* * *
Deroh Ren Kay
“Is there a problem?”
“No, sir.” The spaceport security worker developed a sudden twitch. “This is just routine. Nothing to worry about.”
Oh, but there is, Ren Kay thought. I’m supposed to be anonymous.
The man swallowed hard. “Please step this way, sir.”
Interesting. This individual clearly understood the danger he was in.
“No.” Ren Kay planted his hands on his hips. “I shall not.”
The man started trembling. He had nothing more to say, and didn’t need to, because he’d already silently summoned backup. This took the form of four Militia troopers, three with PPR blasters, and a corporal in charge with an automatic shotgun.
Terminal Three of the spaceport was fairly empty. With comms down, and wild rumors flying through the station, flights were rapidly being cancelled, but a hardy few clung to their travel plans. Several of those nearby were beginning to notice the confrontation. For the moment, they were merely curious. One man was different. He was wiry and had a somewhat pinched set to his features that were otherwise totally blank. There was a sense of quiet purpose to the way he rose from his seat—unlike the troopers, who were all twitching with energy.
“Don’t move!” the corporal screamed at Ren Kay.
All four had their weapons aimed at him, nervous fingers on triggers. Ren Kay began to feel concerned, his biggest threat being shot accidentally. That would be such an annoying way to die.
“On your knees!” The yelling corporal was edging forward and clearly feeling even more concern than Ren Kay. “I said, on your knees! Hands on your head!”
They were advancing on him in a crescent formation, waving their muzzles at his chest.
The security man was cowering behind his desk. He didn’t appear to be armed.
“Very well.” Ren Kay sank to his knees. “This is a terrible mistake.”
The only person who’d been waiting behind Ren Kay in the queue to pass security was now hurrying away, a Human female with shoulder-length, honey-blonde hair and medium-dark skin. Red travel suit, slight limp favoring her left leg, and gold decorative buckles stood out on her boots. He committed the description to memory. He would have to clear up loose ends.
For now, he had the Militia to deal with. They faced him in an energetic silence about two meters away, unsure how to proceed. The corporal remembered that they needed to secure their target. Reluctantly, he seemed to decide that task fell to him. He circled ‘round to Ren Kay’s rear. “Hold your wrists out behind you.”
Ren Kay was in the process of complying when he was rocked by a detonation coming from the seating area past the security line.
The choking black clouds of a smoke bomb billowed toward him.
“Don’t move!” the corporal bellowed repeatedly, panic in his voice. All the Militia troopers were on edge, and all had their attention on him.
Big mistake.
The man with the blank expression strode out of the smoke cloud.
Finally, the corporal noticed the man. “Keep clear, sir. You’re in danger.”
Such ironic last words, Ren Kay thought. The man broke into a run and flung an arm around a trooper’s head. The man snapped his neck.
Ren Kay back flipped. By the time he was up and facing the corporal, the latter was pointing his shotgun at the man from the smoke cloud, but he didn’t fire, because his target had a chokehold around another of his troopers, using him as a shield against both the surviving Militia men.
Ren Kay punched the corporal in the side of the head. It wasn’t a killing blow, but it made him stagger and lower his barrel. The follow-up was two snap kicks against the back of his knees, which sent him falling to the floor. Ren Kay grabbed the shotgun on its way down and used it to blow out his brains.
As he did so, he heard an exchange of blaster fire. The man from the smoke had taken his captive’s PPR3 and used it to shoot the other trooper. He kicked the man he’d used as a shield away and shot him in the back.
Ren Kay quickly confirmed the kills. “Nice work, Zy Pel.”
The man wrenched his brows together into a frown. “What’s happening?”
“Oh, dear. Is this painful for you?”
“Back on Eiylah-Bremah…I thought you wanted me dead.”
“More fool you. You refer to our encounter at the rebel village, I presume. You should review your memories. I wanted Fitzwilliam dead, but I wanted you recovered and debriefed.”
“I’ll tell you nothing.”
“You’ll tell us everything, but that will have to wait until Zeta-Arcelia, where I assume your jolly band of heroes will travel next. The Special Missions Executive keeps assets on a long leash, and whatever else Department 9 may be, we are most definitely SpecMish. You didn’t really think we’d let you go, did you?”
Ren Kay tutted at the corpses. “Security cameras are offline. Comms are, too. That’ll make your cleanup job easier. When you’ve finished, rejoin your gang and await contact at Zeta-Arcelia.”
“How will you get off station?”
“Nice try, Zy Pel. I’m not planning to share that particular detail, despite your good performance here. I have an emergency exfil option I would have preferred to keep as reserve. Oh, did you see the woman in the queue behind me?”
“Yes. I’ll eliminate her.”
“We shall meet again soon, Zy Pel. At the end.”
Blaster fire reached Ren Kay’s ears before he’d even left the starport area. The shots kept coming. For Zy Pel to explain his extended absence to the rest of Chimera Company would be tricky, but lying was what the man excelled at. Always had been. Which was why he had been such an exemplary asset.
* * * * *
Chapter Forty-Eight: Adony Zaydok
“Are you for real?” Zaydok snapped, glad the bearded idiot would soon be out of his hair, at least for a while.
“For very real,” Beans replied, wiping away a fake tear. “You two…it’s so beautiful. I have no doubt the next time Ghost Shark swings back to JSHC, I’ll hear the adorable sound of tiny hybrid feet.”
Squids stood before the big man and raised the stalks on her head to glare at him with a full complement of eyes.
Beans appeared immune to such things. “Some women are beautiful when angry,” he told her. “You, my friend, are scary enough when roused to fury that you could turn a man to stone.”
“You’re a disgusting, misogynistic, insensitive veckhead, even for a Human. That was the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, and it wasn’t nice at all.”
“I’ll miss you two kids,” he said and presented them each with a small cardboard box.
“What’s this?” Zaydok asked.
“My parting gift. So you don’t forget me while I’m off playing games on Zeta-Arcelia.”
Zaydok opened his box and pull out the figurine. It was a swordsman in sandals and a red tunic. Was it meant to represent one of the Ibson fighters? The bronze helmet fit that conjecture, but the highly polished shield didn’t make sense.
Squid’s figure was of a woman in a simple cream robe cinched with a bronze-buckled belt. She was Human. Mostly. Above a face filled with fury, hissing snakes rose from her head.
“Bring the figures together.”
Beans sounded serious. Feeling self-conscious to be playing with dolls, Zaydok moved his figurine next to Squid’s, and watched in wonder as they sprang to life.
The animation was impressive, so lifelike. The warrior turned toward the snake woman but wouldn’t look directly at her. Instead, he gazed into his shield. Now its mirrored finish made sense. The warrior was observing the monster’s reflection. He lunged forward, then slashed down and across his front. It was a decapitation strike.
“Is that how you think of me?” Squids asked. “A monster?”
“Keep watching,” Beans said.
Squids had a point. This wasn’t a pleasant way to say goodbye.
But as he watche
d, the figures morphed. The noble countenance of the warrior became an ugly snarl of hatred. The woman held one hand protectively over a belly now ripely pregnant, the other held out to ward off the man who had come to kill her. Her snake-head face was filled with horror, not anger.
“Perseus and Medusa,” Beans said. “Like so many ancient Earth legends, you can play it more than one way. Who is the monster? Both of them? Neither? I’ll leave you to decide.”
Zaydok looked across at Squids and was surprised to find that most of her eyes were already staring at him.
She seemed moved by the gift, which was now morphing back to its original interpretation of hero and monster.
“You made this?” he asked Beans.
“It’s kind of what I do. Animated figurines, stories. When I get back from the fun and games with Indiya and the other cool kids, I can’t wait to hear your latest chapters.”
Beans left their rented room without another word. He wouldn’t be back. Ghost Shark departed within the hour.
The former Militia trooper and the former PHPA rebel regarded each other in silence.
They’d been ordered to stay here to try to unravel the mystery of the Dyson ring and the race who’d left them operational for the future to find.
He detested the idea of being stuck here with Squids, but Beans was right. There was a hell of a story behind the rings. The two of them would just have to find a way to get along, because as far as they could tell, they were the only people in the galaxy whose minds could unlock it.
“I’m ready to give it another go,” he told her. “The mind thing.”
A smile ghosted across her face as she sat cross-legged on the floor, holding her hands out for him to take.
* * *
News of the Ibson Declaration, as it soon became known, quickly spread through the Federation. Within hours, it reached the ears of the federal government on Zeta-Arcelia itself.
The Militia and Legion commanders on JSHC immediately declared their support, as did the 4th Fleet, though a few ship captains privately declared the Ibson Declaration to be an unacceptable challenge to the chain of command and were allowed to jump outsystem.
Even they carefully avoided terms such as coup. It was difficult to think of the near-mythical figure tattooed on your breast as a threat to the Federation.
As word spread system to system, the Littoranes immediately saw in Lady Indiya the work of their supreme goddess. They settled their numerous petty differences and united behind the same divine instrument who had commanded them in battle thousands of years earlier.
The Outer Torellian Commerce Guild, as everyone still called it, let it be known that the Ibson Declaration had their full support in a move that had clearly been prearranged.
The Panhandlers denounced Indiya’s move as a coup, although many pointed out that this was a bit rich, seeing as they were engaged in armed insurrection themselves.
Cora’s World hardliners had a simpler reaction. Lady Indiya was impure, mutant, a witch. They sentenced her to death by burning.
In the Federation and beyond, many others watched the events unfold and quietly laid plans. Or re-made them. One group in particular made what was by their standards an instant alteration of their operational timetable. This took days, but their strategic thinking was slow and defuse, unsurprising for an intelligence whose core was stretched over hundreds of light years.
In reply to Indiya’s move, their attack plans were advanced. No more preparation. No more infiltration. The ongoing absorption of the Crux-Scutum arm of this galaxy had built an unstoppable momentum, but on its own, that advance was too slow.
The Perseus Arm must fall, too, and this time they wouldn’t be beaten back. The attack on the Federation would begin immediately. Its sub minds prepared accordingly.
* * * * *
Part 4: Contested Ground
Chapter Forty-Nine: Lady Indiya
Federal Parliament Chamber, Zeta-Arcelia
Resting her hands on the podium’s circular guardrail, Indiya looked out from beneath the giant holo-projection of herself that made her every expression visible, even to the farthest corners of the chamber.
She’d spoken countless times before in the original parliament chamber on Wutan-Scala-7. That version had been constructed from the aft section of a Whirlwind-class destroyer that had barely survived the journey from the Orion Spur.
The capital world of the Federation was now Zeta-Arcelia—and, boy, had they gone to town in proving their new importance to the galaxy.
For this special session, not only were the 2,000 parliamentary representatives here, but also as many of the 267 councilors of the House of Systems as were on the planet. The Senate was sitting here, too, discombobulated by the affront of being summoned to the lower chamber. Representatives of the guilds and branches of the military were also present. Despite the bloated numbers, the chamber remained spacious.
“We are waiting,” Senate Leader Eofonway upbraided from another of the three podiums at the center of the chamber.
“You’ve waited 2,000 years for me to speak,” Indiya told the irritated Gliesan. “You can wait a few moments more.”
Eofonway appeared to choke on his own indignation.
If she could, Indiya would go on annoying this flying turd all day long. Not that the Gliesan was likely to fly anywhere. For a start, he wore a ceremonial cloak of heavy furs. Then there was his stupid aristo-hat of office, a multitiered monstrosity lined with pearls and hung with bling. It probably weighed more than she did.
She despised everything this wretch stood for, but the hat? That made her flinch.
Indiya squared her shoulders best she could against the curvature of considerable age, then she got down to business. “I like what you’ve done with the place.”
“Do you forget the reason you were summoned here, Guest Indiya?”
She laughed at his crude attempt to twist reality to a narrative of his choosing. Ever since the Ibson Declaration, people had flocked to her cause as she’d made her way to the capital. The Steadfast, 4th Fleet, and a Militia company from JSHC had been the nucleus. More naval units, Legion marines, and an encouragingly large number of Militia units had pledged themselves to her cause. They couldn’t all abandon their existing posts, of course, but many detachments had been spared. The forces she’d left just outside Zeta-Arcelia orbit were a match for the Home Defense Fleet it stood off against.
No shots had been fired since JSHC. Not yet. But it had been the presence of her forces, combined with some old-fashioned dirty politicking, that had forced the three houses of the Federation to listen to her words. She had not been summoned.
From the nano-factories in her wrists, she released a hormone package to curb her anger and put herself in a positive frame of mind. If she really wanted, she could release nano invaders into the Senate leader’s brain, forcing him to his knees. With Gliesans, she hadn’t the experience to do anything more sophisticated than that.
In any case, she had no interest in seizing power by force. If she didn’t win the argument here, she hadn’t won at all. Any cheating would have to wait until later.
Indiya held out her hands to the assembly. Long, white gloves stretched over the sleeves of her replica Orion-Era shipsuit, symbolically sealing in the source of her magic. There must be some here who understood the significance of the gesture.
On the third of the three podiums stood Njal Isserwulm, the Speaker of the Federal Parliament. Politically speaking, Isserwulm was an irrelevance. She was a Jotun, though. Not only did that make her an 8-foot-tall predator who resembled an angry Earth tiger bio-engineered for war, but the species had a longer relationship with Humanity than any other alien race.
It was a Jotun scientist who’d made her, and made Khallini, too.
Indiya bowed to the Speaker.
“Senate Leader. Speaker. I thank you for allowing me to address the three combined houses in this illustrious place. The Federal Parliament is the heart of our repre
sentative system of government. It is the ultimate expression of the freedoms so many of us fought for in the Orion Spur. Freedoms we brought with us to the Perseus Arm.”
Indiya shot a wicked look at Eofonway. The scowl that flickered across his sour features was a delight.
To speak here was a deliberate snub to him and the Senate, which was dominant among the three houses. The Parliament had been reduced to sycophants, and the House of Systems was so completely undermined that many systems no longer bothered to send representative councilors. If she got her way, that would change.
She toured the extent of her podium, taking in each segment of the audience in turn.
“Here’s what I propose,” she announced. “Three thousand years ago, the Amilxi people, the Exiles, the pain in the butt meddlers from the Orion Spur—call us what you like—established the Far Reach Federation as a beacon for how species and planets could live and thrive together. We would do better than the oppression and static thinking we left behind. In our pride, we believed our destiny was to show the galaxy how much better we were. Over the vastness of time, we would come to dominate—not through conquest, but by demonstrating the superiority of our way, other civilizations would strive to be like us. The Federation was to be the template of the future.”
A few among the assembled grandeur mumbled approvingly. Most sat in stony silence.
“I’m serious. For centuries, many of the most popular holo-vids portrayed a far future in which we were right.”
That won some additional positive hoots and grunts. Most tensed, expecting a big fat but. They were right, too.
“And now look at you.”
Indiya took a last tour of her podium, gesturing to each segment of the assembled worthies. As she did, she artfully worked in flicks of her glossy plume of purple hair. It was the only part of her body that didn’t look as if it belonged behind a display case in a museum of prehistory. To her real audience—on the far side of the cameras, among the parliamentary security personnel, in the Legion naval fleet a hair trigger away from launching missiles at the ships that had brought her here, and across the Federation—her hair was burnished with the luster of symbolism. Drenched in it.
Hold the Line (Chimera Company Book 5) Page 26