The Alpha Choice (6 page)

Ω

The two plotted and planned through the night and well into the next day, without rest. By the time they were finished, it was agreed; to ensure success, the project would take over six years.
 

As Telluria was divided into separate nations, the point of insertion needed to be in the most powerful of those nations. Any communication with the governing powers would be fraught with difficulty, which meant the only viable means of ingress was through a manufactured legal entity, Tellurians called a corporation. There was a history of such organisations developing new technologies and, through them, influencing how governments worked and acted. The entity created for this purpose would introduce innovations beyond anything Tellurians thought possible, and the potential for influence would be virtually unlimited. While it was in the nature of governments to act slowly, the pivotal event would take care of that problem.
 

Garnoth showed Tala the results of observations taken over the past twenty-four years. The information was new to her, and inwardly she marvelled at the prescience of her mentor. The data included recent, exhaustive studies of three potential candidates to head their corporation, and her attention kept returning to one in particular. She made her choice.
 

When Garnoth asked her to justify her decision, she found it easy. The person chosen needed the ability to cut through administrative red tape, with a sphere of influence unrivalled by any of the other candidates. Two of them were virtually indistinguishable, but only one satisfied her final condition, a condition based upon a fact of which he was totally ignorant.

From that moment, Tala and Garnoth were inseparable. No further demands were placed on her time by anyone within the Agency, and it was implicit between them that Beron was not to be involved, until shortly before their departure for Telluria. Each had their own reasons: Garnoth feared what Beron might report to his father; while Tala was convinced, the more Beron knew, the more opportunities he had to mess up.

It was surprisingly simple to set up the infrastructure upon which their corporation was to be based. As for their physical movements? While they had been unable to master successful cloaking techniques against other, highly advanced civilisations - a constant source of irritation to the Navy - the technology they possessed was more than enough to hide them from their quarry. Added to which, Tellurians were an unobservant race, so concerned with squabbles and political infighting, they would be unable to see clearly what was going on around them. Fooling them would not be difficult.

Ω

Six years ago

The home of Jaron

As was tradition in military households, children followed their parents, first into the Academy, then into the Navy.

On this day, the sons of Jaron and Bakir were no exception.

It was customary, on the eve of academy induction, for initiates to be given the freedom of their local towns.

On this day, the sons of Jaron and Bakir were no exception.

It was also customary for parents to advise their sons and daughters on the unspoken rules of the Academy.

On this day, the sons of Jaron and Bakir were to be an exception.

Genir, only son of retired Commander Jaron and his wife, Ciarra; and Gorn, youngest son of retired Commander Bakir and his wife, Cyrar, would depart for the Academy the next day, leaving their childhood behind them. Jaron, Ciarra and Cyrar agreed - Bakir was no longer part of their lives - that the two young men needed to hear something far more important than the avoidance of minor infractions at the Academy, but it could wait until after the evening festivities.
 

They had all spent the last three days at the villa that had been in Cyrar’s family for over fifteen hundred years, but today they returned to the home of Jaron and his family, on the outskirts of Ardrang, a town on the coast of the Crystalline Sea. Those three days had passed too quickly for the parents, and not quickly enough for their sons.

Within three minutes of boarding their gondola, bound for Ardrang, they were walking through crowds made up of families just like them, well maybe, not quite like them.

They ate at a small restaurant overlooking the Bay of Dreams. Legend had it, if you looked down at the sea, from the highest promontory during a clear night, and saw the reflection of the North Star, your most fervent wish would be granted. Gorn had found it more times than he could remember, but his wish, the same wish every time, had never come true.

After a meal that was punctuated by stories of the boys’ exploits in the zagball cuboid, they walked through the small town, which was buzzing with the excitement of young people, who had eyes firmly fixed on the canopy of stars that was the repository of their dreams.

The boys made sure the adults savoured every moment of
their
celebration, for while they were dizzy at the thoughts of what awaited them, they were not oblivious to the pride felt by their parents, or at least those who came.
 

All too soon, the time arrived when they were to return home, the part of the night both boys dreaded, to receive the obligatory lecture on how not to blot their copybook at the Academy.

Walking towards the villa, Genir turned to Gorn. ‘Think they’ll have a decent team?’ He was, of course, referring to zagball. ‘Absolutely,’ replied his friend, ‘but don’t think it’ll be as easy as school, we’re not automatic shoo-ins.’
 

Genir shook his head and smiled. ‘I think you’ve forgotten just how good we are!’

‘We are pretty good,’ Gorn agreed, as he recalled their introduction to the game. By law, students could not participate in zagball until they were in their sixth year at school, this usually meant they were eleven. As soon as they left year five, the two of them volunteered for the school team.

Their coach, Zaran, observed them closely as he taught the fundamentals of the game. Slowly, but surely, he manipulated the team selection until eventually, the two were paired together. To the coach, it was clear from the moment they first entered the cuboid, they had an almost telepathic rapport.

For Genir the joy of competition lay in being the best. Even in team sports, he needed to excel over, not only his opponents, but also his teammates and this he achieved comfortably with everyone, except Gorn, in whom he found an equal. In reality, they were not equals; no matter what Genir did, he was unable to better his friend, but sooner than anyone else, he had come to realise that Gorn was different, unique and the gulf between them became a source of pride, not resentment. In seeking to emulate his friend, Genir became better than he ever thought possible, achieving what would otherwise be just beyond his grasp.

Gorn had an uncanny ability, from the time he first hovered within the cuboid, to read the speed of the ball as it came off the deflectors, varying from level to level and constantly changing intensity throughout the course of a match. He could, on occasions, perform the hitherto impossible feat of scoring from three deflections. Until then, the maximum deflections utilised in scoring had been two, if the rumoured achievements of Zaran were ignored!

Genir found he was able to anticipate his friend’s intentions, and place himself at just the right position, without any obvious indication being given by Gorn as to which deflector he was targeting.
 

Physically, both of them were of almost identical height and build, but they differed in that Gorn was fair skinned and fair-haired. Genir, on the other hand, had jet-black hair and an olive complexion. Unlike his friend, his looks and stature were very similar to his father.

For Gorn, merely getting into the Academy was not enough. He needed to prove himself to his father and brothers, long since concluding that only by excelling as a cadet would he earn their respect.

When he was with Genir’s family, he would regale them with the stories he had heard from his brothers, Jaron simply smiling and nodding, never talking of his own experiences in the military - his experience at Gallsor had been edited for public consumption, so that very few outside the service, realised who he was, or what he had done. Instead, he encouraged the boys to tell of their adventures. They duly complied, and despite Gorn's own stories being limited to the goings on within the cuboid, and the latest scientific experiment he was conducting, Jaron appeared to be fascinated. He enjoyed his son’s stories no less, which Genir carefully steered away from any accounts of academic studies and, when under the watchful eyes of his mother, girls.
 

Jaron attended the boys’ first zagball match and it came as a surprise to both of them when their coach invited Jaron to sit in during the pre match tactical planning. The proud father sat rapt, and said nothing. After the game, the two men spoke and embraced. Jaron then beckoned the boys over. ‘You lads are good, but you’ll be going some to match Zaran,’ he clasped the bigger man’s shoulder and added. ‘The best player I've ever seen, probably the best there ever was.’

The two boys managed to resist smiling, as the coach reddened to a shade brighter than their scarlet tunics.

‘You know each other, Dad?’ asked Genir.

‘Since we were boys, but that story can wait.’ He looked at Zaran and smiled, but Gorn noticed there was sadness in the man’s eyes. Turning back to the bemused youths, Jaron added, ‘I’ll wait outside until your coach has finished with you,’ and with that he left.

Gorn was jolted back into the present, literally, when his friend nudged his arm and indicated the three adults ahead of them, who had just walked through the gate of the villa. ‘Dad’s talking to your mum, I reckon we’ve got minutes before we’re bombarded with
dos and don’ts.
Why can’t we just tell them we already know?’

‘Because,’ replied Gorn, ‘it would spoil it for them. It’s…I don’t know…custom, that
wisdom
is passed down from generation to generation on the eve of induction. He probably knew everything when your granddad told him, how many
centuries
ago?’

Genir laughed so loud, the adults turned. Jaron smiled and asked. ‘What was so funny?’

‘Nothing!’ they replied in unison.

Jaron, still smiling, nodded, giving Gorn the distinct impression he knew exactly what his son was laughing about.

Ω

Once inside the Villa, Jaron moved into the sitting room, beckoning the others to follow. The two women seated themselves side by side on a settee, while he sank into his favourite chair, and looked at the two boys standing in front of him. ‘Well, sit down lads.’

The friends did as they were told then, without warning, Ciarra stood and walked out of the room. Gorn and Genir looked at each other perplexed, but before anyone had an opportunity to say anything, she had returned carrying a small black folio case. Gorn noticed it was emblazoned on the front with the emblem of the Navy. Ciarra handed it to her husband.

For a long moment Jaron simply looked at the case, as though debating whether to open it. Eventually, and with a long sigh, he undid the clasp and looking at the boys, said: ‘Tomorrow you embark on a journey. It’ll be one of the most important of your life, not an adventure, as some might tell you, it’s more than that. What you learn in the next few years might save not only your lives, but also the lives of the men and women who serve with you.’
 

Gorn had never seen Genir’s father like this, serious, sombre even and from the look on his friend’s face, neither had he.

Without taking his eyes off the boys, Jaron opened the case, leaned forward and handed it to his son. Genir held it so both he and Gorn could see what it contained.

What Gorn saw failed to register immediately, but when it did, his friend’s gasp mirrored his own feelings, he was stunned. The case contained a plain medal on one side and opposite, a letter from the Supreme Council, addressed to Jaron, which read:

‘In recognition of the actions of Commander Jaron when, during the encounter at Gallsor, and in the face of overwhelming enemy forces, he commanded his vessel, Starseeker, so as to save the lives, not only of his crew, but of all aboard her companion vessels Plasma Trail, and Nebula.

We, the Supreme Council, confer upon Commander Jaron, the order of Nova.’

Gorn looked, more closely, at the medal, a dull grey irregular disc with the simple words: ‘Commander Jaron, of the Cruiser: Starseeker’.
 

From what he had read, this was the greatest honour that could be accorded any serving member of the Navy. The official version of events at Gallsor was common knowledge, the award was not. From the point of view of youngsters such as Gorn and Genir there was no shortage of exciting stories of naval exploits, but there was no denying it, the encounter at Gallsor was the stuff of legend.
 

Jaron could see the look on their faces and, before speaking, glanced at both his wife and Cyrar, who both looked resolute. ‘What I'm about to tell you is known only to a few, outside of those who were directly involved. Despite your age, perhaps because of it, we believe you’re entitled to know the truth, but I need you to understand that nothing you hear can be repeated outside,’ he waited for confirmation from the boys.

They each nodded their agreement.

‘You know the story of Gallsor?’

Again, both boys nodded.

‘Until this moment, you had no idea who the commanders were. Do you know why the identities were kept secret?’

Genir spoke up, ‘To protect you from Balg spies.’

‘Have you ever heard of any Balg spy being arrested?’

It was now the turn of the boys to shake their heads.

‘That’s because there has never been, so far as we can tell, any Balg spy in our territory. The story you, and everyone else knows, is just that, a story and bears very little resemblance to the truth,’ he stopped talking and Ciarra continued, speaking to Genir, but addressing both young men. ‘What your father is about to tell you is the truth, and may serve you well in the future, if you heed it.’