The General's War
Page 22
“Leave the details to me, Captain. Execute your research. I will call on you when I am ready to proceed.” The holo of the handsome captain disappears and Fran is left with her thoughts. The mass execution of dissidents carries no weight with her. The weight of her thoughts rest in the loyalty of her military machine. Captain Gardner showed his distaste for where her head is at concerning the Chimera. Yes, they are young, many are perhaps too young to know better, so perhaps not all need to be put to death.
She did not share with the chancellor the fact that families of those incarcerated Chimera have already begun voicing their displeasure with the arrests. Most are angry messages of which she has hundreds now waiting to be answered. A team of aids are attempting to manage those, but when the parents and brothers and sisters of the accused began showing up at the doors of the detention centers, Fran ordered the guards to let them in, and they too have been detained. Soon it will be a struggle just to cover up where everyone was disappearing to.
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“We have been outmaneuvered,” Quinn, spinning around on his six remaining legs shouts at his House, and those who have boarded the crippled corvette.
A thick, former F-class Host who has just arrived to assist the fight reels in anger, slamming both massive fists onto the table map, destroying it. “How could we allow this to happen!” He shouts. “We are fools! Led by a fool!” His accusation is directed plainly at Quinn.
Zander joins his leader from the catwalk where he watched Tobias flee in his module. “Stand down!” He tells the new arrival. Quinn watches as Zander pulls up every centimetre of his monstrous form. He is battle worn. Blood and soot cover his carapace.
“Zander,” the new Host recognizes Quinn’s bodyguard. “I am Fender.” Four arms spread out to embrace him, two of which were hidden when he’d collapsed the table. He is covered in additional armour plating and has substantial artillary mounted to his chest. The red stripe all rebel Hosts share on the center of the crown is faded.
“It is good to know you, Fender, but do not put this failure on Quinn. He has gotten us this far.”
“And I would have gotten us the rest of the way if his secondary orders were better researched. Now Chimera have our ships.”
“Do you have Host aboard those ships?” Asks Quinn pushing through the developing crowd.
“There are some.”
“They have sealed the shuttle bay gates.” Labyrinth adds at Quinn’s side. “Could we jettison ourselves to their hulls and attempt to retake the corvettes?”
“It is possible. With energy weapons, we could eventually break through the exterior.” Offers Fender. “But it would take approximately seventy-two hours.”
“Three days.” Quinn deliberates on this number.
“Quinn,” another Host interrupts. “Missiles are on approach, fifty kilometres out.”
“Missiles!” Quinn reacts anxiously to the news, but regains his composure. “How long?”
“Three-minutes.”
“We need to abandon ship,” he explains, and sends the message via carrier network to the remaining Hosts not within earshot. “If we can reach the other corvettes before they turn and run we have a chance. All Hosts target a corvette and launch yourself towards it. Partner up with a Host who has thrusters. MOVE!”
Within seconds dozens of rebel Hosts are rocketing across empty space, desperate to reach the Maker Tech alloy hulls of the new warships.
A minute later the first barage of missiles impact their crippled corvettes and the shock waves from the explosions further propel the vulnerable Hosts forward. Quinn is turned around by the force of the blast and watches as a half-dozen rebel Hosts meet their end – flying apart from the pounding aftermath of the detonations. Next, his attention turns to the other two damaged corvettes, where he witnesses a simlar fate befall them. Many Hosts had only begun to escape the third, the explosions presumably taking all of them with it.
Their velocity has accelerated considerably with the booming aftershocks radiating outwards and Quinn finds himself detatched from Zander, who was directing their path with his recently repaired rocket boots. He calculates that he is moving far too fast not to be crushed against the warship upon collision and messages Zander, or any other available Host with thrusters, to locate him and slow his pace.
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The chancellor wants more then ever to stop Fran now. The idea that she could think to execute thousands of mis-guided children let alone speak it aloud, and still find the argument to back it up, was truly reprehensible.
“Commander,” he approaches Darla.
“I know, Chancellor,” she has read his mind. “She is lost. I want you to know, I had no idea there were military warships being built in my shipyard. What I have, and those who follow me are yours to command, sir.”
“Thank you. I believe that, Commander. You were always my first choice to lead the Luna Base operation, and I have not been dissapointed.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“So, what do we do about Francisca August?”
“I wish I knew. I feel utterly useless up here with no ships and a skeleton crew of soldiers who must feel no loyalty to me and my crew.”
“They’re likely loyal to Fran,” Raymond acknowledges. “I wonder if they’re keeping tabs on us as we speak.”
“I’m certain Captain Grumman is in contact with General August, and plotting to overthrow my command the moment she orders it.”
“Then perhaps we need to get in front of this runaway train and derail it before it becomes a real problem.”
“How so?” Her kind features take on a new expression. One of deep concern.
“There are warships heading our way from Mars.”
“Mars?” She is clearly shocked by the chancellor’s statement. “Ours?”
“Well, hers for the moment. We need to come up with a plan to make them ours before the Chimera attempt to take them.”
“Commander, ships are burning in orbit,” an aid reports, sliding her finger across a console, calling up a holo of the three crippled corvettes breaking up in twos and threes and shrapnel jetting out toward the Host ships currently occupied by Chimera.
“The missiles have reached their intended targets,” Commander Darla points out.
“Yes, while the real threat evades another attempt to end them.” Raymond is disheartened. SENTA’s crown was aboard one of those ships. Samantha’s memories. His sister. Now he would never experience her again. Never again witness that glint of life, sentient life, in her pretend eyes. With a stiff leg, he stomps on the floor. “We need to hail those destroyers. We need those ships.”
“I don’t know that I have the ability to reach them, Chancellor. They are likely on a protected frequency.”
“Call your Captain in,” he orders her. She uses her EC.
“Ma’am,” the aid picks up where she left off. “What I thought was material from the explosions appear to be Hosts heading for the new corvettes.”
Darla looks to Raymond and smirks. “Looks like that fight isn’t over yet.”
“Incredible,” Raymond says. “They are truly remarkable.” His head nods mechanically. Their will to exist facinates him. He does not wish them destroyed. “Let’s hope for their success in regaining their ships.”
“The enemy of my enemy is my friend?” Darla quotes.
“I’m not sure the rebel Hosts are our enemy, Commander. Fran’s governing body on earth is our enemy. The Chimera are our enemy. But the AI Hosts? I have my doubts about that.”
Captain Grumman enters the command room flanked by two of his soldiers. He nods at the chancellor, and Raymond nods back.
“Good to see you made it to Luna Base, Chancellor,” he offers with zero believability.
“Your entourage is dismissed, Captain, Grumman,” Darla explains. “This is a: for your ear’s only exercise.”
Raymond positions himself between the two and faces Captain Grumman, who stands considerably shorter then him. “What do you know about the ships approaching from Mars?” He asks.
“I know nothing of ships from Mars, Chancellor.” His reply is well practiced.
“You know nothing of these ships?” Raymond asks incredulously, if a little dramatically.
“No, sir,” Grumman insists.
“They are military in origin, like the corvettes which were manufactured here, in secrecy.”
“Chancellor, I know you must think I knew about the corvettes - ”
“Of course you knew about them, Captain!” Raymond’s voice rises. Dressed in the finest attire available on Luna Base, he cleans up well, and looks the part of a man who has held the most powerful position in human history. The captain is clearly shaken by his tone and demeanor, and so he begins circling the man. “General August will be punished for her part in this military coup upon my reinstatement, so I suggest you switch to the wining side in this war, Captain.”
“Sir, I -”
“You have not been asked to speak again!” The Chancelor thunders. “Are you suggesting that you are so incompetent that you would miss the introduction of warships into the manufacturing queue while you were tasked with the security of the people and processes which occur in and around Luna Base?”
“Is that a question for me to answer, sir?”
“No. It’s rhetorical, Captain Grumman, because if I believed that I would be the fool in this room, not you.” Raymonds natural charisma has captured the entire room and all eyes were on them. “But that is not the case, Captain. We have tracked your communications with the general, and have confirmation that you know much more then you are willing to say.”
Two large men and two C-class approach the captain at the chancellors bidding and Darla’s approval.
“Remove Captain Grumman’s side-arm and anything which denotes rank.” Raymond orders the men as the C-class hold the captian in place. “You are now without rank, or honour. Your EC has been scrambled and you will have no more dealings with the general. That being what it is, you now have a choice you did not have before we called on you. You can tell the truth, and assist your government in receiving the three interstellar warships which are just days away. Or, spend the remainder of your natural life in the one/sixth G stockade, watching your bones and muscles atrophy over time, and your body bend and twist like a jellyfish.”
“There are rules in place against torture!” The captian exclaims.
Raymond turns to Commander Darla. “Is it not merely a condition of the moon, Commander, that the stockade is one/sixth G, and not a form of torture, per see?”
“It is, Chancellor,” Darla reads his tone perfectly and continues. “Due to the Moon’s size, relative to the Earth, the gravity is roughly one/sixth that of Earths,” she explains, mockingly. “And the stockade - being a non-essential structure - was not encorporated into the maglev design.”
“So, it’s not torture to let me float apart?” He’s rattled now, and the chancellor offers his only condition.
“We are merely following the laws of Luna Base and, incidentally, those of the natural world. The choice is yours. You have one minute to decide and then we place you in the stockade and run this same proceedure with your remaining troops.”
“They’ve only done as they were ordered. As I have. Please -”
“Fifty-seconds.”
“She’ll kill me!”
“You’ll welcome the change.”
“Chancellor!” He cries, exacerbated.
“Thirty-seconds.”
“I will reveal what little I know.”
“Not good enough. Twenty-five-seconds.”
“I can only tell you what I know, Chancellor!”
“Twenty-seconds.” He refers to the new watch on his wrist, generously supplied by Commander Darla. “I want to know who is captaining those ships, their background, and the frequency in which to hail them.”
“Why would the general release information like that to me?”
“Fifteen-seconds. You’re her man on the moon, Grumman. This is where the warships are heading in order to intercept the rogue corvettes. Of course you would have been granted the ability to communicate with them. Do not take us for fools!”
“She’ll kill me!” He cries, struggling against the C-class’s hold on his arms.
“We will protect you. Five-seconds.”
“Tell your communications officer to punch in Alpha, Tango, Charlie, Tango, Alpha, Seven, Three, Alpha, Seven at 379 Mhz. That will enact the ParaCom link.” The secret bursts from his lips.
“You really know how to create tension in a room, Grumman.” Raymond appears calm and collected as he lands a hand on Grumman’s shoulder, grateful his tactics have worked.
“Send a message for the ships to hail Luna Base,” the chancellor tells the communications officer.
“The alpha-numeric code is transmitting well at 379 Mhz, Commander,” the officer relays. “Tracking it.”
“Good. Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Grumman,” Darla says. “Now what is the name and rank of the commanding officer on Mars Station?”
“Chopra,” he spits out. “Captain, Chopra.”
“Jim Chopra?” Grumman nods. “I know this man,” Darla tells Raymond. “He is a skilled tactician. A decorated soldier in dealings with Humanist uprisings as far back as the forties.”
“The messge is tracking along the correct path of satellites to make Mars and will be delivered in three minutes. Once they’ve received, we will be able to communicate in real-time via ParaCom.” The young man at the communications console affirms.
“Place Mr. Grumman under house-arrest,” Darla orders her C-class security Hosts. They maintain their tight grip and move Grumman into a holding room within the command station. “I want the remaining seven military personnel brought here one at a time. We need to learn their level of loyalty to General August. I do not want any vigilanty justice playing out on Luna Base to free Mr. Grumman.”
The chancellor leans over the communications officer, leaving the base’s continued care in Darla’s capable hands. He tracks the message alongside the young officer as dots blink along the screen, making their way to Mars.
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Built to house over two-hundred people and one-hundred AI Hosts, the destroyer-class starship is an impressive feat. The most impressive since the completion of Luna Base, Captain Chopra muses. Mars has had its rewards in technological breakthroughs as well, like the mining complex completely overseen by AI Hosts, and artificial gravity generators which he also enjoys on the orbiting shipyard, but Luna Base is still considered the jewel in humanity’s crowning achievments. Until today.
As he walks the length of the massive structure, Mars catches his eye at each view port along the Starboard side of the ship, Mars Station now a safe distance away. Deployed from the docking clamps three hours earlier, the ship has already proven itself in use of its directional thrusters, and he awaits AI Host authorization to fire the main propulsion engines.
The gravity systems are functioning at a perfect one G. His skeleton crew of two officers are met with a grin in the command module.
“All systems are firing at one-hundred percent, Captain.” Announces his commander; a short, young man with lofty ambitions - Commander Nick Wilkes. Wilkes carries himself much taller then his physical presence will allow, and possesses an ego which has made him unpopular on Mars Station with the other officers. All the same, Chopra thinks, he’s a confident pilot for good reason - that being he’s the best the captain has seen.
“The main thrusters?” He queries.
“Yes, sir. RANST has just messaged me that we are good for ignition
.”
“I like that RANST. He’s got, personality,” Chopra winks and waves to the console. “Fire them up, Commander.”
Commander Wilkes obeys and with the slide of a finger the engines ramp up and propel the destroyer ahead. A pre-mapped route to Earth’s moon has been set in the navigation system, and all three ships accelerate to extrodinary speeds. The significant G-forces they experience confirm their simulation’s standard model, and once the initial thrust forward levels out, the crew relaxes into a comfortable one G.
“In three days’ time, we will need to be battle-ready.” Chopra announces to his crew. “Let’s keep an eye on each system twenty-four, seven. Once we arrive, there can be no room for error. Earth defences are counting on us.”
Chopra runs over the brief - yet hurried – updates via his EC. The Hosts will perform the analysis, paired with the onboard computer, minute to minute to confirm each system’s level of proficiency, while regularly scheduled assessments completed by himself and his commander and leiutenant are also deemed necessary.