VonGrippen had to be singularly the strangest individual I've ever read about, his musings and his wisdom at time appear contradictory until you take one thing into account, that he was human.
Cambridge University, Cambridge, England
It was a beautiful day, the sun streaming down as the younger VonGrippen leaned upon a bridge, sunglasses tilted down a little as he watched the traditional rowboats paddle past. Geldan was a cold and wet world, having more in common with the Scottish Highlands so it was a welcome break to the constant drizzle and heavy moisture.
He'd been on Earth for forty-seven hours and twenty-eight minutes, his first defence was scheduled for the next afternoon and while he knew he should have been preparing there was little more that he could do to prepare. He knew the material, understood his subject matter and felt prepared. He wasn't nervous, he could never understand those who did, so long as he was prepared he was in control, and part of being prepared was expecting the unexpected.
His father had attended Cambridge, training for his life as a diplomat, a career that had prepared him for his eventual role as the Highlord and had been delighted when his son had accepted a distance course for his Masters from the prestigious and historic school. Diplomacy was a natural career choice for the son of a diplomat, however VonGrippen knew that he lacked his father's flare for it. The natural empathy that made him such a good negotiator was one of the few things VonGrippen didn't possess. Too cold and mechanical at times, it had also affected his personal relationships.
He turned from the water, walking back down the path towards one of the colleges, inclining his head to a set of residents, the young men in their pristine gowns moving in small packs through the colleges and the streets of Cambridge. The future of England shaped and moulded by tradition and guided by history.
The undercover policeman that shadowed him detached himself from where he had been leaning against a tree trunk. The House Embassy ensuring that during the summit the son of their Highlord was protected; there was no telling what an opportunist would do if VonGrippen was caught alone.
It was part of protocol, though VonGrippen was certain that the officer was just bored. Being assigned to such a mediocre assignment when events were unfolding in London that held the potential to reshape the colonial relationship with Earth. Especially to a man who lacked the urges many of the others his age possessed. And VonGrippen wondered if he shouldn't attempt to escape his chaperone and wait for him in the nearest strip club, it would certainly alleviate the man's boredom. However his father would have to be contacted and wouldn't appreciate the interruption.
The War College, a colloquial nickname for the Cambridge OTC facility that had been established in 1803 and officially became an Officer Training Corp in 1908. The new facility had been constructed during the last century during the early stages of the UN crisis. It was a large and expensive complex regularly patrolled by cadets and young officers ready to participate in their service to protect the United Kingdom's assets both at home and in its Colonies. Geldan VII amongst them.
The rifle range was filled with the chatter of automatic weapons, the occasional bark of pistol fire and the path VonGrippen was on allowed him to look down upon the drills, sergeants snapping orders at potential officers as they adjusted their aim and tried again.
It was a life of war, it seemed, on Earth. Heathrow Starport was filled with soldiers. Heavily armed men and women ready for anything that might occur, as the world teetered on the edge. He'd watched the roving defensive missile batteries around London, a protective screen of cruise missiles designed to intercept incoming attacks before they could strike anything important. The daily air-raid drills that sent people scurrying in case the threat of attack was real. A nation gripped by the threat of attack had come to expect it, to anticipate it.
VonGrippen could read that tension around him, he could see it in the rhetoric pouring out of various propaganda news reports flowing from the EU and from the United States. China, typically, remaining silent and malevolent in the background, the Red Army conquering steadily as it grew.
General Chow, Party Chairman was a virtual enigma; he ruled the Communist party and headed the Red Army. The Great Red Dragon was rumoured to be a bloodthirsty man, but VonGrippen viewed those rumours as nothing more than scare mongering. General Chow was doing what he felt was right, stabilizing the Asian region and rattling his sabre at the west whenever they dared to interfere in his affairs.
"You want to give it a go?" the calm Scottish accent beside him had almost caught him unawares if VonGrippen hadn't caught the approach of combat boots on gravel.
He turned his head and pushed the dark hair away from his eyes surveying the short Scottish man with dark hair and a goatee standing at ease a few feet away wearing the customary DPM uniform of the British Army.
"I was merely observing," VonGrippen gestured down.
The Second Lieutenant inclined his head, "Yes, but would you like to give it a try, sir?"
VonGrippen contemplated it a moment before nodding, "That would be interesting." He offered a smile.
"Lieutenant Dominic Worth, sir, you're Alexander VonGrippen," He extended his hand, "My Captain is from Geldan, sir, told me to keep an eye out for you."
"Thank you," VonGrippen nodded, following the Captain around and down towards the range, the Policeman a few steps behind.
"Think nothing of it sir," Dominic walked to a side table where rifles were set out. Behind the table a Sergeant stood eyeing the thin academic beside the short and stocky Lieutenant as he lifted one of the rifles.
"Lee-Enfield L-91 mark four," The sergeant displayed the bullpup rifle made of polymers and looked extremely light in the man's hands, "It operates on Standard NATO rounds," he spun it effortlessly through his hands, "Bolt, safety, selector and the trigger."
"The original point-and-click technology," Dominic offered with a chuckle, "The wonderful thing about Assault Rifle training is that anyone can become effective with one with a little training." He motioned for an empty place in the range, "Stand easy, feet apart... that one," he kicked the back of one of VonGrippen's shoes forward a little, "Like that, now put it up to your shoulder, sight through the sights, line them up and when you are ready release the safety..."
VonGrippen did as instructed, his finger curling around the trigger and squeezing it, feeling the weapon jerk straight backwards into his shoulder, the ejected shell casing bouncing off of his head. He blinked in surprise at how easy it had been.
"That's it, give it another go," Dominic encouraged.
* * *
Philip took a long, tired breath as he looked down at the buffet table, realizing he wasn't really hungry. The other delegates had demanded a break, not that he could blame them. They had been lectured to for nearly two days about the financial impact of war upon the global economy and how it should be natural that in order for the House to continue to prosper they should invest in their parent nations. After all, the economical future of the House was, after all, dependant on Earth.
Philip had kindly pointed out for the European Union Secretary of Finance that he was incorrect, that the economical future of the House was dependant upon their trade with the Orion Directorate. That had gone over like a lead balloon, but had earned several cheers of acknowledgement from his fellow House delegates.
It was a dance.
Threats and bluster that the EU was unable to back up. The House wasn't even dependant upon their parent nations for defence; in fact many of the House militia served in British Units on Earth, and while House uniforms bore the striking falcons, they still bore the flag of the EU on their sleeves.
So far there were two major alien races that had been encountered, the benevolent Orions who had no aims for expansion and sought only to expand their trade networks with potential customers. And the Polian Alliance. A mysterious race that kept sealed borders and seemed loath to interact with Humanity beyond a single ambassador that left his embassy on Earth once a year to meet with the UN Secretary-General and from what Philip had heard, really didn't say much in those meetings beyond the mere formalities of contact. The rest were a minor collection of riff-raff spilling out from the Polian border worlds, interstellar trash hardly worth the time or effort of opening diplomatic channels.
It wouldn't end well; the summit was a farce, that much Philip could pick up on immediately. The finance ministers of the EU governments were set to make their demands, a bitter pill the House was expected to swallow. The offer for an alliance would force the house to accept that it was nothing more than a satellite state of a larger organization and carry the burden.
He turned from the table and withdrew to one of the tall windows over the river Thames, watching the traffic over the city of London. He was feeling pessimistic. What exactly could he hope to accomplish if he decided to ignore the EU's demands? Geldan was too far from their sphere of influence to affect directly, and while the House army on Geldan was British trained, its senior officers were loyal to the Highlord. Any attempt by the military to seize control of the colony would be met with resistance, and ultimately without the capacity to be re-supplied from Earth, it would fail swiftly. However there were colonies in the room that didn't possess that luxury, the danger of loosing control of their colonies was very real to them. And Philip found himself worrying about the house elements that he couldn't protect adequately.
"Highlord?" A young aide called politely, "we're about to reconvene."
"Wonderful," Philip murmured blowing out his moustache and forcing a fake smile as he turned to follow the youth back into the meeting hall to retake his seat at the forefront of the House bench, ready for the next round in the fight.
* * *
It had taken months of planning and preparation. Given the tightness of security it was a small miracle that they were able to assemble it at all.
The small apartment was only a couple of blocks from the summit hall, but it was ideal. The bomb was overkill, but there was no reason to take chances, if the order came down for them it to be detonated then they needed to be certain that it would do the task. The refined plutonium bomb, a Special Atomic Demolitions Munition or SADM had been developed years before and refined to an effective nuclear weapon. And despite treaties and accords banning such weapons, the Secretary of Defence had determined that it was the best method for ensuring that should the President order it, the colonial summit would be stopped.
Back in his office in Washington, the Secretary of Defence stood before his windows, the activation switch sitting beside the phone. He'd requested the trigger device be before him rather than the President. He didn't trust the man's commitment, and hesitation would be a crucial mistake. The Secretary of Defence had no qualms about what he had to do, if he received the order he would lay his hand upon the palm scanner before the President could change his mind.
There were two Generals in the room with him, each well aware of the implications. It was a general consensus in the Pentagon that war was an inevitability. The colonial summit was a unique opportunity to strike down the Colonial leadership as well as key individuals in the European Union. The resulting chaos would buy time as American units across the globe had mobilized and were ready to act the second they received the orders to go.
He looked across at the Under Secretary of Defence, a cold woman sitting in her chair primly, her lips tightly pressed together. She'd made her own stance on the war very evident, pushing relentlessly for it to begin. They'd been prepared for years, ever since Icarus, but so far no president was willing to step across the line that needed to be crossed.
Earth required decisive leadership, that leadership was theirs. An aggressive stance that permeated much of the upper echelons, and was mirrored in the European Union. A belief that the only resolution lay in conflict, and that the only true peace was found in the heart of war.
"He is not going to do it," Madeline Carey, the Under Secretary looked at him sternly, "Bill's been urging this action, yet..."
"The war effort has the full support of both houses," The Secretary replied calmly, "One man's morality cannot stop the will of the people, not even if he is the President. The National Security Advisor as well as the Director the CIA are meeting with him now, they are making him clear on the implications of the summit and what it will mean for America and democracy if it is permitted to go ahead. I have faith that he will come to the right decision."
Madeline folded her arms, "And while we wait for him? What then? What if the House agree to the demands and permit the allied taxation rates?"
"There are still several days before that happens," The Secretary replied confidently, "Our intelligence sources inform us that the European delegates are meeting stiff opposition in the form of the Highlord."
"Philip VonGrippen," Madeline nodded her head, "That would be true to character, he has always fiercely protected Colonial rights." She looked pensive, "do you believe he will refuse the EU's demands?"
"It is hard to predict," General Barnes spoke up; the four-star Air-Force General was the current chairman of the Joint Chiefs. The Marine General beside him, General Morgan looked at him with interest.
"What do you mean?" Madeline inquired.
"If the Highlord were speaking for just Geldan I'd believe he'd definitely refuse them. But he is the self-stylised leader of multiple worlds," Barnes chewed a moment on his words, "and his intelligence profile tends to paint him as a person who views a larger picture than his own... particular... ambitions."
"He's a dictator," Madeline surmised, "wonderful. I doubt, then, that we can count on him for long."
"For now we wait," the Secretary stated calmly, leaning back into his chair listening to it creak under his weight, silence again descending over them as the four of them stared at the direct phone that linked them to the Oval Office.
* * *
Rikard walked through the facility, hands in the pockets of his white lab coat, remembering when he'd been a patient back in the early days of the experiments. And now a former patient ran the Asylum, which was almost laughably ironic. But who was more predominantly qualified to do so? The Doctors who had created him had sought to increase his intelligence, to enhance his physical form as well. Had they realized when they were doing that they were creating their own replacement? That the work they had done to create him was almost laughable when compared to his own work on the GN-2's?
He smiled, realizing that he in turn was creating his own replacements, and they would create the GN-3's it was the cycle of genetics. He rubbed his chin and mused if that had been the way with God, that he'd created in his own image his own replacements.
He paused on his rounds of the lower labs staring over the dissection tables at the work being conducted upon the first generation soldiers.
Part of the lab's mandate was to design a race of soldiers, fast-breeding, accelerated maturity and easy to train. Something that could be put into practice and field use in the coming war to cover the projected losses that the EU defence ministries predicted. His research projects had yielded a couple of feasible results. And out of those, only the work he had done in splicing human DNA to canine had yielded anything close to what the military required. The pups grew fast, remained in a perpetual adolescent state, exactly as he had designed them to do. They exhibited fiercely loyal characteristics, to the point where there were already field ready units.
That had been the other requirement of the project, that they be indistinguishable from human beings in anything but a full medical examination.
There had been attempts made with cloning, but the technology was limited, a perfect duplication of a human being could be created with relative ease. The main cloning labs had been established on Mars due to the stiff regulations on Earth about what was moral and immoral with genetics, and they had proven successful, however the procedures made human infants, there was still the costs associated with rearing the children and training them.
Unfortunately General Michaud seemed to dislike the "Kaynin" soldiers. And Rikard secretly believed the general was more of a cat person.
Michaud's superiors hadn't shared his opinions of the Kaynin, fortunately, and provided they passed their initial trials the breeding program was set to provide a hundred thousand 'pups' ready for war in a couple of short years.
Even the Chinese would think twice about attacking an army that could match their own in size and replenish its ranks quicker than they could.
He used his access cards to move deeper into the facility, descending to the Deep Core. Security was tighter here, with good reason. A few years before, one of the Martian Conglomerates had stolen cloning technology in an attempt to use it to supplement their work force, sinking billions into the project that had ultimately produced them little to nothing for their efforts. However, the Conglomerate, facing bankruptcy from the entire endeavour had seen another boom market for their newfound supply of children. Applying the right amounts of pressure on the ruling council of the various Martian states a new form of slavery had emerged, constructs, made to order had made it onto the commodities market. And human flesh had again become profitable for trade.
It was a mistake that wouldn't be repeated.
He walked out into the Deep Core, a facility within a facility. Armed guards patrolling and keeping tight attention as they ignored the doctor walking around upper catwalks above the living quarters.
Rikard slid his access card into the right port and waited while the steps descended into the lower level, walking down and into the comfortable area that resembled an over-sized house except for the ever present guards overhead.
They were seated communally in a semi-circle staring at him. Quiet and silent as the metal steps slid back towards the ceiling. Watching as he took off the lab coat and set it aside, coming in to sit in the easy chair opposite them. He looked over at the broad windows with the brilliant artificial sunlight streaming down over a patch of grass about half the size of a football field, the only thing close to outside these children had ever seen.
"Where is she?" the tallest boy, GN-2-1 asked standing up. He kept his tone even but Rikard could feel the anger radiating off of him.
"She's safe," Rikard reassured, looking up and waiting for the guards to move out of earshot before he leaned forward in his chair, "They are conducting experiments, but I am doing what I can to protect her." He lied effortlessly, knowing the signs the young man would look for, the subtle gives that would tell him about the lie. Every conversation was a delicate game of chess, and while the boy held an advantage, Rikard was a master liar.
The GN-2's seemed unsettled. They had grown up with "Uncle Ricky" almost their entire lives. And Rikard cultivated that bond of trust, he was like a favoured uncle to them, others had acted the roles of parental figures to the children. Michaud was painted to be a father figure, strong and authoritative, while various caregivers had come and gone over the years. Removed to ensure that the children identified and loved only one person.
Rikard knew full well his own aspirations rested in the hands of the children seated before him. And they in turn were bright enough to recognize he was their only ally in the cold and sterile labs.
GN-2-1 didn't blink, "Where is she?" he repeated calmly.
"She is currently with the General," Rikard said evenly, "She is doing something very important for him..."
"Intelligence gathering," A red haired girl stood, GN-2-2 folded her arms across the front of the single piece jumpsuit all the children had been given, "General Michaud is hopeful that she can be trained to provide him with accurate long range ESP."
"An impossibility," another boy, GN-2-9 chimed up, "the obvious distance related complications aside it is impossible to interpret mental impulses into any kind of coherent understanding. Like two computers attempting to talk to each other without an operating system."
"Irrelevant Jonah," the eldest boy held up his hand staring at Rikard intently, "The issue is whether she is going to be allowed back to us or not?"
"I..." Rikard looked up again and waited until the guard again passed by, "I don't know... however," he saw the look of anger flickering across the boys face, "Markus can accompany me upstairs for some tests and I will ensure that you have time with her."
Markus, relaxed a fraction, his red hair and green eyes matching his sister Katherine, the girl that had spoken up earlier. "Take Kat," he said with a gesture, "Seph is closer to her than me."
Rikard nodded his agreement; "I'll do all I can for you..."
Markus smiled his eyes distant for a moment, as if considering a poisonous snake; Rikard noted that with interest, as the two GNs sized each other up.
* * *
Michaud leaned over the metal table, looking into her eyes. The combination of drugs and 'treatments' that reminded the old Frenchman of torture seemed to be working. She seemed to drift in that half aware state that she needed to attain in order to reach out and beyond herself.
He looked up at Doctor Radcliffe and gestured down, "is she aware of me?"
"Very much so," The doctor replied, "Sephradon displays several key enhancements present in most GN-2's, a hyper awareness of her surroundings, even in this state." He walked to the monitors and tapped a few commands into a computer, "are you sure you wish to proceed without..."
Michaud nodded, "just do it." He turned and walked away heading for the mirrored observation room, leaving Radcliffe to his work.
The Doctor inclined his head as he picked up the dark alien crystal shard, adjusting it to the same setting Rikard used, feeling a moments uncertainty over its usage. Very little was known about the device, it had been acquired at great expense from the Orions claiming it was a relic of the lost Kule civilization. It had been Rikard who had confirmed its value, and also Rikard who had devised a use for it.
He hesitated looking up at Michaud's window, "Are you certain General?"
The PA speakers crackled, "do it."
Radcliffe nodded as he applied the device to her forehead. Jumping back as she thrashed about screaming loudly as the bloodroot poison hit her system, chemically bonding with her as it spread through her blood stream.
Radcliffe watched the monitors as they dipped, Sephradon falling back to the metal table as she stared with cold blue eyes right into his own, locking onto them. He smiled back at her, feeling the rush of pleasure sweeping through him, an almost electric high that seemed to curl his toes as he...
"The target!" the PA roared.
Sephradon's eyes snapped away and up at the mirrored windows, searching each of them as if she searched for the source of that voice, looking for Michaud as the room darkened and a projector lit up displaying the face of the Secretary of Defence for the United States of America. A rotund man with heavyset jowls and a tight face.
Sephradon locked her concentration upon it as her eyes narrowed, stretching out with her consciousness, riding the waves of nausea the bloodroot fed through her system. She knew her role; she had been through it before, searching through all the presences she could feel. They were a myriad of people, minds, and emotions. So many minds that it was hard for her to keep count, but she did so. Distance became irrelevant to her as she sought out the image she stared at.
She steadied her heart, feeling it slow as she observed the way the universe flowed together, and the wonder that it contained. Things beyond the comprehension of the men who had tortured and tormented her. Things she could only barely understand herself even in her heightened state.
"Give her another dose." The PA cut through her concentration, and she half screamed, silently as she knew that was wrong.
Radcliffe frowned; he'd never seen Rikard...
"Now!" the PA snapped and Radcliffe did as he was commanded, applying a second dose of the bloodroot, stepping back from her and looking up at Michaud, "It's..."
She found the mind then, locked onto it and crushed it like an egg.
Radcliffe burbled, his eyes rolling up into his skull as he collapsed onto the floor, the other technicians in the room running to him as the girl sat upright the bonds that held her falling away as she looked about her. Lifting the torture implements from their tray with her mind as she threw them at the technicians.
Screaming at the top of her lungs she stood upon the metal table, watching the technicians scatter from their own implements turned upon them. She twisted the tray from its supports and threw it against the mirrored wall above her, cracking it with the force of the impact.
"The Target!" the PA roared.
Sephradon collapsed back to the table, cross-legged as she stared blankly towards the image, stretching out with every sense she had as around her technicians died from her assaults.
She cut a swath of destruction through the minds she touched. Not caring as she lashed out killing them as she focused in upon the one image burned into her mind. Closing her mind around his like a steel trap she executed the Secretary of Defence.
* * *
He slumped back into his chair, the trickle of blood seeping from his nose. Madeline was on her feet first, reaching out to check him while Barnes reached out to scoop up the phone to call for paramedics.
Morgan reached out a hand and set it down, cutting off the phone before Barnes could dial, "Hold it." He said surprised at how calmly he was thinking.
Madeline looked up at Morgan in shock as she found no pulse, glancing down at his finger on the phone and back again, "W-what?"
Morgan raised an eyebrow, "Think."
"We can't," Barnes said knowing exactly what Morgan was implying as he looked towards the trigger, "Without the President's go ahead..."
Madeline licked her lips and took a deep breath, "we can't do this," She agreed, "Ethically."
"God," Morgan said softly, "Has provided us with a means to act, freely without consequence. If the Secretary were to have activated the SADM before he died, despite our warnings not to..."
"They'll never buy it," Barnes said shaking his head, "They'll figure it out..."
"Two four star generals and the Under Secretary of Defence all saying exactly the same thing?" Morgan pressed, "We have a unique opportunity here to do what must be done, and we are all in agreement there."
The hand slapped down upon the palm reader, and both generals turned in surprise towards Madeline who looked up from where she stood holding the Secretary's hand in place. Her eyes firm, "It seems there is only one in America with a pair, and that's a woman." She dropped the Secretary's hand and pointed to the phone, "Call the paramedics and General," she looked at Barnes, "alert the President."
* * *
"Stop," Rikard's voice was soft and calming as he walked into the shattered lab, shivering at the cold temperature, staring in amazement at the young woman sitting upon the edge of the table playing with an ice crystal.
He reached out a reassuring hand to touch her on the shoulder as Katherine took his lab coat from his arm and wrapped it around her shivering friend.
"What happened here?" He demanded looking towards the shattered glass of the observation room where Michaud stood talking into a phone.
The General smiled down at Rikard, "destiny." He shook his head, "congratulations Doctor you're GN-2 project has just secured its funding and proven it's worth once and for all."
* * *
The explosion was comparable to the blast that had wiped out Hiroshima centuries before, exploding outwards in a conflagration of nuclear energies that incinerated everything in its path, the shockwave shattering buildings and toppling skyscrapers as the heart of London was literally torn out.
VonGrippen had just completed an afternoon at the War College and was preparing to leave when the news trickled in, first one then more officers grabbed one another and hurried towards the command centre. Dominic receiving the summons and rushing along, unaware that VonGrippen, without any other instructions, had followed his escort.
Everyone milled about in the cramped command centre, staring up in utter disbelief at the screens above them, at the carnage. The computers were displaying different views as the EMP distortions began to subside and the orbital observation satellites began to relay the extent of the damage.
"Where is that?" VonGrippen asked lifting his finger and breaking the stunned silence.
There was a rustle as some of the officers noticed him in their midst for the first time. VonGrippen stared closely at the image, his mind working through topographical maps of the country that he had studied and remembered to some detail.
"London," He murmured quietly as realization dawned upon him.
He stumbled, the weight of the realization crashing down upon him. His father, the Highlord VonGrippen, the future... everything assaulted him all at once.
Standing there, he looked down at the concrete floor. Remembering so many things at the same time, so many moments. The hardships of growing up in the shadow of that man, and yet... there had been love. It had been his father's pride and understanding that had made him who he was. And like any boy, realizing that his father had been ripped away from him, he felt lost and alone.