Colombia, Overlord, Icarus, Shisak.
Yet there was only one ship that survived Excalibur.
A great Lady that arose in the night, delivered at our greatest time of need.
The Garden of Forgotten Favourites - The Forbidden City - China - Earth
General Chow sat cross-legged beneath a tree, quiet and silent contemplating the world and the instability within it. His army had delivered the news that Sydney had been circled, and elements of his main invasion force had divided the Australian army and was pushing on Canberra. In a few short days he expected the Australian government to surrender.
Help simply hadn't arrived. Europe had nothing to spare and the Americans were loath to incur the Chinese wrath. Exactly as Chow had predicted, and once he added Australia to his new Chinese empire he would be in a unique position of controlling one quarter of the entire planet. Everything from Eastern Russia, acquired when Russia's economic collapse had crippled its capacity to govern itself and China had stepped in. Manchuria (both North and South Korea). All of Mainland China as well as the rogue territories, which had been the first thing Chow had seized during his rise to power.
The acquisition of Indo-china had been a simple matter of placing troops strategically and sinking investment money into the floundering third world countries. Vietnam had been won during assimilation talks that had placed senior Vietnamese government officials in his inner circle. And lastly the Philippines and Australia had come under his banner through the strength of the Red Army.
Of course there were a myriad of rogue islands throughout the region that needed pacification, but they still fell well inside his sphere of influence, and were claimed by his government.
Singularly he was indisputably the most powerful man on the planet. His influence was felt the world over, and he had his sights set upon India and Japan next, his troops were ready and able, and the moment the surrender in Australia was declared he would commence the attacks and solidify his rule. The Master of Asia and the Pacific.
The only man, arguably more powerful was the young Highlord VonGrippen who controlled an empire of planets.
His eyes travelled up to the stars overhead, America's domain. Knowing that in a few short years, their mastery would be challenged and the 'superpower' that America claimed to be would suffer a humiliating defeat at his hands. Each thing had its place, and as long as he retained control and his composure he would manage his ultimate goals.
Chinese diplomats in the West placated worried political leaders, convincing them to ignore him because they didn't wish to deal with the situation. Stupidly underestimating him, which would cost them dearly. By the time they came to recognize the danger he would have secured half the globe and turned its resources to fuelling a war machine that would sweep them away.
It was a glorious dream and he smiled contentedly, biding his time as an Army major ran across the courtyard with a dispatch in his hand, signifying the Australian government had surrendered earlier than expected.
* * *
"Australia just surrendered," Ben reported as VonGrippen sat at the desk in his cabin eating his eggs, his XO dropping the intercepted transmission onto the table.
VonGrippen dipped some toast into his yoke as he glanced over the dispatch, "this was encoded for American assets... how did you?"
"Cryptology, it was one of the primary things I was trained in back on Phobos, I had an eye for numbers and patterns. Ever play soduku?" Ben coughed as he undid his uniform tunic, allowing it to hang open, he was having a bad day, the sweat glistening on his skin as it soaked through the cotton undershirt he wore under the tunic.
VonGrippen considered sending for Doctor Sevano, but knowing there was little she was able to do for his friend. Instead he motioned with his fork towards the other chair at the edge of his desk.
Gratefully Ben sat down, "from the sounds of it," he said catching his breath, "things on Earth aren't getting any better. And we have twenty days until we're back in the core systems and the Beacon Corridor is disabled."
"And you are wondering what I have planned for us," VonGrippen responded popping his eggs into his mouth and chewing thoughtfully, waiting to swallow before he spoke, "I think it will be prudent to find Icarus."
"Curiosity?" Ben asked.
"Mildly, but there is more to it than that," VonGrippen turned in his chair and rested an arm on the edge of the table, "if we're to return to Geldan then we are going to require a vessel capable of sustained dead jumping. Now Icarus operates off of a unique jump propulsion system, and its navigation computer is far superior to the Orion variant --we seem to have made significant advances over the Orions in that particular technology-- I think Icarus is our best chance at getting home."
"There is no telling what condition that vessel is in after so long abandoned in space," Ben warned, looking distant as he often did when searching his visions for something pertinent, "our technical teams aren't... sufficient for the kind of deep space salvage that would be required to recover this vessel."
"I've been giving that some thought," VonGrippen replied setting his fork down and turning his laptop computer to face the GN-2, "we're going to proceed to the edge of the Terran system, capture an American transport and use that to penetrate the blockade. A little luck, the right codes and we should be able to land it somewhere in America, recruit the specialists we need and lift off again before anyone is the wiser. Of course the specialists may present a problem, especially if they are American, however I've found that with most it is a matter of keeping them in the dark as to who we are and our purpose. Make them believe we are a neutral consortium and we should be able to recover the Icarus without too many problems."
"You're going to have to be hard on them," Ben advised, "they may grow suspicious given the military equipment and the foreign accents on ship."
"I am counting on the fact that knowledge of the Shisak's existence hasn't reached the general populace. Also given the British... special status throughout the war, despite the London bombings..."
"So feed them a load of rubbish and pray they buy it?" Ben asked.
"That would be the plan." VonGrippen admitted, "however, given the lack of available technical experience we will require, especially outside of Earth, and the fact that the Americans will shoot down anything attempting to land anywhere other than America on Earth. I see little alternative but to attempt this strategy."
"They are going to have a lot of questions," Ben murmured, "if we want to present ourselves as a neutral body then we are going to have to play up on the House aspect of our culture. It means forgoing some of the... European aspects of House life. We need to be so different that we will make them scratch their heads and wonder about, but will give nothing away."
"What are you suggesting?" VonGrippen asked.
"Well, in business when we try to make acquisitions we don't want anyone knowing we are making, we sometimes create dummy corporations and businesses whose sole purpose is to buy stock." Ben chewed thoughtfully on a knuckle as he looked away, "privateers?"
"We're a little," VonGrippen looked about at the starship around them, "high tech for pirates."
"And who heard of a corporation owning a warship." Ben shook his head, "we can't pull off pretending to be the US military. And if they think we're a colony it will tip them off that we're probably connected to Europe. We simply need to focus on the house and keep it that way?"
"You mean stress our independence?" VonGrippen sat forward.
"Well House VonGrippen has always been a feudal structure. You are a dynastic monarchy of sorts... I can honestly say, you aren't much of a dictator, you don't rule through fear. Let them see this, they'll perceive something exotic and with a little digging they'll find references to nobility and make their own assumptions." Ben folded his arms and smiled lopsidedly, "It's the only thing I can think of that doesn't give away too much while answering questions about who we are."
"Right, House first," VonGrippen stood, "whatever will work, as for myself I need to make my morning rounds before I relieve young Midshipman Hamm up in Command for the morning watch."
"You think this is nonsense," Ben grinned back at him.
"I trust your judgment," VonGrippen reassured, "so long as we don't start painting IHOP on the side of the ship I will be happy."
* * *
Derek sipped on a paper cup of orange juice watching the pandemonium around him from back stage. If he didn't know better he would have sworn he was attending a rock concert. There were so many young people present, and given the imminent threat of the draft from the Republican camp it wasn't surprising that the Democrats were gaining ground with the youth vote.
He had a portable headset display, fitted with a side camera, feeding into the laptop tucked into his backpack. O was enjoying his field trip, it was rare that he actually got to go out and experience humanity on a direct level, ordinarily he observed everything through a news filter, though Derek secretly bet O enjoyed sitcoms.
It had been a little difficult for Derek to get O's portable unit through security, but his security ID and the kind interference of a passing senior democratic official who recognized the badge's significance had secured him entrance and a trip back stage at the democrat's insistence.
There were a few other people waiting in the wings, while at the far end of the stage the Congressman was being prepped for his speech. It was too far for Derek to get a good view, but Markus seemed an intense and magnetic man, calm and centred reading his cue cards while he waited for his introduction. Derek sighed and looked at his side of the stage. Mostly wives and children except for one other man who stood staring at Markus.
Derek guessed he was probably a representative of the Latin community, dark hair and eyes that were unquestionably of Hispanic descent.
"Special Agent Bruce Maya, Federal Bureau of Investigation," O supplied, analysing the direction Derek was looking in, "here likely as part of an ongoing investigation. I have no information on his current assignment."
"That's nice," Bruce stated turning back to the stage, "you know you'd come in handy at parties, you could tell me all about the people I find attractive..."
"Neurotic, emotionally impaired and usually fiscally incompetent." O summed up, "you really don't require my presence to identify things about the people you choose to fraternize with."
"You sound like my mother," Derek sighed, "you've been listening in on my phone calls again haven't you."
"I am required to as part of my security monitoring protocols. You're mother provides some sound advice, maybe you should accept her offer to fix you up with a nice girl."
"Stop," Derek replied, "I don't need a nice girl."
"Understood," O sounded smug, "though I am sure there is a nice, stable boy out there, I could access your message box on love line."
"Keep it up and I take you back to the office without seeing the Congressman speak." Derek warned, as an eruption of applause heralded Markus's entrance on stage.
He looked young and vibrant. Compared to so many politicians that were dry and stoic. Markus seemed animated, engaging. Taking the stage and walking around the podium to deal with the address in a town hall style. Taking questions and answering them in a forthright manner that genuinely seemed to convey his interest towards the issues and his concern for the people asking them.
Derek was growing impressed with the easygoing manner.
"There is an inconsistency," O observed.
Derek shook his head, it had been like a trance, he had been drawn into the Congressman's speech, listening and responding to it automatically. And he had to shake his head a few times as he touched his temple.
"W-what?" he managed after a moment.
"The speech format and the reaction from the audience is incongruent." O informed him, "he is garnering approval for issues that should have the opposite effect on this audience. And yet they are enjoying every word he has to say."
"M-maybe they are just impressed with..." Derek felt the draw of the congressman, trying to think about what he was saying, instead he was just enjoying the warm flow of...
"Your neurochemistry is unbalanced," O warned, "Derek I would ask that you remove yourself from..."
"Y-yes," Derek shook his head again as he began to back away from the stage. The Congressman was still speaking, but his head had turned and he was now looking squarely at the young man pushing his way back through the people and making for the back entrance of the stage area.
Derek took a deep breath as he stumbled outside, rubbing his head as he felt the come down. It was like being high, everything was mellow and he felt placated yet there was no reason for it. Had he been drugged? He tossed the cup of orange juice away and tried to gulp down some air.
"Are you all right Derek?" O sounded worried.
"Yes," Derek nodded, "what the hell was that?"
"I am uncertain," O said thoughtfully, "I could only monitor your neural chemistry with the portable unit, however you seemed to be experiencing an endorphin rush that grew stronger in reaction to the Congressman's speech. An unusual phenomenon that..."
Two black sedans squealed to a halt in the alleyway, as black suited men wearing Secret Service earpieces stepped out of them. A couple walking forward to catch Derek by the shoulder.
"What did I do?" he protested, as he was dragged towards one of the cars.
"You have to come with us, sir." One of them grunted, apelike in his size and form, he pushed the confused youth ahead of him into the car.
* * *
"Who is he?" Markus asked standing in the observation room at the holding area where they had brought the strange young man from the conference.
"His identity pass tell us his name is Derek Walczak, a computer programmer at Berkley, he's working on Overlord." The Secret Service agent motioned to the table beside them and to the laptop computer and the display headset sitting atop it, "and that, sir, is Overlord. Or a portable access interface, he was testing it for battlefield operations."
Markus walked across to the headset and picked it up, looking again through the window to the forlorn, bruised young man who had been questioned for hours, "what happened to him?" Markus gestured with the headset to Derek's face.
"Remarkably, he survived the telekinetic incident the other day, apparently he was the young man she tried to kill." The secret service agent shrugged, "he appears to have a chronic case of bad luck."
"Maybe, but I seldom believe in luck," Markus set the headset back down on the computer, "have him transferred to secure holding, at least until I can figure out what to do with him."
"With respect Congressman, he does have rights."
Markus shook his head, "not currently he doesn't; first he is involved in a terrorist attack in down town San Francisco, then he is caught with sensitive military hardware less than a hundred feet from a United States Congressman. Under the Patriot Act we have the right to detain him, see that he is questioned and then placed in solitary confinement." Markus tapped the computer, "and as for paperwork, let's see that we loose that for the time being. The system is more than capable of making one young man disappear for awhile. At least until we can be sure he isn't a threat." Markus picked up the computer, "and this I will take care of until we resolve this matter."
"Yes Congressman Aquinas," the secret service agent nodded, obediently setting off to carry out his orders.
Markus studied the boy awhile sadly, part of him regretting the ordeal the boy would go through transferred through the system till he ended up in some dark prison cell somewhere, held without trial nor charge on a matter of national security all because he knew too much.
More aptly that he knew too much about Markus, and given the election and the troubles ahead, such a liability would prove detrimental. Markus understood what it was like to be imprisoned for no discernable reason other than the security of ambitious men. And he had learned their lessons well, and hated himself for it, but there really was no other alternative, he couldn't risk Derek's freedom. Maybe, if there was another alternative, then he would be set free. But until then Markus had to do what needed to be done.
He walked from the holding area, making his way back through the security checkpoints. And finally climbed into the back of his limousine to head for the airport and return to Washington. Results from his speech were favourable, the audience had responded well to his subtle adjustment in their endorphin level. It had made them open and receptive to him, and provided he maintained that pace, the people would come to associate him with good feelings in the run up to the election. A subtle boost in the numbers that may make a difference when it came to votes.
He touched his cheek watching as the cars moved out of the holding facility and pulled onto the street. Thinking about his next move and what it would take to actually win the intricate game of chess that he had been positioning for years.
* * *
The shadows, there was sanctuary in the darkness. He flitted from shadow to shadow, moving through the darkened alley. There was a freedom to his movements. Denver was a beautiful city that settled in the shadows of the Rocky Mountains. And again he revelled in the irony of it. Antiquity made reference to a city in the shadows, and it seemed only fitting that he would have ended up there.
A rumbling of a garbage truck passing on a cross street gave him a reassurance, even this late into the night, there was still life here. Life, and with it hope. As faint as that hope was, it still quickened the blood in his veins, and helped ease the dead weight that seemed to permanently grip his chest. But he existed in the shadows, was a part of them, and resided in them.
He slipped away sprinting down the alley in the other direction, leaping onto a garbage can and up onto a skip, from there he caught the edge of a fire escape and clambered up to the rooftop of the brownstone apartment buildings. Taking a pause when he reached the top to glance at the city around him.
He had been here too long. Watched this city thrive and grow around him. Watched the massive skyscrapers and apartment buildings spring up around him, while he stayed the same. In time everything changes, people come and go, and asphalt laid on the pavement cracked and pitted and was replaced all in the blink of an eye.
He longed to sleep again, to return to the eternal dream, to hide from the emptiness that lurked within his inner shadows. But such was not his lot, he had a purpose. The same kind of purpose made a piece of steel a knife when it was sharpened.
Markus would call for him soon, and the eternal war would begin again, the war that hid with him in the shadows. He was a piece of steel, unquestioning and unwavering in his resolve. As much as he rebelled inside his own mind, he was bound by his oaths. He could only do as he was told, and live with the regret.
A lost refugee from his homeworld he had found his way to Earth centuries before, a backwater hovel where one of his kind could exist without being noticed. But industrialization had swept the planet, as its creative inhabitants had grown and evolved. Building cities and eventually reaching for the stars.
Yet, still, Sebastian remained. Even after the ignorant Orions had made first contact and bridged the stars together with their trade routes, there was no desire from him to go home. His home was gone, eradicated by the plague and pestilence, leaving the last of the Qalabarim to seek sanctuary on the world that had been his prison for so long.
He would die one day, but until his lifetime was exhausted or the Polians realized he was there, he was free to walk the shadows of Earth. Acting as an angel of death when one or another greedy human being sought the services of a killer. Naturally his biggest contractor was the CIA, though they seldom realized they were dealing with just one person. Sebastian had many faces; the nano-bots in his flesh could change his appearance at a whim. And so he danced, existing in the darkness to serve his new masters in an effort to forget the heinous sins of his past. Knowing that in time he would vanish beneath the sands somewhere never to rise again.
* * *
Bruce yawned dipping the end of a muffin into a stale cup of coffee, a habit from his NYPD days working homicide on little to no sleep, too much caffeine and a string of broken relationships. Sitting in his car on the sunny afternoon looking down over the San Francisco bay.
He needed a break from the office, and he sat reading over a copy of Senator MacDonald's itinerary trying to figure out where he was going to be and when. But it was a needle in a haystack. There were simply too many engagements all across the country, he could stick his finger anywhere on the list and name a dozen different ways that could be used to assassinate the Senator.
His phone rang and he pulled it to his ear, "yeah, go."
"Special Agent Maya, this is the IT branch down here at regional," the geeky woman's voice sounded excited, "I was able to pull something from the security footage over at the Senator's office."
"I thought they cut all the security monitors," Maya inquired leaning against his phone as he started the car and dumped his coffee out the window.
"They used a scrambler to neutralize the video pick up, however I got some audio from one of the cameras, three voices. One has been identified as the young man in custody; the other is a private first class Kiersly, our dead body. And the last is being run through a speech recognition program right now."
"And?" Maya pressed, accelerating.
"Voice print analysis actually found a match," she sounded surprised, "turns out the NSA has been monitoring a specific phone line, and we have access. The man is named Sebastian Lynch, current resident of San Francisco, I have his address..."
"If the NSA are investigating this man, they aren't going to appreciate me sniffing around, do they know you pulled his file?" Maya jumped a red light, driving onwards in a hurry.
"Not yet, but they will next time they access his file," She paused, "what do you want me to do with this Bruce?"
"Give me the address, we probably don't have time to get a team down here before the NSA shut us down. Alert your superiors and tell them I'll proceed on ahead and they can send back up as soon as they can." He scrabbled for a piece of paper in his glove compartment and scrawled the address she gave him, thanking god for his luck as he cut the wheel, hanging up the phone and gritting his teeth.
If he could stop Sebastian before he could carry out his plan then the schedule didn't matter, and he could breathe easier.
He pulled his car up outside the apartment building, a modern tower of condos that had only just opened the year before. Young professionals and first time buyers looking to own tiny little rooms close to down town and paying the equivalent value of a three bedroom apartment in the suburbs. The exploitation of the young was, at times, the easiest way to make a buck, and he wondered if he should get into real-estate. It would, at least, be a good way to earn some extra coin.
Lurking by the door, pretending to push buzzer buttons, naturally earned him a way in behind a brash businesswoman talking on her cell phone, too oblivious to stop the complete stranger from slipping into the building behind her.
He waited until he was inside the elevator before he checked his pistol pushing the button and fishing out his ID, putting it within easy reach should he need it. He was brashly rushing into a potentially dangerous situation, but with every second precious to avoid loosing Sebastian once and for all, he had to push onwards. That didn't stop him from offering a short prayer as the doors opened and he made his way along the hall of doors till he found the right one. Standing back, out of sight of the peephole he relaxed, he was in position.
Reaching out his hand he touched the door handle, trying it just to be sure. Knowing it was a vain hope, he settled back in to wait, as down the hall the elevator doors opened spilling out a couple of uniformed police officers.
Bruce pulled his badge out and flashed them his ID, pointing with his gun towards the door, glad that one of them had brought the shotgun from their cruiser. He made another motion, stepping back and raising his gun to cover the patrolman who levelled the shotgun towards the door handle, pulling the trigger as the weapon roared, tearing a hole through the flimsy door, allowing the trio of officers to sweep inside, weapons up.
The apartment was immaculate, the patio doors out to the balcony standing open, and as the two other officers wept the bathroom and Kitchen, Bruce made his way across the living room and stepped outside.
"Sir, cigarette," One of the officers nodded to the still burning cigarette sitting in the ashtray, and then over at the television which was showing a day time soap opera.
"He had to go over," Bruce remarked, leaning over the balcony railing and looking down towards the parking lot where more police cars and a SWAT van were pulling up. It had to be twenty stories down, but for some reason his eyes strayed to the wiry thin man standing off to the side of the parking lot looking back up at him before he ducked around a car and vanished into the crowd of onlookers.
Bruce's shoulders sagged; somehow Sebastian had managed to get down twenty stories in a matter of a few seconds. It was astounding, and he walked back into the apartment, calling down to the police below to get them to find him, knowing it was going to be futile, the key to stopping Sebastian lay somewhere in the apartment.
He paused glancing at the coffee table, bending down to pick up a telephone number written on the back of a travel agent's business card.
"Got you," he smiled tightly as he bagged and tagged it.
* * *
Sephradon stepped gracefully off of the launch, dressed in a simple white sun dress she dabbed her eyes beneath her black veil. Making a clear performance for all the Italian media cameras focused upon the Damarra's widow, and widely rumoured his sole heir after the unfortunate stroke he had suffered the week before.
She walked up the steps and past the rows of photographers all snapping her picture as her driver held the skimmer door open for her. Her husband had been buried that afternoon, and his will had been read, she knew exactly what she had inherited and how she intended to use the money.
The moment the car door was closed she drew off the ridiculous hat and dried her eyes, pulling her long white hair back away from her face, taking off the repugnant black dress and allowing the beautiful white one she had brought with her to fall just right on her form.
Across the seat from her, the former Highlady VonGrippen sat regally watching proudly, "you performed admirably," she said pursing her lips.
Sephradon's eyes sparkled, "when it comes to performances, I was excellently schooled Milady."
"Indeed," Madame VonGrippen sat rigidly in her seat as she tapped on the glass partition that separated her from the driver, "at least we're free of Orion influence."
Sephradon adjusted her skirts, "and... as you promised?"
Madame VonGrippen stroked her slender jaw line, "yes, as I promised. We should see about restoring your youth, you performed admirably my dear." She returned to staring out of the window as Sephradon reached out to pour herself a drink, taking a sip as she followed the older woman's gaze out over southern Italy.
The price of her loyalty had been the promise of the best plastic surgeons in all of Europe. The agreement was that the damage wrought in the labs on Phobos would be undone, and the nightmare that stared back at her from the mirror every morning would at last be over.
Madame VonGrippen, unlike Damarra, had seemed to understand Sephradon's pain in a way that only a woman could. Offering a barbed kindness, watching and suggesting in those rare moments when Damarra had been attending to his businesses. Planting first the seed of doubt against the Orion, and cultivating it with caustic comments and 'lessons' that had guided Sephradon to assassinate the Ambassador the moment the confirmation had come through that the joint Orion and American task force had failed, and the Beacon Corridor had been sealed.
The phone rang, and Sephradon reached forward with her hand, allowing it to ring a moment, picking it up and doing her best to sound upset, "Y-yes?"
"Mrs Damarra? Doctor Renaldo, your room is ready for you as soon as you arrive."
"T-thank you doctor," she replied keeping her voice sounding demure, as the car started its descent into Milan, "I trust you have everything you require for the procedure?"
"Naturally, and Madame VonGrippen's payment has also been well received. I have our best plastic surgeon ready to commence at your pleasure, we will have you looking twenty years younger in no time."
Sephradon nodded her head looking across the car, "now I trust I don't need to lecture you, doctor, concerning discretion?"
"Of course, our clients privacy is our top concern," the doctor reassured firmly.
Sephradon hung up the phone in no doubt that her privacy would be kept; especially once she terminated everyone who was aware of the procedure. She touched the back of her bloodroot-ravaged hands, knowing that in a few days she would regain her youthful appearance. Happy, for a time at least, that she would no longer have to sell herself to appease an old man just to regain it. And once she had it restored, then she would search and find each of those that had abandoned her in her time of need and make them pay as well.
She sneered as the car descended to the roads below.
Madame VonGrippen watched the gesture, her own plans dependant on the weapon that would become her instrument of revenge. She clicked her tongue to the roof of her mouth as she returned her gaze to the window. Soon.