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Before there can be light, And the stage was set for the
"We are not going to be dragged into the war," Philip VonGrippen state angrily as he led the small contingent of delegates from the House colonies through the halls of the great starship. An interstellar bazaar and cruise liner that charted the trade routes that linked the disparate colonies of mankind together. "That's easy for you to say," one of the other delegates retorted seeminguncomfortable, "Geldan VII is on the other side of the Beacon Corridor. Your fleets and remoteness guarantee you autonomy from Earth, however many of the rest of us are still dependant upon our nations for support. Especially given the rash of... American peace keeping endeavours." "They annexed Centuari," another ventured nodding, "turning over its production towards their war effort." "That is not all together correct," VonGrippen pointed out, he was growing weary of the same conversation he'd heard directed at his father each day since he'd began the journey to the Colonial summit being held on Earth. An opportunity, supposedly, for the various House Colonies born from the European Union under the guise of meeting and interacting, solidifying trade treaties and building their relations. But as the tensions on Earth continued to escalate, the talks had drifted to talk of defence, and of alliances. Hark the war drums doth beat... "Perhaps the Admiral would care to grace us with his enlightened philosophy on American Colonial policy?" The first delegate asked raising his eyebrows expectantly at the young military officer in their midst. VonGrippen paused and turned back to the delegate, wishing that the so called representatives would have actually taken the time to understand the issues at hand before they began to scream about them. "The operations at Centauri are geared towards commercial output, the mining operations there are a rich source of various ores that trade well on the Orion commodities markets. Increased production creates increased wealth for the United States. It would be impractical for them to alter the production and refining facilities on Centauri to direct war production." VonGrippen smiled, "It would bankrupt them to try to ship tanks and fighters back home. No, America is doing what it always does, attempting to buy its way out of the trouble it is facing in this new cold-war by investing in a technological advantage." Philip nodded his head smiling tightly at his son, looking back at the gaggle of delegates that were following him around like lost puppies. Many of them were provincial, elected primarily because there was no one else to send to represent their colony at the Summit. The professional diplomats and politicians very seldom found reason to remain in the Colonies. They were farmers or administrators, miners or unionists set to plunge head first into the cesspool of Earth politics. It was only natural that they clustered behind the one person in their midst with any level of education or experience with how things ran back on Earth. Polite, but firm, the two VonGrippens extricated themselves from the group. They would be arriving on Earth in a few short hours and VonGrippen bowed his head to his father as he entered their suite. It was a modest suite, but well appointed. Many colonial families, even colonial governors, couldn't afford the luxury of travelling first class on an Orion Tradeliner. Philip had recognized this when booking passage, and though High House VonGrippen was prosperous and he could afford it, he'd chosen to travel the same way the other delegates that supported him had. It sent a message to them that he was just another one of them; it helped further his particular agenda. A united Colonial front would fare better at the summit when dealing with the mother nations. VonGrippen removed his tunic, preferring shirtsleeves and a waistcoat to the restrictive feeling of the typical House uniform. Choosing a seat as he picked up a book flipping through the pages to make some final notes on his thesis. Across from him his father sat under a window with his back to the stars, the panorama of Jupiter sliding past the Tradeliner not catching the older man's interest at all. He seemed far too content to simply study his son. Philip sighed loudly, "One day I am going to catch you." He said looking across the room. "Catch me?" VonGrippen looked up from the book and closed its worn pages on his finger. "Yes," Philip smiled undoing his tie as he shifted down in the chair across from his son, slumping a little tiredly, "I'll walk in when your trying to sneak some pretty girl out past me, or before you can hide the evidence of the wild frat party." "Wistful thinking?" VonGrippen offered balancing the book on his knee, "I always thought of you as a pragmatist." "You have us confused," Philip blew out his moustache and scratched the salt and pepper strands of his beard where it always itched, "I should be the one sitting reading while you are out living the high life." "And chaperoning a group of Colonial delegates is the high life?" VonGrippen fired back, a smile decorating his handsome features, "Do you think they will calm down at all?" Philip rested his arms on the back of the sofa breathing a heavy sigh staring a long moment at his son. So much like his mother it was terrifying at times. VonGrippen had her brown eyes sparkling and filled with a luminance that danced there. But he was such a sedate young man, quiet and reflective lacking in any of the joy that made life for a thirty-something enjoyable. As usual VonGrippen was watching in return, and Philip could see those eyes were studying, absorbing every facet of the conversation, reading his body language. His mind finding even the smallest detail and registering it, analysing it and filing it away in that keen mind of his. It always unsettled Philip the way his son perceived the world around him. Cold, analytical and yet filled with strong emotions and passions. He would find causes as a boy, championing them, even against his own family. The stubborn rebellious streak had clashed with his mother's ambitions, and the day she had realized she had lost control of her son... VonGrippen smiled at him, "You are worrying again father." The smile was faked, he seemed to know exactly when a smile was to be used, a tool to put other people at ease. Applied to reassure his father that he was all right. But Philip worried none the less. All other considerations aside, he was still a father, no matter how close politics ran within the house, it was still a family. But Alexander had always been distant. And at thirty and single he had to be lonely. "We should be arriving on Earth soon," Philip smiled in return. "In two hours seventeen minutes," VonGrippen replied checking the clock on his TAC-link, "provided of course we are not delayed on our final approach." Philip sat in the oversized chair and partially closed his eyes, "I miss these trips." VonGrippen glanced up from his book, "the chance to escape the pressures of being a dictator?" Philip cracked open an eye, "you know I hate that term." "I know," VonGrippen replied, "but when the shoe fits..." "In time," Philip answered tiredly, "you will come to understand why I..." VonGrippen closed his book with a sharp snap, "I understand all too well, my lord." "The mantle," Philip caressed the lapel of the great coat he wore, "is heavy. If you can't bear to carry the burden..." "That threat only works on mother," VonGrippen stood, "I know your grand plan depends on me." Philip chuckled, "and so you made yourself indispensable to me..." "I am your sword," VonGrippen folded his arms as he flipped open the TAC-link, "Commander?" There was a muted crackle as the TAC-link connected to the HMS Shisak, a shadow in the Tradeliners jump bubble, a hitchhiker along for the ride. Commander Knight acknowledged, "Admiral." VonGrippen watched his father's surprised reaction as he turned his head towards the window, realizing that VonGrippen had disobeyed him yet again. "Stand ready to break formation, position yourself close to Mars and keep your eyes open..." The door to the suite opened as a bundle of excitement hurried inside, "Hey Alex yougottacomeseethis..." Lance pulled to a stop when he realized that Philip was sitting on the sofa amused by the sudden entrance of the over enthusiastic Australian. VonGrippen tilted his head to the side, always uncertain when it came to people his own age or younger. Shaking his head as he returned to the TAC-link, issuing orders to his ship and crew. Lance had been a part of the VonGrippen family since he was a toddler, his father Andrew Malkin, was one of the top Geldan land owners, and since they moved in the same social circles on the colony and were of about the same age they had been destined to be friends. At least, Philip mused, Lance had decided they would be friends. VonGrippen for the most part simply didn't know what to do when it came to Lance. As a boy he'd often been dragged around by the hand, led into all kinds of mischief at Lance's urging. Of course Lance would sow the seed of an idea, and VonGrippen would of course devise some brilliant plan or another for him to pull it off. The pair were typically partners in crime. Lance was stockier than Alex was, both young men were well developed; you didn't live on the edge of the frontier and not develop a taste for hard work and exercise. Geldan VII prided itself on its regressionist stance, its colonists' firm in the belief that the simpler the better. A philosophy that had seen the colony flourish and prosper to nearly a million people scattered across a cold and wet world that had proven ideal for sheep farming and building an industry upon its wool exports. Wool was highly prised amongst the Orions for its versatility and its durability over synthetic fibres they had created. "There is something you want me to see?" VonGrippen asked standing obediently tucking his TAC-link back into the pocket of his waistcoat and preparing to follow. "Yeah," Lance said sounding uneasy and glancing towards Philip, "There's uh, some, uh, thing." Philip drew out a silver pocket watch from his pocket and clicked the antique timepiece open, looking up at Lance, "Judging from the time that wouldn't happen to be the Orion mating dance would it." Like clockwork every month at staggered intervals coinciding with the second moon of the Orion homeworld's lunar cycle any Orion that wasn't working or otherwise occupied would drop everything and congregate for selection. A strange dance where Orions would offer up something of value in exchange for the right to spend a single night sharing the bed of a perspective mate. Lance grew even more uncomfortable, "I thought he might be interested in seeing another culture, sir." Philip shook his head, "As long as you don't trade him for bedding rights of the first pretty boy you see." Lance blushed a bright shade of pink. Lance's sexuality had to be the worst kept secret on Geldan VII, but strangely his parents continued to exist in a world of denial continuing to attempt to fix their son up with other 'eligible' young women in his own age group in the hopes of him getting married and settling down. VonGrippen gave his father another look, as close to concern as he could manage, and Philip returned a warm smile, "Have a good time, learn something." "Thank you." VonGrippen replied obliging Lance's fidgeting by following patiently along behind him, leaving Philip alone to ponder what was to come. * * * "The test sequence was inconclusive," Doctor Radcliffe paced through the sterile lab occasionally sparing a glance through the window towards the child strapped into the chair, tears rolling down her face. "The test was hardly inconclusive," Rikard stated patiently looking over the data scrolling across the banks of computers waiting for the man's limited intellect to finally catch up to what he was seeing, "There was a definite reaction in the target's neurochemistry," he reached up and tapped the monitor expressively. Radcliffe continued to remain unconvinced; "I think this project continues to be nothing more than a dismal failure, and considering the cost I will recommend its termination to the committee..." "You will do no such thing," the General stated flatly from the doorway to the lab, his French uniform immaculately pressed despite the fact they were locked deep within the heart of Phobos, one of the Martian moons. General Michand was the head of the EU PSY-Ops, the patron behind which the research had been funded, the facility had been constructed and the reason Rikard existed in the first place. "With respect General," Radcliffe gestured to the window, "considering the miserable failure of this project do we have a right to continue to torture that little girl?" "Your morality is of no concern of mine, Doctor." Michand moved towards the window and stared down at the weeping girl dressed in a white hospital gown, curled up as the electrodes connected her to a battery of machines all trilling and beeping monitoring the young telepaths higher neural functions, "You were saying there was definite evidence of a reaction?" he looked at Rikard. Rikard stepped up beside the General, "There are elevated readings in the target's neural centres, while there is no direct evidence that she was reading the target's mind, there are some... interesting results." He showed the General the printouts. General Michand flipped through the results frowning, "The purpose of this exercise is to develop a reliable telepath, one capable of collecting intelligence at range. These readings don't..." Rikard looked over the rims of his glasses at the General and tilted the page down again, "Look again." He said calmly, "And think of the implications." Michand stared into the young geneticist's eyes, a first generation enhanced construct, there were numerous 'enhanced' human beings existing within the European Union, as there were in the other factions. He had intelligence reports that said even America was in the race to enhance the mental capacities of key individuals. Research and development was filled with GN-1's developing new weapons, devising advanced tactics and taking the war on Earth to a new level. However, only the European Union had perfected the GN-2's. And it was all adirect result of Rikard's brilliant advances in the field of genetics. The GN-1 added a unique insight into the development project that had seen fifteen children out of a batch of a thousand actually survive to puberty. Fifteen children that held the hope of final victory. "It says there is evidence of a chemical imbalance," Michand stated trying to think about the implications of the results, "how..." Rikard removed the steel rimmed glasses he was wearing as he folded his arms, "Perhaps we have been looking at this subject's gift... incorrectly. We continue to try to refine it into unlocking the thoughts of another individual, perhaps if we were to condition her to affect the neural chemistry of an individual target instead." "Affecting emotions?" Michand sounded uncertain. "That is one possible application, but I was thinking a far more direct and... reliable application," Rikard looked hawkish, "It would be possible to train her to kill a man from halfway across the star system." "Now that would be useful," Michand smiled, "Arrange a test cycle." Rikard nodded, "Perhaps if you were to select a target? Someone that will prove the validity of this experiment once and for all?" Michand chewed on his lip considering, there were any number of individuals whose death would guarantee the GN-2 project's worth to the oversight Committee. But there was only one that would solidify that worth and ensure EU confidence. "The Secretary of Defence of the United States." Michand said calmly, "Kill him and she will prove her usefulness." "Of course General," Rikard smiled down at the young girl shivering in the cold, "There are other projects that will require your approval if we are to... pursue this particular route." "A direct confrontation with the United States of America is inevitable," Michand said at length, "there is only so much of their arrogance that can be tolerated, and we appease them because we lack the capacity to confront them in a direct manner. However we seem to have at last found a way of... tipping the balance." Radcliffe stepped forward, "Perhaps this is a little ambitious at this stage." Michand turned his head, "We shall deliver the capability to fight into the hands of those who until now saw no hope of winning." He smiled, "And hopefully it will ensure that they have the stomach to do, finally, what needs to be done to end this war." * * * GN-2-15, a serial number that had served as his name through the constant battery of tests that they had subjected him to from birth. It was the number he wore on the breast of the pale green hospital scrubs he wore. The same number that was painted on the door to his room in the deep core residence. It was a symbol to the humans of their achievement, yet to Ben, it was a symbol of their failure. He coughed, his body curving as his knees drew close against his chest, trying to control the fit before he blacked out again. His thin hands brushing his tired face as he fought for control over his body. He was supposed to be the epitome of the GN program, the final model... but he was defective. "You're not," the girl's voice whispered in his ear, he felt the cold cloth on his face as she wiped the sweat from his brow. Ben fought to smile through the coughing, his eyes searching for her luminescent green ones. His older sister, GN-2-2... Katherine... They had to fight of their identities there, cling to them, with all the tests and all the experiments; they could almost forget their own human heritage. "Should we send for Doctor Rikard?" She asked someone Ben couldn't see, the worry in her voice ringing clear. But then Katherine was an empath, and hiding from emotion had never been one of her strengths. The other voice lacked her emotion, it was cold, yet there was an edge of intensity in his words, GN-2-1, the oldest, spoke with an authority he had earned in the fifteen, their leader, their guide and their voice. Markus Aquinas didn't waste time with concern, "What does he see?" "Markus!" Katherine snapped at him, "he's sick..." "And we both know what causes his sickness," Markus held back in the shadows as above them one of the French guards made a slow circuit of the upper catwalk, constant supervision of such a valuable investment as fifteen genetically enhanced human beings. Katherine looked up as well, holding her tongue until after the guard had passed, turning back to Ben as she tended to him, her baby brother even though he wasn't. They had been selected from the best 'stock' DNA in Europe, Markus was her true brother... or as close to it as Doctor Rikard's adaptations of their DNA had allowed. "You know that our future depends on what he sees," Markus insisted taking a step into the room, dropping to a knee beside the bed, "Ben?" Ben turned his head weakly and looked into Markus's eyes, "you never like what I see..." Markus's face was priceless, and through her empathic bond, Katherine picked up on Ben's amusement and her brother's indignance. "Benjamin..." Markus urged. Ben shivered, setting his chin on his hands, opening himself up to the possibilities. He hated how vulnerable it made him feel, the world as it would be, and him the bridge between the past and the future. "You are going to buy me a turban..." Ben quipped. "Ben!" Katherine admonished in surprise, "that's not funny..." Ben smiled innocently, "sorry, should I just shave my head and let you look into a crystal ball?" Markus murmured something that sounded a lot like a yes to Ben, and the bed ridden young man shot his elder brother a dirty look. "I see Sepphy..." he frowned as he tried to solidify on so many transient images, "she's... hurt." Markus's hand's tightened on the edge of the bed, his eyes glaring up at the French guards, "if they hurt her..." Ben's hand reached out and closed on his brothers, "there is a dark haired man... a warrior... The knight of swords..." "Ben..." Katherine warned, reminding Ben to avoid the fortune telling clichés he was so fond of in moments like that. "Hey I have one use around here," Ben muttered weakly, "if I can't make a joke about it..." "Tell me about the dark knight," Markus asked, cutting into the banter. "A man that wields a sword..." Ben shrugged, "I don't see him with one... but he has one... he will come... and with him will come war, bloodshed, and death." He shook his head, "cities are going to burn in the name of a new god..." He sighed as he looked over at Katherine, "And you can't save your knight from his fate... no matter how much you love him. He will die, and with him will die hope..." Katherine frowned, "I..." Markus cut her off, "will he come here?" "He will come," Ben nodded, "but how or when I don't know. But your future, mine and Katherine's are all dependant upon this man." "And the others?" Katherine asked, catching the way Ben spoke. "They are all dead," Ben said with a sigh, "The White Queen..." "Ben?" Katherine reminded. Ben shook his head, "I don't see her face, all I know is that she is a queen, and that she will kill everyone. She hates them, every one of us..." "You need to rest Ben," Markus said, reaching out to touch his forehead, looking at his sister, "we should let him be." Katherine nodded her head, following her brother from the room, allowing Ben to curl up tightly into his blanket. The visions of death dancing through his head, and plaguing his dreams. * * * Philip read the newspaper as the car whisked him away from the Heathrow Starport heading into London. VonGrippen was sitting across the limo from him staring with interest out of the window at the sights they were passing. Lance sat beside him amidst a pile of their baggage that hadn't fitted into the boot of the car listening to music and sleeping lightly. The news hadn't changed much in over two decades. The same brush fires of wars flaring in third world countries. American and European forces battling on opposite sides, not officially engaging each other in anything more than the occasional skirmish. Or the news that China had annexed yet another country in indo-china as they expanded steadily. It was the dawn of a true one-world government; any political scientist could see the Imperial aims of any of the three superpowers. America had lost it's superiority when, after Icarus, the European nations had pulled closer together and China had exploded to sweep minor nations under its banner in an effort to offer them the protection of its communist economy after they declared bankruptcy. It wasn't a conventional war; there was no need to resort to that when the threat of nuclear weaponry hung over the heads of all the major states. They were content jockeying for control of the smaller states, simmering in their hatreds for each other. America hiding behind its bastion of Fortress America, while Europe struggled to remain relevant and China simply expanded. The threat of full scale war was ever present, the United Nations in Geneva (the facility in New York long since abandoned for a more neutral location) was a scene of constant bickering and posturing as the super powers moved pieces across the global chess board as they had since the United Nations had formed two centuries before. At least they were travelling to London. England had managed to maintain its special status with the European Union and its close friendship with the United States, a mediator nation in global politics that had been solidified when the latest Secretary General of the United Nations had been British. Lord Houghton was the consummate diplomat and worked tirelessly to try to bring the tension off of various situations that arose. Which was fortunate for Philip, he'd attended Cambridge with Houghton. "You are worrying again," VonGrippen murmured from across the seat from his father. Philip looked up from his paper at the young man dark hair falling rebelliously as a couple of strands fell across his eyes, the rest of his fringe being pushed off to one side. Ever since he had been little, Alexander had sought refuge and places to hide. Were it not for Lance's outgoing personality pulling the younger VonGrippen along he may have retreated from the world altogether. "I'm just uncomfortable whenever I'm on Earth," Philip dismissed shuffling the paper as he turned the page. "Is that why you chose to leave?" VonGrippen asked nodding to the paper. Philip took a long breath and smiled, "I don't like living in fear, fear is a powerful weapon, but when it becomes a staple of life you have to seek a means of escape. And Geldan is beautiful, strong and clean." "If the war escalates," VonGrippen leaned forward his eyes firm, "It won't be constrained to Earth. It will filter out to the House colonies, especially if they are funnelling money into the war effort. What are the stances of the other delegates?" Philip closed the paper. Ever since VonGrippen had began his university education on Geldan, he had demonstrated a keen interest in politics, that pleased his father. And Philip had found him to be a keen sounding board when dealing with colonial issues back home. VonGrippen was like a sponge, soaking up information as he analysed it and offered a counter viewpoint to Philip's impassioned outlook. "The other delegates are worried. As America takes more of a vested interest in its colonies, it is only a matter of time until our own parent nations seek to fuel their own arms race by garnishing funds from Colonial taxation," Philip set his paper down and stroked his chin, "Money that pours out of our colonial infrastructure and is squandered to make defence contractors rich." "It was how President Reagan won the Cold War," VonGrippen stated calmly, "He funded a massive war machine and out spent the Communist block." "Unfortunately it is not going to work twice," Philip smiled, "At least not for Europe, it may stop China, but then with an army as large as theirs..." "The key to winning a war isn't through spending money," VonGrippen replied sitting back into his seat, "They key is to out think your opponent and to get him to spend more money. While you refine weapons that will not cost you anything to replenish and maintain." "You sound like you've been doing some research on the matter," Philip smiled at his son, "still planning the great invasion?" VonGrippen's brow furrowed, "I am merely remaining true to the grand plan, House VonGrippen is a significant fighting force, and as soon as we have a jump drive, all of these... political ambitions on Earth will be irrelevant. I am merely suggested a way of resolving the imminent conflict in a way that would ensure the economic future of the House." "Just worry about defending your thesis," Philip smiled, "We've been on the edge of war for years now, I doubt sincerely that we'll cross into full scale hostilities any time soon." VonGrippen nodded his head, "It is a matter of time, and impatient people will see the benefit of a global civil war and be blinded by what they can accomplish with it. It will start with one man doing one thing, and slowly it will escalate into a situation that will be all the excuse for war they need." "You're being pessimistic," Philip smiled tightly, unsettled at VonGrippen's assessment of the situation. "I am being pragmatic," VonGrippen replied quietly, "I'll speak to the embassy security staff once we arrive..." "You're not staying at the Embassy," Philip cleared his throat a little, "I don't want you distracted from your school work. Defend your thesis and you can join me afterwards." There was a pause from across the car, the young Admiral looked set to argue but simply let it go with a slight nod, "As you wish. However, I will speak to the Embassy staff to ensure you're adequately protected." "Stubborn," Philip murmured tucking the paper onto the seat beside him and fishing out his wallet drawing out his First Bank of Orion card, "I'm not going to need this while I am attending the summit, it will ensure you have everything you need while you're in Cambridge. And in case of an emergency it will ensure that you can get to Mars and that ship of yours." VonGrippen accepted the bankcard and tucked it into the pocket of his cotton shirt, "What are your instructions for..." Philip held up a finger, shaking his head, "we don't discuss such things." He looked across at his son, grown into a young man. Capable and well educated, VonGrippen would have no problems surviving on his own, but it was still not a thought Philip wanted to dwell upon. The death of the Highlord would further widen the gulf between his son and his wife. But that was the way of all things. Boys grew into men, and their fathers died. As long as he had done his job as a father then VonGrippen would be a fine Highlord. One look into those brown eyes confirmed that VonGrippen was more than capable of looking after himself. * * * "The answer is no, Bill." The President of the United States leaned over the pool table and set up his shot, carefully chewing on the end of a fine cigar as he eyed the balls and lined up his cue, sending the cue ball sailing with a stout crack sinking the errant 1-ball. "I appreciate that Mister President," Chief-of-Staff Bill Watters leaned on his cue standing away from the table slightly, "But the Secretary of Defence is correct, if they are bringing the colonial representatives here to seize control of their economies then we need to take action." "And start a war?" The President shook his head slowly, "It's bad enough our forces are scattered half way around the globe trying to contain this mess, not to mention the problems we have with the Chinese. We can't afford a shooting war with the EU, let them be and do what they want to do." "So we are content to wait until they start it?" Bill pressed, "We have reports of their genetics projects, conservative estimates place nearly a thousand GN-1's in active service through out their militaries not to mention their R&D facilities. And there are unsubstantiated rumours that a Doctor Rikard is active on Mars working on something for the French..." "Remember when the French used to be our allies?" The President asked sinking his second ball and straightening up, "if you don't just take a look at any picture of New York, the big lady there holding the torch," he raised his eyebrows emphatically. "That is supposed to be a symbol of the friendship we are supposed to have with France." "Friendships change," Bill warned the President, "You can't keep appeasing Europe, especially not in the middle of your first term, opinion polls already suggest that your foreign policy lacks a backbone." "And so once again I am forced to act upon a situation created by my predecessors who in turn listened to opinion polls rather than to their own common sense?" The President sighed as he set the cue down on the table, "Bill we are not going to be the instigators of World War Three, I don't care what President Janes did in her term..." "With respect Mister President," Bill cleared his throat, "This situation goes back a lot further than that." "Icarus," The President replied, "I'm quite aware of that damn ship and what its done to us all because some bright spark got it into his head that his cronies could milk a global population crisis for their own fiscal gain." "I don't think referring to President MacCartney as a bright spark is appropriate..." Bill offered. "Why not?" The President smiled, "They're going to think I'm a push over brown nosing Europe. The answer's no Bill, we don't fire the first shot here, that's final." "Yes Mister President," Bill bowed his head. |