Zein: The Homecoming (27 page)

Hechkle pushed the weights harder and harder. He felt lost, unusual for someone who rarely showed any weakness, yet recently, with the death of Princess Evelyn, doubts had crept into his thoughts. He was relatively young – still in his forties – and a strong man with yet much to do in his life, but he realised he faced an uncertain future. His doubts stemmed from how Evelyn had lost her life to Zylar post her abuse at the hands of Manek Malacca. Both Bronstorm and he had failed in their designated role, to protect the royal household. He found that the nightmares still happened every night – Evelyn’s pained face clear to him. He cranked up the speed on the weights.

‘Hey, take it easy Hechkle.’

Hechkle was brutally torn away from his self-pity by the beautiful voice of the girl he harboured a strong liking for. Amelia stood over him, dressed in lycra and having just finished an intense workout herself. He found he was tongue-tied. Even when she wore no make-up and was hot and sweaty from her running he could not but like her. He would never show his liking for her, as he could see she was head over heels in love with Tyson, young love, and that is how it should be.

‘You look like you were trying to double your muscles and I can tell you if you do that, you will need a whole new wardrobe!’ said Amelia, giggling and Hechkle laughed with her as he sat up placing the weights down safely.

Amelia was comfortable in his presence, though she wasn’t so naïve not to realise he may find her physically attractive as year after year it was a natural response she grew to recognise, allowing her to steer male attention away without hurting their feelings. With Hechkle she felt an affinity, here was someone with whom she had stood back to back and fought many battles, each had saved each other’s life a number of times and Amelia knew that Hechkle would protect her if it was necessary.

‘You look troubled?’ said Amelia, taking a swig of water from her bottle, before offering it to Hechkle, who took a long drink. ‘Hope you don’t mind me asking, you probably guess you are not the only one I see with that concern across their face,’ she said with a wry smile. Hechkle smiled, it would be good to talk.

‘I sometimes think I could have helped Evelyn more,’ said Hechkle, struggling to find the words and also seeing Bronstorm, who was pounding a boxing pad, taking an interest in their discussion.  

‘Ahhh, yes, something which Tyson plays back and forward in his mind, until it drives him mad,’ said Amelia, before sighing resignedly and taking hold of the strongly muscled hand, startling him. ‘Evelyn had a destiny, and that destiny was to free her people, which she did. You played your part and how many times did you save her in Base Station Zero?’  

Hechkle shrugged. ‘I don’t see it as saving her life, just doing my duty.’

‘Well, you did save her life and ours and when you released us from our imprisonment we were able to use our freedom as a spur to defeat the Malacca clan and then Zylar.’

‘I suppose you’re right,’ said Hechkle, seeing Bronstorm swagger across to them. Amelia followed his gaze and squeezed his hand.

‘I know how much I need you and Bronstorm beside me, you both make me feel safe,’ said Amelia, as she backed off and threw a pleasant smile to Bronstorm, who went the same colour as his t-shirt…red. Hechkle made a vow there and then to be there for Amelia at whatever cost.

Amelia gave Bronstorm a quick hug and then went off to the showers. Bronstorm sat next to his friend.

‘That is some woman,’ he said.

‘Agreed,’ replied Hechkle, dropping his head in thought. He then lifted his head to look at his friend and pointed at the retreating back of Amelia. ‘Will you promise me that if either of us is injured or killed the other will protect that girl?’  

Bronstorm grinned and held his hand out in the human way they had readily adopted.

‘Sure.’ They then both lapsed into silence and departed to continue their exercise, wondering at how their lives were now inexplicably tied to that of an eighteen year old girl from an alien race.

In the Captain’s Quarters on
Elanda
, Prescott Corder poured himself a generous portion of Talisker’s twelve year old malt whisky and made to pour another one.

‘No thank you General, I never drink on the eve of an operation.’

‘Very sensible, Lieutenant Morrison,’ said General Corder. He twirled the spirit around in the glass before raising the glass for a sip. The liquid reacted with the back of his throat, its strong taste and alcohol content soothing
his slightly sore throat, the drop of water he placed in the glass making sure that the aromas impacted the back of his throat taste buds, rather than the front of his mouth.

‘What did you find out?’ General Corder was referring to his request for Lieutenant Morrison to check who the American contingent could rely upon in the event of any future disagreements.

‘The bulk of the civilians will stand with us as their main objective is safety and since our force is the largest that makes sense, although saying that, the Russian civilian contingent will side with Koshkov and I see his soldiers as the main threat.’

‘What about the Chinese, British troops and the clans?’

‘The Chinese are relatively small in number and they have no distinct relationships, the British troops are mainly English and are fans of Tyson, seeing him almost as an old fashioned hero,’ said Morrison, chuckling.

‘The English are always the ones easily led by fools,’ said General Corder, as he took another sip. ‘What about the clans?’

‘There are deep divisions between the human and Zeinonian ranks and, anyway, they see Kabel and Tate as their saviours and Kron simply as a force of nature,’ said Morrison, with a respectful tone, giving away his liking for the enforcer in the Malacca army.

‘Now, Lieutenant, don’t go liking these damn aliens too much, you know our orders.’ General Corder’s eyes narrowed, he could not have his American forces second-in-command going soft. No longer smiling Morrison met the rebuke impassively and with a terse agreement.

‘Right, that means we can only really rely on our own troops and personnel, not something I did not anticipate.’ He thought for a while and then taking a swig from his drink. ‘Make sure Nicolai’s troops are heavily used in the
attack with the main Zeinonian army and those frightful creatures of theirs.’

‘You mean the Pod?’ said Morrison, trying to show no reaction to his commanding officer’s disdain for his allies. He was there to take orders and put them into the action.

‘Yes, never did I think I would see the day that the US Army would side with animals,’ said General Corder, shaking his head. Morrison bit his tongue on retorting back and rose to leave. It was at the point of opening the door when General Corder spoke again.

‘Lieutenant, if you were to return without that bastardisation of an English boy that would help us considerably,’ he said, taking another a sip of his whisky, ignoring the shocked reaction of his second-in-command. Lieutenant Morrison saluted. The bile at the back of his throat captured what he felt about that last order: orders were orders but that didn’t mean you needed to like them. He opened the door and went to brief his team for the insertion into Quentine.

Cronje arranged to meet both Charles Hamilton and Victoria Kirk prior to the Inner Council meeting. Cronje had a good working relationship with both as they developed the understanding between the two races and trusted their judgement. Victoria thought it was important to discuss tactics ahead of the critical vote around the implementation of martial law in the colonies and disbanding the Malacca Clan Army. Cronje and Lord Southgate had already made the unilateral decision for Reddash to stand trial on the basis he would receive a full hearing of the events leading up to the fateful decision. Cronje was more comfortable as Lord Southgate would be on the court martial panel providing a Zeinonian balance to the proceedings.

Cronje sought time with Lord Southgate but he had not arrived from the Core. Entering the exclusive hotel that they had all agreed to meet in, he spotted Charles reading a paper in the lobby. Walking up to the table he was acutely aware of the mixture of stares, some hostile, others more appraising, interested in the confident attitude of the Zeinonian. Once seated, they were joined briefly by Victoria who then left them to discuss their wider concerns after pledging her support. She assured Cronje that they
would make time to cover off their strategy prior to the vote later that day.

Charles poured a cup of coffee and then dropped in a couple of sugar cubes and then realising his companion did not have a drink. ‘Coffee?’

‘Yes, that would be good,’ answered Cronje. Charles poured a cup for the Malacca man.

‘How is Lord Southgate?’ he asked. Cronje didn’t want to share his disquiet over his last trip to the Core. On his travels around the bars and talking to a number of the Vets, he was pleased by the level of support pledged. Remo should be arming them now and if they could take control of the Core then the people of Earth would have to listen.

‘He is fine, though Lord Fathom did not look well last time I saw him,’ said Cronje and then went on to say how pale and disconnected from recent events he was. Charles expressed his concern; he liked the big hearted lord of the Fathom clan.

‘Are you and Lord Southgate ready for the Council meeting this afternoon?’

‘Yes, we cannot support martial law across the quadrants or the disbanding of the Malacca Clan Army, the trouble was overblown,’ said Cronje as he sipped the scorching hot coffee, slightly burning his lips.

‘The British government will stand with you but there are detractors who will stand against us.’ Charles saw the hostility coming from some of the other tables, the news of the deaths in the Eastern Quadrant was front page news all around the world, and it conveniently did not cover the problems caused by the human elements, just the actions of the Zeinonians.

‘We can prevent the motion coming into reality if you, casting Lord Blackstone’s vote and Lord Southgate act together and with the British and American votes then
even if the French, Russians and Chinese vote against, we can prevent the motion being carried.

Cronje and Charles both knew instinctively that they were against something much more powerful than a few misplaced riots. Charles hid his growing fear from the Malacca man, if it was not for Victoria, his own government would have forced his hand against the Zeinonians.

‘I hope so Charles, I hope so.’ With those words Cronje finished his coffee, shook Charles’s hand and headed back to his hotel with a United States Secret Service armed guard.

The Inner Council session came quickly. Cronje met with a subdued Lord Southgate briefly and he took in the red rimmed eyes of the once irrepressible Lord. Not much was said and Cronje felt the uncertainty building up within him. Charles gave him a reassuring smile as they filtered into the room for the closed session. Cronje and Lord Southgate with a personal guard of the Southgate’s clan Palace Guard. All took their place and for the next hour, cases were made for both sides of the argument. Cronje saw shock on the face of the French President when the full extent of the riots in the Eastern Quadrant was made known. The French President’s demeanour seemed to cool almost immediately. Cronje saw an almost imperceptible shake of the man’s head to one of his entourage; that meant one vote lost.

It came to the vote. France joined Russia and China who both predictably backed the martial law and the disbanding of the Malacca Clan Army, the Americans and British voted against the motions, leaving the two remaining votes from the Zeinonians. Cronje voted against, leaving Lord Southgate. The old wise man of Zein stood. Cronje was shocked, there was no need for speeches, they were finished – this was a straight vote.

‘My esteemed colleagues, it is with a heavy heart that I stand here before you on this important vote,’ began Lord Southgate. Cronje could see Charles’s complete confusion. ‘It has come to my attention that there are elements within the good people of Zein who are working against the ideals we set out some time ago.’ Cronje felt two of the Southgate guards move behind him; he tensed, his battle-hardened antenna anticipating trouble.

‘Yesterday we intercepted members of the Veteran Malacca Army, who had been approached and received orders to take over the Core.’ Gasps of shock echoed around the room. Cronje’s stomach dropped alarmingly, he made to move but his arms were grabbed by the two soldiers behind him. He wore no weapons; it would be futile to resist.

Voices shouted out asking for the ring leaders to be named. Lord Southgate appeared happy to accommodate.

‘I am afraid the order came from one of my most trusted associates.’ He turned to face Cronje, and the rest didn’t hear the whisper, ‘I am sorry, Cronje, they have Lucinda.’ Cronje bit down on his lip trying to retain his anger. His expression softened at the old man’s predicament.

‘I therefore cast my vote to support the motion and in the interests of the sanctity of this chamber, I have this letter of consent, from none other than Lord Fathom, to also support it.’ Lord Southgate waved the paper above his head. ‘We need protection from both internal and external forces and the application of martial law and the disbanding of the Malacca Clan Army is the only way.’

Charles was stunned. It didn’t feel right that his friend, such a firm believer in the Zein way, would agree to the lock down across the quadrants. He shook his head and vowed to find out what was behind this incredible decision.

Cronje was shackled and taken to the transportation portal from where he was sent back to the Core. There he was taken down to Base Station Zero, where he was shocked to see a new prison complex built and a large number of faces he knew from both the Vets and the Fathom clan. He searched for Remo but he was not there. Hope remained as long as Remo stayed free.

The Speaker made the connection for the conference call, after checking all the security protocols. One by one the members joined the call.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, stage two is complete and stage three has started,’ said the Speaker, ‘all unruly elements are now being rounded up and incarcerated and anyone with royal magics is receiving special attention.’

‘How many will die?’ asked the cultured voice of an English aristocrat. The Speaker knew that any dissent needed to be dealt with quickly.

‘Only those who resist will face any danger. In any war there are collateral losses. You all know me and that if anyone is to know this then my family and I are the ones.’ There was no retort; they knew the Speaker’s family history in conquering countries across the globe.

‘My colleagues, from today, all aliens will have to wear a symbol on their clothes to ensure they are distinguishable from humans,’ the Speaker spelt out. ‘If any alien does not wear the symbol of the hanish flower then the punishment will be severe. Whole families of anyone connected with any misguided attempts to challenge this authority will be locked up. The martial law also allows for extreme force to be used to protect the innocent. Of course we will decide who is innocent.’

‘What happens when the Expeditionary Force returns?’ Someone was already thinking of the longer game. Good.

‘We have that covered and that is all I want to say on that matter,’ the Speaker replied. The questioner grunted in response.

‘I think that concludes this call.’ Victoria Kirk terminated the call with the Cabal pleased that they were in one of the strongest positions they could hope for, with hers and their forefathers probably very proud of their achievements, if they could be alive today. She picked up a glass of the finest red wine and took a sip. Shortly it would be the time to take greater control of Earth and the United Nations. Soon no one on Earth could stand against them. She raised the glass to her father, a domineering figure in a crisp uniform peering down at her from the painting above the fireplace.

‘Today the United Nations, tomorrow the Earth and then the Universe,’ she said triumphantly.