by J. J. Green
“I don’t really know he couldn’t understand you, do I? You were both speaking foreign languages. I only have your word it wasn’t the same one.”
Taylan couldn’t think of a suitable response, so she said, “This is all beside the point. What’s going on? Why are you in such a hurry?”
His reply was edged with anger. “You seem to be forgetting your position, corporal.”
“Aw, come on. We’ve been through too much together for that.” Though she tried to maintain a casual tone, her heart was in her mouth. She was really pushing it, begging for a charge of insubordination. But she sensed a crack in this marine’s armor. Something had deeply unsettled him, disturbed him to his core. She felt sorry for him.
As he had moments earlier in the cabin, he suddenly physically sagged again. “There’s been a coup,” he muttered. “On Jamaica. The Chief of Defense is leading it.”
Taylan halted, surprise stopping her in her tracks. Wright strode on ahead, oblivious. She ran to his side.
“A military coup?! We’ve taken over from the BA Government?”
“If they’re successful, I expect they’ll soon be declaring martial law,” he said bitterly.
“Don’t you mean ‘we’? You were saying—”
“That’s the point, isn’t it?” the major spat. “None of us were consulted on whether we want to take part in this. They’ve dragged us in, and now we’re expected to just support them. It’s treason. It’s going against...” He expelled air heavily, unable to complete his sentence. His chest heaved as he seemed to fight to control his emotions.
“I’m going to talk to Colbourn,” he said at last. “We have to decide where the Valiant sits in all of this.”
“Good. I’m coming too.”
Wright opened his mouth to respond, but then sighed and clamped his lips.
He’d probably decided he had enough to contend with without also trying to put her off. Taylan was relieved. She didn’t like arguing with him, and she was determined to have her input into the decision making.
The fact that Arthur had reappeared at this crisis in the history of the Britannic Isles couldn’t be a coincidence. She felt sure he had a role to play, though she didn’t know what yet. But he’d only just learned to speak English, he knew nothing about life in modern times—he probably didn’t even know he was aboard a starship in space—and he didn’t even seem to believe he was finally awake after his long centuries of sleep. He needed an advocate, someone to speak for him in a way that people would understand, as well as to explain to him what was happening. So far, she was the only person who truly believed who he was. She had to be his spokesperson.
They’d arrived at Colbourn’s office.
When the door slid open, Taylan boldly walked in behind Wright, acting as if she’d been invited.
The brigadier looked at her like she was the first example of non-terrestrial intelligent life.
“We have some other news to tell you,” Taylan said. “It’s about the man we picked up in West BI.”
“Can’t it wait?!”
The major paused before replying in a defeated tone, “It’s probably best she stays.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” said the brigadier tersely, glowering at Taylan.
She reached for a chair that sat next to the bulkhead and carried it over to Colbourn’s desk, where she put it down next to Wright’s, grateful for his support.
“I don’t know much more than I told you in the comm yet,” the brigadier said, addressing Wright. “I received this from the Sea Lord.” She played a recording on her interface.
“General communication to the Space Fleet from Sea Lord Montague. Along with the Chief of Defense Staff, our forces have moved to seize control of the BA Government and to take the Prime Minister, Mr Beaumont-Smith, into custody, pending an investigation into allegations of corruption, accepting bribes, compromising national security, and betraying his oath of office.
I’m happy to report that our actions at the New Parliament in Jamaica have been successful and as I speak myself and Lord Hennessy, Chief of Defense Staff, have set up a temporary government to manage domestic, international, and space affairs. We have stepped into the breach and will remain in position until such time as we are able to re-establish the safety, security, and fair government of all members of the Britannic Alliance.
Please stand by to receive further information and instructions.”
“But what about the rest of the MPs?” asked Wright, incredulous. “If they really believed that about the Prime Minister, that doesn’t mean they’re all corrupt. They could have demanded a vote of no confidence. Why’d they have to take over the whole government?”
“They didn’t, of course,” Colbourn retorted. “It’s all nonsense. Beaumont-Smith is a waste of space, an awful, bigoted, arrogant, malevolent arsehole, but he isn’t corrupt. He doesn’t need money, and he can’t be blackmailed. His family is fabulously rich and it’s all stashed in tax havens, and his web of influence spreads so widely, he could easily quash any news reports that show him in a bad light.”
“Then what’s this about?”
“Buggered if I know,” replied Colbourn. She gave a groan of frustration. “The Space Navy commanders have been comming each other since we received the news. I haven’t said anything to anyone yet. The Valiant is the only marine starship. Strictly speaking, I should be liaising with the admiral, but I haven’t heard from her, and I don’t know if she’s a part of this. If she is, I’m not sure what to do.”
“What else can we do except fall in line?” Wright asked. “We have to follow the chain of command.”
“Yes, we do,” the brigadier conceded, though appeared uncomfortable about her reply. Her gaze flicked to Taylan.
“What’s this news about the patient in the sick bay?” she asked.
“He isn’t there anymore,” Wright replied. “There didn’t seem any point, as he’s probably the healthiest person on board. I put him in a cabin.”
“And? Or is that it?!”
The major hesitated.
“The news is,” Taylan said, “he’s—”
“Wait,” Colbourn said. She was looking at her interface. “Something’s arrived from the admiral.” She pressed the screen. “I suppose it won’t hurt for you two to hear it.”
“General communication to the Space Fleet from Admiral Kim. You all heard the news from Sea Lord Montague. I want to state for the record that I was not informed of this coup prior to its staging and had no idea what the Chief of Defense Staff and Sea Lord had planned. As you know, I’m new to this post and so this comes at a challenging time. I, and from what I understand, you also, neither concur with nor support the actions of the military heads on Earth. I will draft an official response condemning their behavior and send it to Jamaica today.
“Furthermore, after considerable deliberation and consultation with my commanders and captains, I’ve come to a very difficult and heartfelt decision. From this moment onward, the Space Fleet will secede from the Britannic Alliance and form its own, independent, self-governing entity.
“We have a long road ahead of us, officers. Your first step is to inform your men and women of my decision. After that, we have many puzzles to solve coming up, but I’ve already heard some great suggestions, and I’m convinced we will meet all future difficulties with our usual determination and vigor.
That is all for now.”
Colbourn’s face was a picture.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
The flashes of light in the night sky over Kingston and the accompanying booms were like a grotesque firework display. Hans’s drink had grown warm in his hand as he’d watched and listened, unable to believe what was happening.
His long years of work, the huge effort he’d put into making his plans, weighing position against position, personality against personality, event against event, his dreams...
It had all come to nothing.
The news anchor at the station had
managed to blurt a few sentences about reports of an attack on St. George’s before the station blacked out, and a split second later, like thunder following lightning, came an ear-splitting whine.
Hans knew that sound too well. Reflexively, he’d thrown himself on the floor, a sweat breaking out over his body as he flashed back to the bombing of the General Council. For a moment, he was there again, cowering on the floor as flames roared around him, devouring the wooden building. He tasted the burning smoke, choked on the ashes, was held prostrated by the fallen metal strut.
Then he returned to his hillside villa.
There was a crack, and the sky winked into daylight before night instantly fell again.
But the view had changed. In far-off Kingston, something was on fire. The capital had been hit by a bomb or missile.
Jamaica was under attack.
The enemy had targeted the media station first, cutting off an information source from the local population, and then the next target had been the capital.
Hans desperately searched for other news sites, but the net was dead. It hadn’t been one news production company the attackers had hit, they had taken out the internet itself.
It made sense. Cutting off communication within target territory was like severing an animal’s spinal cord, leaving in unable to move it limbs and defend itself.
The interface slipped from his hands and clattered to the floor.
Another terrible whine came, and another missile turned night to day as it hit Kingston.
He couldn’t speak. He could only watch in horror. He’d reached for his glass and gulped down half the contents, accidentally breathing in some of it. He coughed and choked until he thought he would see his own lungs appearing from his mouth. Eyes watering, gasping for breath, he felt like crying, screaming, running outside and leaping off a precipice.
And still the attack went on.
All the while, Mariya had sat next to him, silent in the darkness.
Then, in a pause between missiles, she said, “Mr Jonte, we have to leave. It isn’t safe here. They might widen the attack site, and you’re an important official in the BA Government. They might come looking for you. We must go into hiding.”
He finally got control of himself. “You’re right. You’re just like your sister, quick-thinking and resourceful in a crisis. I must leave, but where can I go? How can I leave the island while it’s under attack?”
“I know a place, a safe place where they’ll never find you. Pack a bag quickly, and I’ll take you there.”
He moved to put down his glass and in his nervousness knocked over the half-full pitcher, sending a cascade of gin and tonic over the rattan table. The pitcher rolled onto the tile floor and splintered.
“Leave it,” Mariya urged. “Hurry.”
As he ran into his house, she followed him, saying, “We should travel in my car. It’s less noticeable and it can handle rough terrain. We’ll have to go off road.”
Hans halted in his living room, trying to marshal his thoughts. What should he take? He had some expensive jewelry that might be useful for bartering. The invaders would take over the banking system immediately. What else?
“Bring as much food as you can,” said Mariya. “No, it’s okay, I’ll pack it. Which way is your kitchen?”
“Through there.” He pointed.
“You’ll need loose clothing, tough shoes, a hat and gloves. And empty your medicine cabinet into a bag and bring that too. Medication will be hard to come by.”
Within five minutes, he’d thrown all she suggested into a duffle bag. He’d also opened his safe and taken out his jewelry and important documents, stuffing them into the recesses of his bag.
Mariya had also been busy. She was waiting for him in the living room with a box overflowing with packets of food.
“What about water?” he asked.
“There’s plenty of water where we’re going.”
She stepped toward the door, her arms wrapped tightly around the box.
They quickly crossed the veranda and descended the steps to the driveway. The night sky had gone and been replaced by a false sunrise, the brilliant red and orange glow coming from the direction of Kingston.
“Quickly, Mr Jonte,” Mariya implored.
Hans had paused at the bottom of the steps, overwhelmed once more by the destruction of everything he’d longed for. He stared at the remains of Kingston. What had happened to his agents, the MPs, Hennessy, Montague, Beaumont-Smith? Had the PM escaped the worst of it, locked in prison? What might become of him?
Hans scowled. The Prime Minister would no doubt slither his way out of his predicament somehow. From his birth with a silver spoon in his mouth, he’d always led a charmed life.
Mariya was tugging on his shirt sleeve.
He allowed her to pull him along the driveway until they reached her car. After they’d stowed their bags in the trunk, they climbed into the front seats.
“Ugh,” said Mariya, glaring at the black dashboard. “I forgot the net is out. Never mind. Put on your seat belt, Mr Jonte.”
“You can drive?”
“We’re about to find out.”
She started the engine. The headlights came on, and, after a few tries, she managed to move the car a few meters along the road.
“Watch out for the edge,” Hans warned, feeling churlish. He wouldn’t have done as well as her, but he also didn’t want to plunge over the drop.
She guided the vehicle closer to the slope on the other side of the road. Slowly, the car’s motion grew smoother and faster. They drove higher, and Mariya steered them carefully around the curves.
“I wish I had a straighter road to learn on,” she joked.
But Hans couldn’t join in the banter.
“Mariya, who do you think is doing this? The EAC? AP?”
“Isn’t it both? They were working together to attack the Outer Islands, and they prevented the Space Fleet from destroying one of Ua Talman’s ships together, didn’t they?”
“They did,” Hans agreed, “but I thought they would scale back their operations. We were on the way to repelling them from Barbados, I thought, and they retreated from the space battle after the loss of the Fearless. I advised against that attack, you know. I told Hennessy and Montague it was a bad idea. Ua Talman would rather die than see his project fail, and he would make sure to take the world with him. I told them to concentrate on defending our territories here. But they wouldn’t listen.”
“They were a pair of silly men,” said Mariya. “Oh...er...” She glanced at Hans.
“Don’t worry. For what it’s worth, I agree with your evaluation. I’ve worked with enough of the fools to know their type. Privileged upbringings, their families members of the elite, everything handed to them on a silver platter all their lives. They didn’t earn their positions, they were given them, probably as a favor to someone with a lot of influence. I’d hoped to put an end to all that, hoped Hennessy, Montague, and Beaumont-Smith would be the last of their type with any kind of power.”
He sighed heavily, lost for words.
“I guessed you were working toward something,” said Mariya. “I just didn’t know what. Don’t feel too bad. You did your best. But some things are too hard for one person. There’s too much history, too much inertia to fight against all by yourself.”
“You’re kind, Mariya. I’m so sorry about what happened to Josie.” This time, he actually meant it. In the burning General Council chamber, Josephine had saved his life, and now here was her sister doing the same. He owed the two women so much.
“Where are we going?” he asked after a few minutes’ silence.
“A cave, about half an hour away. It’s somewhere we can shelter while things calm down. It’s quite remote and should be safe. I can’t think of a reason enemy troops would search all the way out there.”
“How did you think of it so quickly? You seemed to know immediately where we should go.”
She only shrugged in reply.
They were heading away from the coast, deep into Jamaica’s heart, leaving behind the garish glow from the conflagration in Kingston. The night sky began to look more normal. Hans could make out stars in the blackness. Soon, all he could see was the starry sky and the road, illuminated by the car’s headlights.
“This is where we turn, I think,” said Mariya. She was already slowing the car down. When she turned, Hans thought she’d driven into trackless wilderness, but soon he could make out two worn trails in the vegetation.
“How do you know of this place?” he asked.
“I’ve lived in Jamaica all my life. I’ve been everywhere on the island and many of the other islands.”
Her answer didn’t ring entirely true. Hans had also grown up in one place, but he didn’t know every inch of it.
The track dipped, and the car’s nose followed suit. They seemed to be descending into a low valley. Mariya eased the vehicle around a sharp curve and immediately braked.
It was only just in time. They’d stopped at the edge of a lip that overhung a round hollow. The car’s lights lit up the space only faintly, he could make a wide, low cave mouth on the farther side. A glow came from within.
“This is it?” asked Hans.
“Yes.” She killed the engine and the headlights went out. The light from the cave shone brighter. “We’ll have to walk from here, follow the path around the edge.”
“But I thought you said we would be alone.”
“Did I say that? I don’t think so.”
“There are obviously people living there.” As Hans spoke, the inhabitants he’d suspected appeared, black silhouettes moving in the cave mouth, perhaps coming to see who’d arrived.
“There are, Mr Jonte, but don’t worry, they’re friends. Come on, this way.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
By the time Taylan returned to Arthur’s cabin, she was feeling crestfallen, but the sight of the man, released from thousands of years spent in limbo, looking hale and hearty and very much alive and stroking Boots on his lap, lifted her spirits a little.