Voice of the Chosen (Spirit of Empire, Book Three)

by Lawrence White

  The palace defenses were extraordinarily complex and completely impregnable. Fields of fire from multiple weapons platforms covered every inch of the sky and grounds. A net similar to George connected them all, permitting the gunners instant access to information and allowing officers to control everything. The weapons were out of sight, thereby keeping the buildings and grounds pristine, but when needed the weapons would fold out of access points in the tops and sides of buildings or from hidden gun pits on the grounds. He found no holes in the defense patterns. Each gun contained its own power supply and connected via a hardened military net to each of three control centers. If one center went down, each gun could, and would, automatically connect to either of the two other control centers. The military permitted no contact between its nets or power supplies and their civilian counterparts.

  Josh knew he could sneak the Queen into the complex prior to her speech, but once her presence became known, the Rebels would mount a massive attack against her. He just did not see a good way to sneak her back out. She needed to fly out, but to fly her out he had to disable the weapons. There was no other way. To disable the weapons he had several options: take out the weapons, disable the networks controlling them, or take out the crews operating those weapons. Val tried to help, spending days with his computers attempting to find a civilian tie-in to the weapons, but the weapons contractors had engineered their systems well. He finally admitted failure.

  That left Josh with only one alternative: take out the network control centers. Theoretically, such an activity was exactly what his men were trained to do, but none were easily accessible and one was situated deep inside fleet headquarters. Getting into them, and as important getting back out, was problematic. At the very least, Mike’s underground network of tunnels would have to play a part.

  Josh had other issues, too. A battle out in space was a foregone conclusion, and its success was critical to any plans he made for the surface attack. At their next meeting with Bruston, he asked if Bruston had a mole high enough in Struthers’s command structure who could pass information on space activities. Bruston squirmed a little, refusing to answer. As always, he went to extreme ends to protect his associates.

  “Okay,” Josh commended him. “I don’t need to know. What I do need to know is if Struthers’ ships use IFF.” Blank looks met his demand, all except Reba’s. He could see the wheels turning in her head. Josh explained further. “Where we come from, each ship and vehicle emits a special identification code known only to its own forces. Everyone sends out the same code, keeping us from shooting our own craft. If such a code is in use here, we might be able to get hold of it and provide it to our own ships. The code might end up being changed after Struthers’ guys figure out what we’re doing, but we don’t need much time. Things will happen quickly. All I want to do is add to the confusion.”

  “I’ll see if I can find out,” Bruston said, liking the idea very much. There would be a lot of confusion if Ellie actually made her speech, and anything they could do to add to that confusion would increase her chances of getting away. Her purpose had never been to remain for long, only long enough to officially notify the Imperial Senate that she existed and was actively restoring order.

  “I guess everyone here knows that the best thing we could do would be to take out Struthers,” Josh noted. “A few top associates wouldn’t hurt either, but him especially. If the opportunity arises, I plan to act on it.”

  Mike discussed the issue with Jake. Jake’s reaction was muddled. On the one hand, removing the head of the coup might remove the driving force behind the Rebels. On the other hand, it brought Ellie down to his level, and she would not want to do that. It would be better if they could capture Struthers, then apply the full force of Imperial law against him, working within the political and legal systems instead of treating him like an enemy soldier. The legal system would gain great empowerment by doing so.

  Chapter 13

  Josh stepped across to the center of the dais at the front of the empty Senate Chamber. It was early morning, far too early for anyone else to be working here today. He knew he would not be disturbed.

  Every time he entered this chamber he felt a sense of awe. From the center of the dais he looked out at the rows and rows of tables, all of them old but undoubtedly venerated by the 1,500 senators who would occupy them. Each row was a little higher than the row in front of it, giving the room the appearance of an amphitheater where the dais was the lowest point. The tables, colored a dark mahogany and separated by isles of deep burgundy carpet, served as a constant reminder to everyone in this chamber of the eons of purpose and integrity behind the deliberations that took place here. The tables had been modernized with inlaid input stations and audio panels at each position, but they retained the look and feel of plain wooden tables.

  His eyes lifted to the far walls where lights shone vertically up from the floor, brightening the lower walls to transform the sober, deliberative chamber into a happier, friendlier place. Vertical lights reflected back down from the overhanging balcony, warmly lighting up a band around the circumference of the room. The balcony stretched three quarters of the way around the chamber on the second level, but little light reached the balcony itself. The seats there, divided into a dozen separate rooms, remained obscure, a place for observers to watch but not to participate in the activities taking place on the main floor.

  And the ceiling!

  Looking up, Josh took pause as he did each time he entered this chamber to stare at the remarkable masterpiece covering the inside of the dome. At first he’d thought it was a painting, but he’d come to realize that it was a screen just like on a starship, just larger. The whole ceiling was deep black at first glance, but if you focused just a little, stars suddenly sprang into existence. Toward the front of the ceiling and slightly off to the right, our galaxy hung in great splendor. Other smaller galaxies dotted the ceiling here and there, and many, many stars filled in the spaces between. Everything moved, albeit very slowly. There was a sense of infinite depth and infinite time to the display. Somehow the craftsmen had created a view of space in perfect focus, as if one were aboard a starship outside the galaxy looking in.

  Here was the Big Picture. Here, hanging above him in all its splendor, was reality, a reality that would continue to exist whether the senators in this room succeeded or not. The galaxy did not care if the Empire lived or died – it would still be here when they were all long gone. The future which the Senators attempted to mold, manage, and foster rested in the hands of people, not stars and nebulae and all that stuff. Without these people, and without one particular woman’s ability to detect the Truth of a person, galactic society would slip into chaos. At present, the Empire’s reach spanned only a portion of the galaxy, but someday, God willing, it might span the whole galaxy, maybe even other galaxies. He wanted to help the Empire retain that possibility.

  He was just a bit player in all of this. He knew it and wanted to keep it exactly that way. The job of managing worlds, systems, and sectors was for others. His comfort level began and ended with weapons and individuals. Give him a face to focus on, a personality to deal with, a situation he could get his arms around, give him a target and he would do the right thing every time. But not the Big Picture. That remained the province of others, others who knew a lot more than he did.

  But in spite of his lowly place in all of this, he loved this room.

  He was perfect for the job he’d been selected to do here. He knew it and could feel it. He didn’t have to know about all the high tech stuff in Ellie’s Empire, he didn’t have to know how nets worked or of the many hundreds of things it took to fight with a ship or to run an empire. His job here was relatively simple: he dealt in lead, person to person. In the case of these Empire weapons, he dealt in bolts of energy instead of lead, but his job was the same: make sure his team won, and limit the killing and wounding of the noncombatants as much as possible. The battle here would come down to him and his men, and the skill
s needed were exactly what they had spent a lifetime perfecting. The Great Cats might lead them into this chamber, but if the scree sounded it would be up to his men. It would be Terran against Chessori. He and his men would handle the Chessori, and they could handle any Rebels they encountered as well. It’s what they did.

  All of his men had been handpicked. Their skills covered the whole spectrum of needs of the mission. Each of them, regardless of their specialty, was a marksman. He looked up, noting the positions that would hold his snipers . . . there, there, there, and over there. Perfect fields of fire. He would not permit indiscriminate machine gun-like firing in this place. Every shot would be aimed, and aimed only at the enemy. That was the way with hostage situations, and his men knew and understood it.

  But he was missing something, and that’s why he kept returning to this room. He didn’t know what that something was, but he knew he was missing something. His Rider, Jeremy, remained silent as Josh deliberated. His mind’s eye wandered, seeking he knew not what, just seeking. He had walked every square inch of this chamber in the last few months, and there was nothing of significance he did not know about the place.

  Josh left the dais and walked up through the rows of tables to the back of the chamber. He slipped out the double doors, crossed a corridor, then eased his way through the outside entrance and stood on the landing. The Senate Chamber, a domed structure of only several stories, sat on a rise. Josh looked out across a broad expanse of steps that circled the front half of the building. Directly below the steps and across a wide boulevard, a park extended all the way to the far side of the plateau. Sidewalks and pathways lined with groomed flowerbeds ambled through acres and acres of grass, scattered trees, and several ponds. Birds and waterfowl had been reintroduced atop the plateau and were once more in abundance in the park. Benches for multiple body shapes provided resting places for anyone strolling through the grounds or along the boulevard.

  To his left a boulevard arced toward the main gate of the Palace. Smaller walkways angled off it toward two smaller portals leading into the Palace grounds.

  To the right the boulevard angled toward two high, double-wide arches in the aqueduct-like wall of offices. The road divided and passed through both archways, then into the city center.

  This area then, defined by two high walls, would be the focus of his outside fighting. Fighting here would be difficult: there was little cover. His men would have to keep on the move. He looked left to the wall setting off the Palace. It was a source of Rebel reinforcements, but he knew that Struthers coveted the Palace as his own. He didn’t think the great man would allow much fighting in that direction.

  Most of the Rebel reinforcements would come from his right, from Palace City. There were numerous openings in the wall and two enormous openings at its center where the boulevard cut through. Far across the city on the western end of the plateau, the spire of Fleet Headquarters towered over the open spaces. Within that tower and within the many levels of offices and barracks below ground, thousands of Rebel troops would be on alert. It was from here that most of the reinforcements would come.

  Armies tended to move slowly. The Queen would just have to be quick. Trexler’s ships would provide air cover and prevent reinforcements, but only if he silenced the defensive guns, and that was a big if. He couldn’t count on it.

  So this area between the two walls was his area of operations. He didn’t have to worry about the rest of the plateau, but he had to fully secure this smaller area. His lips firmed. It was just a matter of manpower. Because of the lack of cover, his men would have a hard go of it out here if the battle lasted very long. He had to make sure it did not.

  Josh turned around and stepped back inside the main doors. Straight ahead of him, another set of double doors led back into the chamber. To his left and right, a wide corridor encircled the chamber. Much like an opera house, several ramps branched off the main corridor and angled up to the balcony level. There, another smaller corridor encircled the upper chamber to provide access to each balcony section.

  He stepped across the corridor and through the main doors, coming back into the chamber. He walked all the way up to the dais and stood with his back to the room. To his left and right, small doors opened off each side of the dais into assembly areas. In much the same way that actors entered stage left and stage right, these waiting areas opened directly onto the platform at the front of the chamber, the dais which held the leaders’ seats.

  The senate leadership sat at a long table divided into four sections. Behind this table an elevated platform held a shorter table for the Queen and/or her First Knight and an advisor or two. Some 20 feet separated the leadership tables from the main floor where five isles extended up through the rows of senators’ tables.

  Josh reviewed in his mind the plan he had developed for securing the building. The Delta way, also the way of the Great Cats, was to hit hard and very fast with devastating firepower, get in, get the job done, then get out. With the exception of the Queen’s speech, they would be doing precisely what they had done many times in the past. They would enter through the tunnel complex. The tunnel came out several levels below the main entrance to the chamber. Once out of the tunnel but still several levels down, they would rush up stairways to the main corridor. From there they would fight their way through the main corridor on both sides of the chamber, with some of his men breaking off at the ramps leading up into the balcony sections. There would be lots of Rebels guarding the corridor, but the curving corridor would actually work to their advantage. They would be in view of only a limited number of guards at any time, and the guards they encountered would be given no warning. They would simply be shot where they stood. He didn’t particularly like doing things this way, but from the moment his men made their move, their part would be executed like a well-rehearsed business plan. There would be no quarter offered or given: anyone carrying a weapon would be killed. Any bystanders would be stunned. No one would be standing in the corridors when the Queen emerged from the stairwell.

  He strolled purposely around the chamber examining it from every perspective, then he went out into the main corridor again and ascended to the balcony level. There, he entered room after room, considering firing angles and considering the disposition of his forces and the expected Rebel guards. He had already completed this part of the plan, he just wanted to reassure himself there were no holes in it. His men would be challenged, of that there was no question. Once the shooting started, smoke would become an obstacle. All the décor in the chamber was fireproof, but the blasters would incinerate anything they touched. There might not be fire, but there would be smoke and plenty of it. His men in the balcony would have only a limited time of usefulness before the smoke reduced their effectiveness. He chewed on his lip, considering. There just wasn’t any way around it. These things were always difficult. He would leave some men up top, there was no way he was going to give up the high ground, but most of his men would strike from the floor of the chamber. His goal was for the defenders to be taken out in the first few seconds.

  Like all plans of this nature, it could not be too tight: he had to leave a fair amount of slop in order to handle the unexpected.

  He had considered dressing his men in Empire uniforms but had discarded the notion as unworkable. Anyone dressed in Empire military attire would be shot on sight. His men would wear the battle gear they had brought from Earth, though many of the fighting tools would be different. There was no need for extra ammunition, the blaster rifles and handguns held a virtually inexhaustible energy supply. The grenades they normally carried had been replaced with little flash-bang balls that could be dropped from above, tossed, rolled, or even thrown long distances, but these weapons would only be used in extremis. Each soldier carried an earpiece and microphone with two frequencies, one for his team, the other for the command net.

  He expected Struthers to post only a few guards within the Chamber itself. Too many guards would send a message to the senators that he
was worried about retaining control. Most of the guards would be in the outside corridor and in the balcony sections, and reinforcements would be nearby, probably on lower levels. There would, most likely, be significant reserve forces outside and out of sight.

  But he was missing something. He was a soldier, and his eyes and mind looked at the chamber through a soldier’s eyes. His conscience was clear on his plan, at least the part of the plan that would take place inside the chamber. Here, the killing would be minimal and swift, focused only on the Rebels and Chessori. The senators would be safe, as safe as he could possibly keep them.

  None of that worried him. But then in his mind he saw the way this room would be when it was full - full of politicians chosen to keep the chaos at bay, chosen to be the mechanism through which civilization prospered. All of a sudden the senators were real people, people who had no personal understanding of fighting. There would be terror in this chamber.

  One did not casually mix such as them in battle. The individuals filling these seats would all be honored men and women, the best their societies produced. To relegate them to pawns in a larger battle was simply wrong. Without even suspecting, they would be hostages held by terrorists. Had he, Josh, become a terrorist?

  No! His job was to free people from terror. His job was to free these leaders from the Chessori and from the Rebels, and to protect them while he did so. He visualized the smoke and noise and how it would affect these peace-seeking politicians and he shuddered. This hallowed sanctuary, one of the most revered places in the galaxy, would see bloodshed in a few months. Those ramifications of the operation were not technically his to worry about, they were Mike and Ellie’s concern, but he was suddenly very concerned for these politicians who were, above everything else, people with hopes and desires just like his own.