by E. R. Torre
After a few seconds of talking with her boy, the gray haired lady approached Inquisitor Cer.
“You two found Rasp?”
“We did.”
“Did you see who did this?”
“No ma’am.”
“Any ideas?”
“No ma’am.”
“Well, I certainly have some.”
The gray haired stared deep into the black pools of B’taav’s eyes.
“You’ve already had one run in with Rasp, Independent. Did you have another?”
“No.”
“He’s innocent of this,” Cer said.
“Are you certain, Inquisitor? Rasp’s murder was a cowardly act. Such actions are within the realm of an Independent’s work.”
“Whether typical of Independents or not, my lady, B’taav and I were together at all times up until the discovery of Rasp's corpse. This I would swear, even to my Cardinal.”
The gray haired lady nodded, but was disappointed blame for this barbarous act could not be so easily determined.
“We’ll get to the bottom of this, Francis,” the man in white said.
B’taav stared at the gray haired lady and her boy.
“Francis?” he said. He recognized her at last. “Francis Lane?”
“You know me?” she said. “Yes, I suppose you do at that.”
B'taav didn't have anything to add.
“If you weren’t responsible for Rasp’s murder, Independent, then one of us was,” she said.
“Was anything touched?” Inquisitor Cer asked.
“No,” the man in white said.
Cer took a long look at the room and its inhabitants.
“When was the last time each of you saw Rasp?”
“Earlier today, just after breakfast,” the man in white volunteered. “He wasn’t too happy, understandably, about what B’taav did to him yesterday. Maddox looked after him, making sure he didn’t do anything rash. The rest of the group, everyone but B’taav and you, Inquisitor Cer, were there, eating.”
“How about after breakfast? Anyone saw him then?”
“I did,” Maddox said. “I kept watch on him through the morning, just as Mr. Frasier said.”
B’taav eyed the man in white. Though he didn’t recognize the man, the name was familiar.
“He was quite angry,” Maddox continued. “It took a great deal of effort to keep him from visiting the Xendos. We –I– wasted far too much time babysitting him. Around lunch I got in touch with Ms. Lane and we decided to lace his meal with sedatives."
“You gave him spiked food?” Frasier said.
“Yes sir,” Maddox said. “He was out in twenty minutes. I dragged him back to this room and laid him on the bed. Then I went back to the ship and—”
“Did you see him again?
“No sir.”
“Did anyone else see him after he was dragged here?”
There was no answer.
“One of you did,” B’taav finally said.
“If you have a suspect, feel free to enlighten us as to who it is, Independent,” Frasier said.
Maddox fold his arms across his chest. Was he hiding the stain on his right sleeve? It was hard to tell.
“I have none,” B’taav said. He shook his head. “We’re wasting time. Time we don’t have. We could spend hours going over each other's itinerary, checking to see if we have the motive, and opportunity, to kill Rasp. But our priority remains getting off this rock and as far away from Lieutenant Daniels as possible.”
“Then you should get back to work,” Maddox said.
“Not until you tell me what this is about.”
“Are you crazy?” Maddox spat.
“At this point, you have to tell me. It is no longer debatable.”
“You are crazy.”
“Every second that passes where we don’t identify Rasp’s killer is another second where our lives, each and every one of our lives, is in danger. Rasp’s murder was clearly a crime of opportunity. He was alone in this room, asleep, and far enough away from everyone else that he could be picked off without much effort and without anyone seeing. One of you is thinning the herd. One of you is here for their own purposes. And it won’t be the last time he, or she, strikes.”
The eyes of the passengers floated from face to face, as if trying to read their partners’, their associates’, their friends’ minds.
“Unless I know exactly what we’re doing out here, I can’t trust any of you.”
“You’re asking us to explain ourselves?” Maddox mocked the Independent. “No. You’ve received all the information you’re getting. From here on out, you’ll follow orders.”
“What if these orders come from the mouth of Rasp’s murderer?” B’taav said. “Do you really want me to do whatever any of you ask, blindly, when that might be the case?”
The room grew silent. Francis Lane rubbed her chin and sighed.
“You can’t seriously be thinking…” Maddox began, and then paused. “You’re not going to do what he asks, are you?”
“The Independent's right. Why should he trust any of us?” she said. “What if the murderer orders him to do something that jeopardizes our mission? How would he know if the order is legitimate if he doesn't know what we're doing?”
“This is insanity!”
“I know where you stand, Maddox,” B’taav said. “Why don’t you let the others decide for themselves?”
Again the group eyed each other. Despite their weariness, despite their fear, they realized there was truth in B’taav’s words.
“It’s time we talked,” Francis Lane said.
CHAPTER THIRTY THREE
The group entered what was once the main conference room of the Xendos and sat before the room’s single long table.
Francis Lane motioned for B’taav to sit before her, and he did so. Ned Frasier, Stephen Gray, and the Phaecian Cardinal sat on the other side of the table and faced the Independent. Melchor, Kaspar, and Balthazar assumed positions outside the room while Maddox and Nathaniel sat beside the door and out of the way. Like the Mercs, Inquisitor Cer chose to remain standing. She held the space between the door and the conference table.
When everyone was in place, Stephen Gray began the meeting.
“I would formally introduce myself,” he told the Independent. “But you already know who I am.”
“Yes I do, Mr. Gray. Your reputation as one of Epsillon’s finest business men is equal only to your being an uncompromising patriot.” B’taav paused and motioned to both Francis Lane and the Phaecian Cardinal. “So what are you doing with these two?”
“How well do you know them?” Gray inquired.
“Francis Lane is an aide to the regency of what is left of the old Epsillon Empire and her monarchy,” B’taav said. “Today’s Epsillon Empire neither recognizes her political party or their control over several lesser systems at our far borders. Given how small the systems are, neither have they made a big issue about their claims.” B’taav’s eyes turned from Stephen Gray and toward Francis Lane. “It was your monarchy that got us into the Erebus War.”
“We are no longer a true monarchy,” Francis Lane said. “We refer to ourselves as the Old Epsillon Empire. The new Empire may not give us much thought, but we exist nonetheless.”
“So we have a high level representative from the new Epsillon Empire and a representative of the Old Empire,” B'taav said. His gaze settled on the Phaecian Cardinal. “Joining them is you. Considering the shared history of these three distinguished members, it’s not too surprising there’s a murderer among us. Cardinal, you’re an awful long way from home.”
“You may address me by my name, Independent. Saro Triste.”
“As you wish, Cardinal Triste.”
“Given your knowledge of the others, perhaps I should be insulted that you didn’t recognize me as well,” the Cardinal continued. His voice was deep and commanding. He was used to intimidating his subjects.
“Don’t take my lack
of knowledge as an insult,” B’taav said and smiled. “The galaxy is quite large. I have yet to memorize the names of everyone of importance within it.”
The man in white, the only member sitting at the table not to formally identify himself, said: “I’m Ned Frasier. I’m a local at the Titus space station. It was my job to look at the material that came in from the scavengers.”
“All material?”
“Certain material.”
“Are you sure you want to do this, Ned?” Maddox said. “Once you speak, we can no longer go back. Think about what you’re doing.”
“We have,” Francis Lane said.
The bartender's opinion no longer mattered.
“Then get on with it,” Maddox growled.
They took their time to talk and B’taav wondered who would be the first to reveal their secrets. Stephen Gray chose himself.
“Given our diversity, you probably suspect us of some kind of treason against our respective political systems,” Stephen Gray said. “That is the furthest thing from the truth. We came together because of a unique threat. A threat that could well result in the resumption of the Erebus War.”
“I’m listening.”
“As you know, the Erebus War ended in the destruction of almost every single one of the Old Epsillon and Phaecian Empire’s most fearsome warships,” he continued. “What you and almost everyone else do not know is that this was by design.”
“Design?” B’taav repeated. “You mean this was planned?”
“Yes.”
“By the Gods, why?”
“Our leaders were not fools,” Saro Triste said. “Even if they were foolish enough to allow events to spiral out of control and push both Empires to the brink of war.”
“Perhaps it was the cold reality of what they were about to get into that made at least a few of them realize the situation was critical,” Stephen Gray said.
“Early estimates predicted when this war spilled out of Erebus and into either Empire, the fatalities would number in the billions,” Saro Triste said. “Our leaders were facing not only massive deaths, but perhaps the end of humanity itself.”
“You see, B'taav, by coincidence or not, both sides had developed an ultimate weapon,” Francis Lane said. “We called ours Project Charybdis. They called theirs the Tears of the Stars. When detonated, these weapons released a tremendous energy wave. A wave capable of annihilating an entire solar system.”
B’taav drew a sharp breath. He couldn’t help but look out the room’s single window and at the asteroid field beyond. The remains of Erebus.
“Yes, Independent, an entire solar system.”
For several seconds, the room was quiet.
“Then what?” B'taav asked.
“This information was closely guarded. A group of twenty high ranking military, political, industrial, and clergy figures, ten from each empire, initiated top secret dialogue. They were aware their counterparts had their hands on this weapon. This realization proved sobering. They came to the conclusion that this war had to be stopped before it fully began.”
“But too many events were already in motion. Ships from either side initiated hostile actions within Erebus. There were too many casualties and field Commanders were eager to advance. More and more ships were deployed in system. Even the citizens of the Empires demanded blood.”
“The group of twenty grew increasingly desperate to find any kind of peaceful solution. But their fear was that peace treaties would be, at best, short lived. Even worse, they would afford each side time to create even more of these ultimate weapons.”
“So someone in these negotiations offered a solution,” Francis Lane said. “An ultimate solution. One that would eliminate the threat of any future wars for millennia. Time enough for the old hatreds to die down. Time enough for us to live together in peace.”
“They agreed to explode these bombs in Erebus?” B’taav said.
“Yes.”
“H-how many people were sacrificed?”
“Far less than would have had this war spilled over.”
B’taav shook his head. He eyed Inquisitor Cer. She stared back at him.
“And the military agreed to do this? They agreed to sacrifice all these lives along with the backbone of their fleets?”
“They did no such thing,” Francis Lane replied. “The treaty was known only to the group of twenty and a handful of very loyal, senior members of the two starships in question.”
“The ones carrying the weapons.”
“Yes. The Charybdis bomb was on board the Epsillon Empire juggernaut Argus. The Tears of the Stars was on the Phaecian Empire ship Luxor. Not only did they carry the weapons, these ships held the only copies of the complete schematics of these weapons along with the personnel who developed the devices. The group of twenty made sure no other copies of blueprints existed anywhere else. They set a time and date for the end and consulted with the Captains of each ship.”
“The men and women in control of these vessels knew and understood their sacrifice. They, more than anyone else, were aware of the danger of introducing these weapons into a prolonged war. They agreed to do what was asked of them, even though it meant sacrificing their own lives.”
“The Argus and the Luxor were to enter Erebus simultaneously and, at a given moment, set off their respective bombs. In the resulting maelstrom, the military might of both Phaecia and Epsillon would be destroyed, along with those ultimate weapons.”
“They were mad,” B’taav said.
“Perhaps, but their plan worked,” Francis Lane said. “Neither Empire had the weapons or the desire to fight anymore. On that very day, the war ended.”
“Investigations into the explosion at Erebus followed, of course,” Triste added. “And because of the projects’ secrecy, no one figured out exactly what happened. The group of twenty knew conspiracy theories would flower, but they could live with that, as long as their goal was realized.”
B’taav mouth felt very dry.
“What happened to this group of twenty?”
“They suffered. How could they not? A year after their plan’s implementation, thirteen of them were dead. Eight by their own hand. The others died in what was nebulously ruled as ‘accidents.’ Of the remaining seven, three left politics and disappeared forever from public life. The other four were victims of crime. Peculiar crimes. As nebulous as the accidents.”
“Why are you here? Why is Lieutenant Daniels after you?”
“Despite their plan’s success, the group of twenty realized something had gone wrong,” Francis Lane said.
“They feared their deception would be revealed?”
“They never expected the secret to last forever. Indeed, they made provisions to reveal their handiwork. Their testimonials were recorded for posterity and are to be revealed at the five hundred anniversary of the end of the War. By then, hopefully, their distant relatives will not suffer for their forefathers’ sins.”
“What went wrong?”
“You’re familiar with a scavenger by the name of Kelly Lang?” Ned Frasier asked.
“Yes.”
“He was a nobody,” Frasier continued. “One of many thousands of scavengers searching for any scrap from the war that a Homeworld collector might pay good money for.”
“What did he find?”
“A nearly intact scientific probe from the Argus,” Francis Lane said.
“A probe from the ship carrying the Charybdis bomb into Erebus?”
“Yes.”
“How is that possible? Wouldn’t the ship have disintegrated—”
B’taav did not finish his thought. He stared at the faces before him.
“Her bomb wasn't detonated?”
“No.”
“You mean all this destruction…it was the result of the Tears of the Stars alone?”
“Yes,” Frasier said. “Somehow, the Luxor's device exploded prematurely. The Argus, on the other side of the solar system, survived the explosion. If s
he’s still in one piece, the Charybdis bomb is still on board.”
“How could the ship survive an explosion of such magnitude?”
“Phaecian intelligence as well as the Monnel Displacer records indicated the Argus arrived through the inner Erebus Displacer just as the explosion's impact was felt on that side of the system," Saro Triste said. “When activated, all Displacers create a fold in the fabric of space, a negative space wormhole. It is what allows vessels passage from one point to another, many light years away. While active, this negative space wormhole is extra-dimensional and, in theory, unaffected by events occurring outside its fold. We suspect the Argus was still in this negative space for a fraction of a second after the explosion’s energy passed.”
“You think the ship was completely intact?”
“Obviously not,” Frasier said. “Had she emerged into Erebus space unscathed, the crew would have blasted her out of the rubble of what remained of Erebus. No, she sustained enough damage from the blast to make her immobile or near immobile. Her life support systems obviously survived long enough to allow the crew time to release the ship’s probes, including the one we found.”
“You were looking for such objects? You knew the Argus was out there?”
“The group of twenty poured over all information collected from the explosion. As impressive as the destruction was, the data was incontrovertible. The explosion had the characteristics of only one solar bomb. Had both been detonated as planned, this area would still be a toxic cesspool. Titus and the Erebus Displacer would have been dust. Our ancestors knew the Luxor was gone. They couldn't be sure about the Argus.”
“A year after the events at Erebus, the surviving members of the group of twenty set aside a stipend and created a secret organization,” Francis Lane said. “To this day, the organization has no formal name and only one goal: To guard Erebus from both borders and see to it that if the Argus was somehow found, her cargo would never fall into the hands of either individuals or Empires.”
“Several generations of sentries were stationed at Titus and the two other space stations in the vicinity of Erebus,” Ned Frasier said. “Their job –eventually my job– was to sift through the scavengers’ material and look for any signs of the ship.”