Cluster Command: Crisis of Empire II (8 page)

A powerful and dangerous woman.

And not just because of her size. Even greater danger lay in her eyes. She was an enemy, and they both knew it. Her hand closed around his with bone-crushing strength. “Welcome to Augustine, General. I’ve heard so much about you.”

Merikur tried to ignore the pain. She wanted him to withdraw, to admit his weakness, but his pride wouldn’t allow it. Forcing a smile he said, “All good, I trust. My, that’s a beautiful necklace. May I see it?”

Placing his right boot on her left foot, he stepped forward while shifting all his weight to that foot. His left hand went up to touch her heavy necklace. With one movement of his hand he could choke her with it. He saw her wince.

Rankoo let go of his hand and he took a step back. Coda moved in but stopped when his wife held up a hand.

“As you were, Coda. The general and I were just getting acquainted. It’s been a pleasure, General. I hope you’ll live long enough to have dinner with us sometime.”

“I’m impressed,” Bethany said as Rankoo and Coda moved away. “You certainly have a way with women.”

Merikur responded absently as his mind ran through the possibilities implied by her expressed “hope.” Was it a manipulative threat intended to bring him into line? A promise? Or a mere empty boast? Though she might be arrogant enough to telegraph a punch, Nola Rankoo didn’t strike him as someone who made empty boasts.

Be conservative then. Attempted manipulation could be ignored, so assume the implied threat was real; when and where would it happen? He’d have to assume the attempt could come at any moment—and clearly the governor’s enemies wouldn’t try to kill his general without trying for the man himself. He turned to Bethany. “Let’s find your uncle. I think he’s in danger.”

Bethany’s eyes widened, but she nodded silently and followed as he started pushing his way through the crowd towards the long buffet table. He caught a glimpse of Windsor every now and then. He was standing at the far end of the buffet table next to Trent. Eitor Senda was by his side. They were surrounded by a large group of people. Merikur and Bethany were only halfway down the length of the buffet table when his AID buzzed him. “Hey, Your generalship . . . somebody’s pumping a pulsed signal through here. The source is within a hundred feet.”

“Did it just start?”

“Yup.”

Straight-arming an elderly woman, Merikur charged forward. “Senator, hit the deck!”

But he was too late. Everything shifted into slow motion. As Merikur went for his gun, he saw a Cernian servant plunge both hands into a cake, and pull out a pistol. Off to his right, another Cernian ripped the back off an upholstered chair and pulled out an auto repulsor. A Dreed reached under a table and grabbed a needle gun taped there days before. Merikur sensed rather than saw that others were doing likewise all around the ballroom.

Whap! Whap! Whap! Glass beads began to fly in every direction. Women screamed, but no louder than some of the gorgeously attired military personnel of both sexes. Merikur watched in horror as a line of miniature explosions ran the length of the buffet line, promiscuously throwing up geysers of food and gobbets of living flesh, not stopping until it reached Governor Trent, the man who had made it all possible. Trent was dead before the first piece of him hit the floor. Two guards died shielding Windsor before Senda threw him down and covered the senator’s body with his own.

Tenly disappeared under the buffet table. Unarmed marines charged the aliens with their bare hands and died in bloody heaps.

Glass balls and needles cut through the crowd. The needles were almost silent but the
whaps!
of hypersonic glass beads merged with
whumps!
of flesh exploding on impact. The assassins carved bloody trails through the packed bodies as they sprayed the room with lethal projectiles.

Pulling his handgun free of his tunic, Merikur brought it up and fired. His shots punched a Cernian backwards to slide across the buffet table and fall off the other side.

Bethany! He whirled ready to throw her down, but found she was covering his back, her small purse gun spitting death. Beyond her, a Dreed grew a third eye and fell backwards into a pile of screaming men and women. There was a
lot
he didn’t know about his new wife!

Merikur picked another target and squeezed the trigger.
Whap! Whap! Whap!
A sloppy job. His projectiles blew the Cernian’s right arm to pulp before crossing his chest and putting him down. And what would Warrant Nister have had to say about that? Neat meant ‘fast’ and speed counted . . .

It took a few seconds for the Governor’s Hundred to pick their targets. Then it was all over. When the firing stopped, there was a moment’s silence then moans and hysterical laughter.

In the distance ,Windsor was swearing and pushing Senda out of the way while members of the Elite Guard formed a circle around him. Tenly had emerged from under the table and was doing his best to get in everyone’s way.

Turning, Merikur saw Bethany was untouched and already helping the wounded.

He scanned the room as troops flooded in through open doors and windows. Movement caught his eye as Nola Rankoo and her husband stood. They’d been concealed behind the bar, the room’s heaviest piece of furniture and, therefore, the most projectile-proof. There wasn’t a mark on them. Meeting his gaze, Rankoo nodded and smiled. Then, stepping delicately over and around the bodies, she and Coda left the ballroom.

He knew to a certainty that Rankoo had planned the whole thing. He couldn’t prove it. But as Merikur looked out over the bloody ballroom, he swore an oath that Nola Rankoo would pay.

###

Two days later, the wounded were on the way to recovery, the worst of the shock was over, and the ballroom floor was cleansed of blood. Trent’s wife had departed for Earth with an attentive Admiral Stender by her side and her husband’s body, or most of it, stored in the ship’s hold.

Members of the Hundred were buried as they’d lived, side by side. Mixed among the human and Cernian guards were the sixteen marines who had attacked the assassins with their bare hands and posthumously earned a place in their ranks. On Merikur’s orders, all were buried with full honors in a section of the military graveyard that had been reserved for the Hundred alone. Some of the living marines were dubious about having their comrades interred with aliens, but the honor of it overcame their reservations.

And with the perversity of soldiers everywhere, applications for the Guard doubled, and then tripled within a few days. Members of all races represented on the planet were rushing to join up.

The public swearing-in was cancelled due to Governor Trent’s death. Instead, there was a quiet ceremony witnessed by only a few. As Windsor raised his right hand and swore to defend Harmony Cluster from all enemies foreign and domestic, it occurred to Merikur that they had plenty of both.

###

Windsor and the senior members of his staff met in a conference room just off his spacious office.

Governor Trent had spared no expense to make the room both comfortable and attractive. Light poured in from a series of large rectangular windows. A long black conference table of highly polished native stone ran the length of the room. Upholstered chairs surrounded it and added to the atmosphere of elegant comfort. Gray drapes with burgundy trim covered the walls and also served to conceal a holotank.

Governor Windsor was seated at the head of the table with Senda on his right and Tenly on his left. Also present were Merikur, Captain Von Oy, and Lieutenant Commander Moskone.

As usual, Windsor looked quite dashing with his quick smile and flashing eyes. A small bandage over his left eye gave him a slightly piratical air. In spite of Merikur’s strenuous objections, Windsor insisted on working in the planet’s spirelike administration building.

“I appreciate your concern for my safety, General, but government is two-thirds smoke and one-third accomplishment. This office has symbolic value. By staying here, I tell both friends and enemies alike that I’m not afraid.” He grinned, “Even though I am.”

Merikur knew there was truth in what Windsor said, but also harbored a strong suspicion that the new governor liked the trappings of office and was loath to give them up. In any case, Windsor’s decision was final. Merikur beefed up security and hoped for the best.

Again.

Windsor opened the meeting.

“Thank you for coming. I know how busy you’ve been since the assassination attempt. I’d especially like to praise Eitor Senda for a smooth transition of power under trying circumstances and General Merikur for the military’s heroic efforts, including his own. It gives me great pleasure to announce that, along with a detailed report of what’s happened here, I’ve sent Pact Command my recommendation that General Merikur receive the Medal of Valor.”

Every decade or so, someone among the billion-plus members of Pact Military forces received that medal. Usually post-humously. Merikur blushed at the general applause and mumbled something about his people. His comments were generally ignored; cluster commanders who behaved like line marines were something special, it seemed.

“All right,” Windsor said as the applause died down, “we have a great deal to discuss. If successful, the attack would have eliminated Governor Trent, myself, and all my senior staff. It’s likely that a good deal of time would have elapsed before another governor arrived. During that time, the cluster would be highly vulnerable, both to internal and external opportunists.

Everyone nodded. Windsor was right—and he was in charge. He sipped water before going on, “That much is fairly obvious. What’s not so obvious is that even if the plan failed, it would still succeed in another way.”

He glanced at each of his subordinates in turn. “I refer, of course, to the exclusive use of alien assassins. Its purpose was to feed existing racism—while also acting to discredit me. Those who wish to may now conclude that I was not only
wrong
to advocate human-alien equality—but criminally stupid as well. Their motto will be that the only good alien is a dead alien.”

“Or one who is working in a mine,” Senda added calmly.

“Exactly,” Windsor agreed, steepling his fingers. “However, there are some bright spots in all this darkness. For one thing, the loyalty of the Governor’s Hundred does much to prove that some aliens
can
be trusted, not to mention Eitor’s willingness to sacrifice himself for me.

“By the way, Eitor, next time you save my life, try to do it a little less enthusiastically.” Windsor’s hand went up to the bandage on his forehead.

Senda grinned his upside down grin. “Well, Governor, as you humans would say, robust fecal matter.”

Windsor laughed. “Sometimes I think we’re a bad influence on you.” Turning to the others he said, “Ever since we landed, Eitor has been pouring over the cluster files. I’ve asked him to report on potential flash points. Eitor?”

“Thank you, Governor. As one would expect, Harmony Cluster has its share of problems. A major crop failure on Siskens II, a pirate raid on Asteroid 568BX, and the makings of a nice little civil insurrection on Little Mektor, just to mention a few. One way or another we will have to deal with all of them. But our most pressing problem by far is Teller.”

Getting up from his odd-looking Cernian chair, Senda aimed a small remote at a wall and pressed a button. There was the hum of a hidden motor; the gray curtain slid aside to reveal a large holotank.

“Although far from perfect, our intelligence on Teller is fairly accurate, and there’s little doubt that a major crisis is in the making.”

“Yes,” Windsor agreed. “And how we deal with the situation on Teller may very well determine the success or failure of this entire administration.”

Senda waited through the interruption with characteristic patience. Merikur knew the Cernian well enough by now to detect a trace of annoyance in the set of his shoulders and the look in his eyes. When Windsor was finished, the alien continued. “As some of you know, Teller is a mining planet in one of the cluster’s major systems.”

Senda pressed another button. A planet popped into existence in the middle of the holotank and started to slowly turn. There wasn’t anything especially remarkable about it: some good-sized mountain ranges, lots of cloud cover and one small ocean.

“The planet is closer to Cern normal than Earth normal, but is habitable by both races, and members of both species have lived on it for some time. Teller belongs to the Haiken Maru by right of occupation in accordance with Pact law.” The planet shimmered and disappeared, being replaced by a small city of pre-cast concrete buildings, shanties, and encroaching jungle.

“This is the planet’s largest town, a charming little place called ‘Port City.’ As we speak, it’s under virtual siege by the rebels. More on them in a moment.” The city vanished and a three-dimensional organization chart appeared to replace it. Merikur saw a vertical-looking structure headed by a general manager, a member of department heads, sector chiefs and other functionaries.

“Planetary government could better be described as ‘planetary management,’ and is exclusively comprised of Haiken Maru professionals from off planet. They run the planet to maximize profit and minimize expense. If they generate sufficient profit, they are promoted off planet. Otherwise they stay—or are sent to even worse posts. As a result, their policies have been less than enlightened.”

The holo shimmered and coalesced into a shot of ragged looking Cernians trudging towards the gaping mouth of a mine. In the background, a Haiken Maru overseer could be seen, repulsor rifle dangling from a sling, lounging against a small hut.

“Cernians and humans, whose grandparents came to the planet as contract labor, now work in a state of virtual slavery.”

“But slavery’s illegal,” Lieutenant Commander Moskone objected. “Surely Governor Trent would have done something.”

Senda blinked both eyes in a Cernian shrug. “You are correct, Commander, slavery is illegal. Note the qualifier ‘virtually.’ The workers must pay the Haiken Maru for their food, for their quarters, for their medical care, for . . . everything. If a worker was extremely frugal and extremely lucky, he or she might work their way out of debt in fifteen or twenty years. But how would they get off planet? The Haiken Maru controls everything, including the cost of transportation aboard their ships. Thus, the only option for someone who manages to pay off the debt is to work as a miner for the Haiken Maru—under the same conditions as before. And as for the former governor, his representative on Teller returned to Augustine some seven months ago for medical treatment. And was never replaced.”