Finish What You Started

by Michael Anderle

  Ricole barely noticed the younger Noel-ni’s sudden stage fright. She was too wrapped up in her concerns about taking the vid-crew around the classes without them seeing any of the Bakas training. She didn’t have to understand why Tabitha was being a total hardass about it, she just had to figure a way to prevent it from happening.

  She opened the team’s comm. We have nosey parkers. Are we good?

  Ricole, you worry too much, Demon drawled. I should think my presence would be enough to ensure our pet journalists don’t wander too far.

  Mark chuckled. Yeah, and I’ve got a nasty bite waiting for any attempted hackers. Thank you, Eve.

  Thank you, Eve, Ricole repeated with a dry laugh of her own. Okay, we’re headed in. They’re about to start the first segment.

  The tiny blond human who had introduced herself to Ricole as Fran Arthur stepped up to the camera and gave a dazzlingly warm smile. “Good evening, Defenders. I’m Fran Arthur, coming to you with a very special episode. We’re joined by none other than Ricole, who has graciously invited me to spend the day here at the Hexagon. Ricole, thank you for having us.”

  Ricole was sure her attempt at a friendly smile came across more like an embarrassed half-snarl. “It’s a pleasure to have you here, Fran. I’m a huge fan of the show, as are we all.” She tried not to think about the camera as she gestured for Fran to join her. “Do you mind walking and talking? We’ll never get through everything otherwise.”

  She pointed out areas of interest to Fran as they made their way into the original part of the building. “This is where we used to hold Fight Night when we started out. It’s now the main indoor training area.”

  Fran nodded along with Ricole as they walked. “I hear construction has begun again. Is the Hexagon going to keep expanding indefinitely?”

  Ricole lifted her hands. “I don’t know? As long as we’re serving the community, I don’t see why Baba Yaga would halt the progress. Since we opened for business, Hex has funded regeneration and infrastructure for the poorest parts of the city without displacing the hundreds of thousands of people who live there.”

  Fran grinned as she turned to the camera. “You can see the impact of Hex investment all over First City. We catch up now with Varia Schnell, whom viewers of The Franarth Files will recognize. She’s no longer in despair about where her children will sleep at night or how she will feed them with no employment. We go to Gavin over at the Hope Docks to find out how Ricole and everyone else at Hex changed her life.”

  She held the grin a moment longer, then dropped it when the green light on the camera drone turned red.

  “You done for now?” Ricole asked.

  Fran shook her head and pointed at a second and third camera drone, then at her cyborg cameraman. “Stuart will use these to get all the stock footage we need. I have the passkey codes for your security department.”

  I’ve got them, Mark confirmed. Okay, tell Fran she’s been granted the access clearance she requested. That’s thinking ahead. I like that in a woman.

  Demon padded into sight, pausing to touch her forehead to Ricole’s hand in greeting before circling Fran and Stuart. You do? she purred. Jacqueline will be interested to hear your assessment of the merits of human females.

  I will keep you in steak for a month if you don’t, Mark bargained. The answer to “Do I want to die today?” is always no.

  That sounds fair, Demon agreed. I will expect three kilos of prime cuts delivered to my loft every morning. You can speak to my butcher.

  You have a butcher? Mark asked.

  Demon’s tail flicked as she walked, startling Fran. Did you think I would eat bushmeat given the choice? I sincerely hope for your sake your account is as large as your promise.

  Ricole ignored them, used to the mental chatter. She glanced instead at the cameraman, who was at the center of a number of strange whirring noises as his drones came in to land on his shoulders. “Is he okay?” she asked Fran.

  The cameraman’s eyes flickered, his awareness elsewhere for the moment.

  Fran frowned prettily, a small line appearing between her eyebrows. “Stuart? Don’t mind him,” she told Ricole. “We’ll do a short intro piece in a few locations and he’ll take care of the rest. He had everything we need installed as firmware when we got the gig with the holonetwork. I’m guessing you have an EI? He gets like that whenever there’s an EI.”

  Ricole nodded. As far as she knew, the holonetwork’s explosion in popularity had a lot to do with this woman’s persistence when it came to what was happening around Devon. “Fair enough. What about you? Where are you from originally?”

  Fran flicked her hair over her shoulder. “Same as every other human out here. I grew up on the Meredith Reynolds and followed my Empress. Nobody has actually seen Bethany Anne since the Federation was founded, but the resurgence of her inner circle on Devon hasn’t gone unnoticed. Baba Yaga hasn’t been anywhere near so shy. I want to interview her—the Mistress. That’s my dream.”

  Ricole smirked. “Careful what you wish for. Come on, let’s get you some of that training footage. Commander Silvers is running drills in Arena Four, and he’s expecting us any time now.”

  High Tortuga, Space Fleet Base, Barnabas’ Office

  Barnabas answered the voice call, somewhat surprised by Lance's relatively rapid response to his message regarding possible companies to fold into the logistics effort. “Is everything okay?”

  “You sonofabitch sneaky bastard. You’ve known where my Merry has been all this time, and you didn’t say a fucking word!”

  “Hello, Lillian,” Barnabas replied, wishing calls still came via a receiver you could hold at a distance to protect your hearing from women on the warpath. “Is Lance aware you are using his top-secret encrypted line to contact me?”

  Lillian snorted. “What do you think? I just found out from Roh’dun that his cousin Grim’zee has been with Merry for who knows how long, and I came straight here. Now, you better spill before I find a way to get to High Tortuga and slap it out of you. Where is my daughter?”

  While Barnabas appreciated the predicament John’s and Jean’s daughter was in, there wasn’t too much he could tell her at this juncture. “I can’t tell you.”

  There was silence on the other end of the line, punctuated by a few dull thuds. When Lillian spoke again, the fire was gone from her voice, replaced by icy anger. “Can’t, or won’t?”

  “A little of both,” Barnabas replied. “In all honesty, Tabitha is a much more suitable target for your ire. Grim was her doing. I was just the patsy for getting her plan past Bethany Anne, as much as I hate to admit she got one over on me.”

  “Oh.” Lillian sighed. “Tabitha is covering her ass like there was a sudden temperature drop, and Dad won’t hear her name mentioned. What can you tell me, Barnabas? Is she doing okay at least?”

  Barnabas wanted to continue this conversation like he wanted the base to collapse on top of him. “Lillian, I suspect you know who to speak to for answers.”

  Lillian’s retort didn’t bear repeating.

  Barnabas sighed. “My dear, I cannot help you. All I can do is promise I’m taking a more active role in Nickie’s return to the fold. Will that suffice for us to say goodbye so I can continue making arrangements?”

  The line went dead, leaving Barnabas to assume the ever-efficient juggernaut was satisfied with his offer. He poured himself a glass of water and messaged Lance directly using the Etheric comm.

  Lance called back a few minutes later, his mental voice gruff. What’s up? Take your time. I’m in session, and it’s moving slower than molasses in winter.

  Barnabas sniffed. I do not envy your role, my friend. Government is a sword many a good person had fallen on. What is the topic of debate currently?

  Lance’s internal groan said it all. Vietania’s entry into the Federation. It’s a fuckbucket full of fairy feces, is what it is.

  Barnabas grimaced. I expect that situation will resolve itself presently, he consoled the Ge
neral. You will know the moment I do.

  Lance sighed. That would be a load off my mind. Too many colonies, too many petty squabbles threatening the lives of the people living there.

  There’s a fair amount of that going around, Barnabas conceded ruefully. It amazes me how many colonies chose to institute monarchy as their governmental model when the expansion began in earnest.

  Lance made a semi-interested noise. One moment.

  Barnabas listened in as Lance tore into some idiot in his General’s voice.

  “Are you fucking insane? You want to assassinate them? It’s a damn good thing Bethany Anne isn’t here to hear that shit come out of your mouth, Sorreg. Find another solution—one that doesn’t involve the Federation getting blood on its hands.”

  Barnabas shrugged to himself, grateful again for the relative quiet of High Tortuga. You need an assassin?

  Lance snorted. Over financial corruption? I think not. I’m guessing you have a whole bunch of contract killers you can call, he snarked. All untraceable, right? Where do you even find these people?

  Barnabas could have told Lance he had something of a family affair in mind as a solution to both his and Lance’s problem and his promise to Lillian. If your fraudsters happen to have businesses that would fold into our network, it would save a great deal of time on your part to seize them.

  Lance snorted. You’re not kidding? That’s not the way I’m running this. The Federation operates within regulations for a reason. If we start stripping people of their assets without a trial, we’re no better than the preconceptions I’ve worked to debunk.

  Barnabas found Lance’s particular brand of honor when it came to ensuring Federation actions were above board admirable. However, he had lived too long to expect everyone to play fair, and deep down, the General knew it too. Do you have another idea how else you will arrange for millions of tons of cargo to be shipped out of the Federation without any suspicions being raised?

  Lance paused. For now, I intend to keep this debate running. They’ll argue whatever minute issue they’re given for six weeks straight with little or no encouragement; it wouldn’t be the first time. What are you going to do?

  Barnabas had barely formed the idea that had hit him before he called Lance. I’m going to put Nickie in charge of the logistics network.

  Lance choked. You’re going to do what? The idea is to prevent word from getting out, not to drunk-crash a ship full of evidence in the Federation’s lap.

  Barnabas sighed. You don’t know Nickie these days. She’s fighting the good fight, her and her crew. She’s ready to come home, although she requires freedom to roam. I’m going to try her suitability for logistics, and if she does herself justice, I’ll make her the commander of the fleet. Once we have a logistics fleet to command, that is.”

  Lance chuckled. That’s a mighty turnaround from the willful child Bethany Anne exiled. John and Jean will be relieved.

  He and Jean are in the dark, Barnabas told him. It’s early days, but something to build is something to stay for.

  Lance couldn’t hide his shock. He’d had no idea Nickie—if that’s what she was calling herself these days—was so close to redemption. It could work. How does Lillian feel about that?

  Why don’t you ask her? Barnabas returned. She’s probably about ready to break out of your office as we speak. Your secret line is not much of a secret, by the way. Lillian would appreciate you keeping her informed of Nickie’s progress as much as I would appreciate avoiding awkward conversations with her in the future.

  Lance groaned. You know, there is no point in having a secret anything if everyone in the family knows where all the secrets are hidden. I’ll keep in touch with Lillian, and you will owe me a glass of something that burns all the way down to my stomach when I see you next.

  Barnabas lifted a shoulder. I’ll owe you a whole bottle, my friend. Thank you.

  In Transit, QBS ArchAngel II, Admiral Thomas’ Office

  The fleet had one more Gate to cross before they reached the coordinates ADAM had provided. Admiral Thomas wasn’t quite at the point of spontaneously birthing felines, but he wasn’t far from it.

  The scale of the impending maneuver was evident in the slew of captains requesting permission from CEREBRO for their ships to debark the superdreadnoughts they’d been berthed on for the journey.

  They’d been stalled for two hours while the superdreadnoughts slowly disgorged the contents of their hangars and cargo decks in a coordinated ballet, every ship of every class getting into position relative to their designated incursion point into the Ooken system.

  The dance came to a close as the SSE fleet slid into place.

  “You are exhibiting signs of agitation, Admiral,” CEREBRO commented.

  Admiral Thomas paused his continual comparison of the ships’ coordinates against the carefully planned play on his datapad. “The sooner the new ships are ready, the better,” he grumbled to the EI group. “At least I have you to keep everything running smoothly, CEREBRO.”

  “You are too kind,” CEREBRO replied. “The scout ships are in position and awaiting your orders.”

  Admiral Thomas nodded. “Send them in. The sooner we get eyes on that system, the sooner we can get Bethany Anne and Michael out of there and lay waste to it.”

  “The report from ADAM has you concerned,” CEREBRO surmised.

  Admiral Thomas got up to pace. “Damn right it does!” He waved his datapad. “Once, just once, it would be nice if Bethany Anne waited for her backup before storming in.”

  “We would be happy to pass your concerns along to ADAM for the Queen's consideration,” CEREBRO offered.

  “That won’t be necessary, thank you.” Admiral Thomas rubbed his temple to ease the growing throb behind his eyes. “What are the scouts coming up with?”

  “We are receiving preliminary reports,” CEREBRO informed him. “The scouts have identified high-level defenses all around the sixth planet from the star, which is rather odd since the planet is not habitable by the Ooken.”

  Admiral Thomas frowned. “It’s not? Show me.”

  “Not unless nitrogen-dependent life forms can suddenly develop the ability to exist in an atmosphere consisting mainly of sulfides.” CEREBRO brought the viewscreen to life. “We are building a map of the system as the data comes in, but it will take a few minutes. Perhaps you would care to answer your correspondence while we wait for the scouts to complete their survey?”

  The Admiral’s head throbbed again. “I have plenty to do.” He smiled to himself. “Besides, Giselle and her mother are not seeing eye-to-eye presently. If I don’t know I have a message, I don’t have to respond to it.”

  “Of course, Admiral.” CEREBRO paused before continuing, “The challenges of an overenthusiastic mother-in-law are a staple of human comedy. Perhaps we could share some humor along those lines to pass the time?”

  Admiral Thomas chuckled. “I don’t think that will be necessary, either. Don’t get me wrong,” he clarified, “I love my wife, and as mothers-in-law go, Helena is not the worst. However, I would prefer to be served my own entrails for dinner on a nightly basis than get dragged back into Giselle’s debate with her mother on the merits of traditional child-rearing over what Helena calls ‘modern parenting.’ Giselle will understand.”

  “The majority of us, being of military design, were under the impression that raising biological young required nothing more than attention to the child’s physical and emotional needs on the parents’ part,” CEREBRO admitted. “Our insights on the various childrearing tactics of the different species we have come into contact with aboard the Helena have led us to conclude that is less than accurate.”

  Admiral Thomas shrugged, his focus on the developing picture of the Ooken system. “You know my opinion. Parenting is more like an extended negotiation with tiny terrorists bent on self-destruction, as much as I’ve been told differently by my wife and everyone else. Children should mainly be seen at breakfast and bedtime.”

&
nbsp; “We would suggest it is fortunate that your wife is of a more nurturing mindset,” CEREBRO teased.

  The Admiral ignored the EIs. “What is your conclusion so far about the positioning of the defenses? There are three perfectly good rocky planets closer to the star. One of them even has an almost ideal oxygen/nitrogen atmosphere.” He rubbed his chin in thought. “But they’re hidden inside that gas giant. It isn’t exactly screaming ‘homeworld’ to me.”

  “We have to agree, Admiral.” CEREBRO highlighted a spot on the planet’s swirling surface. “There is a great deal of Etheric energy being expended in this area.”

  Admiral Thomas nodded. “I don’t have to guess; that’s where we will find Bethany Anne.” He tapped a few buttons on his wrist holo and the map on the screen appeared over his desk in all its three-dimensional hard-light glory. “Is the map complete?”

  “It is,” CEREBRO confirmed.

  Admiral Thomas rolled his shoulders. “Then let’s find out what we’re up against.”

  14

  Gas Planet, Ooken Sky Base

  Bethany Anne and Michael entered the building cautiously. The inside was dim, lit only by a muted glow that pulsed gently within the smoky crystal walls.

  Bethany Anne scanned the sparse atrium they walked into over the barrel of her Jean Dukes. Creepy lair vibe much? Seeing what we have so far, I kind of keep expecting Cthulhu’s uglier cousin to jump out from every shadow.

  Michael made a face as he passed Bethany Anne to explore the exits leading off the atrium. It’s the scent of soaked-in blood that does it.

  The room gave way to another, this one clearly a laboratory.

  Bethany Anne blocked her olfactory senses before the stench of death crawled up her nostrils and took root in her brain. This is where the Collective are turned into Ooken. You’d think they would do something about the smell.

  Michael shrugged, glancing at the equipment-covered workstations. It’s not the worst thing I’ve ever smelled. Burning Were hair—now that’s an odor that takes a while to depart.