Excelsior

by Jasper T. Scott

  They slipped the noose over his head, and Wilson struggled for all he was worth, trying to make them strike him in some way that would make foul play a possibility for coroners to investigate, but goon number one held him in an impossibly tight headlock, while they picked him up and stood him on the cot. Wilson could feel himself losing consciousness as he watched goon two tie the end of the shirt rope to the sturdy mounting plate of the light fixture. Darkness seeped in at the edges of his vision. His last conscious thought was pack your bags, assholes. I’m taking you with me.

  Chapter 49

  “Is something wrong?”

  “Can I come in? We need to talk.”

  “Be my guest.” Still frowning, McAdams stepped aside and he walked in. Her room aboard Anchor Station was nothing but a bunk, a chair, and a locker with a holoscreen on the wall opposite her bed. Typical fare for a lieutenant. She was actually lucky not to be sharing her quarters with someone else.

  Alexander went to sit at the foot of her bed. She shut the door and crossed over to him, all long legs and lithe curves, her blue eyes bright, but full of concern. He patted the bed next to him, and her lips curved wryly. She stopped in front of him with her arms crossed.

  “You don’t mess around, Captain. I think maybe I gave you the wrong impression about me. You’re at least going to have to take me to dinner first.”

  “It’s admiral, not captain.”

  “Admir…” McAdams said. Her eyes lit with understanding and promptly narrowed. “I thought you were getting out of the navy.”

  “I was. The president made me an offer I can’t refuse.”

  “So that’s it, they make you an admiral and bang—suddenly you’re back in it for another ten years? I thought you were sick of the Navy.”

  “I am. It’s not about the promotion. The Confederacy has Caty. Or at least… they might have her.”

  “Your wife?” McAdams shook her head. “I thought she moved on and had a baby.”

  Alexander nodded. “Apparently she also joined the colony fleet. Her shuttle went down in enemy waters and the colonists are all missing. I’m going to lead the fleet looking for them.”

  McAdams looked away. “I don’t believe this! Just my luck! I should have known better.” She turned back to him, her eyes full of hurt and accusation. “What do you think is going to happen when you find her? You think she’s just going to ditch her baby daddy and welcome you back with open arms?”

  “No. I don’t think that.”

  “Then what are you doing?” she asked, incredulous.

  “I still care about her, Viviana. Maybe she doesn’t care about me, and maybe we can’t go back to the way things were, but that’s not the point. The president needs my help, and in exchange he’s willing to allocate an extra fleet to look for the missing colonists.”

  “You’re telling me President Baker is blackmailing you? What could you possibly have to offer him that’s worth an entire fleet?”

  “I wondered the same thing. Turns out I can help repair the damage Wilson did and make the Alliance look like the good guys again.”

  McAdams snorted. “You say that like you don’t believe that we are the good guys anymore.”

  “I’m not sure there are any good guys in this war.”

  “Okay, so you get to go play the hero and rescue your wife. What about us? How long are you signing on for this time?”

  “Six months.”

  “Better than ten years, but that’s still a long time. By then I might have a baby daddy of my own.” McAdams fixed him with a penetrating stare. “Are you willing to risk that? You know they have to find those colonists with or without you. She’s not the only one missing, and you might not be able to help her even by adding more muscle to the search.”

  Alexander shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not, but I have to try. When it’s over, I’ll look you up, and we’ll see where we stand.”

  “Don’t bother.” McAdams looked away again, wiping her eyes on the backs of her hands. She was crying. Alexander watched her with a growing lump in his throat. She sniffled and said. “With all due respect, Admiral, I need to hit the rack, and you’re sitting on it.”

  “Of course.” He stood up from the bed and placed a hand on her arm. She flinched, but didn’t turn to look at him. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry, Viviana. I would have liked to see where we could go with… us.”

  Now she did look at him. He saw the bitter curve of her lips and the tears shining in her eyes, and suddenly he wondered if he was making the right decision.

  “I know,” she said. “Now go find your wife, Admiral.”

  Alexander nodded. “I will.”

  *

  Five Days Later - March 11th, 2793

  Admiral Alexander de Leon sat on his bed below decks in his quarters aboard the W.A.S. Hancock, the flagship of the Seventh Fleet, watching World Alliance News with the volume turned down to a whisper. This was his lullaby. Ever since reaching the Alliance supercarrier Hancock four days ago, he’d had to eat sleep and drink the news so that he could respond to it and help improve the Alliance’s image.

  Meanwhile, the Hancock with its two entire wings of drones, fighters, and quadcopters were out searching day and night for Catalina and the missing colonists off the coast of West Papau, Indonesia. So far the search hadn’t turned up anything, and all they’d manage to accomplish was to engage in land skirmishes with Confederate soldiers who’d taken to hiding in the jungles. Casualties had grown high enough that now all the searches were conducted remotely via land and aerial drones.

  Alexander was relatively insulated from the fighting—an admiral in name more than function. He gave broad directions to guide the search, but his real job was to spend every day consulting with Ambassador Carter and his team of PR managers before sitting in front of World Alliance News reporters and their Confederate counterparts, responding to Confederate rebels’ demands, propaganda, threats, and all of the other problems associated with winning the war and occupying enemy territory.

  President Baker didn’t have the manpower to fight an ongoing land battle with enemy rebels in fully half of the world, so he had to focus on holding key areas and winning over the Confederate people with the sheer nobleness of their goals and conduct.

  Without popular support, there was no chance to achieve President Baker’s happily-ever-after vision of one world and one people living in peace and harmony forever. It didn’t help that the Alliance had their fleet standing by in orbit to nuke Confederate cities if they tried anything stupid.

  So far no nukes had been fired, but orbital bombardment of enemy oceanic fleets and military bases was ongoing, and the Confederate government was still on the run. Their strategy at this point was guerrilla warfare. So far it was working. Attrition was taking a heavy toll on Alliance forces, and they were only a few weeks into the occupation.

  It really was a disaster of global proportions. The enemy government and their entire military had been just about to surrender when they learned of Admiral Wilson’s betrayal at the Looking Glass. After that, surrender had been taken off the table.

  A public trial for Wilson might have eased some of the bad blood, but then he’d hung himself in his cell before justice could be done. Now getting the Confederacy back to the point of surrender was almost an impossible goal, and Alexander didn’t see an end to the fighting in the near future. Maybe war was some indelible part of human nature and world peace would never be achieved, but President Baker was adamant that that should be his legacy.

  For his part, Alexander’s goals were much less ambitious. The only thing he wanted was to rescue his wife and then leave the navy so that he could get down to the business of living the allied dream that navy recruiters had sold him more than a decade ago. If he was lucky, maybe McAdams would still be available. If not… he was immortal now, so eventually he’d find someone to start a life with.

  Alexander sighed and then covered a yawn with one hand. Suddenly the news program playing on the hol
oscreen at the foot of his bed caught his attention. The headline read, Breaking News Admiral Wilson’s Shocking Confession.

  Alexander frowned, wondering what Wilson had done now. The man was dead, and he was still making headlines. Wilson’s face appeared next, with his trademark white hair. Alexander saw his lips moving, but his words were too soft to hear. Alexander was about to gesture at the screen to raise the volume when his comm band trilled with an incoming call.

  Frowning, he lifted the band to his lips to accept the call. It was from Captain Tristan of the Hancock.

  “Admiral!” Tristan breathed, sounding out of breath.

  Excitement stirred butterflies to life in Alexander’s gut, and suddenly he forgot all about whatever the late Admiral Wilson had to say.

  “What is it, Captain?” Alexander asked.

  “The colonists. We’ve found them. We have a platoon of automechs securing their location now. We’re about to send the quadcopters to bring them in.”

  “I’ll be right there,” Alexander said, already flying out of bed. “Tell them to save a seat for me. I want to be there when they’re rescued.”

  “Sir, I strongly advise against—”

  “I wasn’t asking for permission, Captain. I’m going.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Chapter 50

  Alexander reached the flight deck already dressed in a full two hundred pounds of powered combat armor. A dozen quadcopters were on the deck, their rotors spinning with a thunderous thump-thump-thumping. Navy SEALs rushed every which way in matching gray combat armor. Drones hovered up and away like a swarm of locusts.

  Thanks to his powered armor, Alexander felt his steps light and too fast. It was like stepping off a treadmill after running for an hour—the world went by in a blur. Ambassador Carter ran beside him, huffing and puffing to keep up.

  “Admiral, you can’t risk yourself like this. You are far too valuable to the Alliance.”

  “I’m going, Carter. You can’t stop me. This was the president’s end of the deal, remember?”

  “What are you going to accomplish by going with them?” Carter yelled at him to be heard above the noise of rotors and the amplified voices of platoon leaders snapping orders at their troops. “You’re not a SEAL! You’re a starship captain!”

  “This discussion is over,” Alexander replied, his voice magnified by the external speakers in his helmet.

  “You think the enemy is going to pass up the chance to kill Alexander, the Lion of Liberty?”

  Alexander rounded on the ambassador and planted an armored palm against the other man’s chest. Carter bounced away violently and shot him an angry look. “Watch it! You could have broken my ribs!”

  “Then maybe you should get back below decks before you get hurt. You think I don’t know how to handle myself on the ground just because I’ve been sitting in an acceleration couch for the past ten years?”

  “You’re not trained for this,” Carter insisted. “You’re—” Carter’s comm band trilled with an incoming call and he answered it. “Hello? Mr. President, it’s a pleasure to… I see. Yes… I understand. I’ll be there as soon as I can. No, one of the jets can take me. It’ll be faster. Alexander? I’m here with him now. Yes, I’ll tell him.”

  “What was that about?” Alexander asked, his curiosity piqued.

  “You have to come with me. We have a situation developing, and the president needs you to join him immediately.”

  Alexander snorted and shook his head. “Whatever it is, it can wait.”

  “It can’t.”

  “Yes, it can. Rescuing my wife was my condition for joining your devil’s advocacy program, and if you don’t live up to it, I sure as hell won’t live up to my end of things. I’ll see you when I get back.” Alexander turned on his heel and jogged away.

  “Admiral!” Carter screamed after him. “You’ll be court-martialed for this!”

  “Good!” Alexander roared back. “Saves me the trouble of deserting!”

  *

  The quadcopters set down in the middle of a paddy field full of Confederate farmers wearing conical rice hats. Alliance corsair-class automechs stood all around the perimeter of the field, their cannons tracking land and sky.

  Inside Alexander’s quadcopter, buckles clattered and clacked as the SEALs stepped out of their docking stations. The team commander called out, “Let’s go! Let’s go! Double time!”

  Alexander rushed out the back of his quadcopter amidst the thump-thump-thumping of giant rotors. Data streamed into his helmet via comms and colorful heads-up displays. Friendly soldiers were highlighted green, names and ranks floating up above their helmets as they ran out the back of the quadcopter and splashed through the paddy fields. Their armor shimmered, adaptive camouflage changing from gunmetal gray to jungle greens.

  “Admiral, please stick close to me,” Commander Vargas said over comms. “Your safety and that of the missing colonists is my top priority.”

  Alexander nodded and commed back, “Roger.”

  He armed his suit’s integrated weapons and set his shoulder-mounted cannons to auto-fire on incoming drones, grenades, and AP rockets. The automechs already had a good perimeter secured, but there was always a chance that something might slip through. Carter might be a pain in the ass, but he was right about one thing—the chance to kill Alexander, the Lion of Liberty was too tempting to pass up.

  Here’s hoping they don’t know I’m here, he thought, watching as a dozen platoons rushed out into the paddy field amidst confused and shell-shocked rice farmers.

  Alexander ran behind Commander Vargas to the edge of the field where four jungle-green corsair-class automechs stood waiting to escort them through a tunnel of shattered trees and trampled ground cover. Alexander watched their armor shimmer and appear to liquefy, affording them a wraith-like invisibility.

  “Engage stealth mode and step lightly,” Commander Vargas said over the comms.

  Alexander toggled stealth and he felt his steps slow as his powered armor adapted to keep him from making too much noise. There was no hiding the corsairs’ ground-shaking footsteps, but at least that would draw attention away from the ground troops following behind.

  Alexander had to resist the urge to run for it. It was torture to think of his wife in enemy territory, not knowing if she was okay or whether she’d been mistreated. But he had to remind himself that she wasn’t his anymore.

  In the distance Alexander heard shouting in a foreign language, followed by the sound of gunfire. A swarm of Allied drones went racing over the treetops. Then came the thud-thud-thud of cannon fire and the golden flicker of tracer rounds slashing down.

  Comms crackled in Alexander’s helmet—Commander Vargas ordering them to get ready for action, followed by an order to adopt a new formation. Wraith-like shadows swarmed around him in a protective circle.

  The shouting stopped and they came into a smoke-clouded clearing. The jungle was shredded, and burning here and there in smoking clumps of blackened vegetation. In the distance Alexander saw a concrete structure with a rusty steel door. Then Alexander noticed all of the bodies. Asian skin tones mixed with bloody reds. There was a scattering of severed limbs, and a few charred rice hats. None of them appeared to be wearing Confederate uniforms, and Alexander didn’t see any weapons lying around the bodies.

  “What happened here?” he asked over comms. “These people weren’t armed.”

  “You don’t know that,” Vargas replied. “They were in the engagement area. If they had good intentions they would have run.”

  Alexander looked away and tried to keep his eyes on the door, now marked on his HUD as their objective. A pair of SEALs ran out and began cutting the door open with high-powered lasers. Commander Vargas came on the comms snapping orders, all the while Alexander heard the booming footsteps of the Corsairs and the whirring of Allied drones racing overhead.

  In the distance cannon fire sounded counterpoint to that of smaller handheld weapons. There was fighting going o
n not far from their location.

  The SEALs finished cutting open the door and then kicked it in. Alexander saw a dark tunnel and a staircase leading down below ground. This was some kind of fallout shelter.

  What are allied prisoners doing here? Alexander wondered as he reached the door. Vargas and four other SEALs preceded him down the stairs, while the remainder of the team followed. Dust swirled in the yellow beams of ancient lights. The metal rungs echoed and groaned as they marched down the stairway. At the bottom they encountered another metal door and again they were forced to cut through.