army, which also needs to be curbed. But you need to replace the Skulls with something else. You need an organization that’s yours, not a former bandit gang grafted onto the new Empire of Earth, and you need to do it soon. Before I leave, I believe.”

  “Because when you’re gone, people might believe me weak. At that point I might not be able to do away with the Skulls. I’ll be dependent on them.”

  “Yes.”

  “But who would that be?”

  Spectre smiled. “Whom do you already have available? There’s no need to reinvent the wheel.”

  “Everyone around me is a legacy of either your rule, the insurgency, or Meme rule.”

  “Who’ve been steadfast throughout everything? Who’ve remained professional despite all the changes?”

  Markis’ eyes turned upward. “EarthFleet. You want me to replace Skulls with Marines?”

  “Not Marines…at least, not as an organization, though I have one particular Marine in mind. No, the part of the fleet that most closely resembles the Skulls in function, if not in temperament, is…”

  “The Stewards! Of course! Do you think Absen will go for it?”

  “He’ll do what you say. Marines can fill in for flag officer protection until more Stewards are trained and built. You know, I’ve acted as one from time to time…”

  “I remember, Spooky. Spectre. Whatever. So you’ll take charge of transitioning the Skulls out and the Stewards in?”

  “Of course. Call it one final challenge.”

  ***

  “Not interested, Spooky,” Sergeant Major Jill Repeth said when she was summoned to the imperial palace to meet with Spectre. “Call yourself what you like; you’re the same old snake in the garden.”

  “Snakes have their places. They rid the grounds of vermin, allowing flowers and fruit to grow.”

  “I’m not going to out-talk you and your fancy metaphors, so I’ll just say no again and be on my way.”

  “You haven’t even heard my proposal.”

  “Whatever it is, the answer is still no.”

  “Perhaps someone else can persuade you.” Spectre opened an ornate door and gestured Jill to go through. With a sour glance, she did.

  “Good to see you again, Jill,” Daniel Markis said as he rose from behind the grand desk he’d inherited.

  Jill twirled her wheel cap on her fingers and glanced around at the overblown baroque decorations on walls and ceiling. The interior resembled nothing so much as an eighteenth-century French palace. “I’m too old and crusty to be impressed with crap like this, sir, and with all due respect, whatever job you want me for, I’m better off where I am.”

  Markis waved a hand in embarrassment. “I’ll have the decor redone to simpler tastes when we can spare the money and labor. In the meantime, please hear me out.”

  “For old times’ sake, sir, I’ll do that. But I’m not working for him.” Jill pointed at Spectre.

  “He won’t get anywhere near you, Jill, I guarantee. This isn’t a covert ops position. In fact, I’m drowning in hardened killers that enjoy plying their trades a bit too enthusiastically for my taste. I need you as a guard dog, not a trained wolf.”

  “Enough with the metaphors, for Pete’s sake. Can anyone in this palace speak plainly?”

  Markis smiled wickedly. “Sure. I’ll say it another way. I have to throw out the Brownshirts without creating an SS or a Gestapo.”

  Jill felt like she would explode, and almost did before the Chairman – the Emperor, she reminded herself – spoke.

  “Sorry, I’ve been hanging out with the Spookster too much.”

  In spite of herself, Jill laughed. “All right, sir. I’ll listen.”

  “Shoo,” Markis said to Spectre. “And take them with you.” He jerked his head at the armed Skulls standing in discrete corners.

  “Yes, my lord,” Spectre said with a show of sincerity Jill could ha
rdly credit, and the men withdrew.

  “I’m sure my office is bugged,” Markis sighed. “I only hope it’s by the right people. But that’s why I need you.”

  “Looks like you have more than enough security.”

  “Security doesn’t always make one safe.” Markis waved her to follow him out a set of glass double doors onto a terrace that overlooked elaborate gardens. He reached into his pocket, taking out what looked like a phone, pushed a couple of keys and then slipped it back into his jacket.

  “Bug squasher?”

  “Yup. Larry made it for me on the sly.”

  “You don’t trust your own people?”

  “The Skulls are Spectre’s, and once he’s gone, they owe their loyalty to Charles Denham, the man they call Raven. He’s just as dark as Spectre, but not as reasonable. I have to wonder how much power I’d really have if I had to rely on him too much.”

  Jill licked her lips. “You want me to run a PSD for you?”

  “Not only a personal security detachment. I’ve already spoken to Absen, and he’s approved an expansion of the Fleet Stewards. The common people know about them, recognize them and those blinding white uniforms. Hell, the masses watch adventure shows about them on the vids. There’s no one with a better reputation – unlike the Skulls, who started as heroes but lately have begun slipping into villainy.”

  “Why me? You’ve got a whole planet to draw from. You can find someone better.”

  “But none more trustworthy to me personally. This isn’t the good old days, where the Eden Plague bolstered the consciences of civilized people who were used to the power structures of representative republics. We’re back to the times of the Medici and the Borgia, of the intrigues of courts and kings, when personal loyalties trumped everything. Or we will be, if we let it get out of hand.” Markis turned to Jill, laying a hand on her elbow. “I need an iron fist in a velvet glove. I need you. Just for a while.”

  Jill swallowed and turned away, putting her cap down on the stone railing and gazing out over the sweet-smelling flower bushes of the gardens. “I can’t really refuse, can I?”

  “You can. I’m asking, not ordering. But the Stewards are going to replace the Skulls no matter what you do. If you won’t take charge of the transition, I’ll need you to give me a list of people with ironclad integrity…and they won’t be allowed a choice.”

  The two stood in silence for a few moments, until Jill said, “All right. I’ll give you three months, no more, and I’ll bring in some of the best people I know.”

  ***

  “Tobias said you wanted to talk to us, Sergeant Major?” Steward Michael “Shades” Schaeffer said to Jill Repeth after she let him and Steward John Clayton into her office in Conquest’s Marine country.

  “Call me Jill, please. You’re not Marines. And yes, I wanted to talk to you. Drink?”

  “Sure,” said Shades, removing the ubiquitous dark glasses that earned him his nickname. “Whatever you’re having.”

  “Not for me, thanks,” Clayton replied.

  “I remember. You’re a Mormon, right?”

  Clayton nodded.

  “Glad I’m not,” Shades said with a grin.

  “You’re not anything at all, so we people of faith got you outnumbered two to one, Shades,” Jill replied with a mischievous air.

  Shades held up his hands. “Okay, you win. Just don’t make me wear the magic underwear.”

  “Touché.” Jill gave Shades a plastic highball glass with three fingers of Martian whiskey, and handed Clayton a bottle of genuine apple juice. “To tough jobs and the people that gotta do them.”

  “I’m not sure I like the sound of that,” said Shades as he clinked and sipped.

  “You’re gonna like what I have to say even less, but I’m hoping you’ll back me up on this.” She reached behind her to pluck a sheet of hardcopy off her desk, giving it to Clayton.

  Once he skimmed it, he handed it to Shades and said, “An official edict from Markis appointing you to organize, train and equip an expansion of the EarthFleet Steward contingent.”

  “Have some respect for your Emperor, John,” Shades said, his eyelid twitching as he read the document.

  “The whole Empire thing is a bit silly, if you ask me,” Clayton replied.

  Jill said, “It’s not silly for the people that lived under the Meme Empire. After the Scourge attack, they needed something familiar to cling to. Spooky – I mean Spectre – set things up this way and now we’re stuck with them, at least until we put the Scourges back on their heels. I’ve spoken with Markis, and he’s already making policy changes to ease the current government back toward democracy.”

  “So why does he need more Stewards? I hear he’s wildly popular with the citizenry after Spectre stepped down. That guy is scary.”

  “It’s not the common folk that are the problem. It’s all the officials and bureaucrats that will lose out as things change, plus the crazies that will attack any government no matter what it looks like. And then there’s the Skulls…”

  Clayton growled. “Might as well call them what they are: thugs. They need to go.”

  “I agree,” Jill said. “That’s why we need something different to secure the Emperor, the palace, and the high-priority government facilities. Stewards. An institution that won’t have the stink of the purges on it, that won’t run prisons, conduct trials or publicly execute people. Those functions need to be separate from guarding and policing, and won’t be our problem.”

  “And you want us to, what? Join you in this?” Shades seemed skeptical.

  “Yes. I need a cadre of people I can rely on, starting with you two. I wish Absen had given up Tobias or he’d be here too, but that got shot down. I need Stewards I know and trust, which means I need you guys.”

  “But you’re a Marine.”

  “Not for the next three months, I’m not. I’m detached as a Steward again.” Jill opened the closet in her stateroom to reveal two sets of service whites. “I think I can still fit into them.”

  “I’m in,” Clayton said. “Even if I didn’t owe you my life, going all the way back to the McConleys’ farm, I like this idea. And, it’ll be nice to have a dirtside assignment for a while.” He looked over at Shades.

  “I don’t know, Jill. Training newbies? Not really my thing.”

  “They won’t be that new. We’ll have a couple of dozen line Stewards assigned to us and we’ll be screening applicants from all sorts of similar fields. Probably the majority will be Marines, because they already have cyberware, but there will be others – law enforcement, Ground Forces people, Fleet crew…and there are more we will need to recruit, such as Blends and technical specialists.”

  “Blends? You’re kidding, right?”

  “Nope,” Jill said. “There are thousands of them on Earth now, most children of the original Blends. Call them quarter-Meme, I guess. But the point is, they were born and raised here on Earth. They have Meme memories from their parents, but like any children of immigrants, they identify with the place of their birth. And, now that the Meme are our allies, there’s no reason to think they have divided loyalties. What they do have is a unique set of biological abilities that we’ll need to do our jobs. In fact…I hear that if you want to become a Blend, pretty soon you’ll be able to volunteer for it.”

  “Really? What, are more Meme looking for bodies?”

  “No, these will be made from blank Meme mitoses, with no minds inside. It will be like getting a biological upgrade package.”

  Shades laughed uneasily. “Are you doing it?”

  “Nope, but that’s a personal choice. If you’re interested, now’s your opportunity.”

  Shades pursed his lips while the other two stared at him. Eventually, he said, “Okay. I’ll do the three months at least. And I’ll think about the Blend thing.”

  “Excellent. Pack your bags and say your goodbyes, then. We leave tomorrow for Shepparton.”

  ***

  Accompanied by Clayton and S
hades, Chief Steward Repeth entered the barracks complex she’d been assigned. It resided within the walls of the Shepparton Palace. Black-clad Skulls scurried here and there carrying boxes and equipment.

  “Looks like they’re leaving in a hurry,” Clayton said. The departing inhabitants glared at the white-clad Stewards. “And they know we’re replacing them. I don’t think they’re happy.”

  “Not surprising. They’re being demoted, moved away from the center of power.”

  “At least they’re leaving peacefully,” said Shades. “You sure it’s a good idea for us to be here? We might provoke them,” he said as one of the Skulls deliberately threw a shoulder into him as he passed.

  Jill shrugged, staring after the retreating offender. “Spectre gave the orders. They’re being reorganized as a special ops unit under the authority of the Ground Forces. They’ll still get to go after the enemies of the people, but they won’t be nearly as much danger to the government itself.”

  “Markis is setting up checks and balances.”

  “Yes.” Jill led them through offices and hallways to a large gymnasium, mostly empty and deserted. “There’s a parade ground through that door. Once the rest of the Stewards join us, we’ll use these two large spaces, indoors and out, for our initial testing, which will be almost entirely psychological. We can implant any physical capabilities we want into people; it’s hearts and minds that we can’t manufacture. We’ll set up stations with interviews, questionnaires, leadership exercises, reaction tests – anything we can think of. The ones that pass, we’ll run through a further program to see if they’re Steward material.”

  “Okay.” Clayton hefted his bags. “Where do we bunk?”

  “Here, I’ll show you.” Jill led the two men down narrower corridors and into a barracks area. “We’ll take staterooms, as will the other Stewards. The trainees will sleep in the open bays, boot camp style.” She checked doors until she found the former commander’s quarters, still containing furniture, though it had been thoroughly emptied. Setting her bags on the floor, she gestured. “You guys get the rooms to the left and right.”