Vertigo: Aurora Rising Book Two

by Jennsen, G. S.

  Perhaps Marano was dead and the conspirators knew it. It seemed a logical explanation, if not one he wanted to believe. It would comport with the man’s complete absence from the exanet system, from all facets of an extensive intelligence network. If the ship he left on—Graham assumed it was Solovy’s ship—were to have been destroyed in space, in all probability they’d never find any confirmation of their deaths. So for now he operated on the assumption the man still lived.

  He pondered whether to play Isabela’s card a little harder. He didn’t want to endanger her any more than necessary. She was a civilian, an innocent in the non-technical sense of the word.

  He considered simply going to Vranas now with what he had. But like Michael before him, what he had was nothing. Nothing but instinct and twenty-two years in intelligence telling him everything was wrong with everything.

  His secretary buzzed on the comm. “Sir, are you monitoring any news feeds?”

  He glowered at the sky and headed for the roof access. “I am now.”

  It didn’t take long for him to discover the reason for the alert. He checked multiple feeds on his way back down to his office, including ones spouting little but Alliance propaganda. They each reported the same thing: leaked information strongly suggested Caleb Marano not only did not, but could not have committed the EASC bombing. The records had been altered to frame him.

  If he held any lingering doubt as to whether there existed a conspiracy, it vacated now. He allowed himself a brief moment of relief on two counts. One, Marano wasn’t guilty and now everyone knew it. Two, his instincts weren’t atrophying.

  And the moment was over. Remaining was the small difficulty of ferreting out conspirators and bringing truths to light.

  He reached his office, all too aware his time away from it had measured disappointingly short.

  Liz, drop by as soon as you have a second.

  Is it urgent? I need to…never mind. I’ll be there in five.

  While he waited he assigned one of his agents who maintained solid contacts in the media to find out from where the leak originated and obtain a full copy.

  By the time Liz entered his office, his feet rested atop his desk and he idly tossed a stress ball in the air. Constructed of a bio-conductive gel, it supposedly adjusted its solidity and resistance depending on how much stress one exhibited as determined by biometric readings taken at the palm and fingertips. He noted with some degree of amusement that it was currently as stiff as pure metal.

  The ball never succeeded in making him feel any better, but then again he had never expected it to. “Did you see the news?”

  “Sir?”

  “The EASC bombing. Marano’s in the clear.”

  “Oh…yes, I saw it.” She appeared distracted, keeping her gaze down while she meandered around his office.

  He let out a heavy sigh. “So I guess we might as well cut Isabela loose. We no longer have much of a reason for Agent Marano to come in—other than it’s his job.”

  Her brow furrowed into a thin line, pulling at the tight knot holding back her hair. “Are you sure that’s the right decision, sir? There are a lot of unanswered questions surrounding Director Volosk’s murder, as well as the other deaths the same night, and Jaron Nythal’s murder as well…even if he—Agent Marano—wasn’t involved, which I’m not entirely convinced of, if a conspiracy exists he may have information regarding it—including who’s involved—so it seems to me we still have an interest in finding him.”

  Graham tilted his head to the side. If what she uttered was intended to be a sentence containing a beginning, middle and end, it had evolved into a most lengthy, convoluted one. Liz persisted in not looking at him, and her steps increased velocity.

  He hadn’t expected this reaction from her. It was not the correct one. She was a tough, no-nonsense agent, yes, but also highly pragmatic. It was why he’d always valued her. Why he had come to rely on her.

  Bloody hell, his instincts were atrophying.

  His fingers dug into the stiffening gel of the stress ball. “I’m afraid events are overtaking those issues rather quickly. We’re now faced with the task of figuring out how to fight a war against the Alliance and a war against invading aliens at the same time.”

  “You believe these rumors about aliens?”

  “They’re not rumors, Liz.”

  Her eyes widened briefly; she blinked and turned away, though not before he caught a glimpse of an angry flare. “So, your orders are to release Isabela Marano then?”

  He had become a soft, lumpy bureaucrat behind a desk. A stupid, slow fool of an old man.

  The ball was reduced to a clump inside his fist; he kept his voice casual. “I’ll handle it. I need to speak to her one more time—apologize for the inconvenience, the usual rigmarole. I just wanted to tell you first, since you’re the lead investigator. You can get the paperwork started.” They hadn’t used ‘paper’ in more than two hundred years, yet for whatever reason they continued to call the bureaucratic documentation labyrinth ‘paperwork.’

  “Yes, sir.” She moved toward the door, but paused to half-glance over her shoulder. “Do you think she knows where he is?”

  He chewed on his bottom lip, a tic she would recognize. “I think…yeah, she probably does. We didn’t push her particularly hard, and she is nothing if not loyal to her brother.”

  “Can’t win them all, I guess.” She exited without asking if they were done, and he was left staring at the door long after it closed behind her.

  26

  NEW BABEL

  INDEPENDENT COLONY

  * * *

  “WELL, MARCUS, LOOKS LIKE YOU aren’t quite so omnipotent after all….” Olivia Montegreu shut off the news feed with more force than usual and tried to focus back on work.

  The Senecan Intelligence agent being cleared of responsibility for the EASC bombing wasn’t the kind of revelation that would end the war. By this point the heinous acts and death tolls piled high enough that the list of things which could end the war measured extremely short.

  Still, it vaguely troubled her. A chink in the armor—Marcus’s armor—and thus a glitch, if minor, in the plan.

  She frowned at the screen in her hand, annoyed the news had darkened her mood. Everything else was going so spectacularly well. Chimeral sales were up 158%, tech an impressive 243%. The addition of proceeds from Ferre’s dealings in the Federation added 12% to the weekly income. Things were going so well, in fact, she was opening a third tech assembly line here and a new distribution center on Cosenti.

  It had been a good month for the Zelones cartel. Still, she couldn’t fully shake the jittery feeling at the base of her neck brought on by something, even something so small, going wrong. And there looked to be a gap in the financial reports—a delay in several of the smaller colonies sending their data. Unacceptable. She sent off a message to the Zelones lead accountant requesting an explanation within the hour.

  Her foot tapped a staccato beat on the marble floor. She needed to take her mind off problems which were frankly miniscule. She needed a reset.

  The rhythm of her foot increased in tempo. She considered it a moment; checked the time. It was late in the afternoon. Close enough.

  She sent a pulse.

  Come over.

  The response took only seconds.

  Give me thirty minutes.

  She had his shirt half off before he made it completely through the door. Her mouth firmly on his, she dragged him inside as his hands roved directly to her hips. She slammed him into the wall next to the door, which didn’t dissuade him from bunching her skirt up and sliding his hand beneath it.

  His lips tore over her cheek to her ear. “How do you want it?”

  Her breath caught in her throat as his index finger reached its destination. “Get your cock inside me and then we’ll see.”

  Aiden Trieneri was an excellent lover. He also happened to be the leader of the Triene cartel and possibly the sole person she came close to considering her
equal. He fell a few notches short, but anyone would.

  He served as an excellent lover for several reasons, but her favorite must be because he was dangerous. Every second with him carried a risk he would try to kill her. He was one of the few people who might succeed. She thought perhaps he enjoyed her for much the same reason.

  He had suggested they merge their operations exactly once. She had punished him for it. She did not share power.

  They didn’t share anything else, either. They never discussed business, or politics, current affairs or any topic whatsoever which threatened to give one an edge over the other. They shared sex, and sex alone. Not exclusively by any means, and she often went several months between seeing him. But when they shared it, they shared it well.

  All of which explained why she was a sweaty, sticky, naked mess when she learned an alien armada was annihilating colonies in the eastern region of settled space.

  She’d sent Aiden on his way after two stimulating hours and flicked on the news to see if there were further developments in the EASC bombing revelations before heading to the shower. She clearly couldn’t resume work in this condition.

  “Some people who were approaching Messium at the time of the attack managed to escape. They captured footage of more than a dozen ships kilometers in length and of a foreign appearance unlike any vessel humans have built.”

  She didn’t bother to grab a shirt as she rushed into the office to gape in utter disbelief at the images on the feed.

  Yes, those ships were without a doubt alien. Impressive machinery, too.

  “All attempts to contact the colony of Messium or anyone believed to be located on it have thus far been unsuccessful. In addition, we are now learning communications have been lost with multiple colonies to the east of Messium. These include New Riga, Lycaon and Dair in the Senecan Federation, Karelia, Gaelach, Zetian and Edero in the Earth Alliance, and the independent colonies of Gaiae, Andromeda and New Orient.

  “This is the extent of the information we possess at the present time, but we are devoting all our resources to learning more and getting the information to you.”

  A muted but emergent anger began to take shape in the pit of her stomach. She had just lost 10% of her organization—people, supplies, resources. Funds.

  “We have reached out to both governments but as of yet we’ve received no response. It is, however, difficult to imagine the Federation and Alliance governments remained ignorant of the invaders until now.”

  Difficult to imagine, indeed. These aliens had carved a swath through a third of settled space before the public knew what was happening. And if they were attacking Messium they exhibited significant and unwelcome intentions, for it did not constitute a small or undefended world by any means.

  She needed to engage in a conversation with Marcus, one which was not likely to be especially pleasant for either of them. But first she needed to think.

  NEW COLUMBIA

  EARTH ALLIANCE COLONY

  * * *

  Marcus’ transport had reversed course as soon as the news of the Orbital explosion hit. He’d never made it to Sagan, somewhat to his disappointment. It was after all a charming world. But time was short. So very short.

  He had decided to stop at New Columbia for the formalities. It was going to take another thirty-six hours to reach Earth and his citizens needed reassurance now. They needed to know there remained leaders capable of guiding and protecting them. And he did intend to do exactly that, far more so than they realized.

  His senior aide gave the signal the feeds were live. He turned to the judge. The man wasn’t the Chief Justice of the Supreme Judicial Court in London, but he sufficed.

  The judge uttered a preamble in a deep, formal voice properly befitting the occasion. Marcus placed his left hand on the Bible, the timeless symbol for grave oaths, and raised his right hand.

  “I do solemnly swear to truly and faithfully execute the duties entrusted to me by the Second Earth Alliance Constitution of 2146 through the Office of Prime Minister, to respect and safeguard the rights and liberties of all peoples, and to the best of my ability preserve, protect and defend the citizens, colonies and institutions of the Earth Alliance.”

  And like that it was done. His goal for some forty years culminated in a rite over before it began. Good thing he wasn’t one for sentimentality.

  Ceremony concluded, he faced the dozens of cameras hovering above the crowd. “Let us give a silent prayer for the thousands of souls lost to us yesterday.” His eyes closed for 5…4…3…2…1.

  “I accept the position of Earth Alliance Prime Minister with a heavy, sorrowful heart. Luis Barrera was a true statesman and a leader in the purest sense of the word. But most of all he was my friend for many years, and I will miss him more than I can express in mere words.

  “Luis Barrera devoted his life to public service out of the desire to help shape a better world. It is a particular tragedy that instead he found himself forced to lead in a time of conflict, to lead a war not of his own making. I have no doubt he would have been successful and guided us to peace, had he lived.

  “I will do everything in my power to achieve the same. I pledge today to work every waking hour and to my last breath to win this war—to ensure the Earth Alliance wins with dignity and pride and stands unbowed, victorious, upon the fields of battle.”

  He paused, as if considering his next words carefully. The primary purpose of the Orbital incident was not to fan the flames of war, which likely could flare no stronger than they now burned—and if they could the simple act was sure to do so on its own. No, the explosion had been a final necessary act to propel him to the pinnacle of power in the galaxy.

  He regretted the excessive loss of life; he genuinely did. But an Alliance Prime Minister made for a difficult target, one only rarely vulnerable. Time had been, as it was now, short.

  “The investigation into the explosion on the Orbital has barely begun. It would be easy for us to place the blame at the feet of the Federation, and in the end we may well do so. But I urge the public to reserve judgment and allow the investigation to run its course. For now, let us instead mourn the innocent civilians lost in this attack no matter the perpetrator. But make no mistake—whoever the perpetrator, we will exact full justice for their deaths.

  “We must also thank the heroic personnel throughout the Orbital who prevented an even more catastrophic loss of life by immediately activating security overrides and sealing off the damaged section before the entire outer ring was lost. Countless people owe their lives to these heroes.

  “I want to assure everyone there will be no lapse in our military strategy. We have the finest in skilled, experienced military leaders in the galaxy overseeing the war, and their work continues unabated. I personally know these men and women. I have participated in Prime Minister Barrera’s councils and briefings, and I guarantee you this transition will be rapid and seamless.

  “Now I will return to Washington and begin the work of guiding the Earth Alliance forward to a new day. Thank you all for your support. Thank you, Luis Barrera, for your service. May God bless your soul and those of your family.”

  He waved off any questions, including several shouted inquiries regarding newly leaked evidence about the alleged perpetrator of the EASC Headquarters bombing. He allowed his security detail, tripled in size since his arrival, to shepherd him back to the transport.

  He needed to take control of the situation, and fast. The EASC bombing no longer mattered, though finding Marano and Solovy did. Events had moved beyond it and at a rate far swifter than he had anticipated. Days remained at most before it would become impossible to ignore the alien offensive.

  He had one final chance to stop a far greater, infinitely more calamitous event—the destruction of the human race. This was what he had spent the last five years working to prevent. At first subsumed within his own goals, the effort had soon come to dominate then eclipse his personal ambitions.

  It all would have bee
n far easier if he’d had ten or even twenty years to prepare. But Hyperion had not deigned to warn him until five short years ago, by which time the danger was already imminent.

  You must cease expanding along the Scutum-Crux Arm in the Fourth Galactic Quadrant.

  Marcus jumped, startled. He covered the reaction by wiping his mouth with his napkin then grimacing across the table at his wife. “The PM is asking to speak to me. I’m sorry, dear. I’ll only be a few minutes.”

  She nodded in acknowledgement, having grown used to the interruptions by now, and he excused himself from the dinner table.

  The alien had never contacted him at home before, but he doubted the being recognized such human distinctions in any event. This was a new home, situated in the gentrified Georgetown neighborhood of Washington. The Brennon administration had taken power two months earlier; he had been confirmed as Attorney General a few short weeks ago.

  Hyperion’s out of the blue declaration was as cryptic as ever. Once the door to his office slid shut he prepared himself for the always precarious interchange. “Our eastern-most colony is currently Gaelach. Is there some danger in the space beyond it?”

  There is no problem respecting Gaelach. But Gaiae, Andromeda, Dair—they encroach. Expand along the Sagittarius and Perseus Arms instead.

  He frowned. “The Alliance doesn’t control those colonies. Gaiae and Andromeda were founded by independent interests. Dair is a Senecan Federation colony. In fact, the Federation controls most of the northeastern region of settled space. I can’t influence their expansion plans.”

  You have now risen to a position of power. You can influence many decisions.

  So that was why the contact now. “Yes, but not Senecan decisions. You do understand our political situation, don’t you?”