Consortium of Planets: Alien Test (18 page)

Tilcas locked the door and pulled off the janitor’s cloths. He stepped up to the stainless steel sink that sat on the floor against the side wall. He moved the lever above the sink to the right with his left hand and watched the water dampen a cleaning rag in his right hand. Satisfied that the rag was damp enough, he looked in the mirror and wiped spots of dirt from his face that were intended to make him even less noticeable.

In the mirror, his freshly shaved face looked nothing like a Consortian’s: both of his eyes had a brown iris surrounded by white; his lips were pinker than the rest of his pale skin; centimeters above his square jaw, a prominent nose protruded just beneath his eyes; straight dark hair half-covered an ear on each side of his oval shaped head.

He put down the rag and grabbed the right side of the shelves beside the sink. A small lever underneath the third shelf on the left side slipped easily forward. Hidden wheels dropped down and the shelves rolled out of his way and to the left. The entrance and stairs were revealed to a vast underground system of forgotten transit tunnels. The old passages had fallen into disuse once the new transit system had been built.

The Chn-maa had kept to themselves in these tunnels for thousands of cycles; ever since the Battle of Trinity. Hidden from Consortian eyes, they had quietly grown in number and maintained their culture since the Massacre at Trinity as they call the event. They continued to educate their young in their own traditions and in the C.O.P. expanding technology. They occupied the abandoned tunnels soon after the Consortians closed them down. The tunnels now provided quarters, classrooms, and working space for the Chn-maa to prepare for their eventual return to power.

Tilcas walked past one of ten large classroom auditoriums in their makeshift school. It had stadium seating and a wide stage. The entire auditorium comfortably held about eight hundred students – these days, they were squeezing twelve hundred students into a class. When the tunnels were in operation, the classroom had been part of a waiting area and still had some of the directional signs on the gray concrete walls. Now a simulated warship bridge sat on the stage, and eight to ten students at a time took turns learning how to operate various capital ships. The other students watched the simulations and mentally prepared for their turn.

He paused as the students and instructor listened intently to an exercise critique that came directly from the Warriors’ school for training new bridge crews. It was easy to capture training information like this by tapping into data conduits that were buried under the city and right above their heads. They were using the Warriors’ own computer simulations for training during times when the Warriors were off duty.

He jumped slightly when the instructor came back to life and barked at the class. “You heard the computer analysis. Run it again and don’t make the same mistakes this time!”

Yes, they had studied Warrior tactics and added their own strategies for warfare. This time they would be ready.

Tilcas’ linker went off. He checked the caller announcer as he walked away from the classroom. It was time to act dumb and subservient for the commandant. Early on, after the fall at Trinity, the Chn-maa had decided to take on a docile persona so that they would not be perceived as a threat to the Consortians. The beaten and compliant act had worked well. It had resulted in their survival and had given them time to prepare for this day.

“Is that you, Commandant?”

“Yes.” Ban’yr hated dealing with the Chn-maa and sounded annoyed. “Didn’t you check your caller announcer?”

Tilcas intentionally kept quiet to act like he didn’t understand the question.

“Never mind.” Ban’yr didn’t have all day and had to break the silence. “You remember what we talked about, correct?”

Tilcas paused again but not as long. “You mean the surface? It is hot, dry, and made purple by that big sun in the sky.”

“No!”

Tilcas smiled as he listened to Ban’yr explode with frustration.

“I’m talking about letting you and five thousand of your friends ride on our warships.”
Dev’kall is wrong about these fools. They could never be a threat. I’m talking to their
leader, and he sounds like he is about twelve cycles old
.

“Did you hear me?” Ban’yr demanded.

“Oh, that will be fun, but scary, too!”

Ban’yr couldn’t hide his sarcasm. “Don’t worry, my Warriors will be right there to protect you. And don’t forget, the Senate wants to say hello to you and your friends after you’re on board.”

“Will I be able to talk to my friends in the other ships?”

“Sure, I don’t see any problem with that.” Ban’yr quickly grew tired of the conversation and got to the purpose of the call. He wanted to be clear, so he calmed himself and spoke slowly. “I need you to have the number of friends that we talked about report to their designated star station at the very next sunrise. Can you do that?”

Tilcas wanted to be careful not to come across as too stupid to accomplish what the commandant wanted. He didn’t want to take any chances with the commandant changing his mind when they were so close. The initial five thousand had to get on board the warships so that, ultimately, he would be able to get on thousands more.

He tried to sound a little more focused for the commandant. “Absolutely, everyone is very excited! I have notified everyone of where they need to go, and now I will tell them what time to be there. This will be fun!”

He could feel Bany’r look to the heavens as sarcasm dripped in his voice again. “Yes, it will be fun.”

Tilcas knew the commandant was preparing to finish the conversation and took a deep breath to settle himself. The next part of the plan was critical for success, and he was betting on Bany’r’s tremendous ego that he would agree.

“Commandant, we want to give you a gift for being so nice to us.”

“A gift? What sort of gift?” he asked suspiciously.

     Tilcas’ heart was beginning to beat too fast. He struggled to control it. “It’s not much, just a gold bust of you to display on each ship that we will be on.” He took a hurried breath to maintain a calm voice.

Bany'r instinctively started to say no, but the thought of his statue on every ship in his fleet suddenly sounded good. “What does the bust look like?”

“Exactly like you. It is one meter tall, and you’re in battle dress. It’s very inspiring.” Tilcas waited anxiously for the commandant to respond.

“What about the other fleets?”

He wants them on all four fleets, ten thousand ships!
Tilcas was speechless, he couldn’t believe his luck. “Well,” he began slowly, “we had only planned on five thousand. We have to make them by hand, so there isn’t enough time to make more before the morning.”

“That’s no problem. I’ll give you access to as many synthesizers as you need. I want those statues on all my ships in the morning! Make sure that they get there on time, along with your people!”

The connection went dead. Tilcas smiled again. He had fifty thousand Chn-maa trained to take the capital ships away from the Warriors and two million more to take control of the fighters on the ground at the star stations around Consortia. He had stepped up the training when the commandant first contacted him two cycles ago with a plan to put a Chn-maa on two of the Consortium’s four battle fleets. That had given them plenty of time to prepare for this moment. They would finally take back what had been denied them because of the deceit at Trinity. He wanted to celebrate, but he had to set an example, and there was too much work to be done anyway. All of the Chn-ma would celebrate soon enough. For now, they would stay focused. All the planning had to be followed closely for them to defeat the Consortium of Planets.

The instructor stepped out of the classroom and pushed the light brown hair away from his blue eyes. “Leader, was that the commandant?”

“Yes, Conlar. Let everyone know that we report to our stations tomorrow morning.”

His number two man nodded and began to brief Tilcas on their status. “This is our last capital ship class. The fighter classes finished last week; nevertheless, they have been riding the simulators nonstop ever since, and they’re still getting better. I’m almost afraid the Warriors will catch us,” he said facetiously.

“Conlar, they would never believe that it was us using their equipment. They would believe anything but that. You are no longer a teacher. Now, you become Chairman of the Joint Admirals. Remember, once we’re on board, everyone waits for my signal before they act.”

Reggiald sat on the firm, practical, gray couch. Bored, he estimated that the commandant’s waiting room was about four meters long and three meters wide, surprisingly small for such a powerful person. It was very austere. No art decorated the pale green walls trimmed in darker green. Unadorned windows let in the sun’s violet glare unimpeded. The harsh light did nothing for the plain-looking clerk who sat at her gray desk diligently guarding the entrance to Ban’yr’s private office.

I guess that’s what happens when a scientist has too much time on his hands
, he thought quietly to himself.
He starts guessing the size of the room that he finds himself in.

Alont sat dutifully beside the scientist and fidgeted. He had never been so nervous. Sitting still for any amount of time was not one of his strong suits, anyway. Now he and the doctor were about to enter the lair of the Warrior Caste’s most legendary person – heady stuff for the young Warrior. He planned to sit quietly and let the scientist do the talking; that way, he wouldn’t say something stupid.
What if the
commandant asks me something? He
wouldn’t do that,
Alont assured himself.
He wouldn’t ask a rookie for an opinion. Yes, I will simply say, yes sir or no sir, survive and escape. No, that doesn’t sound right. That sounds like I’m a prisoner!

Alont and Reggiald were so distracted by their thoughts that neither noticed the secretary quietly talking to the three-dimensional holographic computer on her desk.

“Gentlemen, the commandant will see you now.”

Startled, Alont jumped up awkwardly and bumped into Reggiald, who fell back onto the stiff couch. The surprised old scientist knew that the young Warrior was very capable. He recalled how smoothly the yeoman handled the terrorists at the space port, but Alont’s inexperience was making him apprehensive now. Reggiald needed him to get it under control before they talked to the commandant. He smiled up at him calmly from the couch.

“Alont, it’s going to be all right.”

“Sorry, Doctor – she caught me off guard.”

“It’s okay. The commandant didn’t see you stumble. Let’s get this over with so you can relax.”

The dark green door creaked open. The commandant looked out and waved them in.     “Come in, gentlemen. We have much work to do to get ready for the Senate. Yeoman, did you bring Captain Adr’yn’s message?”

Alont looked at the highly decorated senior Warrior. All fear disappeared and his training took over. “Yes, sir!”

His response was so loud that the secretary looked up from her computer with a smile and blinked. Reggiald nodded and the commandant smiled politely. Alont didn’t feel like a prisoner after all.

Reggiald watched for any reaction as the commandant watched the late captain’s one-meter-tall hologram talk and wave his hands about for emphasis.

“…and so, I am ready to take back my ship and use it in your plan to discredit the University. In less than a sub-cycle, it will be mine. I will return and hide with my ship and crew behind the Sun. Contact me there when I am needed.”

Ban’yr showed no emotion until it was over, and then sprang to life.

“That’s incredible, gentlemen! I reviewed his record before you got here. He had such a promising career.” The commandant sounded so sincere.

Reggiald didn’t really care to hear about how incredible someone was when they tried to kill, Wystl, the most precious being in the universe. He ignored Ban’yr’s praise and pressed forward.

“So, Commandant, do we have enough for the Grand Senate yet?”

Bany’r looked at Alont.
Yes, Doctor, I’ll take the yeoman and the lost colony leader under heavy guard with me before the Senate. I will be the very picture of control, with all the answers.

“Yes Doctor, I believe we are ready to make our presentation.”

Chapter Twelve

Switzerland:

Svetlana watched Zul’s subordinate dash out the hotel’s double doors and disappear. She had lied to him. She didn’t really know who Zul’s boss was in the United States, but she would find out who did and get the information with her unique brand of “truth serum.”

The lobby was a mess. Broken furniture, pieces of glass, and lifeless bodies were strewn everywhere. A distant police siren grew louder as the clerk tentatively peeked over the reception desk to see if the carnage was over. Svetlana shot him an angry glare for calling the cops and he dropped back out of sight. She couldn’t really blame him, though; he was only trying to save his hotel. The dart was back in the case, hidden securely on her thigh. She finished straightening her cloths and raked her manicured fingernails through her short black hair. With determination and purpose in her step, she walked out the hotel entrance. Just seconds before the police arrived, she vanished into the morning rush hour.

Washington D.C.:

Wystl gazed into the mirror and tilted her beautiful Human face slightly to the right. With a pout and a quizzical look in her eye, she let her lustrous jet-black hair fall across her creamy shoulder. She stepped out of the bathroom and looked at Dean.

“You haven’t told me what you think of the Human form that I have taken.”

Dean wasn’t sure if she was trying to look sexy or not. He was starting to regret that he had recommended his favorite supermodel for her Human image. Dean had learned long ago not to answer directly whenever a woman asked how she looked. The correct answer usually depended on the woman’s mood, and that was always in a state of flux. Dean knew that guessing a woman’s mood was a no-win situation, and worse yet, Wystl wasn’t even Human.

“Well, you certainly have the pout down.” Dean tried to sound positive, but his concern betrayed him. “Your eyes just sparkle. In fact, your look is perfect.”

She started to smile and then stopped. “You don’t sound very convincing, Colonel.” A frown crinkled her otherwise flawless brow.

“Wystl, it’s just that…well, they say don’t mess with perfection, but in this case, you need to tone it down a little. You don’t want to look exactly like a famous model and become a distraction.”

Wystl sounded genuinely hurt. “I’m sorry,” she said breathily. “I didn’t mean to distract you.”

Dean suddenly felt like he was digging a very deep hole. “Not me! I mean people on the street and people who should take you seriously.”

She looked at the picture Dean had given her. “But Colonel, I don’t look just like her. I made my chest larger than hers.”

Talking about Wystl’s chest shouldn’t have made Dean feel uncomfortable but it did. He blew out a breath. “Wystl, trust me,” he said, exasperated. “Turn it down a couple degrees, and you’ll be fine."

Dean found trying to explain Human response much more difficult than any of his life-and-death missions. He pointed at the bathroom. “Just go back in there and make yourself slightly less attractive.”

Wystl still didn’t understand why Dean didn’t want her to look perfect, but she trusted his judgment. She began to study her reflection once again in the mirror.
A slightly
wider nose
. The eyes and cheek bones shrank next. Then her chin lost some of its sharp line and the color of her hair became less specific.
Clearly, no one will think that I’m perfect now – but I’m keeping the chest the way it is.

As Wystl finished making changes to her image in the bathroom, she called out, “Colonel, when are we going after Martle’s assassin?”

Dean looked up from Svetlana’s meager file. “As soon as you’re ready, we leave for Switzerland. We’ll pick up her trail there and catch up with her as soon as we can.”

North Atlantic Ocean, one thousand miles south of Iceland:

Sunbathing on the bow of her convertible submarine, Svetlana lay in her favorite red bikini. Her toned athletic body glistened with oil in the warm midday sun. The steady roll of the unusually calm water and steady hum of the sub’s powerful twin inboard engines was all that reminded her that she was skimming oceanic waves rapidly toward her quarry. A sudden spray of cool, salty mist aroused her. She rolled onto her flat belly and began thinking about her mission.

Master Sung, I’m going to have to do a lot of ass-kicking, going after a general
. She reached back and untied the knot that held her top in place. “I hate tan lines.”

She could feel her sensei’s breath at her ear.
Svetlana, you should minimize any innocent deaths.
His whispered barely above the ocean’s roar.

She thought about her master’s words.
It would
probably make more sense to take him off-base, where there is less security
. “Yes, I don’t want to get too busy and let him slip away.” For a moment, she sensed her master’s disapproval of her response and her mission. Then he was gone.

Svetlana kept her informant alive long enough to get all the intelligence she needed to find and execute General Martle. Once she had the data, she was mercifully quick to put the informant’s broken body out of its misery. He was tough – it took almost thirty minutes to find out who her target was. It might have taken longer, but once she knew who, she knew where. The general was always close to Chancellor Jonathan Visen.

She smiled at Martel’s audacity. “Well, I guess he’s keeping his enemy close.”

The corners of her mouth dropped as her mind began racing.
Is Visen completely fooled by Martle, or are they in this together? If so, are they testing me? Maybe Visen does know but is waiting for me to arrive to attack his enemy. It doesn’t matter, I will survive!
Pushing the countless possibilities aside, Svetlana continued to plan her mission. Once she reached the mainland, she would track Martle’s movements and lay a trap. The one thing she knew for sure was that she trusted no one.

The sub’s warning chime came to life, and Svetlana knew that it was time to dive. The American security satellites were beginning to take notice of her unidentified craft’s swift approach. Her tan would have to wait. Even fully enclosed, the sub was fast, but underwater, she would lose some valuable time. The tradeoff was well worth it, though. It was very difficult to track a relatively small boat that could disappear under the water and reappear wherever it wanted. One can’t find a needle at the bottom of the ocean or in the sand on the other side. She would appear again soon enough.

Switzerland:

The crime scene was approximately twenty-four hours old. Rats and bugs had just begun to take their toll on the body. Fortunately, the smell of death was minimized by the large, airy warehouse location. Dean and Wystl stood with Interpol Inspector Pardion and studied a male body that had been obviously tortured. It lay crumpled with small pools of blood flowing from numerous mutilation sites. The body’s hair looked sweaty from the stress it received during the ordeal. Three or four fingers were bent in the wrong direction; one of the digits had been completely ripped from the right hand, leaving a jagged stump. The right shoulder was severely dislocated. The face was contorted into an agonized death mask.

Even though the victim was twisted in pain, Dean could tell who it was: the same man Svetlana had released at the hotel to warn Martle. Apparently, she had changed her mind about letting him go. It was possible that someone else had gotten to him, but Dean knew he was looking at the assassin’s work.

“Agent Wystl, I believe he put up quite a fight. Don’t you?” Pardion’s French accent sounded syrupy sweet as his hard brown eyes danced all over Wystl’s body. His eyes finally stopped and he gazed at her with anticipation, not really caring what she had to say.

This had been going on for a while, and Dean was beginning to lose patience with the inspector. Pardion kept twisting his black handlebar mustache, smiling, and stealing glances at Wystl. The dead body was only an afterthought to him.
She still needs to be
less attractive,
Dean sighed inside.
But that will have to wait until we get back to the hotel
.

Reaching his limits, Dean gave up any pretense of decorum and raised his voice.     “Inspector, I’m trying to talk to you! Do you have any video of who took him?”

Pardion took the intrusion in stride. “What? Oh, as a matter of fact, she took him right out of his apartment and brought him to this abandoned warehouse.”

“Inspector, look at me. What about the video?”

“Right, we have it back at the office.”

Dean raised his eyebrows and gave Wystl a knowing glance. Now she understood why Dean didn’t want her to look perfect and smiled back weakly. He looked back at the inspector. “We’ll meet you there. We have to know if it is the same woman that killed those men at the hotel I told you about.”

The inspector stood in his office behind Dean and Wystl and switched on the video. The black-and-white scene was from a traffic camera. It showed a few late-model cars rolling down a tree-lined street. An elderly couple walked arm-in-arm slowly on the sidewalk. As the couple turned at the end of the block and walked around the corner of a house, a woman got out of a parked black sedan. The woman paused and looked up and down the street. Satisfied that it was clear, she glided across the street and up the concrete steps of a four-story brick apartment building. She bent down, did something to the lock, and disappeared inside.

Dean checked his watch. “Once she opened her car door, it took her about fifteen seconds to get inside that building. That includes picking the lock
and
pausing to check the street. She’s pretty damn fast.”

Wystl was afraid to draw attention, but the inspector seemed to be more focused now. “Is that the woman we’re after?”

Dean took a deep breath and nodded. He finished watching her push the victim out of the building and down the steps. Twenty seconds later, she pulled away from the curb with her quarry. “That’s her. She got what she wanted from the victim. Now she’s on her way to cause more trouble. We need to get out of here right now.”

“You’re leaving? You only know who it is. Don’t you wish to catch her?” The inspector couldn’t believe that they would simply leave. “Besides, my American friend, we have the other half of the video to watch. There may be additional clues for you and your associate.”

Once again he smiled at Wystl.

I hate it when people I don’t know call me friend and ogle my woman, especially Frenchmen.
Dean stopped himself.
Ogle my woman? Where did that come from?

Dean couldn’t be sure if the inspector just wanted to keep Wystl around or if he really wanted to crack the case. Not that it mattered either way; they were leaving and he didn’t have time to play twenty questions with Pardion.

“Inspector, we know who she is, who she’s after, and where she’s going – and it’s not in Europe. We need to get to the airport now!” What Dean thought and what he said were two different things.
We’re Network agents and have to save its leader. We don’t really work for the Corps
. “Inspector, that assassin could bring down the world order.” And that
was
the truth.

North Atlantic Ocean:

Raging in the dark, Svetlana braced herself on the rolling deck against the Atlantic’s gale-force wind. Cold and salty, it had turned her almond cheeks scarlet. Through the squall, Shelburne’s lights bobbed in the distance. Their faint glow confirmed that she was less than a kilometer north of Cape Sable, just off Nova Scotia’s rocky southwestern coast. She didn’t risk getting any closer and becoming another shipwreck in the storm. It was time to turn south-by-southwest and mingle with water traffic on the United States’ eastern seaboard. With the sub’s top down, she would appear to be just another party boat coming home after a long weekend.

Within a few hours, the storm had passed and the Sun began to rise. It was a beautiful day on the water. Svetlana carefully guided her “party boat” to the pier nearest to the center of the boat arena and tied it up. Gentle waves lapped methodically against weathered docks that formed the long wooden pier. Skyscrapers, only a block away, loomed over rows of water vessels that included everything from decrepit sailboats to sleek multimillion-dollar yachts. Seagulls casually dipped and rose again on the warm updrafts in the empty blue sky. Occasionally, one would drift in front of the Sun. They crowed to no one in particular and gazed vigilantly at the water for their next salty meal.