The Methuselan Circuit (26 page)

“You mean this was rigged,” James asked, his own questions as to why he was there in the first place finally being answered. Then he shook his head violently. “Wait a minute, I can see the Feds watching Alexander’s house,” he shrugged when Alexander looked at him, “hey, everyone knows your dad was a Spook — that’s cool. Why my house though, my dad’s a drunk. He’s not even a Citizen.”

Katrina took a deep breath and her expression grew deadly serious. “There’s a reason our families moved on to Vashon; each of our fathers, and James your mother, served together in the Special Forces. We all qualified for the Academy on our own, but because we were the kids of some very special military people strings were pulled. It seems that was done behind the backs of those in this conspiracy, but that’s why you guys have been watched by Strauss, Nussbaum and especially Fjallheim!”

“Fjallheim,” Alexander gasped. “You can’t be serious.”

Katrina took a deep breath and told them, “Listen closely, it seems amazing that Strauss and Nussbaum could be professors at any university, not to mention the Academy of all places. You would think that terrorists—neither has ever renounced their actions or views—you’d think terrorists would be barred from teaching positions. Normally that would be true, but Strauss and Nussbaum are political appointees. The appointments were made the former Senator in charge of the Armed Services Committee, Senator Cass Bar-Judas.”

“You mean the President?” They were astonished.

“Yes, but there’s more,” Katrina said. “You need to be careful, because the Senator was also sponsored another important person in the Academy: Centurion Fjallheim.”

Alexander turned white and the others gasped. This was terrible, terrible news. Katrina filled their stunned silence, explaining, “The media actively suppressed the fact that President Bar-Judas’s father was a Gaiaist and his mother was affiliated with Ecoterrorist groups—that’s because the media is sympathetic to those causes and is not very cozy with the Legions, the Fleet or the Constitutionalists that seek to carry out Alexander of Terra’s vision for the future. Of course, the President is against that. He and his cronies have a very different view of our future, and that’s why he has his people planted in the Academy. There’s no way he can force his vision of the galaxy on the population if he can’t control the military, and that starts at the Academy. With Strauss and Nussbaum indoctrinating generations of officers to be sympathetic to the Gaian cause and Centurion Fjallheim to manipulate the legionary muscle the President has enough cover to move forward.”

Alexander cradled his head. He couldn’t believe it. “Fjallheim just warned me to watch my back; he tried to help me and Khandar after we discovered that the people working with Strauss on the Methuselan Circuit had been murdered.”

“Hold on,” Katrina exclaimed, and she touched her ear, looking away for the moment. When she looked back, she asked, “Were they two Terrans—a man and a woman—and a Seer’koh?”

Alexander nodded.

Katrina’s face fell and she listened again to some unheard voice. She explained, “The woman and the Seer’koh were our people and the man was an FBI agent who is a well respected Constitutionalist. They were the good guys. Fjallheim must’ve taken care of them because they wanted to remove the Methuselan Circuit from the ship and get it to Terra where it would be harmless.”

“Fjallheim killed them, are you sure?”

Again Katrina listened to something in her ear—obviously someone didn’t want to be seen or heard on the etherlink. She nodded her head. “Fjallheim’s the only one we know of with the technical skill to take out our two agents. They were very experienced. Unless, do you know of anyone else there that might be working with Nussbaum and Strauss? Think, because we don’t know everyone at the Academy as well as we’d like too.”

“Augesburcke,” Alexander offered, fearing the answer.

Katrina shook her head immediately, and told them, “If Augesburcke is a mole we might as well fold up the tent—we’re done. He’s the one who pulled the strings to get you into the Academy.”

“Centurion Fjallheim mentioned that Lt. Mortimer was working closely with Professor Strauss.”

Katrina listened to something in her ear and shook her head, “We don’t have much on her; but there’s no history in her files of any contact with radicals. It’s a smokescreen; it has to be Fjallheim.”

James interrupted, whispering, “What is this about the Methuselan Circuit. Why is it so blasted important—what is it?”

“I don’t know,” Katrina said. “Alexander you have a series of data files encrypted in the crystals of your Rosary. The first “Our Father” opens the file on the Methuselan Circuit. The next three “Hail Mary’s” open data files for you three.”

“How are we going to watch them with Fjallheim creeping over our shoulder,” James interrupted.

“Don’t worry, they’re encrypted. You can play them out in the open and anyone outside of a three foot radius will only see a harmless documentary of the Caliphate Wars. That’s because the true content is woven into the signal and two holograms are actually projected,” she stopped, touching her ear and sighed, saying, “sorry, I just get so fascinated by this stuff! Anyway, watch the files in order. They will clarify everything except how they’re going to trigger the Methuselan Circuit and how you’re going to stop it.”

They all looked at each other. “What do you mean how we’re going to stop it?”

“That’s why you’re there,” Katrina said seriously.

“We’re going to stop this Galactic conspiracy,” Alexander asked, and he couldn’t help but smile at the idea. The others laughed nervously.

“We have no other choice. Your father wants you to make contact with Khandar’s son, he has specific information on the circuit, information his father entrusted to him. Your father knows what the Methuselan Circuit is and what the Methuselans used it for, but Khandar knew how to destroy it—that’s the information you need to get—you need to stop it.”

Alexander looked at the others and shook his head. “Khandar will never give me the information,” he told her seriously. “He wants me dead; he thinks my father assassinated his father—he’s sworn a blood oath on it.”

“It’s true,” Katrina said evenly. “I’m sorry Alexander, but your father did assassinate the Grand Admiral.” She stopped, because Alexander’s heart fell; everyone could see that. Quickly, she told him, “I know this is tough on you, but the Special Forces are a necessary part of the Service. Your father wasn’t a rogue like Khandar suspects. The assassination orders originate from the Pro Consul’s Chamber; you’re father was following orders, but there’s more to it—watch the data files!” She hesitated, waiting for the shock to run its course. Alexander felt his breath bind up in his lungs, encasing him in a constricting band of doubt. James laid a hand on his shoulder. Treya took his hand. Alexander straightened up, trying to get a hold of himself, controlling his emotions as his father taught him to—his father the assassin. When he looked back at Katrina, she said, “Watch them and read the attached combat report; I can’t say any more. Study them closely—that’s all your father told me.” She paused and took a deep breath. “Alexander, I am sorry.”

“You’re sorry, but was he? Did he seem sorry about it at all?”

“He told me you would have a hard time hearing this,” Katrina started to say, but James swiftly covered Alexander’s ethernet screen, explaining with a single harsh word, “Fjallheim!”

It was the Centurion, and he didn’t look happy. “What is it that you are covering up, Cadet Jameson?” He took his meaty hand and yanked James’s hand away from the screen, staring down at it with the knit brows peculiar to the centurion class. He frowned. “Watching Z-Crosse matches when you should be studying?”

Alexander stared at his screen. Sure enough it was a college Z-Crosser match. He looked back up at Fjallheim, and explained, “Sir, we all need pointers, especially me.”

“I see,” the centurion glowered. He stared at them for a long, long moment before saying, “You all appear to be involved in every bit of trouble at this Academy. I would think that after today’s little adventure you would take a bit more care about highlighting yourselves—all of you. I’ll be watching you; be assured of that.” He turned on his heel and went over to harangue another group of cadets.

“That was close,” James whispered. “How’d you get the game on there; that was quick thinking!”

“I didn’t,” Alexander admitted. “That must’ve been Katrina.” He sighed and looked at all of them, admitting, “I don’t know about you but I’m still frazzled about all of this.”

“At least we know why we’re all here,” Lisa said.

“And we know what we have to do,” Treya added.

James shook his head, “How are we supposed to stop this Conspiracy? I mean, let’s be real. If the Commandant of the Academy can’t do anything about it, what can we do? We’re just cadets!”

Alexander shrugged, and said, “My dad’s favorite book was a fantasy called,
The Lord of the Rings.
In it, all the great warriors and wizards of men, elves, dwarves couldn’t bring down the enemy—but a couple of small, weak and insignificant hobbits did it. They succeeded because they persevered and because the enemy didn’t consider them a threat.”

Lisa shrugged, “If you’re trying to beat someone stronger than you lull them into thinking you are so much weaker than they are that you’re not worth worrying about.”

James smiled, and said, “Katrina told us it was encrypted. Trust it. Besides, the surest way to get Fjallheim’s attention is to sneak off somewhere he can’t see us. I say go for it!”

CHAPTER 20: Engram Encryption

Alexander found himself at home, sitting in his father’s favorite leather chair and watching Holo-V. It was the evening news. A male Terran was explaining various holographic clips to the audience. The clips showed people, masses of people, shouting, waving signs and boiling over barricades like rats scurrying through the streets. The commentator had a look of deep gravity on his face. “There are riots in every major city across Pan America and they have one central theme—freedom. The masses of non-Citizen Unioneers are now in what can only be termed “open revolt.” They are demanding what they call basic human rights: a larger share in the income tax revenues collected from Citizens, the right to own property and the right to vote—and who can blame them?”

“Damned liberal media,” Alexander growled, but it was his father’s voice that he heard. He got up and went into the kitchen. As he took out a bottle of gin from the freezer his mother entered from the mudroom.

“It’s a little early for your martini dear,” she said scathingly, kissing him nonetheless. “Kathy’s not in bed yet.” His parents rarely let him see them drink, or rather his father. Mom had a glass of wine every once and a while, but aside from the sacramental wine at mass and a beer during a football game, Alexander rarely witnessed his father drink.

His dad started the elaborate process of adding ginger to the gin, shaking it in ice and the other steps in his potion making routine, while telling his mom, “The President has just declared martial law over Pan America but that doesn’t include the Unioneers; it only includes those Citizens who might try and protect their property. The mobs are breaking into stores, museums, companies—you name it. Looting is rampant, but the only people being arrested are Citizens. It’s spread from Buenos Aires to Calgary.”

Mom looked worried. “What if they come here?”

Dad laughed in a very unpleasant manner, “There aren’t enough legionaries to get them in here; and the President won’t risk bombing the island, not yet. You’ll be safe enough in the shelter if need be. I’ve expected this day ever since Cass Bar-Judas got into the Senate. The Gaiaists were on the move again. We didn’t finish the job when we had the chance; the powers that be didn’t want the blood of a few thousand hard-core crazies on their hands.” He finished making his drink and strolled out to the living room again. Gesturing to the Holo-V, he said, “Now look at it. Instead of a few thousand radicals in exile we’ve got this, and it’s only going to get worse.”

“How much worse,” Mom asked.

Dad took a sip from his martini. Alexander felt the chilly bite of the ginger and the throat constricting strength of the alcohol. “They’ve got the damned Circuit. They found it on the Methuselan mining vessel and Strauss knew enough psionic tech to identify it.” He took another sip of his drink. “We tried to get it here so we could destroy it.”

“And?”