Ch. 10/THEN
September 22, 2368
Olympus, Earth
Click.
"... United States forces marched unopposed through the
streets of Nashville today, marking the southermost penetration of the
Imperial Americana since the United States split during the Fourth
World War. Many natives of Nashville greeted the invaders with open
glee, hugging soldiers and dancing in the streets. Americana forces in
the area have withdrawn south of the Cumberland river and are
regrouping to prevent further loss of territory.
"In related news, an entire army of Imperial American troops
is marching on foot in disgrace after surrendering two weeks ago to
the rebel forces claiming to be the armed forces of the Texas Free
Republic. Sixty thousand troops are currently marching to Alexandria,
Louisiana, weaponless, on foot, after the second major defeat
Americana has suffered to Free Texan forces since July. The Texan army
is currently besieging the city of Houston, and according to reports
sentiment for the rebels is high within the city walls.
"The United Federation of Planets has declared the battle to
be strictly an internal matter within Earth's jurisdiction and has
pledged neutrality, despite the involvement of forces of the
Confederate Freespacers Mercenary Fleet on behalf of the insurgents. At this time, the world
government at Olympus has issued no statement regarding-"
Click.
Of course they haven't issued a statement, Vice Admiral
Kristan Overstreet, grumbled. He slung the remote control across the
plush carpet of his luxurious VIP holding cell, lying back on the
king-sized bed in frustration.
They haven't decided what to do about me yet...
Click.
"-how would you react to Free Texan claims that Imperial
Americana is the agressor in this case?"
"That's a ludicrous statement. If I go and raise an army in
someone else's nation, I think it's safe to say that-"
"But it's -their- nation too, that's their-"
"-I would be regarded-"
"It's -not- their nation, it's the Imperial President's
nation-"
"all they're arguing for is the right to-"
"-the aggressor, now wouldn't-"
"Gentlemen, ladies, I'm afraid that's all the time we have. On
behalf of Jessie Symichek and myself, this is Wendell Yamazaki... good
day."
Click.
Admiral Overstreet sat across the desk from Athena, the
President of the General Council of Olympus and, according to a polite
legal fiction, the head of state of Earth. In reality, Athena barely
even ruled within the Olympus city-state itself, and what power
Olympus had in the outside world had fallen into greater and greater
contempt as the old warring nations learned that violating Olympus
directives really had little or no effect. Still, Olympus had some
significant military power on the ground, and more importantly all of
Earth's space defense forces and interplanetary diplomatic relations
were controlled by the Olympus government.
As such, when Athena spoke, people listened.
"Admiral, the only reason I'm speaking to you is I don't want to be responsible for starting an interplanetary war between Earth and the Confederate Freespacers Alliance," she muttered, glaring at the nondescript bearded man sitting in front of her. "As it is, your actions have strained diplomatic relations to the breaking point, and I demand to know your reasons for your actions!"
The Redneck rolled his eyes and spun in his chair idly. "According to the instrument of diplomatic recognition between the United Nations Earth government and the CFMF established in 2009, actions of the CFMF while under contract to another nation do not constitute official policy of the CFA civilian government."
"Bullshit." Athena replied. "You chose to accept contract with a rebel group in an area which, at the time, was one of the *very* few peaceful regions of Earth. Over the past five years, you have smuggled in offworld arms- don't try to deny it- and the means of manufacturing more. You destroyed virtually the entire aerospace arm of the Imperial Americana military. And finally, I have it on very good authority that you PERSONALLY commanded the rebel forces at Goodrich and Burkeville! I said I did not want to start an interplanetary war, Admiral," Athena growled, "now I want you to tell me how it could be that -you- have not started the war yourself."
The Redneck sighed. "Listen, the people of that region of the Imperial Americana have been ignored for decades by the Imperial Americana except for collecting taxes. Mutant and genengineered animals have terrorized rural areas almost since the Third World War, and since the Fourth World War bandits have made rural life even worse. The Imperial Americana government won't lift a finger to defend the people there, but when they move to defend themselves they get arrested, locked up, and occasionally shot.
"Now, when I help these people clean out the bandits and most of the kaiju-class predators from the area, do they get any thanks or support? No. What they get is shoot-to-kill orders from the Imperial Americana. What they get is family and friends massacred by Imperial forces. The CFMF hired on as assistants to local law enforcement in the area, Madame President. When the local authorities decided to break away from the IA, we continued to honor our contract, expanded to include defending the area against agressor nations. Does this answer your question?"
The silence drew out after Red's rant, as Athena pondered and Red maintained his relaxed, informal attitude. The mid-morning sun lit up the occasional mote of dust floating by in the wide, empty office. Red picked out one dust mote and followed its motion, up on a tiny updraft, around and down in an eddy, drifting serenely, utterly unconcerned with the tension in the room.
Finally, Athena sighed. "You, sir, have left me in a difficult position." Standing, she continued, "We will discuss this later." Pressing the intercom button in her desk, she said, "Have Admiral Overstreet escorted back to his suite."
["The Texas Free Republic first rose out of a
handful of vigilante troops in the central
and eastern Texas rural areas, who struggled
against not only the uncontrolled military
raiders the Collapse had spawned, and the
rapidly changing environment, but the corrupt
government of Imperial Americana, which
claimed soverignty over Texas but made no
effort to enforce it outside the major
cities."]
["The movement first gained notoriety in the
galactic community when a small army of
Republican volunteers, supported by mercenary
forces, fought a corps of Imperial Americana
troops to a draw in the month-long Battle of
the Trinity. The battle led to a decree of
neutrality by the Olympus government."]
Ch. 10/NOW
In orbit around the Zeta Cygni Dyson Sphere
August 11, 2388
"Commodore, orders coming down from WDF command," the
comm-tech of the CFA Roarke's Dream II called up from his cubbyhole on
the old Corellian corvette's bridge. The lighting system was down, not
for any combat purpose, but due to a shorted power lead the damage
control crew hadn't been able to isolate. In the dim light of the
bridge's still-operable displays, the tech's wild, spiked hair cast
long shadows from his little nook.
"On main display," Commodore Platt O'Keefe barked. The
successful smuggler, author, and Freespacer politician leaned
comfortably back in the center seat, her braid solid white now after
over a century of serving the Freespace Mark first, the Federation
Credit second, and the Freespacer Alliance somewhere back in the pack.
The lines of her face gave her an air of dignity instead of age; a
lifetime of hard living and close calls had kept her from putting on
much of any weight anywhere, and even if her skin wasn't as smooth as
it once was, she looked a full thirty years younger than her actual
age of 124,
The main display flickered to life, occasionally losing its
vertical hold as the short, sweet text message gleamed out onto the
bridge: MAINTAIN RED ALERT STATUS. ENGAGEMENT AGAINST GENOM BATTLE
STATION IMMINENT. HOLD STATION AND MAINTAIN ESCORT OF REFUGEE VESSELS.
EOF - BENJAMIN HUTCHINS CPT 2INC WDF ALLIED FLEET/VISION LTCDR COMMAND
STAFF
"In other words," a voice from behind the center seat
grumbled, "we do nothing."
"You're on this bridge as a courtesy, Captain Nakajima,"
O'Keefe said. "That courtesy could be revoked at any time..."
"I don't like this," Nakajima replied, walking across the
bridge so she could face O'Keefe. "The main GENOM fleet is out of gun
range of the AT&T, but not out of starfighter range. Tactical!" Before
O'Keefe could object, the weapons officer had blipped a tactical map
of the fleets onto the main viewer; the WDF fleet in the lower left
corner, the refugee fleets and their guard in the lower right, the
AT&T just south of center, and the main GENOM fleet near the top of
the screen, twice as far as any other force from the AT&T... but
clearly not all that far off.
"Now, it'd take the GENOM main fleet over half an hour to get
within fire-support range of the AT&T," Aya pointed out, "but TIE
Interceptors can cover the distance in under fifteen minutes. The only
way I can think of to pull off a swift attack on the AT&T is with a
starfighter force, but that force will leave the main fleet badly
exposed -and- risk the starfighters to counterattack."
"That's why we have screening forces to break up those
counterattacks," O'Keefe said. "Drop five Valkyrie, Rapier or X-Wing
squadrons between the station and the enemy fleet-"
"No way they could be spared," Aya shook her head negatively.
"Even after the mauling we gave them, GENOM's starfighter force must
outnumber ours by three to one or better... and the AT&T didn't get to
launch any of its own. No, it's going to be an all or nothing
gamble... "
"And you want the Support Fleet to cover the attack?" O'Keefe
sighed. "Nakajima, this fleet has its orders. We stand excort over the
refugee ships against-"
The forward portholes flooded with light as the Roarke's Dream
II's shields overloaded, lighting the bridge up brighter than a
phosphorus fire. The ship rocked and bucked with impact as two more
shots cut through the shields and hit the ship. Debris fell all over
the bridge, crewmen were knocked from their standing stations, control
panels shorted out all around.
As Aya's eyesight returned to normal, she looked around the
smoke-filled bridge. Two-thirds of the bridge's stations were knocked
out. Three crewmen lay writhing beside her, limbs broken in the
confusion. Through the darkness and haze, Aya could barely make out
the thick layer of bulkhead which had come away from the ceiling and
fallen over most of the rear half of the bridge.... and lying over the
center seat... and Platt O'Keefe's body.
Oh Gods.
Aya gaped for a moment or two, then shouted, "STATUS!"
"Cloakship... sir...." the weapons officer coughed loudly,
holding his side as he worked his way back to the still functional
panel. "Dropped into the clear and fired torpedoes... direct hit to
bridge and reactor section..."
"Do we still have power?"
The weapons officer shrugged helplessly with his free hand.
Nobody else seemed in any condition to help.
"Dammit, dammit, dammit," Aya grumbled, picking her way over
the debris to a comm panel by the bridge doors. "Bridge to crew of CFF
Defiant, get up here on the double. Damage control and medstaff to the
bridge." Thumbing off the intercom, she picked her way back across the
debris to the helm console, which for a wonder was still intact. With
a few keystrokes she sent the corvette into a slow dead-fish roll.
There, she thought, hopefully that'll fool the stealthship into
thinking he took us out.
As Aya tried to coax the scanning console back to life, the
bridge doors opened to admit Homare, followed closely by two engineers
and the rest of the Defiant bridge crew. "Maaan... what a mess,"
Homare sighed as he moved over to the helm console. "Dead fish gambit?
Good move, sis," he nodded, leaving the controls alone for the moment.
Shran grabbed a fallen support beam and heaved it away from a
multipurpose console, keying up an Engineering status report. "Good
news, Captain," he said, "Commodore O'Keefe reinforced the hull over
the main reactor. Engineering took a beating, but we still have main
power."
"We do?" Aya scrambled back over the debris, shouting, "Shut
it DOWN! Dammit, shut main power down NOW!!"
"But-" Another impact cut Shran's response short, knocking
everyone off their feet and wringing loud, heartstopping groans from
the thin outer bulkhead above their heads. As the various crewmembers
picked themselves up, Shran typed out an order into the console, and a
few seconds later the subliminal hum of the fusion reactor faded out.
"Is... is everyone all right?" Aya gasped, wincing as she
stood back up. Blood dripped from her right palm from a shallow cut.
"And can I have a bandage here? I cut myself on this crap."
"Just a second, sis," Homare said, helping one of the medics
to her feet. "Looks like they wanted to make sure, huh?"
"Dorsal gun turret and main guns inoperative, ventral gun
turret fully operational, torpedo tubes operational," Shwarz dropped
into the weapons station and began checking out the area about the
ship.
"Microscopic fractures in the outer bulkhead above us,
otherwise no serious damage to the hull," T'Pall's fingers ran over
Shran's console as she called up readout after readout. "Port and aft
shields down but operable, starboard shield projector shorted out,
forward shield projector destroyed."
"But this ship can still fight, right?" Aya asked eagerly.
"Only if we're feeling suicidal," Shran sighed. "One hit to
the front and the bridge loses integrity. I don't know how soon we can
put a temporary bulkhead in, but-"
"You have five minutes," Aya snapped. "Claire, communications
check?"
"All comm systems down, Captain," Claire sighed, pulling open
an access hatch and crawling underneath the console. "Give me a few
minutes to check out the damage."
"Get them working, Claire, but maintain radio silence," Aya
nodded. "Let 'em think we're dead in the water."
"That's not far from the truth," Claire muttered.
Aya sighed and looked out the porthole at the slowly whirling
stars. "Homare," she said quietly, "I need some ideas..."
"T'Pall, do you detect any ion emissions that might be coming
from a Klingon ship under cloak?" Homare asked.
"Do you think it's an Imperial Klingon ship?"
"It's possible. After on, the Republican Klingons are on our
side with Celine's force."
T'Pall shook her head. "Negative, Commander. The only ion
emissions indicated by passive scanners are consistent with our own
fleet."
"Well, so much for that idea," Aya sighed.
"Hm...." Homare thought carefully... "No ion thrust means
either the ship is working on some sort of reactionless drive..."
"Which would be detectable and highly energy-consumptive..."
"...or the ship is moving entirely on thrusters."
"Which would mean a very small, very very stealthy ship," Aya
nodded. "One which probably doesn't have any weapons other than a
torpedo tube... one with just enough power to cloak or launch weapons,
but not both... "
Aya dashed over to the weapons console and leaned over
Shwarz's shoulder. "Replay forward sensor logs last five minutes."
"On it." The console screen lit up with a false-color image of
the space immediately in front of the Roarke's Dream. The readings
flickered through a fast-forward scan, slight fluctuations in
temperature enhanced the darkness, leaving a psychedelic canvas of
purples and blues shifting across the screen. Then the frame froze as
the nose, and then hull, of a very nasty looking little ship appeard
out of nowhere, lighting up the scan with oranges and reds. As a white
glow appeared from the maw just beneath the little ship's fusilage,
Aya muttered, "Stop. What distance was the stealthship from us when it
fired?"
"Ah... point oh one kilometers," Shwarz said. "Point blank
range, three shots fired.... bridge low, bridge high, Engineering
high." He called up a smaller window inside the sensor log and pointed
out the points of impact on a wire model of the corvette.
"Forward to five seconds before the fourth impact," Aya said.
The screen flickered again, the tiny stealthship fading out
again, leaving the screen frozen on an image of cool space once more.
"Shift point of view around the Y axis," Aya said.
The cool purples shifted slightly as the point of view crept
upward across the spine of the Roarke's Dream. At about forty degrees,
a splotch of red crept onto the lower righthand side of the view; it
hung to the edge of the screen, creeping slowly down the side. When it
reached the halfway mark, Aya said. "Stop. Track across the Z axis and
center on the heat."
The heat was, indeed, the stealthship, plus a clear view of
the missile bearing down on the corvette amidships. "Hm.... GENOM
issue Class 77-K advanced proton torpedo. Top of the line."
Shran peeked over Shwarz's other shoulder. "If that torpedo
tube is the ship's only armament, and it has no propulsion other than
thrusters, I estimate that hull could hold some twenty-four to
thirty-siz warheads... depends on the type of cloaking tech used."
"The submergence effect implies a Zardon-style U-boat cloak,"
T'Pall commented. "Very low energy consumption, but that small a ship
couldn't sustain a cloak without draining heat buildup-"
"Will you all please GET OFF ME?" Aya grunted as she was
pressed into the back of Shwarz's chair.
A moment later, everyone except Aya stood at a very discreet
distance from the weapons console. "Anyway, it looks like he was on
his way to score another kill, noticed our main engines still
operable, and paused to finish us off."
"Looks that way to me," Homare nodded.
"Having finished us off, he would be on his way to his next
target... Homare, bring tactical up on main viewer, project a straight
line between the two sighting points and extend it on along the
presumed path of travel. Presume that the stealthship is traveling on
momentum from standard maneuvering thrusters."
"Tracking now," Homare replied, stepping over one of the
groaning bodies to the navigation console and coaxing it to life. The
main viewer flickered on, plotting the triangle of Roarke's Dream and
the two stealthship sightings, then tracking the presumed path of the
stealthship on for about three quarters of a kilometer before lighting
up as a bright red blip. Ahead of it, at less than 200 meters, lay the
CFA Patrol Buster, a heavily armed YT-1500 frieghter with a reputation
for running blockades by destroying any blockade ship unfortunate
enough to be near it.
"I have lightspeed radio operational, Captain," Claire crawled
up onto the comm officer's chair and looked at the viewscreen. "Should
we warn the Patrol Buster?"
"Maintain radio silence, Lieutenant," Aya said. "Homare...
stop our rotation as soon as the ventral gun turret can be brought to
bear on the projected target. Irving...." Aya smiled and giggled a
cheerful laugh. "Blow him up REAL good!"
The Buma's serial number- that is, the Buma piloting the
stealthship Jugular- is fairly unimportant.
Its thoughts or feelings as the first laser bolts began flying
past his canopy are also fairly unimportant.
The important thing is, he had roughly five point three
seconds to think and feel them before those laser bolts found their
target.
Aya's eyes twinkled merrily in the light from the distant
fireball. "Shran, main power! Claire, break radio silence! 'Command
ship to CFMF Support Fleet. Enemy cloaked ship destroyed. All ships to
engage engines and follow our lead. CFA Roarke's Dream fully
operational!' Homare, lay in an elliptical orbit around the AT&T to
swing us around her and place us between it and the main GENOM fleet.
Shwarz, you've got seven minutes to get the dorsal turret operational
again, or forward shields, whichever is less impossible."
As the various ex-Defiant crew members got to work, and the
medics tended to the wounded, Aya shouted, "WHERE THE HELL IS MY
DAMAGE CONTROL?!?"
Ch. 11/THEN
Mega City One, Zardon
July 1, 2005
The great hall of the Mega City One Hall of Justice echoed
with the mumbles of hundreds of dignitaries, Salusian, Zardon, human
and otherwise. The colorful formal garb of the assembled notables
wrung the eye, every imaginable color represented in at least one
person's array. This kalidescope of formal wear was assembled in seats
before a podium, flanked by tables with four places set for the chief
dignitaries of the day.
Three heavy thumps rang from the massive doors of the hall. A
steward, wearing the livery of the Imperial House of Zardon, opened
the doors and announced, "All rise for Leeanna Zard'al, Princess
Regent of Zardon! ALL HAIL THE IMPERIAL ZARDON!"
"HAIL!" cried a large minority of the assembled dignitaries,
mostly Zardon, as a youngish woman, wearing the dress uniform of a
street Judge of the Zardon Justice Department, strode confidently down
the center aisle towards the dais. Behind her walked her superior
officer, Chief Justice Wilheim Fargo. The acting President of the
Zardon Republic Provisional Government, Khorin Dran'aal, followed.
Next in line was the representative for the Confederate
Freespacers Mercenary Fleet, a military unit which had, by hook or
crook, gained recognition as an independent nation by the principals
in today's ceremony. Commodore Kristan Overstreet, the current de
facto chief of state of the Freespacers, looked absolutely drab in his
grey overtunic, cavalry sword, and slacks. He resisted the urge to
scratch his beard, and totally ignored the urge to yank the damn
overtunic off, even if he could barely move in it. Today was an
important ceremony: it marked the official end of two wars, and the
final act of a galactic government which had been in existence for
over fifteen hundred years.
Behind him, equally uncomfortable in his fancy uniform, strode
the First Consort of Princess Asrial, Jeremy Feeple. The young human
hated these fancy ceremonies, and had said so quite pointedly during
the planning, but the others in the group had persuaded him that the
people of the galaxy needed the huge show to really believe what was
happening- namely, the end of the Zardon Empire.
Two months before, after three years of sporadic fighting
among the other worlds of the Empire, the people of Zardon itself had
risen in revolt against Emperor Garth Zard'al, Leeanna's father.
Leeanna had killed Garth herself, and even though her mother the
Empress Dowager and her two younger sisters were still at large, the
Empire effectively died with Garth, especially since Leeanna had
refused both the Imperial crown and the nomination to be the first
elected President of the Zardon Republic.
Today, she would officially sign away the existence of the
monarchy to which she was the rightful heir, and return to the cause
she'd dedicated her life to: protecting the citizens of Zardon, one
block at a time.
The ceremony, as the planning group had outlined it, would be
fairly short, with the assembling of all the lords, ladies, generals,
and governors of the Zardon Republic, the Zardon Empire, and the
Salusian Interstellar Conglomerate, as well as all the ambassadors to
those governments, or at least as many as possible, taking the greater
portion of time. Justice Fargo and Ambassador Feeple would each give a
short speech, outlining the basics of the joint treaty, and then the
five parties to the treaty would sign: the Zardon Republic first,
followed by the Freespacers, then the Salusians, then the Zardon
Justice Department, and finally the Zardon Empire. As soon as the last
signature was written, the Zardon Empire would officially pass from
existence, the Zardon Civil War would be completed, and the last in a
series of Zardon-Salusian wars would be ended once and for all.
Kris drowsed through the speeches, having read both in the
planning sessions, and then perked up as Khorin rose and signed his
name both in standard and in the crabbed script of Old Zardon. Kris
quickly scrawled his own signature on the treaty parchment and handed
Jeremy the quill. Jeremy signed his name broadly and clearly, and in
turn handed the quill to Fargo, who printed his last name clearly
before handing the quill to Leeanna.
Without pausing, Leeanna gracefully signed her name on the
document, and then quietly replaced the quill in its inkwell. Then,
coming to attention, she saluted the newly inaugerated President of
Zardon, Khorin Dran'aal.
The assembled dignitaries applauded politely. The ceremony was
over.
The Zardon Empire was dead.
Yay, Kris thought, wishing he could stretch without ripping
his tunic apart.
The reception after the ceremony was, like any reception with
roughly two hundred guests, incredibly noisy. Royalty, politicians, and
VIPs from all sides mingled among the several buffet tables, sounding
each other out on the new order. Already deals were being cut,
promises made, debts incurred. Diplomacy, politics, trade: they didn't
freeze during war, Kris thought, they just changed their forms.
After some idle munching of snacks and small talk with various
minor lords and ladies from Salusia, Kris drifted over towards
Leeanna. As he got closer, he noticed she was talking nervously in a
corner with Princess Asrial Arconian, Jeremy's wife and the heir to
the throne of Salusia. Kris couldn't hear through the low roar of
conversation what the two were saying, but he smiled when Asrial took
Leeanna's hands in hers and squeezed. Leeanna smiled, then hugged
Asrial hard, surprising her. Then, she whispered something in Asrial's
ear, something which made Asrial blush. Kris grinned: it took
something pretty radical to embarrass a Salusian, and he could guess
what Leeanna had said.
Go get 'em, girl, he thought.
Asrial pushed herself away from Leeanna, obviously demurring
from whatever suggestion she had whispered. Leeanna was obviously
dissappointed, and as Asrial drifted off with Jeremy in one arm and
their "bodyguard" Ichikun Ichinohei following close behind, Leeanna
slumped in place, somewhat depressed.
Kris walked over to Leeanna and said, "Need some comfort?"
Leeanna shook her head. "No thanks, Redneck, I'm not in the
mood." Kris could almost hear the word _anymore_ on the end.
"Leeanna..." Kris wanted to help somehow, anyhow, however he
could. A few weeks before, against his better judgement, he'd
professed his love to her, only to be rejected. Kris knew who she
really loved, both of them, and he wished them all the best of luck.
That didn't stop him from hoping, though.
Squeezing her shoulders gently, he said, "Well, Leeanna, if
you need me, you know where to find me."
As he turned to leave, Leeanna said, "Kris? Promise me I can
always turn to you... when I need someone."
Amazing, Kris thought, how someone so deadly can be so
vulnerable... "I promise," he said softly. "My door is always open to
you, Leeanna."
Suddenly, the air rushed out of his lungs as Leeanna hugged
him tightly, and before he could recover she kissed him passionately
on the lips. When she released him, she whispered, "Remember, I'm
going to hold you to that!" As Kris gasped for breath, she walked
away, the spring back in her step.
Kris watched as the green-haired Judge sashayed off through
the crowd. Maybe, one of these centuries, he thought, I'll understand
women.
Right after I figure out the Secret of Life, whatever that is.
Ch. 11/NOW
CFA Washington, orbiting Zeta Cygni
August 21, 2388
Sunday morning brought Kris a throbbing headache and a return
of the depression. Getting drunk, he moaned to himself, had solved
nothing; at best, it had only delayed the point at which he'd have to
start coping with a world without a GENOM which he could fight against
with a clear conscience. A world without a lot of his friends.
A world without Washuu.
The office on the CFA Washington seemed strangely quiet
without her presence. Of course, there was a receptionist- a new
officer now that Little Joe was flying a starfighter- but that wasn't
the same. The sense that someone was watching over the office, ready
to help at any time... the welcome distractions now and again from the
reams and reams and reams of paperwork which, now more than ever,
stared him in the face... ... Christ, Kris shuddered, I'm missing her
practical jokes. Why is this affecting me so much? She was a friend,
yeah, but I never knew how close.... and now I'll never know.
Shaking his head, he began thumbing through the huge pile of
paperwork, dividing them up into the usual stacks: Sign and Forget,
Too Late to Sign, and Actual Work. The Too-Late pile took up a huge
chunk of the paperwork, which consisted of automated approvals for
supplies, salaries, etc. for ships which had been destroyed over a
week ago. The Sign and Forget, consisting mostly of pensions for the
bereaved, passed quickly enough as well.
This left him with five pieces of text to answer personally,
or which were not documents of the signing type. The first he'd known
was coming.
W E D G E D E F E N S E F O R C E
WDF NAVY STRATEGIC FLEET
[WDF NAVY LOGO HERE] OFFICE OF THE C IN C
WDF CONCORDIA, CVS-65
ADM. B.D. HUTCHINS, CMDG.
COMMODORE KRISTAN O. OVERSTREET, CMDG.
CONFEDERATE FREESPACERS MERCENARY FLEET
AUGUST 21, 2388 SC
Commodore Overstreet:
I wish to apologize for the ill-considered comments I made during our
strategy meeting on August 15. In an attempt to inject what I felt
was a much-needed element of levity into a difficult situation, I made
comments which were insensitive and uncalled-for. An incomplete
understanding of the circumstances is no excuse, as I had complete
reports of the events at Wilderness Station at my disposal, but had
failed to read them thoroughly.
I hope that this incident can be forgiven and forgotten, and that it
will not damage the long and amicable relationship between ourselves,
our offices, and our respective forces in the future.
Yours,
[scribble]
Adm. B.D. Hutchins
Handwritten underneath was the postscript:
PS - I'm really sorry, Kris. I fucked up. Sometimes I'm just an
asshole.
Kris wrote out a quick reply:
CFMF OFFICE OF THE CINC
CFA WASHINGTON CFA-1028 O-10 KRISTAN O. OVERSTREET cmdg
Adml. Benjamin Hutchins
CINC WDF STRATFLEET
WDF CONCORDIA CVS-65
Ben,
Thanks for the apology. Allow me to apologize as well for
placing you in a situation in which you could not have helped
but be made uncomfortable. Before the events at Wilderness
Station, the concept of 'unnecessary risk' was one which I
could at least smile at. Now, with my command destroyed- and
despite the apparent facts I cannot help but feel somewhat
responsible for those events- I find it very difficult to
smile at anything, especially the concept of a Freespacer
tradition of needless risk. If there is such a tradition, then
we paid for centuries of good fortune at Wilderness Station.
I apoligize for the disjointed nature of this note, I'm
feeling vaguely Zonerish and find myself wondering what the
hell I plan on doing now. The formal investigation- if Sleik
will give in and let it happen- should clear me, but I'm no
longer certain that I want this job anymore. I do know I'm not
fit for combat duty. Not until I get my head back on straight.
Aw, hell, I'm laying stuff on you I shouldn't.
Thanks for the note.
Kris signed the letter and dropped it into the Send box, then
turned to the next item. This one was a bit more straightforward, in
reply to a question he'd asked in passing during the surrender
ceremony; yes, he was more than welcome to recommend people in his
command for Eternal Knighthood, although it would be up to the WDF to
accept or refuse his recommendations.
Taking a blank piece of paper, he nibbled at the end of his
pen before setting names to paper.
Cpt. Aya Nakajima, late cmdg CFMF Defiant (CFF-45)
Cmdr. Homare Nakajima, late 1st officer CFMF Defiant
Lt. Cmdr. Shran, late Chief Engineering CFMF Defiant
Lt. Cmdr. Irving Shwarz, late Chief Weapons CFMF Defiant
Lt. T'Pall, late Chief Science CFMF Defiant
Lt. Claire Lemno , late Chief Comm CFMF Defiant
The Right Honorable Powerglide, Cybertronean Ambassador to
CFA, Captain 1st Autobot Air Cav, cmdr pro tem MASS-02
Cavalier
Lt. Cmdr. James Joseph Condorcet XIX, MASS-01 Rebel
Commodore Tark Greyelf (retired), pro tem MASS-01 Rebel
Captain Mesha Greyelf (retired), pro tem MASS-01 Rebel
Ens. James Joseph Condorcet XX, pro tem MASS-02 Cavalier
Lt. Theresa Curtiss, pro tem MASS-02 Cavalier
Lt. Kevin Cass, pro tem MASS-02 Cavalier
Ens. ......
Kris pushed the paper aside, unfinished. For each name he put
on the list, there were a hundred who -belonged- on the list, except
for the little fact that they were dead. The little niggling fact.
His hand involuntarily crumpled the paper on which the handful
of names were written. Carefully he smoothed it back open, laying it
farther aside, out of his easy reach, and returned to his paperwork.
Next item. Request for information on how soon the reserve
elements currently staffing WDF ships could be allowed to stand down.
Response; when the WDF could afford to stand them down. With the
starfleets of virtually every power within the Federation wiped out,
the WDF could not afford to lose that many ships from its emergency
strength. For now, everyone had to do their duty, please be patient,
signed the commander.
Next document. Sleik refused to call an investigation or
court-martial, regarding the reports of the commanding officers
surviving Wilderness as the final word on what happened there. Kris
penned in a reply; dammit, I need to know, call the damn court
martial.
Finally, the last item- a piece of paper torn from a yellow
legal pad.
August 11, 2388
Kris- go to the Lab NOW.
THIS CANNOT WAIT.
Washuu
Kris read the page three times slowly, hands trembling as he
did so. He hadn't even thought about it, but the Lab door still stood
in the same spot as usual, directly across from his office. Why hadn't
it vanished along with its mistress?
"Ensign, I'm stepping out for a while," Kris said to the
receptionist. "Hold all calls."
The lab seemed to echo with Washuu gone. Kris felt the door
close and vanish behind him, crab chime clattering loudly in the
silence. The normal background hum of unidentifiable heavy machinery
and engines seemed muted, and the bright light and light colors of the
lab's immense foyer emphasized the absence of the cheerful, perky
little woman who had been its master.
Kris noted, with mild surprise, that Washuu's favorite
workstation, the levitating plush cushion by the front door, had been
left active. At twenty meters, he could see the screen on the
holographic terminal easily; of all the icons and windows and what-all
normally displayed, only two icons remained. Seating himself carefully
on the cushion, he read the icon names: CONFESS.TXT and PLAYME.VRC.
Leaving the text file for the moment, he typed in a couple of
commands, and the videofile began playing.
A hologram of Washuu from the trunk up appeared in front of
Kris. Her eyes were slightly red from crying, and her face spoke of
incredible pain, held back only with an effort. "Hello, Kris," the
hologram said very quietly. "If you're viewing this, I didn't return
from the battle. That's probably for the best. I couldn't bear to go
on knowing I'd never be able to tell you how I really loved you... and
know you really loved me back." The last came out as a strangled
croak, and for the first time in his life, Kris saw Washuu crying.
Washuu crying seemed to Kris to be on a par in the natural
order of things with a foot of snow in a live volcano caldera. Kris
watched anyway as the fit ran its course, not doubting the truth for a
moment... and hating himself more with every moment. Then, the
recording flickered, and Washuu reappeared calmer, more composed, and
capable of speech again.
"Sorry about that," she smiled wanly. Her smile vanished as
she continued, "Anyway, I have a lot you ought to know, that I never
told you. The most important thing is, I've loved you almost since I
met you." Kris watched numbly, still absorbing that one fact, as she
said, "I waited for you to realize you loved me back, sometimes it
looked like we were getting close... but some things aren't meant to
be, are they?" she finished, covering another incipient crying fit
with a smile.
"Anyway..." she choked, then coughed. Taking two deep breaths,
she said, "Ahem. I've prepared a text file of most of the rest of the
things I wanted to tell you, you can access them from this terminal.
For the next two weeks from the activation of this message, the lab is
yours, to settle as you see fit..." Washuu paused to allow the
statement to sink in, and Kris struggled to catch up as she resumed,
"...but I have set the lab to begin dismantling itself after two
weeks, unless I return. You have that long to grab whatever you think
the galaxy is ready for and get out.
"Don't worry about the kingyoichi," she said reassuringly, "or
any of the other critters. They'll be transported to Gina's lab
automatically for her to settle someplace safe." Her face lit up with
a sudden thought, and she said, "Oh, and find someplace for Zathras...
he's been cleaning out the menangeries since Hoover was President of
the United States, he doesn't have anyplace to go."
Zathras? Kris asked. Only once or twice had Washuu ever
mentioned her lab assistant, and he'd never even seen him. the
recording didn't stop for him to consider the point. "My official
will, for the stuff the galaxy knows I own, is on file, with Gina as
executor. Basically, everything's been left to you and Terri,
jointly." The tears began trickling down her face again as she
whispered, "Please be happy together... and remember... I- I-" For a
moment, Washuu opened and closed her mouth, incapable of sound, but
Kris could read lips well enough: _I love you._ Finally, Washuu
managed to restore her composure enough to say, "Question everything."
Then, the hologram faded, replaced by the crab-emblem
WASHUU.COM EOF message.
Kris stared at the message for a long, long moment. Then,
hands shaking, he reactivated the recording and brought up the
fast-foward and rewind scan functions, and he listened as Washuu spoke
again.
"I waited for you to realize you loved me back, sometimes it
looked like we were getting close... but some things aren't meant to
be, are they?"
Rewind. Play.
"...but some things aren't meant to be, are they?"
Rewind. Play.
"...but some things aren't meant to be, are they?"
Kris deactivated the playback. Shaking, he stood up and turned
away from the terminal, still hearing the voice echoing in his ears.
But some things aren't meant to be, are they?
Roaring with rage, Kris brought up his hands and fed all his
anger, regret, guilt and grief into one titanic burst of energy. The
beam glowed brighter and hotter than a star, cutting through the walls
of the lab's rooms before vanishing into the indefinite edges of the
lab's pocket universe.
Finally, energy totally spent, Kris sagged back onto the
cushion. For a moment, exhaustion flowed through him; then, all the
negative emotions he'd been feeling a moment before dropped right back
into place, if anything stronger than ever for having destroyed a part
of the lab.
I think, Kris thought, I'm going to cry.
In fact, I think I am crying.
I think I am a fool.
Yes, that seems most likely.
I am a fool.
"Excuse, please..."
Kris's mind opened just enough to admit the stratchy sound of
someone's voice. "What the hell do you want?" he sobbed.
"Zathras is sorry to disturb you..." The voice rattled around
the room like dried beans in a gourd, tickling Kris' ear with a
mixture of deep resonances and rasping edges. "...but there is a great
hole through much of the Lab, and Zathras would like to know why this
is."
Kris looked up to see a half-furred humanoid face. Mongrel was
the first word that came to mind, with scruffy being a close second;
the creature's hair bristled wildly around his face, running down to
long shaggy brown sideburns. A thick ring of brown fur surrounded his
neck as well; Kris couldn't quite tell if it was the collar of some
heavy coat or actually part of his body. He moved with a shambling
gait, somewhere between a duck-waddle and a hunchback's foot-dragging
lurch.
"Y-You're Zathras?" he said, trying to clear his eyes of the
tears gathered up inside.
"Of course Zathras is Zathras," the creature said perplexedly.
"Why would Zathras refer to Zathras as Zathras if Zathras were not
Zathras? Maybe in next life Zathras will be reborn as Quevas Emperor
of Santovasku, but Zathras does not think it very likely."
"Zathras knows he is not handsome, but somehow Zathras did not
think he was capable of driving a grown man to tears."