Hold the Line (Chimera Company Book 5)

by Tim C. Taylor

  She flinched, not because she didn’t want his touch, but because she yearned for it. There was nothing sexual in his pull. It was deeper than that. He was a super-massive star. If he came any closer, she would never break free of his attraction.

  He thought better of touching her, leaving his hand inches from her shoulder. A confusing jumble of emotions flooded through her. The closeness of his hand meant they couldn’t escape.

  “Later today,” Fitzwilliam told her, “there’s something my people will do. It’s a good thing. It’ll help to save us all. But we think Department 9 will try to stop us. We thought we’d disrupt them by coming here. I understand this is just a monitoring station, but is there a way you can disable Department 9 from your glorified hidden cupboard?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I understand now.”

  She walked to her station and logged back into the system. Instead of opening her usual modules, she activated a legacy pattern collation system that had been superseded by the auto-recognition AI. She entered a search term that Sergeant Fon-Derez had made her memorize and promise never to write down.

  “If you ever see what you shouldn’t see,” Fon-Derez had told her, “or say what must never be said…enter this code sequence and run. Never look back.”

  “Will it work?” she’d asked.

  “I don’t know. The people I observed repeating it seemed to think so. Naval Intelligence? PHPA? Human supremacists? I never identified the faction. But if I have to run, I won’t hesitate to use it.”

  “I guess you never got the chance, Sergeant.” Silasja imagined Fon-Derez standing behind her. He’d been a difficult man, paranoid and prickly, but he’d cared for his people. “Either that, or it didn’t work anyway.”

  Everyone was staring at her, waiting for her to do something, but she’d already done it.

  She brought up monitoring system diagnostics and flicked through the views of the active spy cameras. Other than the equipment problems they already knew about, everything functioned as normal. Fon-Derez’s code was a bust.

  “My station’s dead,” said Onish, who was on the comms monitoring team.

  “Mine too,” Giona said. “Searching active comm networks. I’m detecting them, but I’m locked out. Running root level diagnostics on Hub B-010. It returns…X1. What the…? It’s an undefined code. How can there be a code we don’t know about?”

  “X1 means classified,” Sergeant Meyasu said, “max level. Only the sector commanders of the Legion and Militia can unlock, and they only have half the unlock code each.”

  “My camera feeds are still working,” Silasja said.

  “Ahh,” Meyasu said, “the advantage of a hardened wire connection dedicated just for us. Anyone whose connections weren’t designed in when the station was built just went dark. Mind telling me how you did that, Specialist?”

  “Just doing my job, Sergeant. Listening in on people, storing what they say, and using it later. Just like Sergeant Fon-Derez taught me.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter Forty-Six: Osu Sybutu

  “I don’t understand,” Osu said to Khallini. “I thought you were behind Department 9. You were the cause of the massacres we witnessed on Eiylah-Bremah.”

  The immortal caught Osu’s eye. He didn’t apologize, didn’t hang his head in shame for Eiylah-Bremah, nor for the nuclear slaughter he’d made possible at Camp Faxian, or for the fall of Rho-Torkis. Nonetheless, his face pinched. Only a little, but enough for Osu to know the man could still feel guilt.

  That was good. The little veck had a whole lot of guilt coming his way, if Osu had anything to do with it.

  “I’m behind a lot of bad things,” Khallini said. “I am ageless, wise beyond understanding, and…and a hopeless leader. The Littorane religious insurgents on Rho-Torkis, the PHPA’s sudden transformation from perpetually offended smear artists to armed rebels—they were down to me. So is Department 9. With all of them, I took what was already there and fashioned it into a shape that suited my agenda for the Federation.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Osu snarled. “And what agenda is worth so much death?”

  Wei shot him a warning look. Osu ignored her. Her girlfriend hadn’t been nuked by this sorcerous little turd.

  Khallini looked at Osu as if he were no more than a talking ant. “Survival,” he said. As if that justified anything. Having delivered his answer to the insignificant mortal, he returned his attention to Indiya. “Every time, the groups I nurtured, empowered, and financed slipped from my grip. With Department 9, I also shared my plans and arguments. I thought they understood and agreed with me. I think they still do. They went rogue anyway.”

  “You have many talents,” Indiya told him. “It’s time for you to put them behind a natural leader.”

  “I agree. And since your husband is long gone, it is with the deepest misgiving that I acknowledge you must be that leader.”

  Indiya laughed, a surprisingly youthful outburst in such an aged body. How could anyone laugh at what this man had done? Osu’s eyes blazed with fury at his commander.

  “You sound almost as reluctant as I feel,” Indiya told Khallini. “We both know you’re right.”

  “Very well. Let us make this public. If you can wait a few minutes, Ibson shall provide us with a suitable stage.”

  “I’ll wait for Ibson,” she said, “but I won’t wait one more second to ditch this wretched thing on my head.

  She tore her cap off and shook loose her cascade of lilac hair.

  Gasps filled the arena.

  * * *

  Captain J’Klin

  Steadfast, Deep Interstellar Space

  “All ships, this is J’Klin. Code Blue. Code Blue. Advance to within Steadfast’s inner jump shadow. On my mark, we will jump to the Tej System. Code Blue, people. That means weapons free. Pray to God we aren’t forced to fire upon Legion ships, but you’re cleared to do so if they make aggressive moves.”

  J’Klin’s station lit up in green as each captain registered their ship’s readiness. Truth was, they’d been ready for hours, but it never hurt to double check. This operation had to run perfectly.

  Before jumping, he checked in with the operation underway on Deck 41. “Rocshi, are we good?”

  J’Klin cringed at his poor choice of words.

  “Green across the board, sir,” the chief priest reported. “I’ve had the representatives of 54 religions praying for mission success. The only negative divine feedback I’ve had has come from the Littorane Supreme Listener. You can probably guess why.”

  “The usual. We’re moving too slowly. Steadfast should have been painted purple in the Lady’s honor. Death to those who would frustrate the agents of the Goddess.”

  “Captain, I must caution you against your flippant attitude toward sincerely held beliefs. Nonetheless, you’re essentially correct.”

  “Acknowledged. Keep up the good work, Rocshi. We’re going to need all the help we can get. J’Klin, out.”

  The Steadfast’s captain took a deep breath and keyed in the fleet channel. “All ships, Steadfast will jump in 30 seconds.”

  * * *

  Deroh Ren Kay

  The Cordovan Room, District Metz, JSHC

  Smiles didn’t come easily to the face of Deroh Ren Kay, but when they did, they were hard earned.

  The Department’s first kill team had failed to take out Khallini. Nonetheless, Ren Kay grinned ear to ear at the feed coming from the Ibson Arena, a short distance away down the stairs at Howell’s.

  It would be a shame to lose deeply planted assets in the collateral damage, but the arena was the most target rich environment in the Perseus Arm. Everyone there was about to be incinerated. The only one missing was Fitzwilliam.

  He took a moment to savor his triumph before making his escape. What a dance he’d shared with Khallini across the years leading to this point.

  Today was supposed to be Khallini’s moment of triumph. The Department had finally coaxed the old wizard from his lair and out into the
open. Having secretly funded just enough insurrection and catastrophe to shatter the Federation’s complacency without seriously weakening its structures, he would declare himself the strong man necessary to save the Federation and win its citizens to his cause. One that would make it strong enough so it could once again withstand genuine threats to its existence.

  If Khallini honestly believed he still had the confidence of Department 9, he deserved the death that was the real reason for luring him here.

  Even Ren Key found it difficult to take in how fast this story had changed.

  Shortly before the creation of Department 9, Legion Intelligence had tentatively concluded that the myriad factions fighting over the living corpse of the Federation could be grouped into two competing constellations, plus a few rogue elements they couldn’t yet fit in to either main grouping.

  Like many others, Ren Kay hadn’t been completely convinced. Constellations weren’t real. They were arbitrary patterns drawn by observers in the night sky. Jump enough star systems, and the patterns formed by the stars were completely different. Maybe those intelligence analysts had only seen these shapes because their perspective was too static.

  Then Khallini had reached inside SpecMish and set up Department 9, tasking them with shaking the Federation out of its stupor. Like many others, Ren Kay had seen the necessity.

  At first, he’d gladly followed their secretive leader—but what a disappointment Khallini had turned out to be. His analysis of the Federation’s death march was fundamentally accurate. His methods, amateurish.

  Ren Kay had led the team to probe Khallini’s connections. At that point, they weren’t being disloyal so much as careful. What they discovered had proven the Legion analysts hadn’t gone far enough in their idea of two competing constellations.

  Ren Kay’s revised model was of a binary star system, unstable, in a state of orbital decay, both bodies falling into each other.

  Khallini was one star. The revitalized PHPA, Department 9, and several local insurrections orbited his influence—or had done so until the PHPA had been pulled out of Khallini’s orbit by the gravitational attraction of Cora’s World, and Department 9 had reached escape velocity under their own intelligence and ambition.

  Naval Intelligence, Fitzwilliam, and factions within the higher ranks of both Legion and Militia orbited the other node of influence, one whose focus point had remained stubbornly unidentified until moments ago, when former President Indiya had revealed herself in a District Metz combat arena.

  Now it made perfect sense. No wonder each node had been pulled so hard toward the other. These two unwanted relics of an earlier age had probably known each other back in the Orion Era.

  They must regard the likes of Ren Kay as ephemeral, of no more consequence than blades of grass, to be cut, raked, and weeded as required—but they were wrong.

  He keyed his comm for the backup teams. He’d tried subtlety. Now it was time for overwhelming force.

  “Retribution Squad, activate. Take out the Ibson Arena and everyone inside. Maximum firepower, total kill. Lancer Squad, throw a ring of death around Howell’s Gaming Emporium. If you spot any survivors, reclassify them with extreme prejudice.”

  His sap froze. There was no reply.

  “Acknowledge!”

  Silence.

  “How copy, all?”

  Ren Kay screamed with rage. His comms were routed through the station’s priority security backbone. Regular jamming should have no effect. Damn! He’d been so close…but he wasn’t finished. He still had one asset in play. It was time to activate Bravo Tango One One Kilo.

  On the spycam feed, Indiya looked directly at the camera and winked. The spycam died.

  Ren Key speedily removed his uniform, stripping off down to his underwear. He replaced it with a chainmail loincloth, realistic scars, and a bronze chestplate. On his feet he wore fur-lined boots. He carried an advanced alloy short sword concealed behind a plastic outer sheath. It was time to become a barbarian.

  Deroh Ren Key had lost his smile. Now he wore a snarl.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Forty-Seven: Lady Indiya

  “Was that one of your spycams?”

  “No,” Khallini replied. “I expect it was Department 9 checking up on my death. It’ll be quantum linked, so it wouldn’t have been affected by my jamming, or whatever else has suddenly started screwing comms station wide. Is any of that your doing?”

  “I don’t think so,” Indiya said. “Don’t worry about the jamming. I’m linked with my flagship. It’ll arrive in system within 10 minutes. They can broadcast to the naval vessels in the vicinity. I…”

  She felt a pang, an uncomfortable twisting of her insides. What that meant, she wasn’t sure. She’d been numb for so long, she’d forgotten which feeling corresponded to which emotion. Nostalgia. She decided she was experiencing nostalgia.

  Before she’d been president, she’d been Admiral Indiya for a few centuries. It hadn’t been an enjoyable period, but it had given her life meaning. She missed that.

  Renaud Ibson appeared with a few of his assistants, who were carrying a piece of fight scenery done up as a marble altar. A sacrificial altar, judging by the fake blood spilling out of channels cut into the edges.

  The poor man was under Khallini’s control for now. He’d been instructed to bring a platform for them to stand on. A sacrificial altar was far more whimsical than she’d anticipated, but maybe that was a good thing.

  The assistants bowed to her and Khallini before lifting them both up onto the altar.

  As the people before her were dressed like primitive barbarian warriors, she felt like a demigoddess being presented for worship. That stopped being amusing the moment she looked down on the crowd and saw the front ranks kneeling in supplication.

  * * *

  Osu Sybutu

  Osu gave Arunsen a comradely thump on the shoulder. “Never put you down as a cat person, Arunsen.”

  “You know cats,” Zavage said, shamelessly eyeing Laycey’s rear view. “They make a beeline for the person in the room least comfortable with their kind and then jump on their lap.”

  Arunsen growled into his Viking beard.

  The faint swish of a tail was the only sign the Kayrissan might be listening while she overtly watched Khallini dickering with Indiya.

  Better change the subject before she demonstrated what those claws could do. “Hey, has anyone seen Bronze?”

  “You know how he’s into politics,” Zavage replied. “He’ll be in the crowd waiting for the speech.”

  “Maybe is not good enough,” Lily said, approaching from behind. “Sergeant Sybutu, this is an active operation. I depend upon you to know the status of your people.”

  That was unfair. Bronze had always been a maverick, more special missions’ agent than sapper, and who the hell was a Militia gutter troll to tell him what to do? These thoughts of defiance lasted for milliseconds before being overcome with shame.

  Since when did he believe life was fair? And if it fell to a gutter troll to remind him how to do his job, what did that say about him? He swallowed hard and straightened.

  “Yes, sir.”

  He organized a hunt for his missing sapper, despite being convinced he was somewhere on the sand less than 20 paces away.

  * * *

  Lady Indiya

  “Are you kidding?” she yelled at the mortals. “I had centuries of this with the Littoranes. I’m not having it with Humans and Zhoogenes, or anyone else. If I catch anyone kneeling in my presence or using the words ‘divine’ or ‘goddess,’ I’ll ask my friend here, Lord Khallini, to pop your heads.”

  Indiya crossed wrists with Khallini. Watching eyes were probably disappointed they weren’t sharing blood. They were sharing something more profound. Beneath their wrists were descendants of the nano-factory implants embedded before they’d been born. Since then, each had iterated through thousands of improvements. Profound ones.

  Invisible to even those like Bronze with ar
tificial eyes, nanoscale infiltration teams oozed through skin pores and were allowed to enter each other’s bodies. Each could now track the other’s movements, maybe listen in on their words and thoughts, too, or at least try. The host body could successfully wage a campaign to expel the guests, but the other would know, and declare treachery.

  They were bound far more than by blood.

  “We’re ready,” she said and addressed the Federation.

  “Two thousand years ago, I relinquished the office of president. A thousand years later, I’d faded into history and myth. My brother here and I had played our part and bequeathed the Federation to our descendants, content to retire in obscurity. Man, what a wixering mess you made of our legacy. If it were just the hash you disrespectful, ignorant pukes have made of what we fought so hard for, I’d wash my hands of the lot of you and let you lie in the stink you made.

  “But that wouldn’t be the end of it. The Federation has been invaded. I’d call it a secret invasion, except it’s not so much a secret as you’re willfully blind.

  “Well, it isn’t going to remain secret much longer. We all need to work together. If we don’t, every one of us will die. Every one of you watching me, every member of your families, everyone on every planet in every system in the Federation, and beyond. That’s why we’re back, and we’re not in the mood to be diplomatic. We’ll work with all of you we can: the Legion, the Militia, the Smugglers Guild—yes, we all know that’s its proper name—Congress and the president’s office and all the local system governments we can lead in the fight back.

  “When the task is done, you won’t see us for dust.” She made a beckoning motion and watched with a sub-process in her mind as the camera feed closed on her face.