Thus Spoke the Dragon

Thus Spoke the Dragon

Part Two of the League of Planets Adventure

By Henrik Rohdin

Smashwords Edition © 2014

For my grandfather, Karl Gustafsson

1907 – 2013

The Mark

Chapter One: Station

Briluong System, Briling Dominion

Some fool once told me that space was exciting, the aging ship captain opined and swirled the water in his lidded cup. I’ve flown every gateless trade route this side of Bor’Kringen and all I saw was a bunch of black and some white dots.

Commander Riyao Seryin laughed. I have a cousin in the spacing business. He flew through a nebula once. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone so haunted when telling the tale.

Amateur, the captain muttered. The transport craft groaned as it continued hurtling through folded space. Where did you say you were from again?

I don’t think I did. But I’m from Fen. You?

Born and raised on Luotay, unfortunately, was the reply. The captain rubbed his eyes. You get some people there who grow a crest a meter high without ever leaving the town they were born in. I had to get off, you know?

I can sympathize. That’s why I joined the military.

"Well, I learned that getting off Luotay wasn’t much more exciting. I’m hurtling into oblivion in a metal tube now instead of cleaning up hagen shit on the daily. Tell me how that’s better?"

Seryin shrugged. I’m not sure what you want me to say, friend.

There was a loud siren and the captain looked up. So you’re military, eh? You ever been in the real shit before?

Obviously, I’m not really at liberty to discuss…

Ah, of course you’re not. Figures, I guess. But you don’t really look like a spook.

A spook?

You know, a Shade. Anyways, I need to go get ready for disembark. We’ll be dropping out of our jump in about thirty seconds, I’d hold on to your seat if I were you.

Seryin breathed out. Great.

The ship lurched forward as it exited the jump gate into the Briluong System. Seryin nearly slammed into the table in the craft’s dining hall but grabbed onto a fixed chair before he did. The groan of the ship’s sub-light engines was audible as they kicked back to life.

We are now in the Briluong System, having entered via Jump Gate 56, the pilot’s voice announced proudly over the ship-wide intercom. Please prepare for disembark, we will be arriving at Cantar in ten minutes.

Seryin rose and floated up a staircase to the passenger shuttle’s primary deck, above which two massive glass panels formed a protective bubble. On the left, a massive, cloudy moon dwarfed the ship. Beyond it, the planet Casson stretched away to its distant horizon. To the right, the star Briluong twinkled in the distance, somewhat eclipsed by the gas giant Guissoy.

Dead ahead, the metal and glass behemoth of Cantar Dominion Station loomed in front of the small spaceship. The space station was comprised of six terrestrial rings arranged in a row as if to form a hollow tube, spinning on their axis and connected to one another by megastructures that ran along the length of each half of the station like rigid spines.

Between the two stacks of three gargantuan rings was a spherical module, connected to the ring stacks’ spines by equally massive arms. This was the Central Module, housing the Dominion’s seat of government, military and finance. The station grew larger and larger in the viewport, silently suspended above the poisoned homeworld of Casson below.

Seryin glanced out through the window at Casson. It always amazed him that the briling, by far the most technologically and socially advanced of the galaxy’s five superpowers, had let their world become so inhospitable and polluted that a ferocious bombardment of biological weapons at the hands of the krokator rendered it an uninhabitable wasteland. He envied the handful of briling old enough to still remember the violent conflict one hundred and eighty years prior that had sent the planet’s eight billion inhabitants fleeing to the colonies and space stations that would soon form the backbone of the Dominion.

We will be docking in two minutes, a voice announced over the intercom. Please have immigration paperwork ready and brace for gravitational reengagement.

The craft weaved its way between two of the massive rings as it continued towards the Central Module. Seryin glanced through the reinforced glass ceiling of the nearest superstructure, seeing forests, valleys, rivers and small towns dotted along the inner circumference of the ring. No matter how many times he came here, the marvel of the engineering never ceased to amaze.

The shuttle slid into one of the hundreds of docking ports on the underbelly of the module. Seryin felt a distinct jolt as the shuttle’s braking rockets fired and magnetic docking rigs attached themselves to the ship’s hull.

We have arrived at Cantar Dominion Station, the voice announced again. Thank you for travelling with Dominion Shuttle Services. Enjoy your stay!

Seryin rose from his seat and checked that he had everything he needed. He had packed an overnight bag and brought a receptor that contained holograms of all of his important documents. There was a distant hiss as the airlock into the station opened.

Thanking the captain as he disembarked, Seryin stared up into the massive docking bay that surrounded the small shuttle, glancing around at other similar spacecraft lining the walls of the mammoth, cave-like space before entering the elevator going up to the station itself.

#

General, do you understand why you have been brought before the Council today? an elderly Prime said with a distinct wheeze. He was so ancient he needed a golden brace to keep his long crest upright so it would not collapse and break his neck.

General Yua Shiaouel grimaced. I believe I do, Esteemed Prime. I have been brought before the Council to discuss the next round of budget cuts and to forcefully reject, yet again, increased oversight by the Council into the day-to-day minutiae of Shadow Operations.

This is nonsense, a younger Prime roared from his corner of the Grand Chamber of the High Council. We have turned a blind eye to this department for too long. What exactly is going on down there, General?

Nothing, Esteemed Prime. We have conducted ourselves within the boundaries established by this Council and will continue to do so. Trust me, we have nothing but the Dominion’s interests in mind as well as the interests of the briling people.

The cabal of briling, ancient and young, stirred in silence and Shiaouel stood attentively at the heart of the Grand Chamber. He looked up at the dark mosaics painted on its domed ceiling, amazed as always at the detailed patterns on the cupola.

Surely, General Shiaouel, you can sympathize with our concern? the older Prime asked again. Two months ago, one of our own was nearly killed on Terra in an attempted terrorist attack mere weeks after the Venerate Council Hand – may he know peace – was murdered. In the time since, Shadow Operations has seen six leaks of confidential information, a slew of scandals regarding misappropriated funds, and the retirement of almost its entire senior staff.

The timing is unfortunate, Esteemed Prime.

Where there is smoke, there is usually fire, another Prime seethed.

I fail to see the relevance. I have committed to an internal audit as requested by this Council. I submitted my report a week ago and I have yet to hear a single question directed towards any one of my findings.

There is skepticism on the part of the Council as to the veracity of these findings. It is, after all, in your own best interest to see to the smooth operation of your department, the young firebrand from earlier snapped. The Shades are the most secretive, unregulated part of this government. What metric are we using to make sure you’re all doing your jobs?

My department is being run professionally, Esteemed Prime. I have demanded the resignations or retirements of those who I felt had been around too long to encourage fresh thinking and the pursuant reforms have been enacted. Shadow Operations has come in under budget for the first time in a decade, and I must say it feels wonderful not standing here asking the Council for more funding for once.

The icy quiet that met Shiaouel alerted the old soldier that he had said something wrong. The old Prime directing the discussion leaned forward and said, There are some of us, General, who think perhaps it is time to allow someone new to lead Shadow Operations.

I am barely ninety, Esteemed Prime. I have another forty years until mandatory retirement…

"And you have served the Dominion admirably, General," the firebrand said with a condescending smirk.

I’m not sure, with all due respect, if this is the best time to sack the head of Shadow Operations. The former Council Hand Subiuyai was murdered in cold blood and a Prime of this Council was nearly killed in a terrorist attack on Terra. What makes any of the Esteemed Primes here think these assassins have been deterred?

"As I recall, General, a few years ago several Shades were killed by the brother of a target you had eliminated. If you cannot protect your own men from reprisals, how can you claim to be the best hope to protect us?"

I will not voluntarily resign, Shiaouel said defiantly and crossed his hands behind his back in a demonstrably formal manner. There remains work to be done at Shadow Operations to protect the Dominion, and I shall continue to do as I have done for decades. If the Council is unhappy with my performance, then I leave it to your discretion to replace me, but I would die before tendering my resignation.

The assembled Primes shifted uncomfortably, not used to having their authority questioned so brazenly by a subordinate. Finally, an older Prime who had been silent for most of the hearing leaned forward.

General Shiaouel, I think we may be getting ahead of ourselves. There is no need to demand your resignation or sack you. No one here questions your loyalty – we merely have reservations about how applicable your skillset is in this new, more troubling time. Perhaps there is a way for you to prove yourself to the skeptics on the Council… a favor to us, a small matter we need handled?

Shiaouel pursed his lip for a moment and blinked his blank white eyes before replying, What did you have in mind, Esteemed Prime Orunao?

#

Seryin pulled a bale of greenish hay from the back of his farm skimmer and heaved it into his plantation’s central barn. There was a shrieking noise in the distance and he glanced up to see a flock of massive six-winged flying creatures high above the fields, silhouetted against the blue-green sky and the planet’s rings.

Father! He glanced up, hearing the echo of his daughter’s voice carrying over the plain. He heard the calls for his attention again and he leapt off of the back of the skimmer.

You finish up, he said to one of his farmhands and tossed the indentured servant his work gloves. I’ll be right back.

Yes, master, the worker responded and turned back to the daunting pile of hay bales stacked several feet high on the back of the skimmer.

Seryin wiped sweat from the base of his crest and jogged around the edge of the barn. About two hundred yards away, two smaller barns for the hagen were adjoined by a large metal silo, and beside them was the plantation house, a modest two-story structure.

Seryin’s daughter, Iyein, motioned for him to hurry. Two tall, stern-looking briling adorned in casual military attire were waiting for him on the porch.

Go inside and lock the door, Seryin called out to Iyein and the young child shot a final, dark look at the two strangers before going into the house and sliding the door firmly shut behind her.

Commander Riyao Seryin, one of the men said and touched his fingers to his crest. We are here from –

I know where you’re from, Seryin muttered and stopped ten yards from the porch. What do you want? Last I checked I was rotated back into a teaching position. On a permanent basis.

We know, Commander. However…

No, not now, Seryin thought and closed his eyes. I know what you’re going to say. That this is a matter of critical security for the Dominion.

The Teacher smiles on you, Commander. The Council requested you by name.

I’m glad they regard me so highly.

One of the strangers approached Seryin and extended a hand containing a small datacube. Commander, this is for you.

Thank you, he said and accepted the cube, holding the tiny clear box in his palm.

Good day to you, Commander. The Teacher smiles upon you.

And on you, Seryin answered disinterestedly before climbing up onto the porch, every step weary. He knocked on the door. It’s me, you can come out, he said and Iyein disabled the security mechanism. The door automatically slid out of Seryin’s way.

What’s wrong, father? She was so like her mother, with the same bluish hue of skin and the same large, perky ears.

He smiled and patted her head. Nothing. They’re gone, you can go play outside again.

But…

Go play, Seryin repeated emphatically. I need a moment.

His daughter complied and went outside, and Seryin slid the portal shut behind her before walking into his living room and placing the cube into a slightly larger, crystalline box on the shelf.

A hologram flickered to life in the heart of the room, displayed from projectors built into the floor, ceiling and walls. The head of General Shiaouel, the head of Shadow Operations himself, was facing Seryin.

Good afternoon, Commander Seryin, the hologram said. It is with a weary heart that I must ask you to return to the ranks of the Shades. I am aware that, under the circumstances, you had exceptional cause for your resignation, and I was glad we were able to arrange a permanent position for you in the reserves as an instructor. I regret to force an old friend back into the field after all you have been through, but Dominion needs you, Commander Seryin.

Seryin leaned back, running both six-fingered hands over his ever-lengthening crest. He knew exactly where this was going.

In two days, there will be a briefing for a critical mission at Cantar Station, within the inner sanctum of the Shades. The hologram flickered slightly. I will see you there, Commander. The flight from Fen to Cantar has a reserved seat under your name, it leaves tomorrow. The Teacher smiles upon you.

The hologram ended and Seryin jolted awake from his dream as the transit train running through the Central Module pulled out of its dark tunnel onto a well-lit platform. He wasn’t back on Fen after all.

We have reached the defense sector of Cantar Central, an automated voice chimed. Seryin rose and disembarked the train, staring up at the tall, white entryway into the military quarters of the central module. He’d been here many times before, but the last visit was nearly two years ago.

The AI allowed him through the blast-reinforced doors and he entered a large, spacious lobby with a massive glass window peering straight down at the planet Casson below. He’d picked the right time in the station’s rotation to come to this part of the module.

Commander Seryin, back from the dead! a voice called out from across the lobby and an old, matronly briling female approach.

Oyiea, you still work here? Seryin said and laughed, touching his fingers to the base of his crest. I thought the bureaucrats would have replaced you with a computer long ago.

I’ll still be here long after you’re gone, Oyiea chuckled. I outlasted you the first time around, I can do it again.

As briling females have no crest, she instead touched two fingers to her forehead to return his greeting. The aging briling paused and studied Seryin. It is good to see you again, Commander. You’ve been missed.

I missed you too, Oyiea. You look good and healthy.

As do you, Commander. I’m surprised, without the regimen of before…

I live on my family’s old plantation on Fen, Seryin reminded her. I was actually pulling in this season’s harvest when I was… well, when Shiaouel called me in here.

You know, Shiaouel probably misses you more than I. You always were so close.

How’s he doing?

Much of the same. Every few months he has to convince the High Council that the Shades aren’t plotting an overthrow of the government. She shook her head. You’ve been away from the capital for far too long, Riyao. Don’t you miss the politics, the intrigue, all the excitement?

That’s what I miss the least about Cantar, Seryin replied curtly. I don’t know how Arch-Prime Piyeaion stays sane with those paranoid old leeches breathing down his neck.

The Arch-Prime is a briling of far greater fortitude than us, Oyiea said. How’s your daughter?

She is fine. She misses her mother terribly. But it is the will of the Teacher, and he smiles upon us. The little one has almost memorized the entire Book of Penitence and she isn’t even thirteen! He checked a large holographic time display on a nearby wall. I should get going, Oyiea. It was good to see you, as always…

You need to come back here and visit with me more after your mission, Riyao! I don’t take no for an answer.

He laughed and touched his crest at her. I know. I’ll see you soon.

Seryin descended down an adjacent hallway into the deep underbelly of the military wing, courteously cresting every officer he passed. It was a surreal feeling. The two years he had spent in the reserves felt like half of a lifetime.

Finally, Seryin reached the briefing room specified in the recall order and he paused. What if he just turned around and flew back to Fen? It was only an eighteen hour journey via jump gate. Shiaouel could suck a hagen’s left hoof for all he cared.

Nevertheless, the loyal soldier in Seryin pressed the button to open the door and he entered the dark room.

Commander Seryin! Glad you could join us, Shiaouel said from the far side of the room. A table shaped like a crescent faced an illuminated screen. Seryin found the lone empty seat and looked around the table. Seven other solemn-faced Shades were sitting quietly in the appropriate darkness.

The Teacher smiles upon you all, Shiaouel said informally as Seryin took a seat.

And he smiles upon you as well, the assembled briling replied almost in unison. Seryin couldn’t help but feel a jolt of pride. He was back amongst his fellow kind.

Gentlemen, I have called you here to Cantar for one reason and one reason only – because you are part of the Special Tactical Reconnaissance Unit, the very best of the Shades. That is no small compliment. We all know the training that your position requires. He scanned the room before initiating his briefing. You all have a touchpad on your table. The contents of that file and of this briefing are never to leave this room. This assignment has been classified as Priority One and only the Director of Armed Forces, four Primes, and I know about this mission.

This is unusual; Seryin thought and opened his brief. Inside were diagrams and assorted maps.

How many of you are familiar with Mirra? Shiaouel said and brought up the image of a small, blue-green world on the three-dimensional projection. Only one hand went up.

Not a surprising number, Shiaouel observed. Mirra is a small, worthless rock to most, but to the Dominion, it is a medium-value colony. The local economy is driven by a healthy mining export operation and sustained by agriculture.

He conjured a flatmap of the planet’s surface with illuminated points. Here are the twenty largest mining camps, all located in particularly mineral rich regions. Each of these camps is serviced by a minor town or village. However, as you can see here, there is a large city on the equatorial plateau, directly in-between the six largest mines and in the north-center of the most agriculturally rich region of the planet. That is the colony’s capital, Feshyue.

He brought up a magnified projection of the region. Feshyue itself is home to about twenty thousand briling, and the whole planet sustains a population of just under a hundred thousand. In other words, this is a minor outpost by colonial standards.

A hand was raised. Sir, where within the Colonial Authority is Mirra located?

Excellent question, I’m getting to that. Shiaouel turned to face the Shades. About a week ago in local time, we lost all contact with the world, but the final transmissions from Feshyue and the mining camps suggested… an event.

He played a transmission that sounded garbled, but through the static they could discern the very clear sound of HV rounds and screaming.

By Chobwon, one of the Shades muttered.

There has been no direct contact with Mirra. A local patrol gunboat was sent to investigate and we lost contact with them as well when they attempted a landing on the planet surface. Two reconnaissance drones from a nearby orbital floater were sent as well and were only able to capture this image.

He projected an infrared aerial shot of the capital city and its surrounding areas. As you can see, we have a relatively substantial host of what we could assume are pirates, who have likely seized control of the capital as part of a raid. The tactic of knocking out all communication centers in one move shows that these pirates are well-organized and know what they are doing.

Shiaouel paused and breathed in deeply. We have organized a five-dreadnought fast-attack group to move in on the planet that has already arrived in-system, but our goal first and foremost is the preservation of the lives of the colonists. We need on-the-ground reconnaissance so we have a better idea of the strength of these outlaws and exactly what their entrenchments look like so the fleet’s infantry contingent isn’t flying blind.

Scouting mission, Seryin said and tapped the touchpad in front of him.

Exactly.

How big is the team? Seryin asked, already angry about this assignment.

This will be an eight member team, all from Special Tactical, not including the pilot. The team will be inserted north of Feshyue and you will move into the city, making sure to neutralize any threat that assaults you directly. As stated before, enemy strength is an unknown, so avoid detection and confrontation as much as possible. Once in the city, you will have to access the colony’s Network uplink at the central command station. The team itself will have no Network link in order to prevent frequency detection, so communication will only be with the fast-attack group beyond the orbit of the nearest planet.

Shiaouel showed another map. With the Network uplink, you will contact Cantar Station and report on your observations from the ground. The colony’s central command station should be fortified enough for you to hold off the pirates for as long as possible. Once we are aware of the situation on Mirra, the fast-attack group will move to neutralize the threat from orbit and arrange for your extraction.

A holographic star-map emerged in the heart of the room. Mirra is, unfortunately, beyond the iktathol frontier. It will take several days for main fleet reinforcements with full infantry to arrive. However, a small recon team such as this one can be there in twenty hours via two jump gates as we await the infantry company attached to the closest fleet. He indicated the file. Commander Seryin will be the team leader, and he will be buttressed by Lieutenants Eyochiya and Cholo.

No, Seryin thought, looking around the room. His eyes fell upon Lieutenant Huiy Cholo, who was watching him in return.

We also have a sniper, Ensign Suiyas, as well as three field specialists, Ensigns Guyeian, Daiyan, and Buyli. Under-Corporal Jaweyien is the emergency medic and technician. Shiaouel terminated the projection. The flight out to Mirra will leave the station in three hours. You have until then to get your things in order. Dismissed, Shades.

The other briling filed out of the room slowly. Lieutenant Ecoyi Eyochiya lightly punched Seryin in the shoulder. Just like old times, right Commander?

Seryin and his friend crested one another. It’s been too long, Lieutenant. I’ll see you on the flight out.

The general glanced up to notice that Seryin was the only person left in the room. Yes, Commander?

Sir, I’ve been with the Shades for quite some time, and I… well, sir, I don’t wish to speak out of line.

I realize your displeasure about being called out of the reserves, Commander, but this mission requires an experienced reconnaissance operative such as yourself. If this were any other type of assignment I would have picked somebody else.

No, that’s not my problem. How could you assign me to a team with Lieutenant Cholo?

Commander, let’s not begin this again…

I’ve testified against him twice in internal investigations, sir. We’ll be on a hostile world on the other side of the galaxy and he’ll have a plasma gun.

Shiaouel waved the comments off. "Cholo would never dream of shooting a fellow Shade. You know, the High Council originally wanted to promote and assign him leadership of the mission, but I promised I’d attach you to the team instead because I agree with you."

Since when does the High Council individually appoint Shades for missions?

Shiaouel scowled. They’re the ones who control the purse strings and they wanted Cholo for the mission. With the scrutiny we’re under, I have to choose which battles with the Council I want to fight. They have grown very vocal about their desire to increase their day-to-day involvement with the operation of this division.

Any ideas why?

Shiaouel hesitated before suggesting, It’s been less than two months since the Council Hand was assassinated and Prime Juyeawae narrowly survived the bomb plot in the Alliance. They are understandably paranoid and politicians rarely know the intricacies of warfare, no matter what they tell themselves.

I suppose so, sir. Something about the situation still didn’t sit right with Seryin, but he couldn’t put his finger on what it was.

Leave the Council in the capable hands of those such as myself, Shiaouel suggested and touched his fingers to his crest. Dismissed, Commander. The Teacher smiles.

And he smiles upon you, Seryin replied, cresting his superior officer in turn.

Chapter Two: Pebble Ranch

Los Angeles, Planet Terra, Sol System

The creatures were pouring in from every direction, their beady black eyes glowing with malice, their jaws snapping in anticipation. John Gresham fired blankly into the oncoming horde, the hideous aliens clawing at his face, grabbing at this throat, their callous, reeking skin only inches from his nostrils.

"Gresham!" a voice cried and he reached out to take an outstretched hand. He looked up to see his comrades above him, obscured in the dim light. Gresham kicked away a howling beast and began scratching at the stony precipice he was cornered under, reaching for the beckoning figures above.

He finally caught the outstretched hand, and began to be pulled up as the claws of the creatures beneath him dug into his shins and thighs. He felt something bite his ankle and he shook free, looking down to see the glistening, saliva-covered fangs of the dhzirs down below gnashing in the shade of the setting sun.

He looked up; Castor had him by the hand, dragging him to safety. It’s okay, John. I’ve got you. Next to Castor stood the benevolent, smiling face of Lieutenant Reginald Paine. He was holding Castor’s belt to support him against the weight of Gresham.

He saw the pinkish-red beam of light before either of them did. The laser fired from a nearby cannon exploded near the lip of the rocky outcropping, blowing Castor backwards as the debris shredded Paine where he stood. Gresham fell back into the churning swarm of dhzirs, gripping Castor’s severed arm as if he were shaking its hand.

He struck the ground with a thud and the shrieking horde poured over him once again, this time blocking out his vision as they pounced.

Gresham woke up, soaked in sweat and panting.

Jesus Christ, Jesus Christ, holy shit, shit, shit, he thought and ran his hands through his hair. His head was cold and dripping wet. What a nightmare.

The curtains in his bedroom opened and it was filled with light. Good morning, John, his apartment’s AI, Tiff, cooed dutifully. It is 7:23 AM, Thursday, September 15th.

The screen on the wall came on and the friendly face of a news anchor filled the display. "Good morning again, Southern California! It’s a beautiful September morning, with a current temperature of 61 degrees. Daytime highs are expected to be about 87 degrees in the mid-afternoon. If at all possible, avoid the A8 and A5 superhighways on your commute this morning due to minor accidents. A reminder, the A10 is still undergoing maintenance this whole week, so once again, alternate routes for your morning commute are available on your HUVR’s databank."

Gresham rolled out of bed. Get me a shower, Tiff. I want the news on in all rooms.

Certainly, John. Shower temperature calibrating at 90 degrees.

Perfect!

He removed his clothes and stepped into the shower in the adjacent bathroom, the morning news anchor’s smiling face displayed behind a waterproof pane at eye level.

Your heart rate is abnormally high, Major Gresham, Tiff observed as he rinsed the sweat out of his hair.

Thanks, he answered disinterestedly and returned his attention to the news feed.

"In international news, the League of Planets today announced the completion of a taskforce to investigate the galaxy-wide spree of assassinations two months ago. The taskforce will be comprised of high-ranking security experts from the intelligence services of every Chair Nation and second-tier military power, and will rely upon the independent investigations of the individual star nations as well as far-reaching resources of the League as a whole."

Gresham stuck his hand under a nozzle. Soap, he said through a yawn, wondering how it had taken the League so long to finally throw together a collaborative effort. Could they not have done it sooner than almost two months?

"In other international news, Emperor Urkus Orkann of the Krokator Star Empire has agreed to give the Progressive Movement, a rapidly-growing grassroots political force within the Empire, a college of representatives at his Court. This is significant in that it is the first step by the Imperial government in negotiating with the powerful movement directly, and also recognizes its legitimacy."

Shampoo. A second nozzle complied just as quickly as the first and Gresham lathered his hair, still thinking about his vivid nightmare. He hadn’t seen or heard from Castor in nearly twenty years. It certainly wasn’t the first time he’d dreamt of his old war friend recently, but this dream was strange in that it wasn’t a flashback. It was more… surreal.

"A trial date has been set here in Los Angeles for former Commissioner Jackson French of Mars, who was arrested as an accessory to illegal gun trafficking in mid-July. French, once considered a potential candidate for next September’s Presidential election, resigned his office shortly after it was discovered that one of his closest associates had been running a gun operation using his security clearance, selling weapons stolen from the military through the Zone."

You forgot the part about his ‘chief aide’ trying to blow up a League summit, didn’t you? Gresham muttered, shaking his head. He was still disappointed at the minimal coverage given to the foiled bomb plot in the media, but understood that the government had to protect its image.

"On the note of Mars, the expected asset sale of military contractor Hessian Engineering next week was approved unanimously by the Hessian board of directors. Last month, the late Colin Hess’s son Benjamin elected to sell the family’s shares and liquidate various trusts held by the company to pull out of the continuously unfolding scandal involving the company’s illegal weapons sales on unaligned worlds over the past decade as well as their connections to various criminal and terrorist organizations throughout the galaxy."

All finished, Tiff, Gresham said and the water turned off. He stepped out into the bathroom to be blasted by hot air from several sides. He scratched an itchy spot on the back of his neck before heading back into his bedroom to get dressed.

John, you have a security briefing at Pebble Ranch in two hours, Tiff reminded him as he put together a quick breakfast.

I know, thank you, Gresham grabbed his briefcase and put a lid on his coffee cup. Power down, Tiff. I’ll see you tonight.

Have a good day, John.

#

Pebble Ranch was the name given to the sprawling complex in the eastern Santa Monica Mountains that served as the home of the President of the Human Alliance. The sprawling compound had once been a city park, and the executive mansion a centuries-old observatory, before it was retrofitted a hundred years prior to serve as a detached executive facility in addition to the administration’s offices at Shoregrove Hall. The former park was now only accessible by a single road and surrounded by sheer forty-foot walls.

Gresham pulled his HUVR to a stop at the only gate to Pebbles, as the compound was called colloquially.

State your business at Pebble Ranch today, please, a tall, dull-looking guard said, leaning out of the gate.

Major John S. Gresham, Military Intelligence, Section One, he replied, handing over a security pass. Here for a security briefing with President Howard Paine and select Alliance Military personnel.

The guard ran the card through his reader and nodded. Confirmed. Have a good day, Major.

You too.

Gresham drove his HUVR through the gate, wound through the forest of swaying palm trees and parked his HUVR next to one of the rows of eucalyptus that lined the parking area and powered down his vehicle. He heard a faint sound and glanced up to see a transport ship approaching low over the mountains, the glittering reflection of Los Angeles’ mighty spires and the bay beyond as its backdrop.

The transport slowed down to a hover, the throbbing of its humming engine reverberating across the landing pad only a hundred yards away. The craft touched down gently and Gresham turned away, looking back at the glass entrance to the old observatory.

From Pebble Ranch’s main structure emerged a short, balding man in his sixties, smiling warmly as he saw Gresham from afar.

John! Good to see you.

Gresham smiled and approached Howard Paine, the President of the Human Alliance. Paine’s son had served with Gresham in the Dhruiz War, and that relationship had created a personal bond between the two men that had been further strengthened by their near-death experience two months earlier.

They embraced and turned their attention towards three men approaching from the landed craft. One of them was the tall, slender, gray-haired figure of Colonel Gary Moss, the Senior Liaison Officer to the Commission – SLOC for short – from Military Intelligence’s Section Four. The other was Bob Benson, the acting head of the Special Intelligence Service, a short, portly man in his late fifties. The third was the handsome General Richard Godford, the Commander of Allied Forces and the de facto head of the Department of Defense.

As they approached, Godford ran a hand along his carefully cropped beard and extended a hand after greeting the President. Major Gresham, it’s been a while. Good to see you up and about again.

Thank you general. It’s been… a month?

Longer. I’m glad you’re feeling better.

The five men entered the atrium of the executive mansion and walked down a short hallway that sharply descended underground with a marble staircase. Moss fell in behind Gresham.

How’s Beveridge treating you over at Section One these days?

I haven’t had much of a chance to really do anything quite yet, Gresham replied. Still getting my bearings around the office. Bit of a different culture down there, you know.

Paine punched in a quick code to open a heavy steel door at the far end of the hallway and stepped aside as the men entered the bunker under the thick rock of the mountain. A massive screen stretched along one end of the room, with a massive, oval-shaped table serving as the briefing bunker’s centerpiece. Advisors were already waiting inside the chamber, glancing over files in their hands.

Thank you for joining me today, gentlemen, Paine said and took a seat. Normally we’d do this at Shoregrove Hall, but due to ongoing renovations and repairs I decided to move today’s meeting up here. Hope it wasn’t too much of an inconvenience.

He glanced around the room. Well, we should get started. Benson, if you’d like to begin?

Certainly, Mr. President. You all will be given briefs that go over the content of today’s meeting, I trust they will be a little less long-winded than I am.

Benson cleared his throat and activated a screen. In the wake of the nearly-avoided terrorist attack against the Catalina summit two months ago, SIS has conducted a thorough investigation into the affairs of a handful of men, most notably the late Colin Hess and his associate, the late Elijah Perry, both of whom were shot and killed by Major Gresham, who is here today, before they could do any serious damage.

The gratitude in Benson’s voice was forced. Gresham smirked and shook his head. Typical Special Intelligence agent.

On an equally regrettable note, two previously trusted members of Special Intelligence, Daniel Vosen and Kevin Barkley, were found to have been in cahoots with Hess and Perry all along, and their treasonous actions resulted in the deaths of over a dozen members of our department, including former Director Simon Cray, as well as Vosen’s predecessor at ET Affairs, Carl Brighton.

He cracked his knuckles. Unfortunately, our current head of ET Affairs, Sam Troy, is working on a case at the moment, so he couldn’t join us. To sum things up, however, Vosen had Brighton assassinated to help cover up his own personal involvement in a smuggling operation in the Southern California Extraterrestrial Zone – an operation which, mind you, involved guns stolen from the Marine Corps under former Commissioner Jackson French’s name by the conspirators and sold through various outlets.

Gresham glanced over at Paine, studying his old friend. He wondered how Paine could sit through security meeting after security meeting and endure the weight of the Alliance’s safety on his shoulders.

"Major Gresham, working with our own agents, documented an intricate conspiracy that leaned heavily on factions of the Hudda Kugrall – for those of you unfamiliar with Krokam, that translates to ‘Forbidden Army’ – active in Los Angeles. Before anyone asks, this is the first and only sign we have seen in decades of Forbidden Army activity within Alliance borders."

Talking about the investigation sent a shudder of sadness through Gresham, as he pictured Lara smiling at him one last time... the last time he saw her, at that little restaurant near the beach in Santa Monica. They had both been abducted by the Forbidden Army shortly thereafter, an abduction she had not survived.

Benson continued explaining what Gresham had largely discovered for him. "As some of you are aware, the plan involved selling krokator weapons here on Terra through local criminals, then funneling that money back to the terrorists in the Empire. It also involved Hessian Engineering dumping guns on unaligned worlds through Hudda Kugrall cronies. Money was deposited and cut up evenly using Perry, who was a sort of go-between for everyone thanks to his banking position. A lot of money corrupts some good men, as we can see."

With an icy glare, Benson looked at Moss. And now, we’ll turn over to Gary Moss, the SLOC for Military Intelligence’s Section Four.

Thank you, Bob, Moss said and rose. While seizing Hessian Engineering’s funds hasn’t done us much good, we now have a much better scope of how some contractors have been profiting for years, and know what to look for in the future. We’ve also come to realize that Hessian was working on something else – something big.

He flipped on a slide that revealed a barren, red-tinged plain on Mars from the air. This is a shot from Mars’s Thestran Verge, a desolate, cold region in the southern hemisphere hundreds of miles from any major population centers. This next slide is a close-up of a facility we spotted about a week ago from orbit that nobody had ever really paid attention to before. It’s been there for years and there’d never been any sign of activity… until recently.

The advisors in the room chuckled. Gresham leaned forward, his interest piqued. This information was new to him.

Moss changed slides again to show the facility from ground-level. It’s an old weapons factory owned by Attican Holding Company – which, conveniently, was mostly owned by Hessian Engineering until it was auctioned off last week as part of Hessian’s ongoing firesale. He showed an overhead layout of the facility on the next screen. The facility contained mobile living units at the southern end of the compound, and in the other end was the actual factory, now with reinforced lead walls, empty water vats along the western wall and two smokestacks we believe were makeshift cooling towers. There was an intricate piping system under the place, so they must have ripped up the ground to install everything. Add in the ship fuel and discharge Hess had been ordering through client companies for a purported ‘research’ project that the Commission actually funded – at Jack French’s encouragement – and he had a fully-operational nuclear power plant active in the Martian tundra.

A confused advisor raised his hand. I’m not sure I understand. Why would Hess want to generate power in such a primitive way?

That’s a great question. The radioactivity levels were pretty high throughout most of the facility. We suspect that this facility is where Hess was producing the radioactive materials he was going to blow up under the Catalina summit.

The advisors all exchanged glances. Moss smiled. What I’m saying here, gentlemen, is that Hess built a dirty bomb. Here, on Mars, right under our noses, with money we gave him. He was going to pack explosives around a radioactive material and spread it around the island to pollute the blast site. And from the manifests we picked up from satellite companies Hessian was buying ship fuel through, he had plenty more of this to use. And now it’s all gone… along with everything else at the facility.

Moss paused and glanced around the room. And then, there’s this… He switched slides to show a split-screen montage of pictures revealing a gruesome scene inside the facility itself. Bodies littered the ground, many of them with their skin melted straight off and only their bones visible. The buildings themselves were bare on the inside. It was a graveyard.

We counted forty-seven bodies on the inside, eleven more within a mile radius of the facility. Not a single scrap of evidence remaining. The place was deserted.

There was a groan from an advisor in a far corner and Gresham glanced down to the floor. Paine shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

The only problem with this, however, is that the killings occurred about a month ago, from what we can discern. Which means that somebody killed all these employees of the facility – Hess’ employees – after Hess was already dead, and the plot to dirty bomb the summit foiled.

Godford sighed deeply and shook his head. Which means, I assume, that somebody else is still out there with all that radioactive ship fuel.

Moss shrugged and nodded. Precisely.

#

The waves crashed in over the sand as the small crowd began to collect near the water. It was nearly midday, but the beaches were relatively empty due to the approaching autumn and the regular weekday responsibilities of