by PP Corcoran
Her husband Bill was away for the weekend, skiing in the Alps with their teenage children and she was taking the opportunity to get a rare early night. So much for that idea, she thought as she kicked off the bedclothes before shrugging on her robe. She padded over to the door and pulled it open.
Standing in the well-lit hallway was Joane Goode, Deputy Chief of Staff, and alongside her was Issac Sounder, head of the president’s protection detail. Trepidation crept into Rebecca’s still-groggy brain, "What is it, Joane?"
Joane's voice caught in her throat and she cleared it loudly. Seeing Joane struggling with whatever she wanted to say, Rebecca turned her attention instead to Issac. Issac had been head of her Presidential Office of Security detail since the first day she stepped into the shoes of retiring President McMullan. Rebecca had never known him to shy away from telling the facts, no matter how ugly they were. She expected nothing less right now.
"Madam President. Approximately thirty minutes ago, the POS communications center lost contact with Mr. Bradshaw's protection detail. While attempting to reestablish contact, they intercepted a call from local law enforcement reporting shots fired outside a restaurant. The restaurant was Mr. Bradshaw's last known location.” Isaac took a breath.
“I authorized the immediate deployment of the POS Crash Team who were on scene within ten minutes. On arrival, they found all three agents of Mr. Bradshaw's detail dead. Senator Madkin is seriously wounded and is on his way to hospital for emergency surgery. His condition is unclear at this time. Mr. Bradshaw is shaken but unharmed. He refused to leave Senator Madkin’s side, so I have Crash Team members in the ambulance with him and the remainder of the team will follow to secure the hospital until I can replace them with more discreet security."
Rebecca weakened at the knees. She held on to the doorframe for support. Clement Bradshaw was her oldest friend in politics and for sure he had been in the game a long time and made a lot of enemies along the way but that’s what happens in politics. You don’t extract revenge by killing someone.
"Who did this, Issac?"
"The attacker was also killed at the scene, Madam President."
"Well at least one of your men got him. Not much consolation, but it’s something at least."
"The Crash Team leader believes it was actually Senator Madkin who killed him, Madam President. According to local police who were first on the scene they recovered a POS-issue PEP pistol from Senator Madkin’s hand before he was transferred to the ambulance."
Despite the dreadful news of the loss of the agents, a wry smile formed on Rebecca's lips. "Once a marine, always a marine, Issac."
"Apparently so, Madam President."
Banishing the last wisps of sleep from her mind, Rebecca straightened herself up and began issuing orders. "Joane. Wake up the Director of the FIB, I want his best investigators on this and he is to make it his number-one priority. No excuses. Next I want you to arrange a meeting of the National Security Council for...Ah, call it eight AM. This attack is not only an attack on Clement Bradshaw, he is my Chief of Staff and therefore an integral part of my government, and that makes this an attack on the very fabric of our nation. I want to make it very clear to both the intelligence and the investigatory agencies that I will not abide any infighting when it comes to the hunt for whomever was behind this, because mark my words, there is someone else behind this."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Issac, I'm going to get dressed. By the time I am, I want transport waiting to take me to the hospital and you leave the Crash Team in place for a while. Maybe the sight of heavily armed, battle armored men will convince the world and whoever instigated this plan that I'm taking the death of three agents and the shooting of an Earth Senator seriously. Very seriously indeed."
Rebecca spun, the door slamming closed behind her, heading toward the dressing room. Kill her agents and injure Madkin would they! Attempt to kill her oldest friend! Somebody just made a huge mistake and I'll damn well make sure it’s their last one.
#
The presidential flyer landed amid a flurry of activity on the landing pad adjacent to the main entrance to Geneva General Hospital. The first of the security detail barely got his feet on the ground before Rebecca Coston was out of the flyer and striding off at a pace that was distinctly unsightly for a national leader.
The president and her entourage swept through the entrance and reception area like a tornado, leaving staff and visitors aghast at the site of the POS in a place that was usually calm. The first vid reports of the attack were only now being broadcast and people were looking from the large screens to the president in shock. Rebecca ignored them as she was ushered into an elevator with her detail. The rest of her entourage would just have to wait for the next one, or take the stairs.
When the doors opened, Issac stood to one side to allow the president to exit and her steps faltered as she was confronted by the sight of a seven-foot-tall, jet-black, armored monster holding an equally oversized plasma rifle in its armored gauntlets.
"The Crash Team are equipped with the latest issue marine Wraith suit, Madam President," Issac whispered in her ear.
Recovering her composure, Rebecca headed off down the corridor but came to a sudden halt at the sight of Clement Bradshaw flanked by two more armored giants with his head in his hands, sitting on a flimsy plastic chair, his clothing covered in blood . With no regard for presidential demeanor, Rebecca ran to him. Kneeling in front of him she gently took his blood-encrusted hands in hers.
"Clement, are you OK? You’re covered in blood. Do you need to see a doctor?" Rebecca shared a swift look with Isaac who went to activate his comm to call for medical assistance but Clement's shaking head stopped him.
"It’s not my blood Rebecca, it’s Kris’. I did my best to stop the bleeding..." Clement's head lowered again and his voice dropped to a whisper. "...There was just so much of it. He just came out of nowhere. Just started shooting. Kris flung me into the car. Stood in the doorway. He used his own body to protect me, Rebecca." Clement's body shook as his body finally succumbed to the shock of the events that had occurred on the dark sidewalk. Rebecca took him in her arms, holding her quietly sobbing friend close. Eventually the sobs subsided and the older man wiped at his eyes with a blood-stained shirt cuff.
"He's gone too far this time, Rebecca. First Harriman and now this."
The president’s face reflected her confusion. "I'm sorry, Clement. I don't understand. You know who ordered this?"
Clement fixed his eyes on Rebecca's and his voice was firm. "Seaton Anderson."
#
The room sat in deathly silence as the recording from the restaurant’s security vid cameras replayed the scene from the street the night before. The would-be assassin appeared out of the darkened doorway before coldly and clinically taking down the two bodyguards. You could clearly see Kris Madkin throwing Clement Bradshaw into the safety of the vehicle before turning to face the attacker and then going down under the combination of the weight of the dying bodyguard and the attacker’s fire. The driver’s attempts to defend his charge and finally the attacker’s slow, almost lackadaisical walk to the rear door to finish off Bradshaw before the assassin’s body contorted unnaturally as Madkin fired his pistol. The video paused with the image of the assassin flying backwards under the impact of Madkin’s shots. As the lights returned to normal, those gathered turned their heads to the head of the table and the impassive face of President Coston. They all knew that this was not a time to mince their words.
Edward Munro, FIB Director, was the first to speak. "Madam President. The assailant has been identified as this man." A holographic image of a thirty-something male appeared above the table, “Jordell Ferrett. Dishonorably discharged from the army after serving time for assaulting several members of his own platoon. He is a trained sniper and we believe that on his release he sold his skills to the highest bidder. The last few years he has kept a low profile. Rumor has it he now only takes on jobs for a single client w
ho pays him to remain exclusive. Who that client is we have yet to ascertain..."
A raised hand from Rebecca stopped his narration. "Play the recording, Issac."
The POS agent tapped a key on his PAD and after a moment, a gravelly voice emanated from the room’s speakers.
"Mr. Anderson sends his regards, Bradshaw."
Rebecca could see the shock on the faces of the gathered men and women. "This is an enhanced recording of what the microphone in the rear of the car picked up. It clearly identifies a ‘Mr. Anderson’ as the man behind this. I believe this man to be Seaton Anderson and your job is to get me a watertight case that will see Seaton Anderson sent to the deepest, darkest hole of a prison we possess. Not a word of what we know leaves this room. This individual has attacked the state and he will be treated as an enemy of the state and so will anyone helping him. Am I clear?"
The nodding heads and mumbled acknowledgments from around the table reassured Rebecca that they got the message. As she stood, the rest of the room got to its feet.
"I shall leave you to it, then."
Rebecca was met outside the room by Joane Goode who matched her pace as they headed back to the president’s office.
"Senator Madkin is out of surgery and expected to recover well. With the pioneering nanite regeneration processes, the doctors expect him to regain full use of his left arm and shoulder within a few months. The doctors will keep him in for observation for a couple of weeks..."
Rebecca stopped walking and faced Joane. "Yes, yes, but the longer he spends in the hospital, the longer the presidential race is effectively being controlled by Grant, or should I say more correctly, Senator Dikul. By the time Kris is back on his feet, the race will be all but over. The question is... how do we keep Kris in the running? The vid reporters can't get anywhere near him in the hospital..."
"Excuse me, Madam President." Issac Sounder's unexpected interruption was something so rare, it took a moment for Rebecca to realize it was he who spoke.
"Of course, Issac, what is it?"
Issac looked unusually hesitant to speak, but when he did he did so with his usual matter-of-fact voice. "The footage of the incident was taken from the vid cameras which are the property of the restaurant and the restaurant owner has no obligation under law to keep those recordings private. They are his to do with as he will."
The political machine that was the brain of Rebecca Coston whirred into action. "You, Issac, have missed your calling as a political hack! Joane, why don't you make a call to a few news outlets and happen to mention while giving them an update on Senator Madkin that the authorities are examining video recordings of the incident. That should be enough of a hint for them to start searching for the footage themselves. Let’s see how Grant and Dikul try to spin footage of Madkin not only saving Clement's life by putting himself in the line of fire, but taking down the attacker while mortally wounded himself!"
For the first time that day, Rebecca felt the spring returning to her step.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Fanning the Flames
SELENE SYSTEM - 272 LIGHT YEARS FROM EARTH
Sub Leader Norava adjusted his position in his command chair on the small flight deck of the Persai destroyer Hovval. It felt like he had been in the seat since time immemorial, but knew it had only been some fourteen hours by the ship’s clock, which advanced ever so slowly. Only another two hours until he was relieved by his second in command, Tollan, and he could head off for some well-deserved sleep. Sitting on the edge of a system where the occupants had made it clear you were not welcome was not good for one’s nerves. Never mind the fact that virtually every electronic system on the Hovval was closed down to minimize any chance of stray electronic emissions. This extended to the lighting on board and it had turned the whole ship into something resembling a cold, dark morgue. This thought brought a bare-toothed smile to his face. If the Turak caught them sneaking around out here, there was a very good chance the Hovval would indeed be his and his crew’s final resting place. When the orders came down from the fleet for Norava to take his little destroyer to the Selene system, he had queried them but when he was informed the orders came directly from Chancellor Volak's office, he had immediately complied.
The Hovval had been floating here on the edge of the system for nearly two weeks now and his passive sensors were recording constantly. The four Turak cruisers which the humans faced down when the Turak had first made their appearance were long gone. In their place was what Norava was sure was a slow but steady naval buildup. Even at this extreme distance, the computers were able to tell him that the Turak were busily constructing an orbital station and surface support facilities. A space elevator was being built which would link the station to the surface and a steady flow of freighters emerged from fold space to dock with the station. Of more concern to Norava was the growing number of warships that were entering the system. Hovval was too distant to make out any sort of fine details, but the size and energy readings the ships were giving off put them in the heavy cruiser/smaller battleship range and there were a lot of them. Some twenty-five at the last update. The Commonwealth only knew the areas bordering the Commonwealth that the Turak laid claim to. They still had no idea of the true size of Turak space or what resources they were able to bring to bear, but from what he had observed it was apparent they fielded a significant navy.
An unexpected flurry of activity around the tactical section caught his eye.
"Report!" He called gruffly.
The fixed features of the section chief turned to face him as the remainder of the section continued to work frantically.
"Sub-leader, we are reading multiple nuclear explosions and energy weapons fire emanating from the area of the Turak space station and the nearby shipping. Our passive equipment is not good enough to give a clear image of what exactly is happening but everything I am reading here points to a battle taking place."
Norava’s boredom vanished instantly. "How long before we can get visual imagery?"
"6.2 hours at this distance, sub-leader."
"Very well. Ensure all recorders are running and I want the communications probe constantly updated in case we need to launch. Engineering. Get our drive back on line but keep energy output as low as possible. For the time being, we will wait and see what happens and hope no one stumbles across us."
#
The battle, and the sensor and imagery data left Norava in no doubt that that was what it had been, had ended eight hours ago. It had lasted less than twenty minutes. Norava could still picture the holographic images of mighty warships, their color as dark as night and weapons’ pylons jutting out from the flattened, broad hulls as they emerged from fold space almost directly atop the Turak space station. Without hesitation, powerful grazers spat their murderous beams and the station rocked as the colossal amount of power contained within the energy fire lashed at the station’s armor. In what seemed like only seconds, the station came apart under the intruders’ withering fire. With the station gone, the warships switched their fire to the Turak ships. Norava could only imagine the blare of the alarms as the ships’ crews raced to their battle stations. Many never reached them. A wave of missiles speared out from the black ships and caught the majority of the Turak before even their point defenses became operational. It was a slaughter. Ship after ship succumbed under the impact of nuclear-tipped missiles. Hulls buckled and failed. Explosions racked the damaged ships until they could withstand it no more and the ships and their crew joined those of the space station in the cold embrace of the long night. The few Turak ships that did manage to put up a fight did so in an uncoordinated and sporadic fashion. How they fought! Energy beams flashed across the vacuum of space to strike at the intruders. Missiles darted back and forth. In the end though, it was all for naught. The intruders’ hulls seemed impenetrable. Energy weapons fire seemed to have no effect and nuclear detonations, which completely enveloped more than one of the intruders, were useless. The intruders emerged from the nuclear
fire apparently undamaged. Outnumbered and outgunned, the remaining Turak soon joined their brothers. With the warships dealt with, the intruders split their force. One half began the methodical slaughter of the defenseless freighters, while the other half began a surface bombardment of the planet. The atmosphere was soon obscured by the radioactive dust clouds as debris was flung high into the stratosphere. Their mission of destruction completed, the intruders formed up once more and disappeared into fold space.
As the black angels of death fled the system, Tollan urged Novara to take the ship in closer to the planet. His second-in-command argued that now was a golden opportunity to recover pieces of the floating Turak debris. The intelligence that could be gathered from recovered hull plating, interior design, weapons and power systems and perhaps, the holy grail, complete or partial body parts. The Commonwealth still had no idea of the genetic make-up of the Turak and if Novara was to return to Pars with even a DNA strand, then the plaudits he would receive from the Chancellor would allow him to choose any ship he wished as his next command. Novara, however, wavered. He could see the benefits of Tollan’s argument but against this he must way up the reaction time of the Turak. What if one of the destroyed Turak ships or the space station had managed to get off a communications drone and a Turak force was even now on its way here? The destroyer would be swatted like a fly by a single cruiser. No. Better to remain here at the fringes of the system and observe. Let us see how the Turak react and in what force. Tollan again voiced his opinion, as was his duty as second-in-command. Let them wait twenty-four hours before returning to Pars. If a Turak relief force had not arrived in the system by then, it was a safe bet it was not coming. Novara saw the logic of the suggestion, so the crew of the Hovval settled down for a tense wait.
The wait lasted less than an hour and a half. From fold space emerged a flotilla of the largest ships Novara had ever seen. Six behemoths, which made the smaller battleships and cruisers that surrounded them look like minnows swimming alongside whales. Novara had fought against the Others and he had seen their mighty Vulture class battleships up close but even those ships at 2300 meters long and weighing in at 330,000 tonne seemed medium-sized in comparison to these Turak vessels.