“Children?” Cartier asked, still in a daze.
“That’s right! Little kids, seven of them, too. I guess the fugitives didn’t want to become kidnappers or something because they helped the kids out of the container and returned them to their mother. Well, not all of them.”
“What?”
“The woman only had two children; the other five were just friends. In any case, as a lone fugitive that had been so nice to the children had almost made it back to the container, the PSF opened fire on him. Looked like they even hit the poor guy. The story is all over the local news feeds.”
“What are you talking about?” Cartier shouted, finally returning to his senses.
“Long story short, there is a riot in city block thirty-seven A. I guess the neighborhood took offense at the PSF shooting up a guy who’d just saved the kids of five different families. The PSF tried to deter the populace, but that’s just made things worse. Here’s the best part.” All levity drained out of the man’s features and voice. “Turns out, some fat moron was responsible for the whole thing. I expect your resignation on my desk within the hour.”
Cain leaned over to Angela.
“That’s my dad.” His voice was full of satisfaction.
The fat man sputtered and his nose flared, unable to form a response, as the armed soldiers escorted him away. The tall man’s face instantly brightened as he spotted Cain.
“Cain, my boy! It’s been too long, far too long.” The tall man spoke quickly but clearly. “And as much as I’d love to greet you properly and regale you with tales of the last few years, but we have more pressing concerns.”
“You weren’t kidding about the riots?” Cain asked.
“Unfortunately, no. We are stretched thin as it is with all the refugees, so I can’t risk sending more armed forces. Plus, that would no doubt only make things worse.”
“What do you want from us, Magnate Hooten?” Rhea asked.
“Please don’t call me that, dear. Only bloated businessmen seeking to buy my favor call me that. Call me Alden,” he said with a warm smile.
“Well . . . Alden, what do you want from us?” Tyra asked, obviously uncomfortable using his first name.
“It’s not actually something I want from all of you, but rather something I need from that boy there,” Alden said, pointing at Brent.
“What do you need him for?” Cassandra asked defensively.
“No need to worry. I just need to borrow him for a few minutes. I’m hoping we can allay the rioters if they know that he’s alright and that Director Cartier has been brought to justice for his moronic sense of timing.”
“I warned you he’d be trouble,” Cain said with a grin.
“Once again, you were right. Although, I got many years of use out of him, plus, he’ll make the perfect scapegoat for a half dozen things he wasn’t involved in. The crowd loves it so when they hear the criminal mastermind responsible for most of their woes has been unmasked and brought to the light of justice.”
“I see where you get your sense of melodrama,” Dante whispered to Cain.
“Seriously,” Hiroko said with a chuckle.
“Come, come,” Alden said quickly. “We don’t have much time before things get completely out of hand. If you’ll come with me, young man, we can nip this in the bud. I’ll have the PSF detail take the rest of you to an unused room where you can take a break from your game of cat and mouse.”
Cassandra helped Brent follow Alden as the rest of the troopers reluctantly followed the same soldiers who a moment ago had been pointing weapons at them. Cain’s father quickly led them to a small room.
“We’ve made the announcement, Alden,” a man in uniform said, handing him a pad. “Hopefully someone will be watching.”
Brent recognized the uniform as the same kind worn by the man at the transit bureau. It was mainly burgundy with a single gold stripe. Apparently it was the equivalent of the gray uniforms worn by maintenance personnel back in the academy. A second man in the same uniform was holding a small device; the way he held it and pointed it betrayed it for a camera. No doubt they were being broadcast to every monitor in the riot area. Alden moved with a practiced air as he readied himself.
“Good evening everyone!” he sounded like a game show host. “I’ve been informed there has been a terrible mix-up. Acting independently, Director Cartier sent a security force into your neighborhood. During his unsanctioned escapades, a young boy was wounded while trying to save some children. I’m broadcasting this message to let you all know that Director Cartier has been taken into custody with a full investigation pending. I also wanted you to know the young boy survived and is here with me right now.”
Alden gestured for Brent to join him. The assistant in the burgundy uniform held Cassandra back and assured her it would be all right. Brent tried not to hobble as he walked over to Alden.
“What’s your name, young man?” he asked.
“My friends call me Brent.”
“A Weaver with friends, imagine that.”
“I can safely say I’m not like any Weaver you are likely to meet,” Brent said with a smile.
“I see you are protecting your left leg a bit. Are you all right?”
“My friend Owen looked it over. He said I’ll live.”
“Is this Owen a doctor?”
“No, but he is the best medic I’ve ever seen. One of the finest troopers I’ve ever met.”
“Are you a trooper, as well?”
“I am.”
“Amazing. Not only do you think about the safety of children before your own, you’re a trooper too. You certainly are an odd Weaver. You’re probably here to help us put an end to the war.”
“Something like that.”
“Well, I wish you luck; we all do. Is there anything you’d like to say before we end transmission?”
“While my fellow troopers have arrived here safely, I do have friends out there as well. I want to ensure their safety, so I’m asking everyone to cease any violence. I don’t want anyone else to get hurt because of my actions.”
Brent turned to the cameraman and bowed like the tripod as gracefully as he could. There were several moments of complete silence in the room before anyone moved.
“We’re clear . . .” the assistant’s voice trailed off.
Cassandra quickly moved to Brent’s side and let him lean on her.
“That was impressive. What exactly was that though?” Alden asked. “I’ve never seen anyone move quite like that.”
“It’s a bad habit of mine,” Brent said apologetically.
“Mr. Alden, I’ve gotten a report from the PSF in city block thirty-seven A. They say the riot is starting to disperse,” his assistant said with a wide smile.
“Excellent work. I’m willing to wager that we owe you the credit for that,” Alden said with a nod to Brent. “Well, you two no doubt wish to return to your friends.”
Alden had a wide smile on his face as he guided the two troopers down the convoluted hallways. Despite their weight difference, the resemblance between father and son was unmistakable; their mannerisms were almost exact duplicates. Maybe that explained the nasty expression that filled Cassandra’s face every time she looked at Alden. As they walked along, Brent noticed hundreds of people darting around them. He wondered if they always moved around so hectically, or if ex-director Cartier’s plot was responsible for their frenzy. They would appear and disappear in the blink of an eye as they rushed through the maze of hallways.
Like the city, the hallways were constructed out of the same dull gray metal. A vast array of lights embedded in the ceiling gave the otherwise featureless corridors personality. The light cast on each hallway was a unique textured color with no repetition in conjoining hallways. It was like walking through some sort of subdued fun house. Although jarring at first, Brent was surprised how quickly he got used to it; in no time at all he barely noticed the colorization. As they rounded a corner, he spotted a pair of soldiers standing on
either side of a wide doorway. The way they slumped showed they weren’t looking for a fight. They were just like the lighting, decoration.
As Alden approached, they straightened slightly and saluted briefly – Sanderson looked more professional at breakfast. The two guards immediately went back to their original slump after Alden passed through the door. The rest of the squad was waiting in the room. They tried to look relaxed, but it was obvious they had been anxiously awaiting the return of their squad mates.
“I hope these accommodations are to your liking,” Alden said as the door sealed behind him.
“Compared to hiding in the basement of a rundown bar?” Humphrey mumbled.
“At least the drinks were free,” Doug said irritability. “Not that I got to enjoy that fact.”
“We weren’t about to drag your sorry behind through the city, Dougie,” Marie said with a smirk.
“The room is fine,” Ronald said flatly as he eyed the complaining troopers.
“What is the situation?” Tyra asked. “We’ve been locked up in a transport for the last three days and are eager for any news.”
“Are troopers always this serious?” Alden asked.
“Not all the time,” Cain said with a grin, “but enough to be discouraging.”
“I see. Well, we can’t have that. I’ll have a proper meal prepared. After today’s heroics, I’m sure a little relaxation is just what the doctor ordered.”
“Now isn’t the time for a banquet!” Tyra said, taking a step toward Alden. “The Commonwealth is at war and we know nothing. I demand you explain the situation.”
“All in good time, all in good time. You had a busy afternoon, you’ve been shot at, and your emotions are all tied up in knots. Enjoy the meal, relax a bit, and then we’ll bring you up to speed.”
As Tyra was about to protest, Alden disappeared through the doorway. Cain chuckled as the doorway sealed.
“That man is just as infuriating as his son,” Cassandra said.
“Oh come on, what’s so wrong with offering us a meal?” Cain asked. “Weren’t all of you complaining about the quality of the food on the trade ship?”
“It’s not just that,” Cassandra said. “He made Brent walk around on his bad leg. He even made fun of him being a Weaver!”
“I see you got your intelligence from him as well,” Dante said, eyeing Cain.
“What are you talking about?” Cassandra shot a surprised look at Dante.
“Mr. Hooten believed the riots started due to Brent’s actions.”
“So?”
“Well, by having Brent stand alone, Alden was subtly indicating that he was there of his own free will. If you’d been helping him stand, some people would have seen that as a sign of weakness. It would look like Brent had been coerced to give the message,” Dante said to Cassandra.
“Then why make fun of Weavers?” Angela asked.
“No doubt to weaken the resolve of those who’d riot because of Brent. If they realized he was a Weaver, they’d let their preconceived notions take over and disperse. After all, no one would riot over a nasty, brutal Weaver. No offense of course.” Dante nodded to Angela.
“Strengthen him enough that people will think he’s there of his own free will, while weakening him to the point no one would follow him?” Sanderson scratched his chin. “I never would have been able to think something like that up.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Kindra said with a chuckle. “I’m not sure I’d ever be comfortable around someone who was that many moves ahead.”
“Why do I get the feeling we’re not going to get anything out of him at dinner?” Tyra said with a sigh.
“At least we’ll get a decent meal out of it.” Erin licked her lips.
Tyra let out a frustrated sigh as she sat down. It wasn’t an overly ornate room. In fact, it had a strong resemblance to the rooms of the trade ship. Fortunately, it didn’t share the cramped conditions of the ship. Before long, an armed guard entered the room and demanded everyone follow. The soldier didn’t say a word as she guided the troopers down the multicolored hallways.
Abruptly, the soldier came to a stop, saluted, and quickly ran off. She had taken them to a doorway that looked identical to the dozens they had passed. With a shrug, Cain took a step through the doorway and started laughing. Inside the room was a massive table. It was set so elegantly Brent couldn’t help but wonder if they’d been taken to the wrong room. Something so immaculate must be reserved for visiting diplomats. It seemed wrong for a squad of troopers to eat in such a fancy setting.
“Well, don’t just stand there! Sit, sit,” Alden said, entering from another doorway.
Hesitantly, the squad sat in the chairs lining the table. As the last trooper sat, a large group of servers filed into the room, placing large decorative plates in front of the guests. Each dish was covered with a large, shiny metal hood, no doubt as much for decoration as to keep the food underneath warm. With a single fluid motion, the servers lifted all the hoods in unison. The troopers gasped at the display. Rare and exotic dishes from all over the Commonwealth sat in front of the troopers. It would be impossible to compare them to the rations they were used to.
“Dig in!” Alden shouted magnanimously. “You wouldn’t want to hurt the chef’s feelings, would you?”
The troopers hesitated. Every dish looked like it had been hand sculpted into a piece of art. It seemed like a crime even to think of disrupting the artwork that sat in front of them. Cain was the first to start on his meal, although he showed plenty of hesitation himself. Slowly, the other troopers joined in, carefully watching Cain for clues on how to properly hold and use the plethora of tableware.
“I promise it doesn’t bite. Please dig in.” Alden started working on his meal. “No need to be so stiff about it.”
“I guess I’d gotten used to the rations back in the academy,” Cain said with a chuckle.
“I dread to ask what they fed you.”
“It was better than that junk they served us on the trade ship,” Erin said, savoring a morsel of meat.
“It was a trade ship, not a luxury liner,” Cain said with the tired edge of repetition. “What did you expect?”
“At least the walls were sturdy,” Mr. Springate said with a smile.
Several troopers started chuckling.
“I think I missed something,” Alden said.
“Back on Deriso,” Humphrey said in his mumble, “Mr. Springate, accidentally, knocked over a wall.”
“Was a wonderful breeze, though.” Doug chuckled as he took another bite.
“Sounds like you’ve gone through quite a bit getting here.” Alden smiled at the troopers expectantly. “I’d love to hear all about it.”
“We’ll get you up to speed just as soon as you get us up to speed,” Tyra said.
“Still going on about that?” he asked. “Can’t it wait until after our meal?”
“Are you intentionally avoiding the subject?”
“I wouldn’t put it that way. It just makes for horrible table conversation.”
“Perhaps you’d rather play a game?” Dante asked with a grin.
Several troopers eyed Cain as they chuckled under their breath.
“I’m sure Mr. Alden will give us the details in his own time,” Ronald said, putting a reassuring hand on Tyra’s shoulder.
“The security force’s orders to apprehend Rhea weren’t entirely Cartier’s doing. Were they?” Brent asked.
Several troopers stared at Brent while Alden shifted uncomfortably.
“Cartier knew we’d resist and planned to use that as an excuse to arrest your son. But the original orders weren’t his, were they?” Brent asked again.
“Why do you ask?” Alden didn’t answer the question.
“I just wanted to know if there was going to be any more excitement tonight. You’re obviously reluctant about giving details on the war. It wouldn’t be unthinkable for you to be holding back until the ears of the ITU were remove
d from the room.”
Rhea shifted nervously. Humphrey eyed Alden with a less than approving stare.
“My, aren’t you a perceptive one,” he said with a smile.
The lights overhead instantly went dark. The room was cast in a dim red hue. Brent could hear the shuffling of combat boots.
Chapter 10: Dinner Guests
In an instant, Humphrey and Penny had reached Rhea’s side, both of them watching the darkness for an approaching foe. The rest of the squad was on their feet, readying for a fight.
“Relax! This isn’t my doing,” Alden said, clearly annoyed. “I said the boy was perceptive, not correct.”
A single man ran into the darkened room. Brent recognized the burgundy uniform; he wasn’t one of the PSF.
“Mr. Alden! We need you immediately. We’ve got a situation,” the man in burgundy shouted.
He quickly rose from the table, and together the two ran out of the room. Ronald shot a quick glance at Tyra. Without a word she nodded, and they ran after in pursuit. The rest of the troopers quickly followed suit and started racing down the hallways. The hallways were also covered in the dark red hue. Brent noticed as they raced along that connecting hallways were completely dark. The lighting was guiding them to their destination. When they arrived, Alden was already shouting orders. Dozens of men in burgundy were manning stations, each of them frantically working.
“How many?” Alden asked.
“Scanners indicate there are fifteen jump windows,” his assistant responded.
“The Union must be getting reckless to send so many at once. How many has the nebula claimed?”
“None.
“None?” Alden shouted. “That’s impossible!”
“Nevertheless, all fifteen have managed to jump into safe pockets.”
“How much time do we have?”
“Not much. They are already heading to the main docking hub.”
“Alert the PSFs and lock down the navigation array. If there is a spy, I want them found now.”
“At once Mr. Alden. However, the PSFs are currently scattered all over Eos. Given the time we have, we won’t have enough firepower to repel a single invasion ship, let alone fifteen.”
The Ninth: Invasion Page 28