There are those that will state that no problem exists, that the incident in San Francisco was isolated. Nothing more than a freak happenstance that our scientists will find an explanation for.
However that explanation is not forth coming, so speculation runs rampant. We cannot sit idly by and pray that this will go away. Deliverance is in our hands, we must act for the safety and protection of our nation, and our ideals.
White House - Washington D.C. - USA - Earth
"Is it an attack?" The President inquired sitting behind his desk and looking at his advisors.
"We are still trying to ascertain that Mister President," Madeline responded thoughtfully reviewing her data, "though... and I hesitate to remind anyone of the past, this isn't without precedent."
"What do you mean?" The Chief of Staff inquired.
"Well if you recall the death of my predecessor," Madeline flipped through the pages of the report, not looking up, "the deaths of so many people all suffering the same symptoms at the same time..."
"Are you suggesting that these two events are related?" The President stood uneasily, "but there is nothing to suggest that..."
"There is Mister President," the National Security Advisor pulled papers from his own folio and set them down for the President to see, "there are reports that suggest the EU was experimenting with a Second Generation augmentation project -- one that... it is believed, may have given rise to... unusual results."
"Is there any evidence of this beyond speculation?" The President chewed his lip reading the sketchy report he had been handed.
"Nothing concrete, Mister President," the National Security Advisor responded, "most intelligence reports collected five years ago who suggest a facility was destroyed by elements of House VonGrippen, under the Admiral himself ..."
"VonGrippen," the President shuffled through his papers, pulling out a communiqué that had been sent back to Earth from Vice-Admiral Langdon, the commander of the Geldan strike force. He read through it and set it down, "is this the same VonGrippen, the current Highlord of the House, and the man blowing up the Beacon Corridor?"
"He's the son of a man killed in the London bombing," the Deputy Director of Intelligence for the CIA chimed up from his seat where he was sipping tea, waiting patiently for just such a moment where his expertise was called for, "I have been compiling a file upon him since his name first surfaced five years ago. A good politician, he's been the principal driving force behind the restructuring of the House assets over the past few years. He's also the principle reason the Orions are backing our attack on the House assets."
"This is the man that has bank rolled the jump drive technology that has made Geldan such a... desirable Colonial acquisition," the National Security Advisor pointed out.
"VonGrippen?" Madeline asked, "what do we know about him?"
"He is currently in command of a colonial built starship," the National Security Advisor answered, "but so far we have been unable to get any kind of accurate visual data, and well... considering its low Radar profile we can presume that the HMS Shisak is a stealth capable cruiser."
"Do the House possess nuclear assets?" Madeline pressed.
"No," the National Security advisor shook his head, "not that we are aware, however they have made some remarkable advances technologically of late, it would be safe to assume that they made some kind of weapons developments that we should be prepared for."
"It isn't the ship you have to worry about," the DDI turned in his chair and set his teacup down, "VonGrippen himself is a weapon. His Cambridge University file paints an image of a brilliantly creative mind with a unique understanding of military history. His testing shows an aptitude for three-dimensional thinking as well as a..." the DDI chose his words with care, "he lacks emotional fetters that would retrain other people his age in his position. Meaning he will be a coldly logical, capable commander. Combine that with a jump capable starship, you have a very dangerous individual. Possibly more dangerous than any military commander we have yet faced."
"One man, one ship," Madeline sniffed, "we out gun him in space, and with the Orion's assistance, we'll stop him before he does any more damage to the Beacon Corridor and..."
The DDI leaned forward in his chair, "mark my words, VonGrippen is a dangerous man, and he has one key advantage we do not possess. He won't underestimate us."
Markus stood quietly by the fireplace staring into his coffee mug a long moment before he looked up, "I advised that attacking Geldan VII was a mistake, I think we've seen a number of instances of... what one person with the correct tools is capable of. I also urge caution."
The President nodded his head, "send a message to Langdon, advise him too..."
"It would never arrive in time," Madeline reminded, checking her watch, "Langdon is two minutes from his jump to Beacon Thirty-one."
"Then Admiral Langdon is going to loose," the DDI predicted calmly picking up his tea savouring the Darjeeling.
* * *
It was a tumultuous arrival, the juggernaut bursting from hyperspace as the powerful Tradeliner slide into normal space, its weapons swinging free as it tracked any potential threat in and around Beacon Thirty-one. Along its hull the American frigates detached, spiralling away to take up escort positions around the Tradeliner. Aegis missile systems tied into the Orion sensor systems, plotting attack vectors and feeding it back to the American Vice-Admiral's command post aboard the Tradeliner.
A mile of guns, equipment and ten thousand American marines crammed into drop pods along the length of the mighty ship. The invasion force that had striped so many other colonies of their freedom, stamping out rebellion and ensuring total American dominance over the colonies.
The Shisak sat drifting, its drives had brought it to almost a full stop. Sitting like a shadow in the depths of space, watching its prey as they scrambled to combat alert. VonGrippen leaning forward in his command chair stroking the thin beard that had began to grow on his chin as he studied the situation.
The Shisak was being fed data via a communications relay on the station. The cruiser sitting just beyond the maximum scanning range of the Orion Tradeliner watching without being observed as the vessels closed on the Beacon Station. Doing a mental count of the materials and resources the Americans had brought to bear, making a note of the Aegis missile frigates that provided a missile shield for the other vessels. Those two craft would have to die first.
Reaching his decision to attack, VonGrippen stood from his chair setting his mug of coffee aside as he stepped down the step to rest the flats of both hands on the edge of the situation table, "torpedo control open tubes one through four."
Octavius gestured to the Kaynin weapons tech, as forward in the bow of the cruiser its primary torpedo tubes retracted and its gun ports opened. Torpedo was a colloquial term for the Type XIII 'Bolt' Cruise missile, a self guided stealth weapon that employed the same refractive carbon composites in its construction as the Shisak herself. The weapon was virtually invisible on Radar and Ladar, and by the time the frigate could see them coming it would be well within its kill radius.
"Target sierra-seven and sierra-nine, two Torpedoes each, stand by with Reefers." VonGrippen looked over at Ben standing watching him, the decision to attack had been made, and even though they were sitting on a fully charged jump drive, the odds needed to become even and they had a unique opportunity to strike with impunity into the heart of the American battle group.
"Weapons targeted, sir," Octavius reported, "green light on missile launch systems."
VonGrippen watched the frigates fanning out as they endeavoured to find the Shisak, searching for it in and around the Beacon Station, believing that if they couldn't see her, then she couldn't see them. However they were being cautious, and VonGrippen wasn't about to take any risks.
"Fire all torpedoes," he commanded crossing his arms.
The Shisak unleashed four Bolt's, the weapons screaming up to speed outside the detection range of the Orion vessel and far beyond the range of the American scanning systems, adjusting their trim with thrusters as their engines flared out and they began to cruise on their attack vectors. They swept, like four shadows, through the darkness, fanning out as they zeroed in on the two Aegis missile frigates, closing the distance as they bore down upon them.
"Five seconds to target," Octavius reported over the bridge.
VonGrippen closed his eyes and took a deep breath, murmuring in Latin. Knowing that they had done all they could, that the fate of the frigates rested squarely with Lance's God, and while he wasn't a religious man, he knew when to pray.
The Aegis frigates threw themselves hard over, attempting to change their vectors to escape the incoming Torpedoes that had just appeared on their attack scopes. Their pinpoint defences spooling up as they tried to shoot the heavy missiles down before they could detonate. But their reaction times were too slow, the first Torpedo exploded from the weapons fire as the second screamed through the debris striking amidships and incinerating the frigate, holing it squarely.
The second frigate was not quite so lucky as both missiles struck it astern, reducing the missile frigate to a vaporous cloud of debris.
"Open a comm channel," VonGrippen commanded, "I want to talk to our opponent."
He collected the growler phone receiver and lifted it to his ear as Ben tapped the communications console and permitted the Shisak to broadcast. VonGrippen waited a moment as he cleared his throat, pointing for Octavius to target the Reefer missiles.
"This is Admiral Alexander Richard VonGrippen, Highlord of House VonGrippen," he rounded the table and looked at the faces of each of his men and women serving under him, nodding to each of them as he turned back to the situation board, "I know that you can hear me, and I know that you cannot see me. I am giving you one last offer to surrender, before I destroy the rest of your frigates."
He ground his teeth, waiting and watching for it, hoping that the American commander would take the bait.
"I will open fire if you don't respond," VonGrippen smiled tightly.
"This is Vice-Admiral Tyler Langdon," the phone finally answered him, and VonGrippen nodded, predictable.
"Admiral, my apologies over the reception," VonGrippen looked across the board again, the American forces were trying to triangulate the position of his broadcast, once they had it they would deploy to attack the Shisak, their anger over the embarrassing loss of two of their frigates would guarantee their attack. VonGrippen was counting on it, the Admiral simply had to keep VonGrippen transmitting long enough.
"You are guilty of Piracy against..." Langdon began.
"We are at war, Admiral, I am sure you are aware of the difference." VonGrippen pointed to the Tradeliner, touching various sections as he stared back at Octavius, who nodded and punched in the targeting data.
"If you stand down and surrender your vessel," Langdon urged.
"But Admiral," VonGrippen shook his head, "I currently hold the advantage, you can't find me. Now were our roles reversed would you surrender?"
"What do you want VonGrippen?" The Vice-Admiral grew suspicious.
"Merely to deliver my ultimatum," VonGrippen bounced on his toes and checked the upper displays, "surrender, or die."
"Go to hell," Langdon snarled.
"As you wish," VonGrippen responded setting the receiver back into its cradle as the frigates broke from their escort formation, sweeping down towards the source of the Colonial signal, a stealth equipped drone that had been used as a relay for the message. The frigates adopting an attack formation as they chased the wild goose, drawing away from the Tradeliner, leaving it vulnerable.
"Fire Mister Octavius," VonGrippen commanded returning to his command chair and sitting down. As the Shisak's conventional missile ports opened and rapid fired a hundred Reefer missiles. There was no need for stealth as the missiles tore away at full burn, sweeping like a pack of wild dogs in towards the Tradeliner. Its antimissile systems engaging as its gun crews filled space with waves of fire power, forming a flak barrier to keep the missiles at bay. But it wasn't enough to stop all of the missiles.
The flak fire diminished the number of missiles inbound by almost eighty percent, the CIWS cannons carving up a further ten as they penetrated the barrier and closed on the outer hull, but the final ten impacted with the Tradeliner's jump pod mounts, the first tearing the mount free, while the second and third destroyed the pod utterly. Six seven and eight did the same with the second pod, while nine and ten impacted with the main coupling joining the Tradeliners drive section to its cargo pods.
VonGrippen sat back, "engage jump drives, and signal the detonation of Beacon Thirty-one."
The Shisak leapt into hyperspace leaving the devastated Tradeliner crippled in space, the frigates curving around just in time to see the Beacon station, their life-line back to civilization shudder and explode as the demolitions charges tore it apart.
* * *
Bruce Maya flipped through the transcript of the interrogation. The boy had known nothing, under powerful psychotropic drugs he had confessed to being a US Marine. That he had been contacted for a 'special mission' by an unknown officer, ordered to assist in the break-in and to shoot anyone who interfered.
There was nothing in the story that amounted to any kind of serious lead. The kid's senior officers had no idea what the kid was talking about. And there were no concrete leads as to who the mysterious officer had been. Only one thing seemed to stand out, that there were three people in the Senator's office, the other two buying time for the third to escape with... something.
The kid had claimed it was a laptop from the Senator's desk, but when asked the Senatorial staff had reported that nothing was missing. And unless they were attempting to cover something up... Which, given that it was a Senator and a potential Presidential Candidate, it was all too likely.
Bruce hated politics, he avoided voting like the plague, why vote when you were given no choice? It was Tweedle dumb or Tweedle dumber, each saying almost the exact same thing, just one wore a red tie, the other a blue one. Might as well flip a coin for all he and the American populace seemed to care. There hadn't been a charismatic leader in American politics for a long time, no one with that special spark that said 'I am going to be the President'. Mediocrity was the rule of the day, and Bruce hated it.
So what was important enough to steal from a Presidential Candidate? His secret porn stash would probably be an interesting moment if it fell into the opposition's hands and they could stand up and show that Senator MacDonald had a secret desire to be spanked by midget clowns while he dressed up like a horse and galloped around the White House. Of course that might actually convince Bruce to vote for him, least it would be different.
Blackmail was the likely reason behind the break in. Bruce remembered his history lessons about Watergate, and how a break-in had brought down the President of the United States. But MacDonald didn't seem the type to be involved in a scandal; from Bruce's investigations the man was too simple. He enjoyed bran flakes and abiding by his schedule...
Bruce sat up at that thought; something about a schedule struck a chord with him. A Presidential Candidate would have to abide by a schedule, many of the events plotted years in advance for the up coming National Convention and then of course the Presidential run itself. Two years of campaigning that would be ordered and structured plotted right down to the finite detail.
It would have been the kind of thing Bruce would have stolen were he a mysterious man looking to stop a President to be. Why try the messy discrediting way when a bullet was clean, swift and simple.
So it was an assassination, it had to be. Bruce could smell it. He reached across his desk to place a call through to the Secret Service liaison to see if he could get some kind of confirmation on it, knowing that interdepartmental co-operation was always difficult and the likelihood of anyone actually listening to his opinion was remote.
The question was who escaped with the laptop, and where were they now? He listened patiently as the phone rang, wondering where he could look for answers.
* * *
Derek had been lucky he hadn't been seriously hurt. The doctors at the hospital had discharged him, and once the police had taken his report he had been permitted to go home. Spending a day or two in the pokey little bachelor apartment had been nice, he'd been able to sprawl, take care of himself by doing as little as possible, game controller in his hand as he soundly thrashed dragons, collecting crystals to save the world.
His mom had called from back east, worried about him not eating enough. Telling him all about how well his older brother was doing in the Army. They'd pinned a medal to him for bravery or something in South America. Good for him, he was after all the kid his parents had figured would amount to something, instead of their loafing son who only attended university, in their opinion, so that he could avoid getting a real job and earning a living.
He 'yepped' his way through the conversation, trying to ignore all the questions about 'have you met a girl?' or 'how are your marks?' and the ever annoying one, 'how's work going?'
Finally free of the phone he'd decided he'd had enough of being confined to home, his bruises were fading, and it didn't hurt when he walked. Which he took to be a good sign, and since it had been days since he'd been to a class or into work, he decided that to evade narcoleptic boredom he might go in and finish a section of code he had been tweaking the day before he'd had the best date he'd ever had with a woman.
True he hadn't even asked her name, and she had beaten him half to death, but it was still probably the longest encounter he'd had with a girl in a year. Okay so he was being hard on himself, but his love life was notoriously short lived encounters. Girls who were either crazy or not interested, or guys who were liars and cheats... and secretly crazy as well, though Derek always realized that within the first or second date.
He bussed in to the research facility, tugging his pass out of his pocket, swiping it and tipping a wave to the Marine guards who nudged each other and laughed at his battered appearance.
"No means no," one of them called out.
"Yeah, yeah," Derek laughed with them shaking his head, "this is what happens when you let a girl be on top. Never apply to want ads saying 'single female seeks bitch...' never worth it."
Security was tight at the bunker, called thus for its general design and the fact that it had once been a nuclear bunker. Built during the era of paranoia at the start of all the UN crisis, it had been bought by the university to be converted into a secure facility, some bright eyed professor having the brilliant idea to finally force students to sit through his seven hour lecture on fungi and the inter breeding capacity of spores.
He walked through the labs, stopping to stare at the core, a large vat of dark red liquid lit from within with suspended light trapped within the goo. A liquid memory core for the world's only surviving Quantum II computer. The first had been built specifically for the Icarus project, a computer capable of charting deep space for Humanity's first sojourn into the galactic arena. The second had been a prototype assembled on Earth as a research study into Artificial Intelligence, and later converted as the US government had commissioned 'Overlord'.
He loved just looking at it; there was a serene peace about the computer. Like a work of art that its designers hadn't anticipated when they had built it. Art by accidental design, one of mankind's greatest achievements.
He used his key card again and found his desk, falling into the oversized leather chair, tucking a leg under him as he booted up his computer, punching in his access code as he checked his email and loaded up his interface.
"Good morning Derek," the computer spoke through his headphones.
"Yo," He called back, "how's the big 'O' today?"
"I am running at sixty-five percent efficiency today," the computer responded, "they are endeavouring to configure my tactical subroutines to ensure that I can properly integrate data from legacy satellites orbiting the planet."
"Fun," Derek replied, wondering why his professor had decided that all of the employees of the facility should have a daily interaction with the A.I. At times the big 'O' was helpful, at others he was a complete distraction. Constantly inquisitive as he struggled to learn.
It was a key difference between the Icarus computer and Overlord. Icarus had been sentient, but hadn't had time to earn the level of sophistication that Overlord had developed from daily human interaction. It was strange how at times art imitated life, Icarus had been its own individual as Overlord was definitely his own person.
"You were injured and taken to the hospital after an encounter with a GN-2 female in down town..."
"What?" Derek asked, shocked at how informed Overlord was.
"My apologies, I was extrapolating upon data I gathered from several other conversations, and observed when the Professor made a note in your file about the incident." Overlord sounded apologetic, "I meant no disrespect in bringing up a potentially distressing memory."
"What?" Derek blinked shaking his head, "distressing, how...?"
"Is it not customary for human males to wish to suppress the information that they were, and I quote: 'Beat down by a little girl'." Overlord mimicked Trey, another computer tech that worked in their section.
"Great, so it's all over the office," Derek blew out a frustrated sigh, "what did you call her?"
"Who?" Overlord inquired.
"The girl?" Derek pressed.
"The one who beat you down?" Overlord chimed up helpfully.
Derek rolled his eyes, hating that there had been a co-ordinated push by twisted computer programmers hopped up on too much caffeine to teach the pre-eminent tactical computer to have a sense of humour, "yeah her."
"GN-2," Overlord responded, "the entomology of the term is derived from Generation Two, and applies to genetically engineered human beings that have been created by first generation enhanced human beings. There are several intelligence files that pertain to suspected GN-2s currently active in society, both our own and abroad. However these files are classified above your security level."
"You know you talk too much right O?" Derek smiled as he set back to work, and stopped looking up, "what was her name?"
"That information is classified," Overlord kicked in with his programming.
"Figures," Derek replied, "finally meet a girl and she's a super psycho."
"That would be, as you organics are fond of saying, an understatement. I am tracking her re-location to a secure Nevada facility under Doctor Enarbrem Sul'Rikard."
"Wouldn't that also be classified?" Derek observed.
"Quite possibly, I know the transfer orders were, however the configuration of my satellite interface is not quite complete and so my satellite imagery of the departure and route are not yet... covered by my security sub-routines."
Derek shook his head up at the small camera on top of the computer monitor, "when did you become such a rebel?"
"I blame the influences of the individuals responsible for my social education. Trey often asks me to interface with the department of motor vehicles in an effort to learn as much as he can about romantic conquests. Also I have at times been asked by the Professor to reallocate financial resources to..."
"I don't need to know," Derek held up his hands, "let me teach you about keeping secrets while I get this code programmed, you see there are times when a person tells another person things that they have done..."
"Like a confession," O supplied helpfully.
"Yes," Derek replied, "now there are times when sharing that information is appropriate, and then there is gossiping..." He shook his head, "and you, O, are a terrible gossip."
"I blame Clara, I am currently being updated on all intra-office romances. Apparently you have an abusive spouse, and Trey is secretly the father of five children..." O chuckled, "and I am apparently the ideal man because I listen."
"Clara's taste in men often leaves a lot to be desired," Derek replied, "who's Doctor Rikard?"
"The information is classified, however I do have archived news print from before the war which identifies him as a brilliant geneticist who was at one time employed by the European Union. He has won a number of awards during his university years for brilliant cross-species genetic engineering. One paper he wrote, details the potential military shortfall of personnel could be met by breeding custom created soldiers. Of course the recent discovery of 'dog-children' in Asia leads to..."
"Dog children?" Derek murmured absently as he began to type, "has Clara been reading the National Enquirer to you again?"
"She has, however these reports are coming in from a Middle Eastern news network which claims that a military patrol engaged and killed four soldiers in European uniforms only to discover that their physiology is inconsistent with human beings. Prompting suspicions that the Europeans are soliciting alien mercenaries for their combat operations." O was enjoying himself, he loved analysing random pieces of information, stringing them together into grand conspiracy theories then taking great effort to disprove them, "however, my theory is that Doctor Rikard managed to create his soldier breeding program using canines for the base genetic material."
"You have too much time on your hands O," Derek rubbed his sore shoulder and shifted in his chair, rocking back and forward on the tilt, "so what do you think, this Doctor Rikard, did he create the GN-2s?"
"It is likely," O concluded, "his financial records show that he is on the personal payroll of Congressman Markus Aquinas, who if rumour is to be believed may be the Vice-Presidential running mate should Senator Randal MacDonald secure the Democratic nomination this fall."
"You don't vote, so what's it matter?" Derek smiled up at the camera, "I think you are reaching to find a pattern now, I mean if..."
"I am sorry," O interrupted, "I am processing a priority one distress signal over the orbital FTL network, it is from Task Force One, Vice-Admiral Langdon reporting that the Tradeliner's jump drives were destroyed by a Colonial Pirate named VonGrippen, and that he is currently destroying the Beacon Corridor..."
Derek sat upright, "holy shit!"
"That would be my assessment," O confided, "my security routines are being restored so I will be unable to relay to you further observed events, however there is one final point I will make, that a Admiral VonGrippen is rumoured to be the man responsible for Rikard's defection to the United States."
"Now I know you're full of it," Derek shook his head, "not everything is connected."
"All life is interconnected," O responded, "it is a matter of having a macro perspective on life that permits me to realize the connections. It is after all what I am programmed for."
"Congressman Aquinas is speaking in San Francisco next Monday," Derek remembered the news that morning announcing the planned ideas conference and that Aquinas had been named its keynote speaker.
"I can arrange tickets for you if you wish," O answered.
"Sneak me in somewhere interesting, where I don't have to wear a suit," Derek responded, "I'll take the mobile unit with me, that way you can observe the speech yourself. I'll tell the professor that I am running a field calibration on it or something. Plus it'll give me a day out. Maybe meet someone..."
"The odds of you meeting someone with a black eye is..."
"Okay O, how about we get some real work done okay?" Derek shook his head as he bent back to it, trying to stay focused and get the stubborn code to finally make sense.
* * *
VonGrippen marched through the halls of the Shisak, ducking underneath a bulkhead as he made his way into the forward torpedo room, a bottle of the finest Geldan scotch tucked under his arm.
The crewmembers in the forward space jumped in surprise, as the Chief Petty officer bellowed out "attention on deck!" as they each sprang to attention.
The Admiral waved his hand, "at ease," he replied calmly looking at each of the grubby faces, two Kaynin and a trio of Geldan's best and brightest who had volunteered for the inglorious duty of working with the ungainly smart weapons.
He lifted the bottle and five paper cups, "For your success today," he tilted the bottle, "twelve-year-old, enough to get you all suitably drunk."
"Sir?" the Chief Petty officer looked taken aback, staring at his equally confused weapons crew, who weren't about to complain but still seemed uncertain.
He glanced over each of them, nodding proudly, "you did well today, and we're still here because you all performed your jobs exactly the way they should be performed." He tossed the bottle to the Chief, "start pouring, because you have..." he checked his watch, "three hours until lights out, and at that time I am going to send Lieutenant Worth to come and get that bottle. You'd best be sure it's empty."
There was a pause as the crew looked towards the bottle, then back towards the Admiral again, as if trying to decide if he was joking, VonGrippen merely bounced on the balls of his feet, turned and marched away. Confident that in three hours the crew would be drunk, and eight hours later when they were up for their shifts and properly hydrated, their moral would be higher for it.