“Chaz, I’m leaving for Sarissa tomorrow. Vice Admiral Padilla will take command in my absence.”
“Not Admiral Tovar?” he blurted out, realizing instantly that he had made a tactical blunder.
Maxon lowered her eyebrows, eyes squinting. “No, not Tovar—Padilla.” She stopped to let that sink in and then leaned back, relaxing a bit. “When I arrive in Esterkeep, I’m going to introduce a resolution before the Directorate to formally change the name of the Union to the Sarissan Empire.” She paused, inviting some reaction from Pettigrew. When there was none, she continued.
“Commodore, there are only six-hundred million people left in the universe. They need to be united, especially if these aliens the Earthers speak of are real. Sarissa will become the first interstellar empire in human history, and it will lead humankind into a golden age. ”
“Impressive, ma’am,” Pettigrew finally said, trying to conceal his astonishment. “Of course, Admiral, I don’t know much about politics. Do you think First Consul Darracott will support this?”
“Renata Darracott will come around—one way or another,” she said harshly. After a few seconds, she smiled at him. “I’m having a small get-together with Reuben Padilla and a few of his staff this evening. Why don’t you stay here on the Grand Weichert tonight and join us? I’d like to share my vision of our future with you and the others.”
“I’d be honored, ma’am, but my pilot will need quarters.”
“Don’t worry, Commodore. After all, this is a resort station, and it just so happens we have a few vacancies.”
34: Ascendancy
Koenig Manor
Esterkeep
Planet Sarissa
“Thank you, Captain Vickery. We’ve gathered in the Ryouta Room—send him on up,” said Renata Darracott softly into her mobile. Turning to the others, she glanced at the clock on the wall. It read 03:12. “He’s finally here.”
They would all soon learn what it was that prompted Chief of Staff Boyer to create such a fuss. He had awakened the First Consul in the middle of the night, calling to say that he had extraordinary news and needed an immediate meeting upon his arrival at Koenig Manor. Both Colonel Flood and Karl Gideon had been summoned as well, with Gideon making the crosstown trek from his Esterkeep penthouse.
“Boyer has been off-world, hasn’t he, Rennie?” asked Gideon with a bit of a yawn. He was fishing for information. Both he and Flood knew Bennett Boyer had gone on a sudden interstellar errand for the First Consul, but neither had been informed as to the nature of the trip. The whole thing puzzled Karl, and Flood was absolutely beside herself. The security chief knew everything that went on around Koenig Manor and was more than a little vexed that she was not given the details of Boyer’s unexpected journey off-world.
Darracott chose to ignore Gideon’s question, pulling her heavy robe tighter around her body and closing her eyes. Outside, the cold winds and snow of winter had subsided, giving way to the warmer days of spring. The nights however continued to be frigid. Even in the comfort of her home, she still felt cold. The chill of her Odessan childhood seemed to be reaching through time, space, and walls to give her an unwelcome embrace.
The door opened, and her Chief of Staff entered. Underneath Bennett Boyer’s facade as the eccentric professor, he was a sharp political operative. One look at the urgency on his face, and Darracott knew something was very wrong.
Before Boyer had a chance to sit down, Merritt appeared on the scene, rolling in a cart containing coffee, juices, and yogurt cubes for a late-night snack. Boyer grabbed a cup of coffee and consumed it in nearly one gulp.
“Humanity would never have gotten into space without coffee,” he declared, raising the cup again to put away the last drop. “The wheel was probably invented by a bunch of cavemen sitting up late one night drinking coffee.”
“Speaking of late at night,” said Darracott impatiently, “I had a very long and tiring meeting with folks from Treasury last night and just got to bed about two hours ago. Bennett, please tell us what is so important that it couldn’t wait until morning.”
The Chief of Staff put his empty cup down and collected himself. “I was traveling back to Sarissa after completing that, um, assignment for you, Excellency.” Boyer looked around uneasily, not knowing how much to say about his errand.
“Yes, yes—go on,” prodded Darracott.
“Anyway, I began to receive certain information via my mobile. I did some discreet checking around to confirm what I was being told, and it’s just—incredible.” The Chief of Staff was visibly rattled. He started to reach for another coffee and then thought better of it.
“What’s incredible, Professor?” asked Gideon gently, trying to coax the older man to the point.
Boyer sat up straight and placed his hands on his knees. “Channa Maxon is on her way back to the capital. She intends to have the Directorate rename the Union.”
“I’m sorry,” interrupted Flood. “I don’t understand—what do you mean rename the Union?”
“We are to become the Sarissan Empire.”
Darracott, Flood, and Gideon looked around at each other. “This is why we are meeting at three in the morning?” Darracott said incredulously. “She’ll never get the votes to do something that… weird.”
“She already has the votes,” stated Boyer. “But that’s not why we’re meeting.”
Flood reached to grab a glass of taffberry juice from Merritt’s tray. “Spit it out, Professor, it’s late” she grumbled.
Boyer surveyed the three of them, then fixed his eyes squarely onto Darracott. “An empire needs an empress,” he said. “That would be you.”
Gideon burst out laughing. “Oh, Professor, someone’s playing a practical joke on you!” the industrialist chuckled, but seeing the serious faces on Darracott and Flood, he wasn’t so sure. “Aren’t they?”
“How do you know all of this, Professor?” asked Flood.
“You might not be aware of it, but sandwiched between stints at Branwyn University, I was a civilian instructor at the Space Force Academy in Acworth for almost a decade. Between the two schools, I’ve developed a rather large network of ex-students, many of whom pass information on to me from time to time. One of my very best former students is posted in the Eupraxa system right now with Seventh Fleet.”
“And Bennett, this source of yours is good?” asked Darracott.
“Irreproachable.”
Gideon’s smile returned to his face. “Well, this is wonderful news, isn’t it? Empress of an intergalactic empire—that’s about as good as it gets… right?”
“Congratulations, ma’am,” said Flood. “All of Odessa will be proud.”
Flood and Gideon looked at each other, then back at Darracott and Boyer. The First Consul and her Chief of Staff must have looked like someone had just died.
“What am I missing here?” Gideon asked.
“It’s not a promotion, Karl—it’s relegation,” said Darracott in a bitter voice. “Channa wants to, what was the old phrase… kick me upstairs.” The more ceremony attached to your position, the less actual power you have.
Boyer refilled his coffee cup. “For much of human history positions of royalty, such as empress and queen, have been ceremonial in nature. I believe Fleet Admiral Maxon is trying to push Her Excellency into the position of a figurehead, while Maxon calls the shots as the head of the Directorate. She will probably try to take over the consulship.”
“And she has the votes?” Darracott quizzed Boyer.
He nodded. “That’s what my sources tell me.”
“Then just decline,” said Flood. “Tell the Directorate that you’re not worthy of such an esteemed honor.”
Boyer shook his head. “It’s not that simple. If she turns down the honor, then Maxon might grab the monarchy for herself. If you’re an empress who also controls a space force, then the position becomes more than ceremonial.”
“Well, it’s not too late to join the Zevkov expedition,” said Flood,
wearing a cynical expression.
“That’s not funny,” snapped Darracott glaring straight ahead in concentration.
“It wasn’t meant to be,” said the colonel. “Excellency, if what the Professor says is true, then you must accept this position. If you don’t, you may find yourself living out your days in exile.”
Flood is right. My so-called ‘friend’ has laid a trap for me. If I accept this honor, I become irrelevant and she wins. If I decline, she grabs the throne for herself and no doubt dismisses me as First Consul—or worse.
She stood and walked to the fireplace mantel, clutching her robe snugly to her body. “We all thought the danger was Roman Zevkov, and it turns out the biggest threat of all was standing right next to me. I should have seen this coming.”
“You could dismiss her,” said Gideon. “Promote someone else to be Supreme Commander.”
“That would be almost impossible,” countered Boyer.
“Almost, but not totally,” Flood put in. “The Army would support us.”
Boyer looked skeptical. “Are you sure about Field Marshal Stavrianos?”
“No, but he doesn’t carry the weight he used to. General Hinojosa is the key, and I’m certain he would be on our side.”
The Professor pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes, trying to focus. “As far as the space force goes, I know we could count on the support of Wallenstein and Tovar.”
“What about Sykes?” asked Flood.
Darracott wheeled on her companions, arms akimbo. “Enough of this! Stop it, before I arrest the lot of you for treason myself. I will not plunge this starhold into civil war.”
Boyer looked chastened—Flood less so.
The First Consul composed herself. “Bennett, get a few hours sleep, then early this morning contact Jason Tolbert and Haywood Preiss. Have them come here for a quick meeting. Keep everything off the books.”
“Can we trust them?” asked Flood.
“We have to trust someone,” said Darracott. “But I take your point. Flood, tomorrow—err, today, that is—I want you and Captain Vickery to run a security check on everyone that works here at Koenig Manor. We may have someone around us whispering in Channa Maxon’s ear.”
“It will be done, ma’am.”
“Now, everyone go to bed,” she said in a weary voice.
Boyer and Flood vacated the room leaving Darracott and Gideon, who walked across the room to join her in front of the fireplace. He stood behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, leaning his head forward to nuzzle against hers.
“What do you think, my love?” she asked, placing her hands on his arms. “It’s a clever trap. The question is—do I zig, or do I zag?”
“What if you did neither? What if we just ran away?”
Darracott laughed, turning around to face him. As she looked into his eyes, it dawned on her that he was serious.
“Why not?” he asked. “I have the money, the resources. We could go anywhere in the Sector and live out our lives in luxury and peace. No politics, no wars, no Board of Directors on my ass…” Despite the gravity of the situation, the last remark made her smile.
“That’s what adults always fantasize, isn’t it? Escaping into a new life,” Darracott said. “Sounds wonderful, but you know I don’t run away from things. Besides, you have commitments here on Sarissa—your company, your son.”
Gideon took a deep breath. “Yeah, my son,” he said in frustration. “You know what that situation is like. His mother has poisoned him against me—Khadeen won’t even speak to me. No, after my divorce from Alyssa, I hadn’t really been close to anyone until I met you.” He paused, lightly stroking his fingers against her cheek. “I’ll support whatever decision you make—just as long as I don’t lose you.” He gave her a kiss, and she placed her head on his shoulder.
“It’s you that should run away, Karl—far away from me,” she said, causing him to back away slightly so he could see her face. “Two years ago, I stood here—right on this very spot—in the arms of another man. The next day, he was dead.” She shivered at the thought of Victor Polanco’s assassination. “Karl, if you stay with me, it could be dangerous.”
“Renata, I’ve always known you were a dangerous woman,” he teased. “No, you’re not getting rid of me—ever.” Kissing her tenderly on the cheek, he held her for a long moment before letting go. “Speaking of not getting rid of me, do you mind if I crash here for the rest of the night?”
“That’s fine,” she said sitting down once again.
“Not coming to bed?”
“I need to think for a bit.” Gideon walked to her, bent down and kissed her forehead, and then withdrew to salvage what remained of the night’s sleep.
Pulling her robe up around her, the fantasy of running away from it all quickly flashed through her mind. It was a tempting thought, living out life with the man she loved on some remote planet—preferably, some warm planet.
35: Return
Olybrian Freighter Winyah
Hyperspace
The Winyah seemed like a luxury starliner to Frank Carr, although truth be told, it was almost as old and grimy as Pyramus, the dilapidated Narvan freighter on which this journey began. However, the circumstances were significantly different than they had been two months ago. The Union operatives were now traveling to Earth, not Cardea, after having successfully completed their mission. He and Sanchez were alive and together—both unlikely outcomes at the beginning of this assignment.
“I was just on FTL with Admiral Tovar’s intel officer—still no word on Lucky or Julian,” said Etta Sanchez as she slipped into their small cabin. Carr was lounging on the bunk, back to the bulkhead as he skimmed through an old detective novel on a reading pad he had borrowed from one of the crew. On a four-week hyperspace journey, entertainment was where you found it.
“He told me they’d keep trying,” she said, leaning against the door after she closed it behind her. “Things are really chaotic on the planet right now because of the blockade. The military has silenced all of the sats above Gerrha except for the Nets they’re pumping propaganda on, so right now it’s hard to locate particular individuals.”
Carr put the reader aside. “No comm calls, no e-money transactions, no entertainment Nets—most people probably feel like they’re back in the Stone Age.”
He didn’t ask, but the question must have been written on his face. “No word on Eden either,” added Sanchez. “Carr, you don’t actually think that Eden Southwell could have been Casca, do you?”
He brushed aside her question, choosing to change the subject instead. “How’s Dr. Acree doing?”
“Good. He’s feeling better with each day, and the engineers on Paladin gave him enough tech manuals to keep him happy for a while,” she reported. “Acree is doing better than we will be after Director Tolbert gets hold of us. Taking the doctor directly to Earth in violation of orders… Gods, we’ll be lucky if they don’t discharge us from the service.”
“We both know the chances weren’t good for Acree to make it home if we took him back to Sarissa,” Carr said. “I have to say, it was damn convenient that Admiral Tovar didn’t check with OMI before releasing us.”
Sanchez shrugged. “Well, we didn’t exactly lie. When they asked us about Acree, we said he was an Earth doctor who helped us escape from the surface of Kition. Strictly speaking, that’s the truth.”
“Yeah, but you’d think they’d at least check with Fleet Command before letting us go on our way. Tovar even arranged for us to hop this freighter back to Earth. It was almost like she couldn’t wait to get rid of us.”
“Maybe she knew more about us and our mission than she was letting on,” said Sanchez. “Could be she shared your concerns about taking Acree back to Sarissa. Also, word around the fleet is that Tovar and Maxon don’t always see eye to eye. Maybe she just didn’t want to deal with Fleet Command.”
Carr rested his head against the bulkhead. “Yeah, maybe. Anyway, about the Director.
We accepted this mission to repay a debt to Goran Jones. As far as Tolbert is concerned, what is he going to do—fire us?”
“He may do that anyway when he discovers we’re back together.”
“I’ve been thinking about that. He’s always going on about how we are his best agents. I think we make it clear to him that we’re a package deal—he takes us both or not at all. As far as I can see, the OMI needs us more than we need them.”
“Feisty this morning, aren’t we?” she teased, sitting down next to him on the cot. “Now, back to your theory about Eden Southwell being Casca.”
“Sanchez, let it rest,” he groaned.
“No, I think it’s interesting.”
“There’s no proof, just a gut feeling.”
“Your gut’s pretty good when it comes to things like that,” Sanchez said. “Since it looks now like Brin Choi may have been the target all along, I have a question: who would want Brin Choi dead enough to hire Casca?”
“Who wouldn’t?” Carr said. “Choi was an inconvenience at best and a dangerous traitor at worst. Who would want her dead? Let’s make a list. In no particular order: the Union government, First Consul Darracott to avenge Victor Polanco’s assassination, her ex-lover Channa Maxon…”
“Whom Choi tried to murder,” added Sanchez.
Carr nodded. “Right. And I think you can add the Gerrhan government to our list as well. Choi had probably outlived her usefulness to them. Personally, my money is on one of the women.”
“Why so?”
“Hell hath no fury…” he smiled. “Besides, I’m an expert on women—haven’t you realized that by now?”
“You are, are you?” Sanchez said, scooting closer to him. “Enough of an expert to keep a good thing when you’ve got one?”
“Why, Commander Sanchez, did you just ask me to marry you?”
Sanchez blinked. “What? No, that’s not what I meant—you’re twisting things around. I was just—just making a joke,” she said in a flustered voice.
“I’ll bet if we asked nicely, Goran Jones would marry us when we get to Earth. Surely, as Prime Minister, he would have the authority. And with us returning his father safely and all, it would be the very least he could do.”
The Rampant Storm Page 29