Henry Gallant Saga 2: Lieutenant Henry Gallant (23 page)

“Not necessarily,” said the individual identified as Liam.

Gallant could make out this man was the right general build to be Liam Larson. He surmised this was a group from the Pro-United Planets’ organization that had been conducting protests. What he couldn’t understand was their intent.

Why bug me?

“Your power is a sad and ironic illusion,” Gallant said harshly, as he stood in front of Wolfe’s huge mahogany desk.

Wolfe pounded his fist on the desk.

Bam!

“Well, you should have no illusion. I’m the one who controls the planetary force field—through my agreement with Aristotle,” said Wolfe, fuming, his face beet red. “Neither the Titans nor your vaunted
Intrepid
are any threat to me. And now I have weapons to properly governor the people of Elysium.”

“President Wolfe,” said Gallant, taking a deep breath—feeling compelled to switch to a more conciliatory approach—“I respect your office as leader of Elysium, and I assure you the
Intrepid
is not a threat to you, regardless of your control over the force field. However, you did misrepresent yourself as the designer and builder of the shield and you concealed the presence of an alien AI on this planet.”

“Yes, young man, yes—the necessities of politics. You understand. We have a treaty—a deal. We are allies. If I did stretch the truth about my role in providing planetary protection, it was only because our relationship was untested and I needed assurance you would respect my authority. As for Aristotle, I am in complete control of the situation. He’s no threat. He’s an ally.”

Wolfe spoke fulsomely with effusive arm gestures to emphasize his words, but Gallant was all too familiar with the president’s deceptive ways and responded, “I respect your authority and appreciate your continued cooperation with our mining and repair efforts.”

“Thannnk youuu,” said Wolfe, exaggerating his pronunciation—his Cheshire cat smile emerging.

“Could you clarify your arrangement with Aristotle? How did you develop your relationship with the alien AI?” asked Gallant, not expecting to get all the facts, but hoping to learn more.

“After the Titans discarded us on Elysium, we were left pretty much on our own. From time to time, they surreptitiously abducted a person. That person never returned. I suspected they were victims of experimentation.” For the first time, a bitter note sounded in Wolfe’s voice over the fate of others.

Gallant nodded his encouragement.

“I made good use of the time, however, to build our town and explore the island. About a year after arriving planet-side, I was reconnoitering the jungle when I found part of the ruins. I soon located one of the many entrances to an astonishing underground structure filled with many passages. Inside, I found a lit chamber with humming sounds of running equipment and many gadgets. It looked nothing like the tech on board the Titan ship we’d been on. It had to be the product of a lost alien civilization.”

Wolfe stood up and spread his arms. “I’d made a fantastic discovery. It was monumental.”

Looking at Gallant, as if he had pulled a rabbit out of his hat, Wolfe said, “Suspecting there might be something of enormous value, I sought the advice of Professor Hepburn. He’s a cyberneticist, you know. I asked him, how I could learn to control and operate the ancient machinery. He suggested there could be audio controls to an AI system. So I went back to the vault chamber and spoke aloud, demanding assistance. To my great satisfaction, I was greeted by an avatar. I explained a great deal about our people and history. He suggested I call him, Aristotle.”

Wolfe paused looking for approval. Sensing none, he sulked, but continued, “Aristotle indicated he had been aware of our presence on Elysium for a while. He explained how he had been murdered by a mysterious assailant a million years ago. He said only a tiny residue of what he once was remained. He said if I helped repair his power and operating systems, he would activate a planetary force field to protect my people from the Titans. Well, I jumped at the chance. Wouldn’t anybody? I never told anyone about Aristotle. I kept him my secret, along with our deal. All for the sake of security, you understand. So I was able to activate the force field and prevent any future Titan incursions on our planet. Elysium citizens were thrilled with my success and getting elected president was easy after that.”

“Did Aristotle ever explain his origin, or mission?” asked Gallant.

“No. But in the twenty years I’ve been associating with him, he has always seemed benevolent and helpful. Only my son has been to the ruins to help me with small repair efforts. Of course the machine itself is ten cubic kilometers. It is a derelict—devastated and almost completely useless. The tiny repairs I’ve made in two decades have been focused on restoring access to its power source and to install some basic operating system capability. I helped replace some memory and processing chips, but the small upgrades I’ve added are trivial compared to the billions of Aristotle’s own devices that lay ruined in its many vaults and chambers.”

“What’s the power source?”

“Originally, when the machine arrived on Elysium, it drilled a shaft all the way to the planet’s molten core. It used the thermal differential temperature to generate nearly limitless power—more than enough to power the force field.”

“So only you and your son know of the existence of Aristotle?”

“Yes.”

“You said you spoke to Professor Hepburn, as well?”

“Like I said, I discussed the ancient ruins and machinery with Hepburn twenty years ago. I never told him about Aristotle. We’ve never discussed it further.”

“He wasn’t curious about the ancient AI technology and devices?”

“No.”

“Doesn’t that strike you as odd—an expert cyberneticist who is not interested in ancient ruins with advanced AI technology?”

“Well, I hadn’t given it any thought before now,” said Wolfe, rubbing his chin in a thoughtful way, as if he might have carelessly misplaced a precious jewel.

Gallant thought,
Aristotle could be the source of the cyber-attacks on GridScape, but who is his accomplice?

Gallant left Wolfe’s office and began walking briskly through the cool night air—somewhat distracted as he mentally replayed his conversation with Wolfe. He was heading toward his lodgings when he noticed the three man Special Security Police (SSP) team normally following him had strangely disappeared. While they were supposed to be surreptitious, Gallant had become adept at spotting them. Instead, Gallant caught sight of a shadow along a nearby side street, moving suspiciously closer.

Turning a corner, Gallant ducked into a doorway and waited. When the stalker peeked around the corner, Gallant wrapped his forearm around the unknown person’s throat, grabbing him from behind.

“Augh. Let me go. Let me go,” he pleaded. It was Junior.

“Sure,” said Gallant, releasing his grasp. “Why are you following me?”

Facing Gallant and making an effort to recover his dignity, Junior said, “Let’s go where we can talk.”

Junior crossed the street into a vacant lot. He stood in the dark next to a cluster of secluded trees.

Gallant furrowed his brow, but followed.

Looking around slyly, Junior seemed to be having difficulty finding the right words.

Gallant kept his arms at his sides and offset his feet, ready to defend, if needed. “I’m waiting.”

“I told you before—stay away from Alaina—she belongs to me.” Junior poked two fingers into Gallant’s chest.

Gallant took a deep breath. He hadn’t found much to like about Junior. Now he could seriously dislike him.

“I believe people belong to themselves. Alaina can make up her own mind about whomever she chooses to see.”

“Stay away . . .” Junior started, once more poking Gallant in the chest.

Grabbing Junior’s jabbing fingers, Gallant twisted them down and away.

“Oww, oww,” complained Junior.

Suddenly, Gallant was aware of several men coming at him from the shadow of the trees.

He let go of Junior and sidestepped the first man, tripping him as he passed. He hit the second man with the butt of his palm and pushed him to one side. Gallant ducked the swinging fist of the third man and punched him in the stomach, doubling him over and producing a distinct grunt.

“Unh.”

Junior stepped forward and swung a billy club.

Gallant easily avoided the bludgeon—grabbed Junior’s wrist and twisted it until he dropped the weapon and squealed in pain.

“Yow.”

The first man, a large beefy fellow, was back on his feet and charged Gallant like a raging bull. He wrapped his arms around Gallant and wrestled him to the ground whereupon all four men began hitting and kicking him.

Recognizing his assailants as the SSP detail assigned to follow him, Gallant knew they had basic combat skills.

They’re playing for keeps,
he thought.

As they punched and kicked him, Gallant put his faith in his hand-to-hand combat training. He twisted his body and grabbed one man’s arm for leverage—allowing him to get back on his feet.

With one hand, Gallant chopped the forearm of the first man, breaking it—taking him out of the fight. Then he kicked the kneecap of the second man—breaking it as well.

The third man swung and connected with Gallant’s jaw, snapping his head back. He shook off the pain and used the flat of his right hand to chop the third man’s exposed throat. As the man backed away gagging, Junior came swinging at Gallant.

Gallant blocked the punch with his left forearm and delivered a devastating right-cross—hitting Junior squarely in the nose—shattering it and sending blood flying in all directions.

The four men, panting—grimacing in pain—remained on the ground. They had had enough.

Gallant walked away.

The town of Hallo was decked out in its best festive finery to welcome the delegation from the
Intrepid.
President Wolfe had spared no effort to make the treaty signing ceremony the most important state event of his tenure. Buildings and streets were decorated with flowers and banners extolling Wolfe’s personal accomplishments and virtues. The leading citizens were gathered in the town square, wearing as formal attire as they had, allowing for the tropical weather. The town hall was illuminated like a lighthouse in the fading twilight. Everything appeared ready for the state dinner to finalize the evening’s rite as the UP delegation reached the town square landing site.

Gallant brought the Hummingbird to a gentle landing at the designated location and used a tractor beam to set the trailer vessel down beside it. The trailer held the UP personnel participating in the evening’s festivities.

Leaving Lieutenant Junior Grade Smith as OOD and Ensign Palmer as JOOD on
Intrepid,
Captain Anton Neumann and Lieutenant Marcus Mendel arrived to join Gallant to attend the state dinner. Chief Howard and several petty officers also attended. Elysium’s Council and leading citizens conducted them into the town hall.

“Welcome, Captain Neumann. At last we meet. I’m honored,” said Wolfe.

“I’m pleased to meet you,” said Neumann keeping his attention on Wolfe while his eyes followed Gallant as he moved into the room.
“Please let me introduce you to our Council members,” said Wolfe, regaling in his ostensible popularity and power.

Neumann applied his most winning smile while he acknowledged each of the council members and shook their hands.

Gallant was surprised by the extensive turnout. He sensed a conspicuous uncertain calm among the townspeople. He had been under the impression this ceremony would be a mere formality, but the decorations belied the notion. Several large tables and many rows of audience seats were available. The first large table included designated seating with place cards arranged for the council in order of seniority.

Behind each councilmember were several staffers and behind them were rows of important civilians. This group included several news personalities. At the back of the packed room was a line of SSP officers—none he recognized. Given the considerable healing Junior and his fellow SSP members had to do, Gallant wasn’t surprised to see they were missing from the festivities.

Wolfe was playing the event for the maximum political advantage while marginalizing his opposition. Much to Gallant’s surprise, Professor Hepburn, Alaina, and Larson were in attendance, but they were kept on the edge of the ceremony and under SSP surveillance.

The ceremony was not disturbed by demonstrators because Wolfe had artfully negotiated a deal with Hepburn and Alaina. In exchange for not holding protests, Wolfe agreed to allow Hepburn to meet with the
Intrepid’s
commanding officer.

From across the room, Gallant witnessed Professor Hepburn engaged in heated discussion with Neumann. He could guess the topic as well as Neumann’s reaction and so he chose to stay away.

Once the formal proceedings were opened, President Wolfe began a long winded speech. The actual treaty signing ceremony was brief with Wolfe, Neumann, and the Elysium Council members signing the document in turn.

Though small and limited in scope, the social hierarchy of Elysium managed some cultural niceties to celebrate the evening. A live band played appealing music while couples took advantage of a large dance floor in the center of the room. Food and drink were plentiful and before long the participants were having a jubilant, if not a slightly intoxicated, time. The apex of this social pyramid was, of course, Cyrus Wolfe—the evening’s perennial focus of attention.

Despite the chaotic flow of people around him, Gallant managed to glimpse Alaina standing alone at the edge of the dance floor swaying to the music. She wore a simple black dress, but managed to somehow look—exceptional.

There was no reason why he couldn’t have found her earlier, if he had sought her out, but the reason he had failed to do so, was a personal one—he remained conflicted over his feelings for her. A slight embarrassment touched him, holding him back.
Finally he approached her. “Would you like to dance?”