Branegate (36 page)

“In the meantime, Grandma Nat and the rest of my family will be migrants,” she said.

Leonid patted her shoulder. “Not on Elderon, dear. For us, we’re coming home.”

“You’ll be very welcome there, all of you,” said Myra.

“We can watch our grandchildren grow up,” said Mother. Myra smiled, looked at Trae in a way that made him swallow hard.

“We’ll send coordinates of your great-grandmother’s fleet and the invasion force, as soon as we get them,” said Father.

“Your mother and I are a few weeks from the frontier. We’ll go straight to Elderon, and wait for you there.”

“It might not be safe if Khalil decides to attack both Elderon and Galena, but Galena will be first. He tried infiltrating the Church there, but Galena’s emperor threw them out. Khalil hates the man; he’s sure to attack him. Gan is under military rule right now. Demonstrators have been shot.”

“Kratola all over again,” said Father, “and it’ll all be done in the name of The Source.”

“When do we meet again?” asked Trae.

“When we have something new.”

“No. We have to meet regularly. Once each day, from now on, even if it’s only for seconds. Things will change quickly now.”

Father smiled. “Very well, every day, at this time.” He looked at Myra. “We’ll try not to disturb your work.”

Myra looked up at Trae, raised an eyebrow seductively, and said, “Oh, we’re not easily disturbed.”

“A sense of humor, too,” said Father, and embraced them both.

“Very soon, now,” said Mother, and hugged them. “Love you both.”

The dream-like vision fled, leaving them in darkness, for their eyes were still closed. The music was soft, and Myra’s head warm against his shoulder.

“What a beautiful place,” she said, “and such nice people.”

“They like you,” he said, “They told me once it was their favorite place on Elderon. I was conceived in all those flowers.”

“Oh,” she said, and smiled up at him. “What a lovely idea that is.”

Trae made breakfast for her in his apartment the following morning.

CHAPTER 39

S
ome very large ships are being assembled in orbit around Elderon. There’s been no mention of this to the Trustees, and the project is totally hush-hush. My sources have provided photographs; the ships don’t look like any commercial vessels I’ve ever seen. Gun ships are rolling off their assembly line, and we’re being told they’re for use by our own military and police. I don’t believe it. The ships have railguns as well as conventional weapons. They can be used in space.

Good work, brother. They must be getting information through the Galenan embassy; I’m going to shut that place down. It won’t be long until we move against Galena, anyway. Keep me up-to-date on those ships.

I will. Your day is coming, Khalil. The colonies will be united under The Church and your leadership.

All power to The Source.

And to His Faithful.

Marcellus Rosling opened his eyes. The steam in the room smelled like lavender, and the other men had left. It was well into evening, and he was nicely cooked. Perhaps dinner at Ducci’s, then some reading before bed. The solitary life had its advantages, but it was always good to reach his brother and contribute a little something for the man’s lifework. It was good to help the only piece of family he had left.

Marcellus went naked to the locker room, showered, air-dried and dressed. He sat on a bench to tie his shoes, and thought he heard a door close. Someone had come to the baths quite late. Or perhaps it was the attendant.

He leaned forward to tie a shoe, heard a faint scuffling sound behind him, but ignored it. He tied the other shoe, and then sat up, stopped by something hard pressed against the back of his head.

“Not a sound,” said a man behind him, and Marcellus’ heart raced. Robbery was unheard of on Elderon, and here it was happening to him.

“What do you want? I carry little money with me,” he said in a hoarse whisper.

“I don’t want your money,” said the man, and the hard thing on the back of Marcellus’ head pressed even harder.

“I’m just a soldier of The Church, and I’m sending a message to your brother.”

Something exploded in Marcellus’ head, and his brain didn’t have time to register the sound of it.

The silenced pistol in his hand coughed a second time. Blood splattered the floor and the locker against which Marcellus Rosling had slumped. John Haight turned the body over with his foot so that the man’s staring eyes and ruined forehead were clearly visible. He holstered his pistol with the silencer still attached, in case someone was unfortunate enough to come in, then retrieved a small camera and took several shots of the body at different angles.

John rifled the man’s pockets, took his keys and his cash with poly-gloved hands. He’d intended to exit through the kitchen, but when he got there an attendant was busily wiping down tables for the following day. He didn’t see or hear John, and so his life was spared. John Haight walked out the front doors of the baths and into the night.

He drove to Marcellus’ residence in a company car, and parked it in the curving driveway of the estate, a key opening the gate for him after three tries. The man had been a bookkeeper type, with rigid habits and schedules. John had watched him for weeks. It was a Thursday, and the estate was empty, the servants enjoying a day of their own freedom.

John made no efforts at silence, and tried five keys in the big front door before it opened. The foyer was empty and dark. There was a high ceiling, and two staircases ahead of him curving left and right. He exhaled softly with relief. He didn’t want to kill an innocent servant, but would if one came. He reached up, seated the pistol more deeply into its holster, and climbed the stairs to the second floor of the residence.

He found what he was looking for in a small, cluttered office at the back of the house. The computer was linked by microwave to satellite, and then relay to both Galena and Gan. Wallace had provided him with all the access codes, and John Haight sat down to write a letter he hoped would provoke a war:

Thisken and Ost Hypergolics

Executive Officer

Link M, Route 36650, Gan 12

Attn. Azar Khalil

Dear Azar:

Your brother is dead. I just killed him with two shots to the head, and I attach photos in evidence of same. My intention is to kill you next.

I was just a young man when you were on the Council of Bishops of Kratola. That was before The Church took power, and became corrupted by it. I came here on a mission to create free societies in our colonies, and you were sent after me to corrupt all of it. This is reason enough to kill you, but I have more. You had my son murdered. He’s back now, and so am I, but you will pay for that murder with your life.

My son goes now to destroy the invasion fleet sent to aid you from the other side. Our new technology remains secret, but its power will be demonstrated soon, and I welcome any opportunity to engage with your military force. The best you can do is take what you can carry, and return to your fellow Bishops on Kratola before my hands are around your throat.

Respectfully yours,

Leonid Zylak

John read the letter again, proofed it, and attached three photos. Blind carbons to the Emperor of Galena and the single Bishop there were instructed, and a single tap of a key sent all of it away into space.

He turned off the machine, left the house, and locked the door behind him. It was a ninety-minute walk to his apartment, but the night was clear and cool. He walked briskly, and thought about the ways Azar Khalil might react to his provocation.

By the time he reached the apartment, he felt he had plans for all eventualities.

*

When Nicolus called, Rasim Sidique had already read the message. The first thing he’d done was contact his embassy on Gan and order the staff off-planet within the hour, leaving behind a handful of carefully placed agents in the streets.

“He’ll attack us for certain, now. He has to get past us to Elderon, and he needs our resources. We have no defense, sire,” said Nicolus.

“I know that. I’m sure Leonid Zylak has thought of it, too. We’ll just have to wait and see which direction Khalil jumps. He might even run away. I don’t even know what new technology Zylak is talking about.”

“You’ll be safer on Elderon, sire. The people will understand.”

“No they won’t, and I don’t intend to leave them,” said the Emperor of Galena. “Everything is in the hands of The Source,” he said, and then thought,
and in the hands of Leonid Zylak, wherever he is.

CHAPTER 40

O
n the day Trae and Myra went off to war, John Haight went with them to the private shuttleport of Zylak Industries, and walked them to the shuttle. They shook hands.

“Take care of yourselves, and don’t take anything for granted. Not having an alternative plan can kill you.”

“Yes, sir,” said Trae, and saluted him in mock seriousness.

“Not funny,” said John. “None of us have experience with this sort of thing. You’ll have to think fast.”

“We
can
do that, you know. The crews heading to Grand Portal have the hardest job.”

“I don’t think so. The keepers, even the pickets, are on their own, with no connection to a particular government.
You’ll
be dealing with military people dedicated to Kratola and The Church. They’re ready to die, if necessary.”

“What about Azar Khalil?”

“That’s my concern. Don’t worry about it. If he finds out the invasion fleet he’s counting on has been destroyed or turned back, he probably won’t be a problem. He’s just biding his time, now. There’s nothing new on him.”

“See you in a few months, then,” said Trae.

“That’s the plan. I’ll be right here to welcome you back.”

Myra suddenly put her arms around John’s neck, and gave him a hug.

John smiled. “What was that for?”

“You’re Trae’s father, and I felt like doing it.”

“Anytime,” said John, then, “Trust in The Source for wisdom and clarity of thought, but trust in yourselves to get the job done. Come back alive, please.”

Trae shook his hand again, then turned abruptly and followed Myra up the twelve steps into the shuttle. The door slid shut behind him, and there was a sudden unease in his stomach, a sudden thought that he might not ever see John Haight again.

They buckled in as liftoff fans began to whine. Myra grasped his arm. “You’re worried about him? I bet he’s more worried about us.”

“Maybe. I don’t think he told us everything about the situation on Gan. War could come here before we even get back.”

The shuttle lifted off, rose to five thousand feet before thrusters cut in, and they enjoyed a few moments of two gee flight. There were no ports in the vessel, and no view. Seven minutes of flight, a slight bump when they locked onto their Guppy. They cycled through the lock, and climbed the ladder to the bridge, where Wil Dietz awaited them.

“Your seats are ready in engineering. Let the adventure begin,” he said cheerfully.

“Only if we come out of it alive,” said Trae, and Wil laughed.

“Glad to see you here as our pilot,” said Myra. “We weren’t certain it would happen.”

“Thank you, ma’am, and also for recommending me.” Wil smiled, and went back to his checklist for flight.

Engineering was an alcove off the bridge, and their seats were in the reclined position. They would be mildly sedated for much of the trip, making nearly fifty jumps a day and pushing the ship towards maximum capacity in their sprint towards the galactic core.

Through intelligence relayed by his parents, the location of the invasion fleet was known within a few light years, but its jumps were erratic as it chased his great-grandmother’s fleet towards the frontier. Trae had to admire her stubborn courage. If she hadn’t kept to her frontier-bound course she would long ago have lost her pursuers. The woman had a goal, and would not deviate from it.

Final version of Guppy had been modified to carry five Nova craft, and four internal missile pods had been added forward. For large targets, the branegate-generation capability remained their most formidable weapon. And they would be going up against fifty ships.

They strapped in, and put on their masks. The control of a nicely sedative gas was at their fingertips, as was a tube for water. For the next three weeks, they would live on protein and other synth bars, and have half an hour each ship’s cycle for running and pulley exercises in a rotating cylinder aft of their compartment. Behind that, Nova pilots ate and slept in tiny cells near their spacecraft.

The ship was moving before they were completely strapped in. They’d eaten little that morning to minimize nausea, and now they were hungry.

“Commence jumps in twenty minutes,” announced Wil, and they hastened to sip water and administer a trickle of sedative gas to themselves.

“Here comes the boring part,” said Trae, trying to lighten the mood.

“Not for me,” said Myra. “There are some interesting problems I can play with in my head, if I’m not too sick or hungry.”

Acceleration went to one gee, and stayed there. They breathed their first whiffs of relaxing gas, and drifted off into a routine they expected to last three weeks at most: sleeping, eating, occasional exercise sandwiched in between nauseating, disorienting jumps at half-hour intervals.

In the quiet, boring hours of nothingness, Myra calculated in her head, and Trae reached out to his parents before and after passing them near the frontier. Mostly he received new coordinates of the invasion fleet relayed from his great-grandmother, who seemed to be enjoying her game of hide and seek. There were also serious moments when they discussed his future with Myra, hopefully on a planet free of Church tyranny.

Wil exercised with them once a day, running like a squirrel in a cage, pulling on elastic straps and going nowhere while they reviewed strategies once the invasion fleet was engaged. Three weeks came and went, and they still hadn’t found it. Trae was now in touch hourly with his parents, for it was only his mother who had a direct link with great-grandmother Nat. With all the talk from and about the woman, Trae and Myra were becoming anxious to meet her. The elderly family matriarch was being a warrior in her own way. In her final message she said her little ship was now drifting, and she was allowing the invasion force to close in. She gave her coordinates, asked for them to please hurry, and broke contact.