The Ninth: Invasion (19 page)

“Roger that.  Our cargo must be important.  I’m getting up to the minute coordinates after every jump.”

“With Master Hooten on the ship, I wouldn’t doubt it.  I’ll be in my quarters if you need me.  The ship is yours, Miss Carrero.”

Passing through the corridors with ease, Captain Perez quickly reached his private room.  Mr. Riley had complained at first about the cramped conditions the crew had to endure, but to Captain Perez they were downright spacious.  He had gotten his start on a three-man trade vessel, as the fourth man.  Most nights he would sleep with the cargo in whatever tiny space was left.  It took him four years before he caught the attention of Core Industries.  He spent his first year on one of the smallest ships in CI’s entire trade fleet.

Despite its small size, he had managed to squeeze more cargo into it than was thought possible.  Sleeping with freight for so long had taught him a few tricks.  After that, he was given his first command, another tiny tradeship.  He built a reputation as the fleet’s pack-mouse, as he was too small to be a rat.  After another two years, he was given a promotion and his current ship.  Since then, he’d gone through over a dozen crews and turned down twice that many promotions.  Captain Perez was comfortable with the Subira, and the thought of being assigned one of the massive barges turned his stomach.

“Captain Perez?” the intercom asked.

“Yes, Miss Carrero?

“We are about to jump.  Are you ready to address the crew?”

“Why don’t you handle it this time?”

“Captain?”

“You are the first person not to request a transfer after a month on my ship.  I think you’ve earned it.”

“Are you sure, Captain?”

“You’ll do fine.  After all, you are our communications officer.  What’s a simple announcement?”

Captain Perez pulled up the orders on his pad as the P. A. sprang to life.  He could hear Miss Carrero’s breath as she prepared to make her announcement.

“Attention crew.  We are about to jump.  Please prepare as . . . you . . . see fit?  That is all.”

Captain Perez couldn’t help but laugh.  He’d seen her talk her way out of sticky situations on multiple occasions.  She even outsmarted a particularly nasty pirate once.  For a simple announcement to trip her up was unexpected to say the least.  He was still chuckling as he reread through his original orders.  His laughter came to an abrupt end when he noticed something he had missed before.  It was an understandable mistake; it had been a single sentence.  Near the end of the formal assignment guidelines was a single addendum.

“Trooper Brent’s safety is paramount above all others,” the captain mouthed silently.  “Use any means necessary to secure his transportation to Eos.”

Above all others.  They knew Master Hooten was on the planet.  Captain Perez quickly scrolled to see the authorization signature.  It was none other than Alden Hooten himself.  For a father to put another over his only son was a disturbing thought.  A chill ran down his spine as he recalled the calm citizens in the cargo bay.  Who exactly was he transporting?

Galen rushed with as much dignity as he could manage.  His secretary was a wonderful young man who was almost always a step ahead, but today his slip-up was downright cataclysmic.  If only the boy hadn’t been born on the rim.  The fact that Galen was a director of the Independent Traders Union filled the boy’s head with the notion he was working for someone of great importance.  Perhaps on the rim such a position was impressive, but there were hundreds of directors on Reloas at all times – it was the homeworld of the ITU after all.  For the boy to delay a summons from the Grand Executive herself because he thought his lowly boss was so important was unthinkable!

Galen thought about breaking out into a mad dash to make up for the lost time, but arriving out of breath would have been far worse than simply being late.  Grand Executive Rita was the most beautiful woman born in hundreds of years, but that beauty hid a temper that rivaled the most violent of super novas.  To walk into her presence, panting for breath, would be begging for her wrath.  She demanded near perfection from her subordinates and had no qualms about berating those that slipped beneath her standards.

The large double doors ahead signaled the end of his miniature race.  He paused outside the elaborate meeting room and straightened his tie and steadied his breath.  With complete calm and forced composure he gracefully pushed the door open and entered.  Waiting for him was a massive circular table with far too many seats.  Galen quietly walked past the others, hiding his growing alarm.  There were too many high-ranking directors assembled.  The Grand Executive rarely gave away the purpose of a meeting in advance, but the powerful crowd let the assembled venture a guess or two.

As he reached the seat set aside for him, his mind was racing with the implications.  There had to be at least three-dozen of the most important directors on all of Reloas.  Most hid it well, but some betrayed the fact they were as nervous as he was.  Something big had happened.  A light sprang to life over the center of the table and it shifted until it illuminated an elaborate single door.

“Good afternoon, Directors,” a silky smooth voice caressed their ears as the single door opened.  “We have much to discuss.”

The tall woman strode in with practiced grace.  Her beauty reminded him of his third wife, but without the gentle face.  Grand Executive Rita’s face had a sharpness to it that sent a shiver down his spine.  She took the central chair, one purposefully a step higher than the others.

“It is good to see you all were able to come,” she said warmly as she checked over her pad.  “I was worried some of you wouldn’t be able to pull yourselves from your work.”

“Why exactly have we
all
been summoned here?” a young director asked.

“I am proud to announce that our latest venture has been set in motion ahead of schedule.”

Most of the directors shifted uneasily in their chairs.  Galen swallowed against a suddenly dry throat.  He could only hope she didn’t mean what he thought she meant.

“And which venture is that, Grand Executive?” an older director asked with all the politeness she could muster.

“As most of you know,” she stood and walked around them as she spoke, “our relationship with the military has been . . . strained as of late.  Our recent attempts to expand our influence have been met with resistance.”

“Have they attempted to redirect our trade routes?” the oldest of the directors asked in his raspy voice.

“They were about to,” she said as she traced the top edge of the chairs as she continued to circle the table, “along with proposing a law that would greatly diminish the size of our Private Security Force.”

Most of the directors started to grumble and mutter amongst themselves.  Galen’s pulse started to quicken as he put the pieces together.

“As such,” she said with a razor sharp smile, “the board of directors and myself have agreed that the Commonwealth needs to be taught a lesson.”

“What kind of lesson?” a director asked nervously.

“As you are all aware, over the last month we have repositioned our PSF around the Commonwealth as a show of strength.  Last week, an incident resulted in a Navy cruiser and one of our PSF exchanging fire.  Things have escalated and our trade lanes were put in harms way.  As such our PSF had no choice but to engage the Navy directly.”

“We are at
war
with the Commonwealth?” the youngest of the directors shouted in disbelief.  It was obvious from the look on her face she did not approve.

“Simmer down, girl,” the oldest said in his raspy voice.  “They have been jealous of our profits for years now.  It was only a matter of time before the fighting started.”

“What are the projections of lost profit?” a younger director asked.

“Eighteen percent of projected profits for the next three years will be forced to be reallocated to military endeavors,” the Grand Executive said nonchalantly.

Galen felt sick to his stomach as the other reduced the wholesale slaughter to cost analysis.

“That’s a pretty hefty chunk to lose,” an older director said as he scratched the back of his head.  “Certainty of victory?”

“We’re guaranteed,” another said quickly.  “My department has been going over the numbers since we first relocated the PSF.”  She folded her arms proudly.  “We’ve got plenty of ships and mercenaries.”

“Even so, this is going to be a blood bath,” a younger director said as she shook her head.  “How long until post conflict efforts turn a profit?”

“Hard to estimate with any accuracy,” a short director said as he double-checked his pad.  “Worst case is somewhere in the twenty year range.”

“It is true this will cost us in the short term,” the Grand Executive said as she finished circling and returned to her chair.  “However, imagine the future of a universe free of the oppressive grip of the Commonwealth.  The next few years will be tough, but my hand will not waver!  We have suffered too long under the rule of a bloated government that only serves itself.”

“Some of us won’t live long enough to see this vision of yours,” an older director said bluntly.

“The ITU is more than just any one of us,” she continued.  “The children of the ITU shall inherit the glorious new order we shape today.  The destiny of mankind is being rewritten today.  And we are the authors!”

The others continued debating the war, but Galen couldn’t take another minute.  He pretended to listen as his head spun at the greater implications.  The Commonwealth wouldn’t go down quietly.  It was only a matter of time until the other corporations had to pick a side.  His stomach churned as he realized the entirety of mankind was about to be embroiled in a civil war on the scale of the Great War itself.  A sudden thought filled his very core with abject terror.  One of his daughters has signed up to the military.

As soon as was acceptable, he excused himself and ran back to his office.  This was no time to consider appearances.  His secretary stared at him in open confusion as he rushed into his office.

“Afternoon, Director Serena,” a harsh voice said as a small circle of smoke lifted up from his chair.

The chair spun and he was face to face with the head of the PSF.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Schweitzer,” Galen asked, forcing his tone to hide his alarm.

“No need to be so formal, Galen.”  The man stood and gestured to the chair.  “Is it all right if I call you Galen?”

“Of course.”  He took the seat, knowing his nervousness was becoming apparent.  “What would you like me to call you?”

“Klaus will do for now.”

“What can I do for you, Klaus?”

“You know, I had a delightful chat with that young man outside.  He is
very
loyal to you.  Had nothing but the highest praise.”

“I do what I can.”

“No need to be so modest.  My records say you are the youngest director to be responsible for an entire sector.  Quite the accomplishment.”

“If only my wives shared your opinion,” he said, trying to lighten the mood.

Klaus smiled and sat opposite Galen.  He placed his cigar in his mouth and took in a deep breath.  With a small amount of effort he blew the smoke into several small rings.

“Most people would ask me to put out this dirty habit of mine.”  Klaus shook the cigar and eyed it carefully.  “Hardly any rim worlds still bother to produce them anymore.  Maybe after this war business ends they will become popular again.”

“Hopefully we won’t have to wait long.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Klaus said with a smile.  “Right now my mercs are earning double hazard pay.  Don’t want this war to end too quickly, right Galen?  If I’m lucky I’ll be able to buy my own world.  What do you think it would cost me to set up my own little complex to produce all the cigars I could ever want.”

Galen tried to hide his revulsion at the thought, but failed miserably.  Klaus’ smile grew sharp.  He stood and tapped the edge of his cigar on the desk.

“We’ll be in touch, Galen.”

He tried not to sweat openly as the imposing man slowly left his office.  Klaus paused for a moment and glanced over his shoulder.

“Next time, don’t rush out on the Grand Executive.  It makes her suspicious.”

“I . . .”

Klaus raised his hand to silence the other.

“I’ve already sent word to my mercs to keep an eye our for your little girl.  Rhea, right?  There is no need to be rude next time.”

Galen collapsed into his chair.  He wondered how many of the other directors Klaus was going to visit that day – and how many for the last time.

The assembled troopers waited until the Wall had passed completely through the small room before resuming their evening meal.

“What was that all about?” Doug asked while rubbing his head.

“As you see fit?” Owen added, a bit pale from the jump.  “What does that even mean?”

“I have
no
idea.”  Cain said with a smile.  “I didn’t know they let the crew do improvisation in the evening,”

“Wait a second,” Rhea taunted, “I don’t hear the familiar sound of a lecture.  Hiroko, aren’t you going to scold Owen for being rude?”

“Aren’t you the one who’s always telling me not to?” she asked as she tilted her head slightly to the side.

“Do you think he told her and now she’s scared of him?” Doug asked eagerly.

“Told me what?” Hiroko asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh, be quiet Dougie.”  Marie mimicked Doug’s rubbing.  “You’re just upset you got a bump on the noggin.”

“You bet I’m upset.  It won’t stop throbbing.”

“Maybe if you drank less, things like this wouldn’t happen,” Mr. Springate said.

“What would make me scared of
Owen
?” Hiroko asked again.

“So, he hasn’t told you then,” Ronald said between bites.

“Told me
what
?”  Hiroko locked eyes with Owen.

“Hiroko, why don’t you ask him his last name?” Dante suggested.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Trust me.”

“But I already know his last name.”  Hiroko folded her arms in annoyance.  “What’s so troubling about him being a Jepsen?  It was a popular name after the Great War.  Lots of families by that name.”

Cain burst into laughter.  Dante looked at Brent for support.  Brent shrugged back.  Owen put a hand on Hiroko’s shoulder.

“I’m not just
a
Jepsen,” he said slowly.

“What do you mean ‘a’ Jepsen?  You can’t honestly expect me to believe you come from
the
Jepsens.”

He shrugged casually.  She cast a hard stare at him.

“
The
Jepsens?” Hiroko asked skeptically.  “The only ones in the history of the Commonwealth who could engage the Shards in mêlée combat and survive?”

“Wait a minute,” Liz said in her quiet voice, “you mean those horrible tripod things from the Gauntlet?”

“One in the same,” Penny said as she shuddered slightly at the memory of the bladed machines of death.

“I thought they were called Strikers.”  Cassandra raised an eyebrow.

“Strikers?” Ronald asked slowly.  “Never heard them called that before”

“No, no.  The Strikers are the cubes on treads, the ones that fire interceptor missiles,” Brent corrected.  “The tripods we fought back in the Gauntlet are called
Slashers
.  Together they are all called Shards.  Just like how we each have names but are collectively called human.”

The troopers stared at him; only Cain and Cassandra continued eating.

“Where did you hear
that
?” Tyra asked slowly.

“Back in the academy,” he said carefully.  “Didn’t you know that?”

She shook her head.  As Brent looked around the table, the rest shook their heads or shrugged.  Apparently none of them had known.  Realization suddenly hit him.

“Owen, your family went toe to toe with
Slashers
?” he asked in disbelief, trying not to shout.

“A long time ago.  At least that’s the story anyways.  We’ve been farmers . . .”

“For five generations, we know,” Cain said with a grin.  “Didn’t know he was from a famous family, did you Hiroko?”

Hiroko didn’t answer or move; she just stared at Owen in disbelief.

“I think we broke her,” Erin said as she tapped Hiroko’s shoulder.

“You’re all serious, aren’t you?” Hiroko asked slowly.

“You bet we are,” Cain said with a mischievous grin. “How did you think Owen took down Ronald?”

Hiroko shrugged, still trying to wrap her mind around what she had just learned.

“At least now it makes perfect sense.”  Brent took a bite out of his meal as he thought aloud.

“What makes sense, sir?” Dante asked.

“Owen’s innate fighting ability.  If you took on a Shard in hand-to-hand combat, there wouldn’t be time to think about your attack.  By the time you figured out your next strike, it would have already cut you down.  If you were to stand any chance, your defense would have to be a reflex.”

“I guess you were right, Owen,” Ronald said.  “Your family’s got mine beat.”

“I wouldn’t go that far; the Murdocks weren’t pushovers either.”  Tyra smiled warmly at Ronald.  “They managed to hold their own – still do.”

“Don’t tell me your ancestors picked fights with the tripods, too.”  Angela tried to sound uninterested.

“Not exactly.”  Ronald moved his fork around his meal uneasily.

“Research,” Mahoney said.

“Huh?”  Doug tilted his head, not understanding.

“He means research and development,” Hiroko spoke proudly.  “The Murdocks were famous for finding weaknesses in the Shards and for building counters into the military.  They were also the first to discover the Weavers and most of our understanding of them is thanks to their work.”

“So why did you ask if I’d thought of you differently after I learned your last name?” Owen asked.  “Sounds like an admirable family to me.”

Ronald stiffened, a melancholy expression edging into his face.

“Because their methods were on the extreme side,” Cain said with indifference.  “They were working to ensure the very survival of our race and did
whatever
was necessary to further that goal.  It might be an uncomfortable truth, but sometimes atrocities
have
to be undertaken to ensure our future.”

“Atrocities, eh?” Angela asked as she started to grin sinisterly.  “You mean like calling those things we sleep in, bunks?  Or like calling this junk,
food
?”  She pretended to gag.

“It’s a trade ship, not a luxury liner,” Cain said icily.  “Just be glad we didn’t leave you behind.”

“I almost wish you had.  There is no way an ITU prison could be worse than this.”

“You assume they could stomach you long enough to get you to a cell.  My guess is you’d open that mouth of yours, and that would be the end of you.”

“You just don’t learn do you?” Angela asked haughtily.  “Even if they wanted to hurt me, I wouldn’t let them.”

“Right, your magic powers and all that.  If you’re so mighty, why aren’t I on the floor begging for my mother?”

“Believe me, I’d love nothing more.  It takes every ounce of self control I have just to look at you.”

“Whatever you say.  You’ve lost your edge and don’t want to admit it.  The black widow lost her fangs.”

“I’ll teach you your place!” Angela shouted as she stared Cain down.

Brent noticed that Dante didn’t stir, there wasn’t even a hint of him preparing his mental fog.  The troopers sitting next to Cain eyed Angela carefully, but Dante continued on with his meal as if nothing was happening.  Cain leaned toward Angela, a wide grin on his face.  Angela stared at him, remaining perfectly still.  Brent knew from his first encounter with she that she didn’t have any nervous tics to give her away.  She might already be altering Cain’s emotions without anyone knowing it.  The two seemed to be locked in a silent battle of wills.

Without warning, Cain grabbed a soggy bun off his plate and tossed at Angela.  It impacted squarely on her face, leaving a light brown residue as it slid off.  She stared at the bun.  Dante started laughing.  The other troopers tried to restrain the impulse to join him, angering a Weaver was
never
a wise move.  Angela lifted the bun and threw it at the laughing Dante.  He quickly raised his empty plate and deflected the projectile.  The bun ricocheted and landed on Liz’s head.  Cain and Doug burst into laughter as Liz tried to figure out exactly what had just happened.  Marie took the bun off Liz’s head and threw it with all her might at Cain.  He dodged the attack and caught the bun, flinging it right back at Angela.

The entire group burst into laughter as the bun once again slid off her face exactly as it had done in the first place.  Angela dived over the table at Cain.  Although she failed to grab him, she did send several plates flying in his direction, covering him with bits of half eaten buns and other leftovers.  Cain wiped off his uniform as she recovered.  Again, she lunged at him and managed to grab his collar.  Unfortunately, the collar was slippery, and she quickly lost her grip.  Realizing she wasn’t finished with him, Cain took off running down the narrow corridors.  She quickly caught her balance and chased after him.  There was murder in her eyes.  The troopers sat in silence.

“Didn’t see that one coming,” Kindra said at last.  “Think she’ll catch him?”

“She’s pretty quick,” Humphrey mumbled to himself, “but he seemed
motivated
.”

“Are you okay?” Marie asked as she handed Liz a napkin.

“I think so.”  Liz giggled lightly.  “Nothing a trip to the stalls won’t fix.”

“Oh! Doesn’t that sound divine?”  Hiroko stretched and let out a yawn.  “Nothing like a hot shower after a long day.”

“Does practicing getting around the ship and a 3P count as a long day?” Owen asked with a grin.

Hiroko stared at him in annoyance.

“Be careful, Owen.”  Kindra winked suggestively.  “If you say something nice for a change, she might invite you to join her.”

Hiroko and Owen reddened in embarrassment.

“Someone’s playful today.”  Cassandra snickered.  “Although, you sound a bit too much like Cain for my tastes.”

“No need to be insulting,” Kindra said defensively.  “I’m just in a good mood.”

“Why’s that?” Humphrey asked in his typical mumble.

“I’m not sure.  Why do you think I’m in a good mood,
stuffed shirt
?”

Sanderson hung his head and let out a deep sigh.  The troopers who had been in the 3P started chuckling.  Rhea and Humphrey exchanged unsure glances.  He abruptly got up from the table and left the room.

“Maybe I’ve been laying it on a tad thick,” Kindra said distractedly, watching the empty doorway.

“You think?” Cassandra asked.  “How many times have you called him that since the 3P?”

“Would it be a bad thing if I said I’d lost count?”

“I have no idea what the problem is, but I’d hazard a guess and say yes.”  Rhea stood up clearing her plate.  “Yes, that’s a bad thing.”

“Stuffed shirt?” Humphrey mumbled.  “Is that a nickname or something?”

“Something like that . . .”  Kindra started clearing her own plate

Kindra quickly finished and headed down the hallways, no doubt looking for Sanderson.  Brent noticed that Owen and Hiroko left together,
after
Kindra was out of sight.  The other troopers slowly dispersed as they finished what was left of their meals.  Finally, the room was cleared, save for Dante and himself.

“Dante, why exactly did you let Cain and Angela have their little spat?” Brent asked.  “I seem to recall you threatening the girl that you’d stop her if she tried something like that.”

“There was no harm in it, sir.”

“I see.  What led you to that conclusion?”

“I’m not sure how to put it into words, but I knew Angela wouldn’t hurt Cain.  I don’t know exactly how to explain it.”

“Don’t tell me you’re a Weaver, too.”

“Nothing like that sir,” Dante said with a mild chuckle.  “Angela is just . . . different.  That’s all.”

“How so?”

“Well, when we first met her, she was a vile and dangerous young girl.  I thought I had the show her there was someone willing to stop her in the squad.  However, ever since we ran the Gauntlet, she hasn’t really been her old self.”  He shrugged and his brow furrowed.  “I don’t know what you said to her, sir, but it certainly made a change in her.  She’s nasty and hisses at times, but it seems to be more for show now.”

“What I said?”  Brent paused and thought about it.  His eyes widened as he recalled asked her a favor at the start of the Gauntlet.  “Maybe it was my suggestion to reinforce the squad.  Dealing with positive emotions for a change must have shown her something she’d never seen before.  But that doesn’t explain how you knew she wouldn’t attack Cain.”

“Sir?”

“Don’t give me that.  You know as well as anyone Cain is an acquired taste.  Angela might be a new person, but even a saint would be tempted to beat the tar out of Cain every now and then.”

“I think you’re right about that one, sir.”  Dante tried unsuccessfully to restrain a burst of laughter.  “It’s just a gut feeling, but I think she intentionally started that fight with Cain.”

“Intentionally?  Why would she do something like that?”