***
To say that Champion Selina Kronosius was furious would be a considerable understatement, Kohath judged as he entered the Champion general’s stateroom. The tall, massively muscled female was flushed with colour, her diamond scale pattern as dark a green as Kohath could ever recall seeing in three years he had known her. Her tail lashed intermittently from side to side as she watched him approach, as though the energy imparted by her wrath could not be physically contained while she waited. “What were you thinking?” she snarled before he had even covered half the distance. “You let those bastards escape!”
Kohath assessed the situation as he approached: it warranted caution. There was a good chance, judging from the biometric report scrolling up the left side of his field of vision—elevated pulse, respiration, hormone levels and blood pressure—that Kronosius was agitated enough to attempt a physical confrontation. He ran a quick situational analysis and halted his advance just out of the Champion’s immediate reach, leaving his hands loose at his sides and bracing his high-density bodyweight carefully. Her reflex speed could not match his processors, and nor could her strength surpass that imparted by his reinforced titanium endoskeleton, but she could do critical damage to his organic tissue if she was committed enough, and he did not doubt the precision of her aim.
“I am not required to justify my decisions to you, Champion,” he responded, meeting her furious demand with cold logic. “The Authority’s orders to defend and consolidate the Polity’s gains in the Mendillo system were carried out to the letter. Every objective has been achieved. Your personal desire to slaughter as many leviathan Giants as you can plays no part in my strategic planning, my operational decisions, or the execution of my battle plans.” He cocked his head to one side. “I am sorry if that disappoints you, Champion, but certainly you have been acquainted with me and my methods long enough to understand that by now.”
Kronosius snorted. “You have no conception of how important it is that we prevail, and prevail resoundingly,” she observed. “How could you? You’re a machine.”
“That is a remarkably unimaginative and toothless insult, Champion. If insult was indeed your intent.”
“Hardly.” Kronosius fixed him with a brooding glare. “It’s an observation. You don’t experience emotions, how could you hope to comprehend what this means to our people?”
“You are correct that I cannot feel as your people do, but that does not prohibit me from grasping the concept intellectually. So I implore you to explain it to me, Champion, since this insistence on wanton bloodshed defies all rational logic.”
Kronosius sighed, her scale pattern shifting as some of her anger drained. “It’s a simple concept, Admiral. Our people were driven from their homes, from their homeworld, from our own galaxy, by an enemy who took what was ours by force. The leviathans must not be permitted to enact a repetition of that history.”
“The probability of such an occurrence coming to pass is approaching zero,” Kohath pointed out. “At worst, even if you were unable to defend yourselves, there are barely ten planets in all of neomorph space that could effectively support leviathan settlement. While I can understand the territorial urge to protect what is yours, advancing into leviathan space as you have now simply exacerbates the tension, and potentially provokes an all-out war that you cannot hope to win.” Kohath took a measured pause. “And it would appear from your reasoning that you are doing so from simple paranoia.”
“Paranoia?” Kronosius hissed, colour flooding back into her scales. “You’ve seen them attack us! You’ve stood on our border and driven them back… how many times now?”
“Seven times in three years,” Kohath supplied. “And each time they have been thrown back without significant losses to your fleet. They may present an annoyance, but they are unlikely to ever mount a coordinated assault on neomorph space unless you provoke them into doing so. You have disabused them of the notion that you are easy prey, and they know that you have the will and the means to defend yourselves, unlike the Insectoids.” Kohath spread his hands in a gesture of earnest appeasement. “But you cannot hope to inflict such a defeat as to subjugate them to your will.”
“You’d give up before we even try?” Kronosius sneered. “Cede the board without even attempting to play? You have no genius solution, no clever strategy for such a scenario?”
“Strategy alone cannot overcome mathematical certainties, Champion. Your enemy has a larger population, more ships at their disposal, and more territory from which to acquire war materiel and resources. The skirmish we won not an hour ago was tactically perfect, and yet lives and ships were lost in the victory. If you continue to fight the leviathans at a loss rate of one to three, you will run out of ships and crews long before they do. Even were that ratio one to four or one to five, the end result would be the same. Logistics alone dictate that outcome, and there is no strategy one can devise to substantially alter it. In such cases, the wisest course is to avoid giving battle at all.”
Kronosius shook her head. “If you feel that way, Admiral, perhaps you should ask yourself if this is a position you wish to retain?”
The question was meant as a veiled threat, but in the brief second or two it took to fully assess all of the implications of the possible responses, Kohath found he had all of the information he needed to finalise his decision. “Indeed. I have asked myself that, and my answer is this. Since I have no wish to continue bearing witness to your short-sighted obsession with your enemy, nor to participate in a futile campaign of aggression against them, I hereby tender my resignation, effective immediately.”
“You can’t do that!”
“I can.” Kohath tilted his head fractionally to one side. “The terms of my employment state that I may end the contract at my discretion if I determine that my services are no longer required. I was employed to build and train an officer corps. That requirement has been fulfilled. There is nothing more I can teach your people, Champion, and I will not remain to serve in a pointless war of attrition over a fixed border. I would appreciate it if you would arrange transport to Nomius, and thence to Korxonthos, for me immediately.”
Turning on his heel, Kohath stepped smartly from the stateroom, an odd sense of positive feedback firing through his synapses. For the first time in over a century, Fleet Admiral Kiith Kohath, the Iron Fist, was going home.
KEERA
Berlin, Earth, Modeus System, Assembly Space
Keera walked confidently into the reception foyer of the State Affairs Department of the United Terran Republics, her black high-heeled court shoes clicking loudly on the polished granite flooring. The building’s environmental regulation system was functioning efficiently, and she peeled off her cashmere coat, folding it over her arm and tugging the purple and white jacket of her immaculately cut business suit straight. Halting at the visitor’s reception desk, she offered a brisk, professional smile to the duty security officer. “Good morning. My name is Keera Naraymis. I have an appointment with…” she paused for a moment, making a show of double-checking her information on her wrist-mounted personal console, “Congressman Lau Lawinson.”
The officer nodded a polite acknowledgement as he consulted his data screens. “Yes, ma’am, that appears to be in order, thank you.” He handed her a visitor’s pass on a maroon lanyard. “Take the second bank of elevators to the right to the seventy-fourth floor. When you get off, take a left and follow the corridor down to the end. The Congressman’s reception is through the security door you’ll find there. Your pass will allow you access automatically, and you’re expected.”
“Thank you.” Keera gestured with her coat as she looped the lanyard around her neck. “Is there someplace I can leave this?”
“Sure, the reception desk up there will take care of anything you need.”
Keera nodded brusquely and walked away, aware of the frown directed at her back by the affronted desk jockey but unconcerned by it. She had come here to do a job, not waste time sharing pleasantri
es with the security staff. Smoothing the lanyard down so that it lay flush against the collar of her jacket, she took the elevators as directed, and prepared herself for a contest. If half the stories she’d heard about Lawinson were true, this meeting was going to be a true test of her cover’s professional capabilities. She wondered if Mendieta wasn’t perhaps setting her up for a fall of some kind, but she dismissed the thought as soon as it formed. It was unlikely, and at the end of the day, irrelevant. This negotiation might be significant to the Marauders, but as far as Keera was concerned the only thing about her work that was important was getting the Changeling treaty wrapped up. As of her arrival on Earth late last night, the documentation still hadn’t been released to Solta for a final signature. Either Mendieta was sitting on it, or Mahmoud was being inefficient, and of the two possible explanations, Keera was pretty sure she knew which was closer to the truth.
She pulled her thoughts back to the moment. While she cared little for the outcome, this meeting would be useful from an intelligence-gathering standpoint, so she needed to be focused. Taking a moment to check her appearance one last time, she took a deep breath, adopted a confident smile and stepped through the doors of the reception.
The young woman at the desk looked up and smiled. “Assistant Secretary, Naraymis, welcome to Berlin. Can I take your coat for you?”
“That would be great, thank you.” Keera surrendered the garment, and the receptionist laid it carefully on the desk.
“I’ll hang that for you as soon as I have you settled, ma’am. Congressman Lawinson is ready for you, please follow me.”
Keera followed the woman across the spacious foyer to an antique, polished mahogany door with a security agent in a dark suit standing post outside it. He nodded respectfully, but offered no conversation as the receptionist knocked on the door, twisted the old-style handle and opened it. “Congressman, Secretary Naraymis to see you.” She ushered Keera forward. “Can I get you something to drink, ma’am? Tea, coffee, water?”
“Some coffee and some water would be wonderful, thank you.”
“Of course.” The woman smiled once more and stepped away, leaving Keera’s path free. She stepped into the room, fighting down the distinct feeling of stepping back in time as she took in the wood-panelled walls, the tall bookshelves that lined the left-hand side of the room and the massive hardwood desk that commanded the centre of the office.
The congressman himself fitted right into the impression, a tall, slender, patrician-looking gentleman with short white hair, intelligent green eyes, and a neatly trimmed silver-grey beard, clad in an immaculate navy blue business suit. Hand-tailored, Keera would bet her bottom credit. The whole setup was designed to be intimidating to a visitor, and Keera had to admit that it was working. However, she was determined that it wasn’t going to work well enough. “Congressman Lawinson, it’s a privilege to meet you.”
Lawinson smiled as he came around from behind his desk, reaching out to offer a handshake. “Secretary Naraymis, likewise. I’ve heard a lot about you; Saul Mendieta is an old friend of mine, and he speaks very highly of you.”
“Secretary Mendieta is too kind,” Keera demurred diplomatically as they shook hands. “I try to live up to his expectations.”
“You appear to succeed quite admirably. We heard about the deal you secured with the Changelings,” Lawinson replied. “A very neat piece of legislation, and deftly handled.”
“Thank you.”
“We’re looking at implementing a similar clause in our own treaties. It seems only prudent, given the increase in Sentinel activity in the past few years.”
“That was our concern as well.” Keera looked around sharply as the door opened behind her, but relaxed as she realised it was the receptionist with the drinks.
“Thank you, Rose,” Lawinson offered as the woman set the tray on his desk. “We’ll be fine from here on, please make sure we’re not disturbed. Secretary Naraymis… or may I call you Keera?”
“Please do, Congressman.”
“Lau,” Lawinson corrected with a genial smile. “Please have a seat, Keera.” He poured them both some coffee, then settled back into his seat behind the desk. “Is this your first time on Earth?”
“Yes, actually,” Keera replied. “I’ve wanted to visit for quite a few years now. So far it’s lived up to its reputation.”
“I imagine it must be quite a change from Geonova. I’ve never had the opportunity to visit, of course, but I understand it’s quite heavily urbanized.”
“There aren’t too many trees, if that’s what you mean,” Keera remarked, glancing deliberately at the expanse of wood dividing them. On Geonova, the seed world of the Free Terran civilization, terraformed from a brute landscape of rock and ice, any trees that had successfully been nurtured were far too valuable to chop down for furniture. To Marauders, wooden furniture remained a symbol of decadence even centuries after establishing colonies on richly forested planets. Which, presumably, Lawinson knew very well. The overt reminder of the wealth and heritage of the older of the two human civilisations might have had more of an impact on a genuine human, Keera thought with a touch of amusement, but to her more objective viewpoint it was a fairly transparent ploy.
As if reading her mind, the congressman inclined his head in a small salute. “Touché, my dear. Shall we get going?”
“Absolutely.” Keera lifted her cup, took a sip of her coffee and settled more comfortably in the seat.
The lights dimmed, and the projector embedded in the centre of the desk shot a narrow beam of light into the air that quickly expanded into a standard galactic map. “Several months ago, our sentry outposts on the rimward edge of Terran space began to see an up-kick in what we assumed at the time to be piracy,” Lawinson began. “The attacks were spread out along the border and appeared to be quite random, with cargo theft the most common symptom. There were fatalities and injuries, of course, but they were few and far between.” Lawinson gestured to the display, and the deployment pattern of the glyphs changed. “We reinforced our border patrols and sent out a few skirmish parties. We managed to mop up a few pirates, and after we did the frequency of the attacks dropped off.”
“So you thought you had the issue contained?” Keera surmised.
“Exactly.” Lawinson sighed. “The pirate vessels we captured had a high proportion of cyborgs on their crews, but there were other races in the mix, so we didn’t think too much of it—after all, you frequently find cyborgs from the Synergy plying criminal trades to gather intelligence or build networks of contacts. There was no particular reason to assume the Reavers were behind it.” He took a sip from his cup. “Then, about a month ago, one of our border patrols picked up another inbound raid and deployed to meet it, and as soon as they were engaged, a Reaver strike force crossed the border behind them. Ten capital ships and a swarm of raiders punched through into our space and hit a colony on Grytviken, on the rimward side of the Shackleton system.” A red glyph lit up on the map display to pinpoint the location. “We lost the whole damn colony, thousands of people and every bit of tech that wasn’t nailed down.”
“I’m so sorry,” Keera offered helplessly, shivering as a cold finger of fear traced down her spine. Reavers, a belligerent splinter faction descended from the original cyborg civilization, preyed on the other races without compunction or mercy, and seldom left any witnesses behind to tell tales. “We’ve been seeing similar patterns of behaviour along our own borders.” She leaned into the display and double-tapped the emerald green area that represented Marauder space to zoom in. “Here, and here,” she marked the coordinates. “So far, thank God, they’ve only been picking at our patrols, but the last few attacks have been getting closer and closer to Oceanhill.”
“You sound worried by that possibility,” Lawinson observed.
“Oceanhill’s my home system,” Keera explained. “I was born on Marinaris, and I grew up there. A lot of people I know are at risk if the Reavers launch an assault in force.”
br /> “Then here’s hoping we can do something to prevent that from happening.”
“Mmm,” Keera agreed as she zoomed the map back out. “Assuming that Shackleton and Oceanhill are the end points of the front the Reavers appear to be opening—if that’s even what this is—that’s a lot of space to cover, even if we coordinate our patrol patterns.”
“Indeed it is.”
“It’s odd, though, don’t you think?” Keera observed contemplatively, taking another sip of her coffee to buy herself a moment to gather her thoughts.
“How so?”
“Well, the locations seem a little out of the way in relation to Reaver-controlled space. Why focus their attacks along the border that’s further from their territory? That doesn’t make sense.”
Lawinson huffed a pensive breath. “I’m no military strategist, my dear, and nor am I a specialist in synthetic logic protocols, so I really couldn’t say one way or the other. And at this point I’m really not concerned with the rationale. I’ll be blunt, if I may, Keera. While we may like to pretend there’s no love lost between us, we’re aware that the Marauder military is likely the best friend we could have in combatting these attacks. Can we agree that we share the same views, by and large, on protecting and defending our own, and that we share a common enemy in this very narrow set of circumstances?”
“I can stipulate that much, yes,” Keera agreed cautiously. “What’s your proposition?”
“An alliance,” Lawinson replied. “To bring our combined forces to bear against a common enemy, and launch a pre-emptive strike against the Reavers to discourage them from preying on our border colonies further.”
Keera set her cup down and sat back, lacing her fingers across her stomach, staring at her counterpart in something approaching shock. She’d been prepared to hear many different things today, but that one certainly hadn’t crossed her mind. “Well,” she managed after a pregnant pause, “congratulations, Lau. You’ve actually succeeded in surprising me.”