“Jesus…” he muttered under his breath.
Zurra was respectfully waiting outside of the bedroom when Gresham returned, leaning against a kitchen counter. “I am sorry, cooker of foods. I know you were fond of the female.”
Gresham turned a chair upright and sat down. “I feel like all of this is my fault, Zurra. If I hadn’t gone running after French then Jurkken and his thugs would never have learned our identities, and if I hadn’t given Perry’s name to Lara then he wouldn’t have been spooked enough to try to kill us.”
“This is a war, cooker of foods,” Zurra said sternly. “Did you really think there would be no casualties? Hudda Kugrall is ruthless. They have murdered the entire families of their enemies in the past just to send a message.”
“It’s not our war! The Alliance doesn’t have a bone to pick with your Forbidden Army,” Gresham barked.
“I know that, cooker of foods, but obviously Hudda Kugrall has friends who hold a grudge against the Alliance.”
“I still don’t get why Perry, or Hess for that matter, have thrown their lot in with krokator terrorists. Or what they are doing on Terra in such powerful numbers.”
Zurra shrugged and looked at a bowl on the counter, reaching down to grab something from it. “What do you think this is?”
He was holding a small folded scrap of paper in his fingers. Gresham got up to take a closer look. “Where’d you find that?”
“It was stuck between these two fruits in the bowl,” Zurra replied and handed Gresham the paper. There was a message scrawled on the scrap that read “A Little Piece of Home.”
“What do you suppose it means?” Zurra said as Gresham smiled from ear to ear.
“It means that Lara’s still looking out for us. Richmond!”
The apartment’s AI did not respond, as it had likely been damaged during the attack. Gresham stuck the paper in his pocket. “That’s what Lara referred to her password as – a little piece of her home. It was the name of her hometown. It’s a message for me, Zurra. She hid it here in case something was to happen to her. There must be something Lara wanted us to see.”
Zurra moved another fruit and uncovered a set of HUVR keys. “What are these for?”
“They’re for us. Here, grab a few fruits for the road and anything you need to eat from the fridge, you’re probably hungrier than I am.”
“Where are we going?”
“To Lara’s office at SIS headquarters. Hopefully, this password works there too.”
#
Perry picked up his vibrating voxcom. It was displaying an unknown contact. He put the phone to his ear and heard a familiar voice.
“Jurkken’s dead,” Grakko hissed angrily. “His whole gukka bar burned to the ground about an hour ago. Some of my men were in the neighborhood and went through the wreckage. It took the firemen forty minutes to get there and the whole block nearly went up in flames.”
Perry’s stomach churned. Gresham. He breathed in deeply and checked his watch. It was seven thirty.
“The summit starts in thirty minutes,” he replied. “We should be done by nine, if all goes well. Are you in Los Angeles?”
“We need to call the operation off,” Grakko snapped. “If someone has found anything at Jurkken’s bunker that could incriminate us or indicate that the attack is coming, we are all doomed. Better we retreat before we’re committed and continue with the next phase.”
Perry glanced at Hess, who was looking out the window of the LUXR at vehicles whizzing by on the Catalina Bridge. The massive suspension towers loomed above them as they hurtled along on the top deck of the triple-deck bridge.
“No,” he replied. “We proceed as planned. I’ll see you in a few hours.”
Hess looked over once Perry had hung up. “Who was that?”
“Don’t worry about it, Colin. Just some last-minute business.”
“Don’t lie to me, Eli.”
Perry held both hands up. “Easy there, Colin. When have I ever lied to you?”
“Can’t think of a specific example, but knowing you, there’s never a bad time to start,” Hess muttered and looked out the window again. “You wouldn’t be leading me into a trap here, would you?”
“Of course not. I consider you a good friend.”
Can’t really say the same, Hess thought with a smirk. Deep down, he hated Perry. He thought he was a smug, pretentious creature who manipulated people weaker and poorer than him to compensate for his own insecurities. To Hess, Perry was a snake-oil salesman, amoebic in the lowness of his methods and deserved what he didn’t know was coming to him.
The LUXR began tilting forward as it entered the decline of the Catalina Bridge less than a mile from the shore. Hess’s two bodyguards sitting near the front of the vehicle were studying the two men they were assigned to protect.
Hess’s own voxcom buzzed. He answered, “Colin Hess speaking.”
“Mr. Hess, this is Dexter,” a voice said quickly. “We’re in position and ready to move when you give the word.”
“Good. I’ll alert you when the time is right. You have Barkley’s number?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Perfect. He’s the man to speak to. I’ll see you soon.”
Hess hung up and glanced at Perry. “The caterers are in position.”
“Excellent, looks like everything’s going according to plan,” Perry lied. He debated telling Hess about the revelation of Jurkken’s death, but what could Gresham and Zurra do in time? Who would ever believe that Colin Hess, of all people, was about to murder the galaxy’s military heavyweights?
The LUXR exited the Catalina Bridge and turned left off of the superhighway that the bridge supported. Apartment buildings dotted the sides of the roads and lined the street snaking up to the mountains.
Hess looked out the window to see the convention center looming in the distance atop a hill. His heart began pounding and he felt a single drop of sweat roll down the side of his face.
He touched the picture in his pocket as if it were a lucky charm. The time was approaching.
#
Gresham dialed another number into the built-in voxcom in Lara’s HUVR. The response was another long series of dial tones followed by another voicemail.
“Is nobody answering?” he snarled and hung up. “Paine, Godford, Moss, everyone! Even Reed isn’t answering his vox.”
“They must all be at the security summit,” Zurra reminded Gresham. “It would be rude to answer the communicator there.”
“Yeah, that’s the scary part,” Gresham muttered. He found Sam Troy’s number programmed into the voxcom’s memory. “Yes! Troy! Perfect.”
After a few dials, Troy picked up. “Lara! Finally, you called me back. Where the hell have you been? I’ve been calling you for hours!”
“Sam, this is Gresham. I think Lara’s dead. Listen, I don’t have time to explain, I need you to meet me at SIS headquarters immediately.”
Troy sounded confused. “Gresham, wait, I can’t do that…”
“Colin Hess and the Hudda Kugrall are about to attack the security summit,” Gresham yelled. “I’m almost to SIS headquarters right now; I’m pulling off of the A4 onto Crest Ave. Can you meet us? We’ll be there in a few minutes.”
“Gresham, you don’t understand. I’m on Aurora on an assignment. Cray gave me the job personally, fancy that! I got here a few hours ago.”
“What? You must be shitting me Troy, you can’t be gone tonight of all nights…”
“No, I’m not shitting you, Major Gresham. I’m in the middle of Buckingham City right now in my hotel. We’re talking over the Prime Network, that’s why the reception is so bad.”
Gresham’s mind was racing. Cray? “Okay, here, who at SIS can I call that I can trust? I think Lara’s been killed by krokator gangsters but there may be something on her computer that can clue us into what happened to her or what they’re planning.”
“Wait, did you say Colin Hess is going to attack the security summit?”
/>
“Damnit Troy, I don’t have time for this!”
Troy’s voice sounded jilted. “Okay, I know, I’m sorry. You can call Vosen.”
“Vosen! Fuck no!”
“I know he’s an ass but he’d take something like this seriously and help you out. And if there are krokator involved, he is the guy to ask. Don’t forget that Vosen is the head of Alien Affairs now.”
“True. Thanks, Troy.”
“Yeah no problem. Good lu –”
Gresham hung up and looked up Vosen’s number as he pulled off of the A4 onto Crest Ave and started barreling westwards towards downtown Santa Monica.
“You are driving awfully fast,” Zurra observed, gripping his seat as they zoomed past surprised pedestrians and the various buildings of the Allied bureaucracy.
After only one dial Vosen responded. “This is Dan Vosen, Alien Affairs.”
“Vosen! This is Major Gresham.”
“Oh, good evening, Major,” Vosen said with his silky voice. “And to what do I owe the pleasure?”
“One of your agents is dead and the security summit is about to get attacked by the most ferocious heretic faction in the Krokator Empire.”
There was a long pause. “Who else knows about this?”
“I haven’t been able to reach anyone. We need to tell Cray immediately or contact the summit or something!”
“Most definitely, I agree. When can you be at SIS headquarters?”
Gresham swung the HUVR over the curb and drove it right into the middle of the courtyard in front of the SIS building. He looked up at the towering reflective structure.
“Just pulled in, Vosen.”
#
A LUXR pulled up to the front of the convention center and a tall, regally dressed briling emerged, his robes trailing behind him as he disembarked. He was outfitted with a variety of expensive jewelry and even wore a gilded fitting on his large, impressive head crest. The briling’s pale white eyes locked with Godford’s.
“Prime Juyeawae,” the human general said courteously, bowing in the customary briling fashion and motioning with his hand from his forehead. The briling responded likewise, touching his own six-fingered hand to the base of his crest and gesturing outwards.
“General Godford. The Teacher smiles,” the Prime said with a guttural, near-indecipherable accent. “I have long wished to grace your world.”
“Terra? Beats the hell out of me why you would,” Godford chuckled and extended a hand. The briling shook it with a firm grip, aware of the customary human greeting.
They turned and walked back inside the convention center. Juyeawae nodded courteously at guests who acknowledged him, but stayed close to Godford’s side.
“When does the President Paine greet me?”
“Soon. He will be arriving in ten to fifteen minutes. We wanted to keep him out of harm’s way as long as possible.”
“Yes, I understand. Our own Arch-Prime Piyeaion has kept himself secluded in the weeks following the tragic assassination of the Council Hand Subiuyai. The most senseless of all is this business in the Empire, however. I had the honor of meeting the late Emperor Ruskir, and he was a well-spoken, articulate creature, and his death is mourned within our own government.”
“Well, we’re certainly mourning Ruskir a lot more than his father,” Godford said with a knowing smile. “Prime Juyeawae, I would like you to meet General Rommel of the Iktathol Federation.”
He indicated a large iktathol of the soldier genus, who had contained his carbon-reinforced fiber wings within a stitched cotton black robe, which while seeming somewhat simple to the human eye, was a sign of extravagance to the iktathol, who rarely wore clothing of any kind.
The briling and iktathol shook hands, the six-fingered bluish-purple hand of the former having trouble interlocking comfortably with the exoskeletal claw of the latter. But they were cordial, Juyeawae smiling and Rommel clicking his mandibles together politely and chirping an amicable hello through his neck-mounted translator.
“I was just speaking to the Prime here about the recent spate of unfortunate assassinations around the galaxy,” Godford said, putting a friendly hand on Rommel’s chitin shoulder. “We offer similar condolences in lieu of the death of General Antonius. I knew him personally.”
“Thank you,” the computerized voice of Rommel’s translator replied. “The soldier Antonius will be missed, but the Mother Harvester will select a worthy replacement soon.”
There was a hushed tone among the gathered humans and assorted aliens in the room as twelve krokator in full ceremonial armor entered, High Prod Nikkwill leading the way. In his platinum armor and decorated helmet, he struck a fearsome figure. The High Prod stopped within a few yards of the doorway and removed his helmet respectfully, letting his newly oiled officer braids fall comfortably down the side and back of his head onto his shoulders.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Godford said loudly so those around him could here, “it is a true and rare honor for us to welcome the Akumaprod himself, Trakk Nikkwill!”
There was tepid response and Nikkwill scanned the room, scowling as usual. Godford approached and extended his hand warmly. “High Prod Nikkwill, may I just say again how delighted we are to have you here?”
“The honor is ours, as we are your humble guests,” Nikkwill muttered disinterestedly. “This is quite the banquet hall.”
“We call them convention centers,” Godford replied, checking the time. “President Paine should be here soon. Have you met the Prime Juyeawae from the Briling Dominion or General Rommel of the Iktathol Federation, by any chance?”
Nikkwill followed him closely and joined into the standard diplomatic pleasantries with his foreign counterparts. Moss, now changed into his formal uniform, watched from a distance, chuckling and shaking his head.
“Typical political ass-kissing,” he observed to a nearby pree, who nodded in agreement. “Just wait until the krokator start their usual antics at the beginning of the summit. Godford’s smile will evaporate faster than water in the Mojave.”
Ambassador Jerven slid up next to Moss and extended his hand. “Colonel, I believe we met this morning?”
“Ambassador! Good to see you. Have you tried the champagne?”
“No, thank you colonel, but I have no taste for it. Beastwine is the only vice I allow myself.” The krokator adjusted the sash on his formal kekkalo and grimaced. “This is what I hate about diplomacy the most: all these fancy meetings and conferences and the onslaught of dignitaries who want to be your friend while clubbing you in the knees.”
“Tell me about it,” Moss muttered and downed half of his champagne glass in a single gulp. “The sooner this is over with the better.”
Jerven nudged the colonel and pointed in Nikkwill’s direction. “This ought to be interesting. The High Prod is not a diplomat in any way, shape or form. I really should chaperone him, make sure he avoids any significant gaffes.”
“Oh? Are you the designated Imperial Babysitter tonight?”
“You are not nearly as amusing as you think you are, Colonel Moss,” Jerven said angrily. “Nikkwill’s experience with these other generals is via conference by hologram. This is a serious matter.”
“Well, it’s your serious matter. I’m going to go find some more champagne.”
“I am sure our paths will cross again, Colonel Moss.”
Moss took his leave of Jerven and moved about the large lobby. He heard a loud, ringing chime and the building’s intercom sounded. “Everyone, if you would please move into the reception room, dinner will be served shortly.”
The crowd started pushing towards the doors to recede further into the convention center and Moss followed along like a log adrift in a stream. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Colin Hess moving through the crowd, followed by two massive men whom he could only assume to be bodyguards.
What the hell is Hess doing here? Moss wondered and began to approach the industrial magnate, but Hess and his entourage were lost to view be
fore he could get any closer.
#
Vosen was waiting outside of his office door on the twentieth floor of the SIS building after remotely clearing Gresham and Zurra through security.
“Major,” he said, extending his hand in an unusual gesture of solidarity.
“It’s good to see someone sane for once,” Gresham sighed with relief and shook Vosen’s hand gratefully. “You’ll never believe what we’ve been through.”
Vosen regarded Zurra with a measure of distrust. “I don’t suppose you realize how questionable it is to be consorting with the sukuda, do you?”
“We don’t have time for your conspiracies, Vosen,” Gresham snapped. “Would it make you feel better if he waited outside?”
“It wasn’t going to, but I’ll accept the offer,” Vosen replied. He gave Zurra a one-over and clicked his tongue. “I knew I shouldn’t have authorized your release from detainment, Sharm Zurra.”
Gresham smirked. “At least you’re smart enough to see through his alias.”
“I’ve been at this game for the better part of two decades, Major,” Vosen replied. “I’d say we’re contemporaries in different fields. Did I ever tell you that I worked in code breaking during the Dhruiz War? It’s what got me into the intelligence field to begin with.”
“Fascinating. Zurra, can you wait outside a moment?”
“Yes, cooker of foods,” the krokator replied, clearly unhappy with the arrangement. He leaned against the wall and crossed his arms, frowning.
Vosen closed the door to his spacious office and motioned for Gresham to have a seat. “We should make this quick, Gresham, I was going to head home soon. The basketball game is on.”
“Really, Vosen? That’s all you can think about? Basketball? Do you have any idea what’s going on?”
“We haven’t gotten any word of a substantial domestic threat beyond the typical crazies who want to cause a stir,” Vosen answered and studied Gresham’s haggard appearance. “Do you want anything to eat? The fridge in the hall should have something.”
Gresham grabbed meals for him and Zurra and then brought his food out back into Vosen’s spacious office. He dove into the shrink-wrapped SynthMart pre-prepared meal.