The Far Bank of the Rubicon (The Pax Imperium Wars: Volume 1) (21 page)

Jonas ran as fast as he could with his head forced down by the marine next to him. Not far from the interview room lay an elevator which Jonas had only been on twice in his life. The elevator provided the only means down to the underground fort beneath the palace. Members of the royal guard and other security personnel were already in the process of gathering other Alpha class dignitaries at the elevator doors.

Stephen was nowhere to be seen. Then Jonas remembered that he was currently on the other side of the system, on Corinth. Jonas looked up and saw most of the King's privy council and many of his military advisers. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he heard the anxious buzz of conversation, but his mind didn't seem to be able to pick out any details. Dmitri walked over to Jonas and tried to place his arm on Jonas' shoulder. One of Jonas' marine guard stopped him. Jonas was too much in shock to respond immediately and grateful when the elevator doors opened and took away the need for him to do so.

The elevator was large, fitting nearly 200 people. The number of dignitaries who had been rounded up at this point was far less than that, 75 at most. Jonas was taken in first and placed in a back corner. Four marines took up positions in front of him. All of them had their pulse weapons drawn but pointed at the floor. Only after Jonas was in place were the rest of the Alpha level dignitaries allowed on the elevator. The marine’s behavior largely silenced the crowd, many of whom, up to that point, had not realized the gravity of the situation. The elevator ride to the fort was sober and quiet.

When the doors opened, Jonas was last out, but all the other dignitaries had been shoved to the side, and he was hustled through the huge, round door which could be sealed if the palace was attacked. Once inside the fort, Jonas' Marine guard relaxed and released their grip on his belt. He noticed that the four of them did not put their weapons back in their holsters.

Everyone seemed to be at a bit of a loss. After passing a security check, many of the dignitaries milled about the gate in silence. Jonas noticed that three or four high-ranking military personnel talked quietly in the corner with someone Jonas thought was from either the intelligence directorate or the King's bodyguard. He couldn't be sure. Admiral Hansen was among them.

Dmitri came in Jonas' direction as soon as he was cleared through security. “Jonas....”

Jonas looked at him and shook his head. Dmitri stopped talking. Jonas wasn't sure that he could speak. He had never seen his father afraid before, and Jonas instinctively knew what that bright light meant. Dmitri and he had watched many of the old netclips from the Great War. He had seen holis go bright like that before. Most often it was a fusion bomb, sometimes it was simply a DMI, a directed mass impact, but it made little difference. The effect was the same—complete obliteration for many kilometers. Sometimes, if the DMI or bomb was great enough, it meant the end of life on the planet. Jonas' felt the oncoming tide of emotion begin to overwhelm him.

Dmitri noticed the change and put his arm around him. His grip seemed to steady Jonas, even as his sight dimmed to red. He took a huge gulping breath and found he couldn't stop. Even as he strove for it, he could feel the last tatters of emotional control fleeing his grasp. Jonas felt himself struggling for air, tears streaming down his face.

Admiral Hansen noticed and came over, even as the other Generals broke up their conversation and moved quickly to the communications center for the fort. Hanson's face was pale. He looked gray in the horrible lighting as he spoke to Dmitri. “Let's get him somewhere private.”

Jonas never remembered the next thirty minutes clearly, and he never spoke about them again with either Dmitri or Hansen. He vaguely recollected being led away from the gate and down a hall to a private room. He could always remember Hansen telling him, “Let it out, son. It’s OK,” and he could remember the sound of his wailing as if he were hearing it from outside. Mostly, he didn't think about that time again. His mind put it aside and went on living.

Even after Jonas came back to himself, it took another twenty minutes for him to regain some measure of composure. Dmitri sat near him and occasionally put his arm around him, at one point joining him as he cried.

Finally, some of Jonas' marine training kicked in, and he got control of his emotions. A minute later, there was a knock on the door. A young aide who Jonas had never seen before entered and saluted Admiral Hansen. “Admiral, sir. Admiral Dawson has asked you to join her in the control center, sir. She says that it is urgent.” Admiral Hansen looked down at Jonas and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Go!” said Jonas. “I will join you in a couple of minutes.”

“When you are ready,” said Admiral Hansen and exited the room. The door closed behind him.

“My father was murdered, Dmitri,” said Jonas, looking down at his hands. He was suddenly aware of his surroundings. He was in some bedroom, sitting on the end of a smallish bed. A desk and a chair filled the other side of the room, with a closet and a small door leading to what Jonas presumed was a restroom.

“We don't know that, Jonas, but you are most likely correct.”

“My brother will be King.”

Dmitri sighed. “Yes.”

Jonas found speaking these facts somehow comforting. It made them concrete, and he owned them as truth because he had said them. It seemed to harden him against what awaited him outside the door. Jonas stood from the bed and took two steps. He turned back and looked at Dmitri, who had stood behind him. “They’re going to pay, Dmitri.”

Dmitri looked Jonas in the eye, took him by both shoulders, and said, “You wouldn't be from the House of Athena if you didn't make them pay.”

Jonas nodded and opened the door.

When Jonas first entered the royal gallery above the communications center, he immediately noticed the noise. Alarms rang out and a large number of frantic voices filled the communications pit laid out below the gallery. The room had always hummed when he had attended drills with his father, but today there was an intensity to the activity which Jonas hadn’t witnessed before. The huge 3D unit at the far end of the room projected holis of a growing mushroom cloud on Cirus 2.

Above the din, the female anchor from the Athenian News Network said gravely, “We are getting new pictures in of the huge explosion which rocked New Zurich just over forty minutes ago. This picture was taken from an atmospheric transport nearly 60 miles away. To repeat, New Zurich played host to the talks between the heads of state of the Alliance for Military Cooperation. No word has reached us on the fate of King Nicholas III since all communications were suddenly lost.”

In all the chaos, Jonas' entry into the gallery almost went unnoticed, but a junior aide seated at a desk near the door turned to see who had come in. When she saw Jonas, she stood, turned to the prince, and saluted. Another officer sitting nearby noticed her salute and also stood up. In the process, he knocked several items off his desk, and the clattering noise got the attention of others, who followed suit. Jonas heard a voice ring out on the PA, “Attention!” Immediately, the sixty or so people scattered throughout the room turned to the prince and saluted. Someone turned off the sound on the projector. The sudden silence felt eerie after the chaos of seconds before.

The protocol was technically correct. Members of the King's immediate family were to be saluted by members of the military any time they entered a room, but the informality of life in the palace usually made this an unused courtesy during the backstage business of running the Kingdom.

Jonas noticed tears streaking down the faces of many people near him. He didn't know how to respond. Tears formed in the corners of his eyes. With a small wave of his hand down by his waist, he said, just loud enough to carry around the room, “Thank you. As you were.” The staff returned to its work, and the noise and business of the room quickly rose.

Jonas steadied his uncertain emotions, and walked toward the railing, which allowed him to survey the room below. Humorously called The Crucible by the officers who worked there, the room reminded Jonas somewhat of a starship command deck. At one end of the room lay a huge projection unit which could be set to either 2D or 3D. As Jonas approached the rail, someone switched it to show 2D feeds from six of the seven major social nets. Eye cams, security cameras, and military satellites all showed different views of a huge mushroom cloud erupting from the surface of Cirus 2.

Below Jonas, clusters of communication nodes divided the room into sections, representing the branches of the military, as well as the intelligence services. The commanders of these various arms of his father’s security apparatus arrayed themselves at points along the balcony, which stretched three quarters of the way around the room. Jonas’ father's desk and chair stood almost directly behind him, looking out over the open command center below.

His stomach tightened as the screen continued to show the destruction of New Zurich. They included disturbing images of panicked, blinded, and burned people from homes and offices far enough away to avoid incineration but still close enough to be devastated by the blast. Jonas looked down, unwilling to watch any more. Dmitri's hand clenched the banister next to him so hard it turned his knuckles white. Jonas turned away from the traumatic images and faced his father's empty chair and desk. To his left lay a long conference table with a smaller projection unit. Window generators allowed the conference table and his father's desk to be quickly sealed into a private room, whose walls could be left clear or opaque depending upon the King's need.

Jonas felt useless and out of place. He was just wondering what he should do next when a grim-faced Admiral Hansen approached him. “Your brother would like to speak to you.” Jonas nodded and followed Hansen over to an intraspace chair. He put on a red net cap marked ‘secure.’ He closed his eyes and “heard” the female operator’s voice in his thoughts. “Connecting.”

Jonas felt a familiar sense of falling as his consciousness willingly left behind its physical perceptions and entered his mind space. He ‘awoke’ in his personal transition room—a simple white room with a comfortable chair in the corner.

Jonas walked quickly past the chair, brushing it with his left hand, and moved toward the transition door. He reached out to push the door open and paused, as he realized just what conversation waited for him on the other side of that door. He paused for a second, composed himself, and stepped through into the secure construct.

This particular space looked much like an exquisite conference room in the palace. Past the long conference table, twenty-two-year-old Stephen stood by two armchairs, which waited by a blazing fire. His blond-haired, six-foot frame had filled out considerably in the last four years. Dora had insisted that he begin a program of physical training. Now, he was working toward a black belt in Judo, as well as swimming a mile or more each morning. As soon as Jonas entered the room, he began walking toward his brother.

Tears streamed down Jonas’ face long before he reached Stephen. Intraspace always left Jonas a little more vulnerable to his emotions. By its nature, intraspace made the walls between what a person wanted to project and the truth of their emotions more pliable and difficult to maintain. As they met about halfway down the conference table, Stephen and Jonas hugged each other tightly, their grasp lasting longer than usual.

“Jonas, Hansen told me that you were on a holi interview with Dad when it happened. I just need to hear it from you.”

Jonas nodded his understanding. “There isn’t much to tell. Dad just stood up, shielded his eyes, and the image turned almost white, like Dmitri used to show us in history class. He turned to look at me for just a second and…” The image of fear in his father’s eyes came unbidden to Jonas. For a second he couldn’t speak. “Well, Stephen, he… he was afraid. You could see it in his eyes, and then the line just went dead. There wasn’t even any static. He just disappeared.”

Stephen collapsed into a chair at the conference table and began to rub his forehead with the palm of his hand, as if he had a headache. “Jonas, I am going to have to talk to the nation.”

Jonas furrowed his brow. Sitting down next to his brother, he turned his chair to face him and simply nodded. It occurred to Jonas that supporting his brother right now would give him something to focus on, other than that image of his father’s eyes. “What can I do?”

Stephen exhaled noisily. “I don’t know, Jonas. For now, help me make some decisions.”

“Where’s Dora?”

“When I came here, she was sobbing in her quarters. Charlie was with Dad.”

“Oh,” Jonas said, his tone dropping off. He cringed. “I hadn’t even thought of that yet. Stephen, we… you need to make some choices, and in order to do that, you need some advice. Who do we need around this table?”

“I don’t know.” Stephen shook his head slightly and pinched his lips together. “My brain is just such mush. Dad talked to me about all of that stuff, but I don’t remember a thing of it right now.”

Jonas nodded and thought. “Can I bring Dmitri into this conversation?”