In the Presence of My Enemies (15 page)

   “In other words,” Shawn sighed, “you’ll blow the door.”

   “Precisely.”

   Turning to Melissa and the rest, Shawn looked for any sign that would make his decision palatable. Not surprisingly, it was McDermott
who spoke up, albeit it in a muted tone.

   “Commander, we
must
begin a dialogue with these people at some point. The safety of the Unified Collaboration depends on it. I see no reason why now is not an excellent opportunity to do so.”

   “And just let them come on in, guns blazing.”

   “It’s a show of good faith on our part, Commander. Besides, I believe Captain Voula’s intentions to be honorable.”

   “You can tell that from a few short sentences over the address system?”

   “Commander, you may be a satisfactory pilot, but diplomacy is not your area of expertise.”

   Sighing, Shawn stepped closer to the door control panel. “I hope you’re right.” He then looked to the overhead before addressing Voula. “All right, Captain. We’re opening the door, but I don’t want to see a single weapon raised against us.”

   “It will be as you request.”

   Shawn looked to Tausan, who seemed to be on high alert. “Keep that gun handy, Colonel, and make sure you’ve set it to
‘disable.’” The Kafaran grunted an acknowledgement. Holding his own weapon in his right hand, Shawn reached out and pressed the release button, then stepped back to the center of the group.

   As the doors parted, Shawn and the rest could see that their emancipators shared none of the outward appearance of their previous abductors. Gone were the ragtag, tattered clothes of a disorganized group. These Rugorians were dressed in matching gray uniforms, piped with blood
-red trim, and highly polished black boots and gauntlets rounding out the overtly militaristic look. There were three such uniformed men, each roughly about six feet tall. Their black rifles were dangling from straps around their shoulders, but not otherwise threatening. From behind them stepped a fourth, whose uniform and piping colors were reversed.

   “I’m First Officer Litto of the
Leader’s Pride
,” he said as he scanned the assembly until his eyes fell on Tausan. “A Kafaran?” he asked, more amused than shocked. “Amongst humans?”

   “My name is Ambassador Scott McDermott,” the ambassador said as he stepped out from behind Shawn. “I represent the Unified Collaboration of System
s. This is Colonel Tausan of the Kafaran Alliance.”

   Litto’s eyes shifted to the younger man, but he remained oriented toward the Kafaran. His eyes then scanned over Trent, Melissa, Shawn, then finally back to the
ambassador. “You are on a diplomatic mission?”

   “That’s correct,” McDermott said confidently. “One of the utmost importance. During our journey, we were captured by—”

   “Then the rumors are true?” Litto said, almost visibly shaken by the revelation unfolding before him. “The Army of Light . . . it exists?”

   “It does,” Tausan said with a slow nod.

   Litto mouth slacked as his eyes slipped to the floor. Shawn could tell that the first officer was processing the information before wagering to say anything out of order.
Admirable
.

   “Then,” Litto began, his voice sounding distant. “Am I further to believe that there
is
a new threat to our region of space—one that intends to eradicate us all?”

   “How do you know about that?” Melissa asked in surprise.

   Litto’s men looked to one another with worried expressions. When they began to whisper amongst themselves, Litto silenced them with a raised hand. He had neither turned to look at them nor took his eyes from the floor.
He’s obviously well respected,
Shawn contemplated.

   “Then our greatest fears are realized,” Litto almost whispered, then took a deep swallow as he regained his compos
ure. Taking a deep breath, he stood upright and stared directly at McDermott. “Ambassador, please follow me. Captain Voula will have many questions for you.”

   “And my people?”

   “They will accompany you,” Litto agreed with a nod, then looked at Tausan. “The captain will require as much information as possible about this . . . development.” He pointed a black-gloved hand toward the door behind him. “Please, if you’d kindly follow me and my men to the bridge.”

   “Of course,” McDermott said with a subtle bow.

   “Your weapons,” Litto said as he inclined his head to Shawn.

   “Aren’t leaving our possession until after we’ve talked to Captain Voula,” Shawn amended.

   “And you are?” Litto asked as an eyebrow rose on his forehead.

   “Commander Shawn Kestrel, Unified Sector Command.”

   A faint smile crept across the first officer’s face, then he bowed his head. “You may retain your weapons, Commander Kestrel. We will not attempt to disarm you.”

  
Good.
“Good.”

* * *

   Once the
Shawn and his party were escorted to the bridge, he and the others noted that both Captain Hast and First Mate Makau were both in restraints and sequestered into a non-critical corner. Makau had a deep cut above one eye, but otherwise looked unharmed. Hast looked enraged, his face covered with a mixture of sweat and grime, likely the result of the battle with the
Leader’s Pride
. Both were guarded by men in gray uniforms, and judging by the multiple weapons they carried in webbed harnesses, the sentries were some form of commando team.

   In the center of the bridge, near the forward view
port, was a tall Rugorian in a red uniform similar to that of the first officers. He turned around, and Shawn looked into the ice-blue eyes of an older man who had no doubt seen his share of action. Several deep scars crisscrossed his once-handsome face, and his long nose was skewed near the bridge, the result of a past break. The stoic man regarded the prisoners as First Officer Litto had, even reproducing surprise as his eyes fell on the lone Kafaran. The man neither smiled nor frowned; he simply gave each member of the team a deep inspection before moving to the next. When at last his eyes fell on Shawn, he stepped forward and extended a hand.

   “I am Fleet Captain Voula of the Rugorian warship
Leader’s Pride
,” he said in a measured tone.

   Knowing that all eyes—especially McDermott’s—were on him, Shawn confidently stepped up to take the
captain’s hand. “Commander Shawn Kestrel, Unified Sector Command.”

   “Commander,” Voula said, gripping Shawn’s hand powerfully. “Do you lead this
. . . group?”

   The corner of Shawn’s mouth twitched upward as he tried, and failed, to mimic the Rugorian’s impressive grasp. “I do my best. Sometimes
. . .” his words trailed off as he shrugged. “Not as well as they deserve.”

   Voula smiled. “I appreciate an honest man, Commander. Humility will take you far with me. And the rest of your people?”

   Shawn turned, gesturing to each with a wave of his hand. “Ship’s mechanic, Sergeant Trent Maddox. Intelligence Officer Melissa Graves. Special envoy and tactical coordinator, Colonel Tausan of the Kafaran Alliance. And lastly, Ambassador Scott McDermott, Unified Collaboration of Systems.”

   “Ambassador,” Voula said, bowing gracefully. “I am honored. It isn’t often we play host to a diplomatic official
,” he then turned to Tausan and bowed once again, “let alone a high-ranking Kafaran officer. In fact, I don’t believe I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting one of your people face to face in a time of . . .
peace
, shall we say?”

   “Peace,” Tausan repeated evenly, “is far from the state we are currently in.”

   “I’m afraid you’ll have to do better than that, Colonel.” Voula then clasped his large hands in front of him. “I’m curious as to why you are here aboard the
Golden Storm
. I hope your tale is as interesting as the company you keep.”

   “We could say the same for you,” Shawn replied as diplomatically as possible.

   “Any explanation I could give you would be meaningless at this juncture, Commander. Suffice it to say that, as a fleet captain, I hold a position of authority in our government, and that gives me all the right I need to be here. Besides, I’m not in the habit of volunteering information when it is clearly I who already have the upper hand in this encounter.”

   “We don’t have time for this,” McDermott spoke up impatiently from behind Shawn.

   Voula raised an eyebrow in McDermott’s direction. “You have something to add, Ambassador?”

   “We are on our way to Rugor for a diplomatic mission, Captain Voula,” he said, stepping around Shawn with ease.

   “Really?” Voula almost laughed. “Under what pretenses? I’m aware of no request by our government for such a discussion.”

   “It is the Army of Light, Captain,” Litto said from behind the assembly. “It is confirmed, sir.”

   Voula’s eyes shot to his first officer. “Is it now?” He then wavered his gaze slowly between Shawn and Tausan, finally landing on the Kafaran. “And the threat from outside our galaxy, the one that has been whispered about over the last several months. Is this confirmed as well?”

   “It is, Captain,” Tausan acknowledged with a nod.

   Voula sighed heavily, then reached into a fold in his well-pressed jacket. What at first Shawn thought might be a weapon emerged as a cigar. Pulling a silvery lighter from his pocket, the captain lit it as he turned back toward the forward view port.

   “Lies,” Captain Hast spat from the corner of the room. “All lies. Do not believe them, Voula!”

   Voula turned slowly to Hast, letting out a long held breath of smoke in the pirate captain’s direction. “And am I to believe you instead? You who subvert your true leadership?”

   “At least I am one of your own. I am a Rugorian
.” He then turned to face Melissa. “These offworlders are nothing but liars. They would say anything to save their own skin.”

   Voula took another pull from his cigar has he regard
ed the pirate captain, bound and on his knees in the corner. “You’re a traitor to your own people, Hast.” He then leaned down to stare the former captain of the
Golden Storm
in the eyes, lowering his voice ominously as he spoke. “And I’ll see you hang for it. Of that you can be sure.” When no rebuttal came from Hast after a moment, Voula stood. With a single wave of his hand, Hast and Makau were ushered from the bridge under armed escort. Voula then turned to the Unified delegation and scanned each of them in great detail once more. Walking toward Melissa, he waited until it was absolutely necessary to remove the cigar from his mouth. “You are the intelligence officer, yes?”

   “Yes. My name is—”

   “Melissa Graves. Yes, I remember the introduction. Am I to understand, then, that you are with the Unified Office of Special Investigations?”

   She never once removed her eyes from Voula’s. “That’s correct, Captain.”

   “And a senior level agent, I take it as well. The Unified Council is not known for sending out lackeys for such important matters, I imagine.”

   “Again, correct.”

   Voula nodded slowly, then seemed to stare off into the distance, lost in thought, before speaking. “You will all give me every piece of information you have on your current mission, and your ultimate purpose for being here.” He then turned to fully face Tausan. “We will first start with Colonel Tausan, and I’m hoping that all the pieces will fall in succinctly from there.”

   McDermott stepped to Voula’s side. “Captain, may I speak?”

   Voula nodded smartly.

   “Fleet Captain Voula, I have no problem with my people telling you the reason for our mission. But please understand, time is of the essence. Many innocent worlds are being threatened as we speak. I
must
confer with your leaders at once.”

   Voula looked down at the younger, shorter man. Surprisingly, the captain nodded slowly and turned to the man sitting at the navigation console. “Set in a course for home, Lieutenant. Have the other ships escort us in.”

   “Thank you, Captain,” McDermott replied with a bow. “You honor my request.”

   “We have the traitors we sought, and their captives. It is only logical we return home. We will arrive at Rugor in three hours, Ambassador. You and your people have that long to convince me that your tale is true. Beyond that I can make no promises.”

“All I really wanted to do was punch him in the face. He was the kind of man who was constantly asking for it, even when nothing was coming out of his mouth.”

—Shawn Kestrel, on his initial feelings about Ambassador Scott McDermott,

Heroes and Villains
: A Brief History of the Meltranian Invasion

   Around the elongated metal table in the belly of the
Leader’s Pride
, Shawn and the rest of assembly looked at one another in silence. Colonel Tausan, the last to speak, had finished his recounting of their mission up to this point. At the head of the table, Fleet Captain Voula sat with the fingers of his strong hands steepled against his chin. There was little doubt what was going through Voula’s mind as he played back the words that had been spoken to him over the last few hours.

   “So,” the captain began, turned to face Shawn at his left. “You’ve seen one of these
Meltranians up close?”

   Shawn nodded, recalling the frightful images he’d witnessed in the debris field a few days prior. “That’s right. It killed one of our people, and would have done the same to me had the
colonel not intervened.” Shawn looked to Tausan, who nodded almost imperceptibly in the commander’s direction.

   “And this viral infection you spoke about, Colonel? It attacks all biological
life-forms?”

   Tausan grunted. “I have yet to see anyone immune to its effects.”

   “And there is no known cure for it?”

   Melissa shifted in her seat, drawing all eyes to her. She withdrew the vial containing the sample Shawn had taken of S
ergeant Wilcox’s body following the Meltranian’s attack. “This sample will need to be analyzed back on board our carrier as soon as possible. I’m not saying that we can find a cure, but maybe we could discover something that might help.”

   Voula seemed to tense at the sight of the vial and the nature of the toxic chemicals it contained. “I have no doubt that you will endeavor to discover something. I would be pressed to ask for a sample of that material, but I feel our sciences are not as advanced as your own. Our people are more interested in
. . . other matters.”

   “Looting, pillaging, widespread mayhem
. . . those sorts of things,” Shawn said, dismissing Voula’s statement.

   “Commander!” McDermott shouted from across the table.

   Voula silenced anything else the ambassador had to say on the subject with a raised hand. “It’s all right, Ambassador. A rebuking is unnecessary. Commander Kestrel is simply uninformed as to our current status.”

   “If by ‘current status’ you mean that Rugorians are widely known as pirates, mercilessly pr
eying on innocent merchant captains, that I am
fully aware
of your current status. And, rest assured, I’m speaking from firsthand experience with your people.”

   “You’re speaking of Captain Hast, and
those he represents.”

   “What do you mean?” Trent asked in confusion. “He’s a Rugorian. He represents
you
and
your
people.”

   Voula clenched his fist, and Shawn got the impression that the captain was about to slam it atop the table much like Captain Krif would do in a similar situation. Instead, Voula
relaxed his hand and laid it flat on the smooth metal surface. “This would seem an ample place to begin my part in this production,” he began calmly. “The Rugorian Protectorate is in the process of establishing a fledgling government, and it is one that those like Captain Hast and the House of Dracton strongly oppose. That being said, there is more than a bit of truth to Commander Kestrel’s . . .
opinions
about my people. At the end of the Galactic War, we were content to live in isolation from the rest of Beta Sector. Not unlike the Unified Collaboration, we had our share of difficulties in rebuilding after so much devastation. The people wanted answers faster than the Rugorian monarchy could provide them. Many became dissatisfied by their apparent lack of concern for the majority of our offworld colonies. As such, dissatisfaction in the outer planets turned to opportunism, which eventually manifested itself into open piracy. Our people were hungry, destitute—desperate for anything that could save them from the spiral of despair they found themselves encased in. Soon the actions of the outer worlds manifested on the core planets, and within two years had spread to the home world itself. The monarchy dissolved almost overnight, with the royals taking whatever wealth they had accumulated for themselves and fleeing Rugorian space. In short order, the people were left to take care of themselves with little to no leadership to speak of.”

   “My
God,” Melissa muttered. “What did you do then?”

   “The richest of the privateers formed clans, which eventually grew into Houses as more and more wealth was accumulated. Of those,
the House of Dracton was one of the largest. Established on the largest of our core worlds, their ships numbered in the thousands, and they’ve openly attacked and pillaged everything in their path. Meanwhile, on the home world, a movement had begun to shelter our people under a democratic form of government . . . a kind my people had never known before, but showed much promise in the few months it existed before the House of Dracton discovered it.”

   “And they attacked?” Shawn asked.

   “Almost instantly,” Voula said with a nod. “However, there was a surprising number of supporters on Rugor who were sympathetic to our new cause. Many Houses quickly came to our aid, and formed together under the newly christened Rugorian Protectorate. Over the last year, we’ve been struggling to curtail those like Captain Hast in an attempt to confine their activities to the core systems.”

   “The less attention you draw to yourselves the better,” Shawn said with a nod, then caught the stern look he received from McDermott. “Any large-scale increase in pirate activities is bound to draw the attention of Sector Command, Ambassador. And rest assured, they will defend our worlds and our civilian merchants
. . . even if it means outright conflict against the Rugorians.”

   Voula chuckled, more in contemplation than in jest. “Which, it seems, would be ill-advised, given your current preoccupation with the
Meltranians.” 

   “Perhaps,” Shawn nodded. “But don’t think for a minute we wouldn’t try.”

   Voula smiled broadly. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Commander. As I’ve said, we have more than our share of internal problems to deal with. In any case, we’ve made great strides over the last few weeks, routing a number of brigand advances into Unified territory, not to mention Jidoan and Temkorian space.”

   It was Shawn’s turn to chuckle. “And you thought the USC would come after you? Just wait until the Temkorians come knocking. They’ll take no prisoners.”

   “Indeed,” Voula nodded. “We’ve had our share of run-ins with them as well, and have been only partially successful in extricating ourselves from harried situations.” He finished by running a finger down the trench of one of the scars on his face. “Some . . . including some of my own family, weren’t so fortunate.”

   “And you’ll continue this fight against your own people to what conclusion?” Melissa asked.

   “Until the rebels are completely subverted, Agent Graves.” He reached into his pocket and slid a small data tablet in her direction. “This message was just received prior to our capture of the
Golden Storm
. Our forces are, at this moment, moving into the capital cities of the core worlds. The House of Dracton will fall within days.”

   “And what of the people?” McDermott asked. “What of the prisoners?”

   Voula shrugged. “Many will be tried in our courts for acts of sedition and cruelty. Most will be executed, like Captain Hast as his crew.”

   McDermott shook his head in disgust. “Unacceptable.”

   “Perhaps you haven’t taken note of your surroundings, Ambassador, but you are not in Unified space anymore. We have our own laws, our own customs.”

   “You yourself said the government was fledgling
. . . meaning new laws are likely to be enacted and disbanded just as quickly.”

   Voula nodded slowly. “Laws, yes. With the customs of my people, no
. . . I’m afraid they cannot be changed.”

   “Things can always be changed.”

   Voula shook his head. “The old rebels must be swept clean, and made way for the new order of things. That, Ambassador, is the new Rugor: one in which we will able to deal with our galactic neighbors as equals, and where my people are no longer afraid of poverty or hunger.”

   “The new Rugor,” McDermott said with a sad shake of his head. “A glorious new empire, heralded on the drums of war
. . . with uniformed officers marching in streets coated in blood.”

   “If that is how it must be.”

   “But it does
not
have to be,” McDermott implored.

   “We don’t know any other way, Ambassador,” Voula said, his tone as sorrowful as it was finite.

   Shawn took a long look at the captain, trying to grasp at the emotional scars that ran so much deeper than the ones etched on his face. The captain and his people had suffered a great deal; there seemed to be no question of that. They seemed to be dealing with it the best way they knew how. But it was impossible for Shawn to tell. He was neither a trained diplomat nor a telepath, and was exceedingly lacking in his ability to deduce the methods of these people—these pirates—or their motives. One thing was for certain, and he knew it from the soles of his boots to the core of his being: bloodshed would only beget more bloodshed.

   In that instant as Shawn looked at Voula, it dawned on
the commander in a flash. This man was no different than he, and given the opportunity to wage the same type of conflict against the Kafarans those many years ago, he had done the very same thing. Shawn had killed hundreds of Kafarans—had helped to hunt them down in every corner of Unified space in an attempt to eradicate them, all in the name of “peace,” veiled in a justification embroidered with the name of his dead wife. In that moment, there, in the presence of two former sword enemies of the Unified Collaboration of Systems, Shawn came to realize one thing about his past that changed everything he would forever do: Sylvia would never have been proud of what he did. She would have hated him for it. As the people around the table once again sat in silence, Shawn felt a hard lump form in his throat. 

   “There
is
a better way,” Shawn said, masking his sorrow with resolution over their current situation.

   “What was that, Commander?” Voula asked, his eyes shifting to Shawn.

   It was then that Shawn realized his last statement had been spoken barely above a whisper. “I said there is a better way.”

   “Commander,” Voula said, raising a hand as if about to halt Shawn’s train of thought. “I don’t believe that—”

   But Shawn had no intention of stopping. Not when so much was riding on the success of their mission. “You know what impressed me most about the Kafarans, Captain Voula?”

   Voula smiled, content to humor the human. “What was that?”

   Shawn looked to Tausan, who stared back at him with marked interest. “The Kafarans . . . they were merciless. Brutal. Almost savage in their attacks on Unified worlds.”

   “Commander—
,” McDermott started in disbelief, but was silenced as Voula placed a firm hand over the ambassador’s wrist, allowing Shawn to continue. 

   “Every time we thought we had them
—when by all accounts they should have tucked tail and run—they poured it back onto us even heavier than before. They never gave in, even when it meant their own lives.” Shawn stopped, letting his mind and his mouth catch up. “And by many accounts, they died for it. Hundreds of times. Thousands . . . across hundreds of square light-years.”

   “Your point, Commander?” Voula asked with a raised eyebrow.

   “The only thing that impressed me more about fighting against them . . . was fighting alongside them.” Shawn then turned to face Tausan. “And I’d do it again, any day of the week. They have just as much courage and desire to survive as much as any species I’ve ever encountered, including humanity. I’ll stand against any man who says that Kafarans don’t have as much right to be here as we do. Sure, we may have our disagreements about the future, but that’s what people like Ambassador McDermott are here for. Unfortunately, the diplomats seldom get a chance to help the warriors make it through to the final stages if fighting is all we want to do. And there must be change, Captain. It’s the only way. It’s essential to survival; I don’t care if you’re talking about microbes or bipedal intelligent species.”

   Voula again steep
led his fingers against his chin, this time leaning back in his chair. “Please . . . continue, Commander.”

   “The only way we made it out of the last battle with the Meltranians was because the Kafaran
s showed up in the nick of time. Without the aid of the Army of Light, we would have been done for. As it was, we took heavy casualties—both of our peoples did—before the Meltranian ship was finally defeated.”