by Trevor Wyatt
Jeryl shrugs again.
“So, if the Tyreesian Collective feels like blowing up their business partners, have at it,” Jeryl continues. “Know this, however. We know that that traitor Lucien Parker and his goons of Terran Nationalists are all sponsored terrorists by the Nova Corporations. And when you think of it, it’s ironic. Money flows from the Tyreesians to Nova Corporation to Terran Nationalists.
“So, if you want to blow up some allies then…by all means.”
Greer looks at Jeryl wide eyes. The crew have the same expression. They are all held spellbound by Jeryl’s supposed fearlessness.
Many have said Jeryl is a war monger. I know this isn’t true. However, sometimes it is difficult to say that. Now is one of those times when I don’t know if Jeryl gets off on fighting wars.
Greer begins to talk, when Jeryl raises a finger and Greer shuts it.
“Oh, one more thing,” Jeryl says. “While we’ve been talking, the fleets from all eight parties to the Galactic Council have entered this system and are en route to this location. You can start glassing the planet, however, know that when you do, all these ships will come and it will mean the beginning of an interstellar war that will sink your little Collective into fire and fury that the Galaxy has never, ever fucking seen.”
There is a brief pause.
“Your choice,” Jeryl ends by saying.
He turns around and makes a cutting motion with his hand as the signal gets terminated.
I look at Jeryl. Mouth agape. He smiles at me.
“Feel like having some fun today, Captain?” he asks with a twinkle in his eye.
Chapter 32
Leader Greer
I was absolutely taken by surprise that I find myself staring wide-eyed at Jeryl Montgomery’s image on the screen. How had the Terran uncovered the truth of the operation? Adding to my shock is the sting of the Vice Admiral’s obviously calculated smirk. This bastard is mocking me, daring me to reply!
But there is nothing I could say, nothing I could do.
I slapped the controls without uttering a word, cutting off the comm link to Montgomery’s ship. Enraged, I feel my face darken to navy blue as I spin my chair around to face the Nova Corporation representative sitting where the camera had not seen her.
Anjali Bagawati appears every bit as dumbfounded as I am, which does not give me any comfort. At this moment, I am maintaining self-control only by a supreme effort. If not for my restraint, I would have physically attacked this woman.
My hands grip the arms of my chair so tightly that I know my nails would leave half-moon cuts in the plastic padding.
Never had I hated the Terran race as much as I do at this moment.
“What do you know about this?” I ground out in as calm a tone as I could manage, though I know I sound as if I’m being strangled.
The woman’s eyes turn ghostly pale and the whites of her eyes shows all around her pupils. “I—I—nothing, I assure you, Leader!”
“Nothing!” I barked, leaning toward her and baring my teeth. “Nothing?” I croaked a mirthless laugh. “Your security fails utterly, and you know nothing about how it could have happened?”
“W-we did detect some sort of minor fluctuation in the power levels of our—”
“Did you or did you not assure me that your systems were impregnable?” I somehow gain control over myself and my voice is now almost at a normal pitch.
“I did, and they are, but as I say, this fluctuation must have masked a breach. I don’t know how it could have been done. Nothing could get past the AI. Nothing!”
I fix her with an ironic gaze. “And yet,” I say. “And yet.”
I gesture at the blank view screen. The after-image of Montgomery’s mocking face seemed to persist there like a repulsive stain.
“I can’t explain it,” she murmurs.
“Leader Greer?” The tremulous voice came from the ship’s communications officer.
“Well, what is it?” I didn’t bother disguising my anger.
“I, uh, there are some news broadcasts coming in that I think you should s-see,” the officer says. I find myself taking some small, mean satisfaction in the man’s cringing tone.
“Patch them in,” I say.
“Yes, Leader.”
Anjali Bagawati and I watch in growing astonishment and anger as the news feeds began unspooling.
“Our lead story concerns information obtained by sources on Omarias II indicate that the Nova Corporation’s Interstellar Finance Division has been instrumental in laundering money from the Tyreesian government to Terran Nationalist Party officials. Nationalist spokesman reject the claims, saying—”
“Terran Nationalist Chairman Lucien Parker said today that the allegations that the Nova Corporation installation on Omarias II has quote, “No ties whatsoever,” unquote, to his party. Observers on New Washington say that videos and sound recordings obtained at great risk by Union operatives show otherwise, and—”
“Nova Corporation board member Debra Sharjah categorically denies links between Nova and the Terran Nationalist group, as shown in this section of a question and answer session with her this morning.”
Sharjah’s face swims into view. It was fixed in a stern expression as she says, “There is not and never has been any contact between Nova and the Terran Nationalists. We are a freedom-loving company and do not take any political stands whatsoever. This story turns out to be entirely false, based on lies planted by rivals.”
I glare at Bagawati. “That’s the story you people are going with?”
“Look, I tell you—I know nothing about it.” She struggles to recover her aplomb. “I doubt that your group will be able to come up with anything better on such short notice.”
“So you haven’t spoken with your superiors?”
“No, the slipstream’s been quiet so far this—” The communicator band on her wrist buzzes, and she emits a slight gasp. Looking at the ID readout, she says, “It’s my manager.” She rises from her seat. “I’ll have to take it in my quarters, Leader.”
“Of course.” And I hope you get your hindquarters burned off… As I no doubt will. I thought as she hurried out of the room.
I turn my attention back to the news feeds. There was the sneering face of Lucien Parker, as he addressed a mob of his followers: “Anyone who believes that we would take any money, so much as a single credit, from some mongrel race of aliens needs to have his bolts tightened.”
I motioned at the screen, cutting the audio feed. Larker spoke on, looking like an angry puppet.
What had gone wrong? I rather thought I knew. Somehow that degenerate Jeryl Montgomery and his bitch of a wife had managed to uncover the truth. I could not blame Nova or the Nationalists from trying to deflect responsibility. The next step for both of us would be to find what the Earth people call a scapegoat or a patsy.
“That’s certainly what I would do,” I mutter.
“This just in,” says a news announcer. “Nova Corporation spokesman Davvido Stone has announced that Anjali Bagawati, the company’s representative on Omarias II, has been revealed as the source of a long-standing program of graft and corruption on that world. She has been terminated from the company and will face prosecution when she returns to Earth. Company troops are on the way to Omarias II even now to secure her arrest. Terran Union Secretary Wilton Lafcadio has called for a full probe of Nova Corporation and the company has agreed to cooperate. Keep tuned to this channel for updates on—”
A movement in my peripheral vision attracts my attention. Anjali Bagawati stands in the doorway to the command deck, her eyes wide and unseeing.
She had either heard the news report, or that call had been her notification.
Although I have no sympathy for her…I know how she feels, and somehow we’re now stuck in the same situation.
“They’ve thrown me to the wolves,” she says faintly. She walks in, unsteady on her feet, and sinks down into an acceleration chair. “What will I do?”
“I’m ruined,” she whispers.
I snort.
“Acceptance,” I say, “When failure is all there is, fail magnificently and with dignity. Hold your head up. Do not show the fools that you are wounded.”
She scoffs. “Easy to say.”
I turn away from her, scowling. She was right, of course. My own reputation would be shattered, my family disgraced. My career is over now. I would never pilot another star ship. I harden my heart against the pang of regret in my chest.
Anjali Bagawati looks blankly around the room. “There’s nothing for me here now,” she says. “And I dare not return home. They have frozen my assets. I won’t get my pension.” She licks her lips. “No one will hire me after this.”
“As I say, this was the risk we took when we embarked on this project.”
“How can you accept defeat so easily, Leader Greer?”
“Not a day passes that defeat is not a possibility,” I say. “Surely you must know that. All of us aboard this ship will share in my ignominy. When we return to our world, we will be stripped of rank and made to work in the mines.”
She nods. “I simply did not expect to fail. I...I am not prepared.”
I feel something inside me, some small twinge of pity. But there was nothing I could do for her. We have lost the game.
My next move, my last in this operation, would be the most painful of all.
“Open a channel to the Terran ship,” I say to the communications officer. “I wish to speak with Vice Admiral Montgomery.”
“Yes, Leader.”
I waited while the connection was established. This is the worst fifteen seconds of my life.
Jeryl Montgomery’s face appears on my screen. To my relief, there is no trace of humor or triumph on the man’s face.
“Vice Admiral,” I say. Jeryl nodded slightly.
“Leader Greer.”
“I will withdraw.”
Montgomery’s face remained serious.
I feel a bitter gratitude for the Terran’s professionalism.
Montgomery inclines his head in acknowledgement. “Thank you, Leader Greer.”
The screen goes blank. I think of the mines and repressed a shudder. I am not accustomed to physical toil.
But I will do my best, and will not complain.
I need to, for my spirit to be not broken.
Chapter 33
Ashley
The Seeker enters the Sol System, the last of a large complement of vessels across the Galaxy. On the view screen, the science officer does us the pleasure of highlighting some of the key milestones we have achieved right from the nuclear fire of World War III to returning it to its pristine beauty now.
I am in awe as we soar towards the home world. It’s been a month of preparations. I can tell the CNC crew is still astonished over what happened. There is a stunned silence. No one expected we would be flying back to Earth like this.
Vice Admiral Jeryl Montgomery stands to my left, reading every single word that the science officer has scrolling through the screen. There might be just sheer determination on his face right now, but back in my quarters, he shared with me how he really feels.
“How are you feeling?” I ask him. He’s just close enough to hear my subvocalized voice.
Jeryl swivels on his heels as though a ghost had spoken. He squints at me.
“I can’t describe it,” he mutters back to me. “I feel…at peace.”
Me too, I think to myself. We let the comfortable silence speak for how we feel.
The CNC is dim as all focus is on the bright view screen. There is a tensed silence as we make our way through the void of space to the third planet from the sun. As we pass all the different colonies and outposts on the way, we receive welcome messages, which the communications officer announces and displays on the screen.
“Approaching Earth’s moon, Captain,” says the navigations officer.
I think of enormity of that statement. Who would have ever thought I would be leading the victorious charge back to Earth, having brought about the framework for a galactic peace?
Sure, I didn’t do it as much as how Jeryl did. But I‘ve been with him all throughout the process, all throughout everything. First, as a chauffeur—but then as a diplomat as well.
I remember those sleepless nights when I would tirelessly think of how the diplomats would possibly decide or what the other species would make of our proposal. Then came the whole Tyreesian play at the Omarian system. This was the final showdown, where the might of the strongest powers in the galaxy was challenged by an erring species.
But the Tyreesians had caved in and not one drop of blood has been spilled.
“This is what a Galactic Council can prevent,” Jeryl said to me.
“Lieutenant, what’s the status of the delegation from other worlds?” I ask the communications officer.
“Confirming…” he replies as his hands fly his workstation.
My gaze shifts back to my husband and commander, Vice Admiral Jeryl Montgomery. This way has taken a lot from us. This state of perpetual tension and conflict has driven a wedge between us. And even though we have reaffirmed our love for each other, we still felt apart.
Why wouldn’t we? If it wasn’t the Sonali today, it was the Nakra tomorrow. And if it wasn’t the Nakra tomorrow, then it was the Tyreesians the next.
The only joy I have is that we won in the end. We won both battles. The battle to remain in love and the battle to unify the galaxy.
Yeah, sure, the galaxy is more than nine powers. There are a lot of races we reached out to that flat said no. There are some that didn’t even respond to our messages—we weren’t sure if they didn’t understand or they just ignored it; we haven’t had time to investigate. There are some that said they’ll be sitting on the sidelines, in case during the whole procedure we decided it was better to butcher ourselves than to sign an accord—yes, some actually said that.
But we won.
We were able unite billions of people together in an open forum where we can resolve our issues without going to war.
Jeryl predicts that over the next several months and years, when the success of the Galactic Council spreads across the galaxy, when others begin to see the positive results and immense benefits derivable from this union, they will join.
“Before you know it,” he had said with a gleeful grin (I wasn’t sure if the glee was from his words or from the fact that we were about to have sex), “every species in the galaxy would want in. Even those who we never knew existed.”
“Captain,” the communications officer says, calling my attention back to the CNC. “The delegates have since arrived and acclimatized to Earth’s environment. All their ships are docked in Space Dock, orbiting the planet, where a shuttle service conveyed them to the Earth. They are settled in their rooms and are prepped for tomorrow’s ceremony.”
“Copy,” I say.
Glancing over to the navigations officer, I say, “Have we been cleared to dock?”
“No, ma’am,” the navigations officer replies. “It seems they are having a bit of a problem on where we should dock.”
“Well, tell them to hurry up,” I reply. “We are ten minutes away from the cradle of humanity. We have travelled for weeks to get here. I wouldn’t want to spend one more second that I need to on this ship.”
Jeryl smiles alluringly at me.
“We’ve been cleared to dock, ma’am,” the communications officer says, a mixture of awe and confusion.
“Confirm that, Lieutenant,” I say with a smile “Earth has just been rebuilt. They’re probably just polishing up the door handles to give her a great shine for us.”
The Lieutenant take about three minutes before saying, “Spacedock is asking that rather than dock, we orbit the planet, ma’am. They say that it’s only fitting for the circumstances that we�
�re in and our help in getting there.”
“They are honoring us,” Jeryl says in my ears.
“Proceed, Lieutenant,” he then says to the navigations officer.
“Aye, sir.” And he corrected our bearing.
Before long, Earth looms into view, covering the entire view screen. It’s a beautiful swirl of blue, green and white. It looks pure and pristine…virgin. For a precious moment, the background noise of murmurs and discussions in the CNC ceases as everyone for the first time in a long time sets their eyes on planet Earth.
“I can’t believe we actually did this,” I say a bit mad. I am standing in the empty, deserted hallway of The Seeker, outside Jeryl’s quarters.
“I told you I needed your help,” Jeryl replies, his voice faint.
I am a bit unnerved by the silence in the ship. Aside from a skeletal crew of less than ten, Jeryl and I are the only ones onboard The Seeker—a vessel that could comfortably accommodate up to five hundred people.
“And what’s wrong with being helped on Earth?” I reply.
Jeryl doesn’t respond. Rather he exits his room, perfectly dressed in his white uniform with all laurels hanging from his breast badge.
“Is that all of it?” I ask, sarcastic.
“No,” he replies. He lets lose a sharp smile and says, “It’s not even half of it.”
I roll my eyes and begin to walk away.
“Hey, I’m sorry,” he says, catching up to me. “I wouldn’t have asked you to stay with me while I work on my speech if I didn’t need you.”
“No, I understand,” I reply. I’m not really angry, after all we are going to Earth and we do have a shore leave of two weeks, so spending two more days aboard The Seeker isn’t a big deal.”
We arrive in the shuttle bay, where our transport awaits us. We strap in and the pilot takes off immediately.
“What I don’t understand is why back here on the ship?”
“Because it’s where I can think,” he replies. “I’ve made so much memories on this ship, it feels like my home. It feels like a part of me.”
I shake my head. “Jeryl, all the memories we made on this ship was either a memory of being shot at or a memory of shooting someone. That can’t be what inspires you…”