New Olympus Saga (Book 3): Apocalypse Dance (27 page)

“Free passage of Dominion vehicles and personnel throughout all signatory countries, including international space beyond Earth’s atmosphere.” The Dominion was excluded from outer space, except for some carefully-inspected weather and communication satellites, following a deplorable incident featuring mind-control orbital devices back in 1983. The offer meant the Doms would be allowed to move their fully space-capable Dreadnoughts up into orbit and beyond for the first time in decades. It had taken a small space war to impose the current earthbound exile on the Dominion, so that was a big concession. “In exchange, we need your word that once the hostilities have ended, you will retreat back to the boundaries determined by the Warsaw Treaty of 1985.”

“In other words, I am to offer my people and myself as cannon fodder in the coming conflict, and as our reward receive nothing but a return to the status quo. Unacceptable.”

“What do you propose in return?” Olivia replied.

“Basing rights for the Moon and Mars. Mining concessions on the asteroid belt. Double our current orbital allotment. The end of the trade embargo from the US and Western Europe. The abandonment of any pending legal charges from the International Crime Court, the US government, and all other UN signatories, against myself and any and all members of my regime. A lifting of all other sanctions by the United Nations, World Trade Organization, and any other international agencies: that list is too tiresomely long to recite in its totality. Once all those terms have been confirmed and executed, I will mobilize my forces in support of operations related to containing and destroying the so-called Genocide, ideally well away from our biosphere. What do you say?”

“Unacceptable,” Artemis said. Christine resisted a sudden urge to roll her eyes as the Legion’s top bossette and the second most powerful dictator on the planet started haggling with each other like a couple of horse-traders. She ignored the exchange for the most part; she figured they’d work things out. Like she’d said, the Tsar wasn’t going to risk his domain just to be a d-bag, so he’d come to terms and send out his merry gang of thugs and his wonderful flying machines, which hopefully would make a difference when the Genocide showed up.

Of course, what would make even more of a difference would be Christine’s accessing the Source and bringing all its power to bear on the alien invader. She’d kept trying, but her ESP was gone, dead, and those special senses were what had allowed her to touch the Source and pick up stuff from the Codex. Thanks to the First’s trap, she’d gotten those mental circuits burned right off her brain, possibly for good. Last night, she’d taken another run at her single Word, and all she’d ended up with was yet another migraine. Not good. She doubted she was going to make much progress in eight weeks. Maybe if they had eight months.

All she’d achieved was shutting off the creation of new Neos, just when they were going to need all the Neos they could get. Talk about an epic fail.

She might have saved herself from becoming Dark Christine, at the cost of dooming the world.

Freedom Island, Caribbean Sea, December 7, 2013

“The Dragon Emperor has agreed to the terms of our last proposal, with a few minor caveats,” General Xu reported. “He claims he can provide us with seven hundred Celestial Warriors, all with a PAS of 2.6 or higher in offensive and defensive powers, in addition to his considerable conventional and semi-conventional forces.” The Council member looked vaguely appalled at the size of the forces the Empire was volunteering; he probably was considering how bloody the thankfully-avoided Third Asian War would have been.

“Of course, a lot of those forces are going to be useless in the primary theater of operations,” Swift groused. “The Imps have never done much in space; sure, their flying fortresses are vacuum-rated, but their speed isn’t quite up to snuff for in-system ops; we’re going to have to tow them into position, and a lot of their weapon systems are too slow or inaccurate to fight Neos.”

“We’ll take whatever we can get,” Cassius said, trying to keep up an optimistic façade. “The Empire’s earth-bound forces may play a crucial role if the battle reaches Earth’s atmosphere.” If that eventuality happened, he didn’t add, the death and destruction that would follow would be unprecedented, and very likely catastrophic; even in victory, the world would very likely be damaged beyond recovery.

“If we lose in space, we’re toast,” Swift replied.

“We’re developing a defense in depth,” Adam said. “We’ll engage the Genocide in Jupiter’s orbit. If we fail there, we’ll make a stand from the Moon and the satellite belt, before allowing the fight to move into Earth’s atmosphere. We’re seeding space buoys loaded with teleport and FTL inhibitors; they will prevent the Genocide from bypassing our defenses. In any case, we believe he will seek to destroy our forces before attacking the planet, so he will fight us in places of our choosing.”

“It,” Cassius corrected crossly. “It does not have a gender as our language defines such things. It is neither male nor female, even before it transcended the limits of its biology.”

“I take it you didn’t get the memo,” Hyperia said with a bitter grin. “The UN Sexual Identity Committee agreed that the Genocide, given his aggressive and violent behavior, would be referred to as male in all communications henceforth.”

“And I don’t give a shit if we put ‘im in a dress and call ‘im Sally Mae,” Swift said in a faux-Southern accent that made Cassius grit his teeth. “We can figure what to call him, it, or she-it when we’re putting up his gravestone,” he went on. “The question is, now that the Empire has joined the Coalition of the Willing and Able, do we have enough firepower to put him down like the mad dog he is?”

“We’ll find out during the first week of February, when the alien bastard is supposed to arrive,” Hyperia said. “We’re building every weapon system we can think of in the time we’ve got. We’re even reconfiguring that giant thermonuclear device the Humanity Foundation was planning to use on New York. Well, not us, the US government is.”

“Under the circumstances, everyone is part of ‘us,’” Artemis said.

“And the good old USA is contributing the most money and materiel, of course. About three hundred Neos of varying power levels, a fleet of almost a hundred military spaceships, including a bunch who were listed in the books as research vessels, wink, wink, and full use of all American space installationds, government-owned and private, the latter having been nationalized for the duration of the emergency. We’re going all-in.”

“That we are,” Darkling agreed. “Speaking of which, how is Operation Forlorn Hope going?”

“About as well as we could expect,” Adam replied. Forlorn Hope was a campaign to recruit Neos with uncontrollable abilities who hadn’t quite been deemed dangerous enough to execute out of hand. “A surprising number of the inmates in our Allocation Facilities have agreed to help. We’re offering them the chance to colonize Titan once the war is over.”

“In other words, we’re offering them a brand-new form of exile, except they’ll get to play in an ice ball out on the edge of the Solar System instead of their current island resorts,” Hyperia said.

“Let’s not rehash the old arguments, Ali,” Artemis replied. “All those inmates are both very powerful and unable to control their abilities. Most of them understand the danger they represent to everyone around them.”

“And we’re going to use them as cannon fodder against the Genocide. Let’s not mince words. We’ll be solving two problems at once. Victory or defeat, most of those poor bastards aren’t going to live through this.”

“There’s no telling how many of us, if any, are going to survive,” Swift said. “It’s going to be raining shit and hellfire, and everyone’s gonna get a good heaping helping of both.”

“You’re turning into a goddamn poet in your old age, Larry Graham,” Hyperia said. “All right, I’m sorry, just wanted my comments on the record. The fact that we haven’t figured out a way to deal with those sixty-two Neos we’ve got warehoused away is shameful.”

“We can all agree on that,” Cassius said, more sincerely than anybody knew. He hadn’t told his friends and colleagues about the Taint that had infected him. The darkness was there, whispering at him, but he figured it wouldn’t change anything before the Genocide arrived.

He didn’t intend to survive that battle.

* * *

John Clarke looked at the rings on the display case and pictured them on Christine’s finger.

I know it’s too soon
, he told himself for the tenth time this morning.
But it doesn’t hurt to look
.

The shop was a very exclusive establishment that catered to Freedom Island’s wealthier residents. Besides having the same inventory you’d find in one of New York’s finer jewelry stores, it was a very private place where Legion members could do their shopping in peace and quiet. The days when John could stroll into a regular store in peace and quiet had ended back during the Great Depression, not that he would have been able to afford jewelry back then. He hadn’t become wealthy until after the war. Things had changed a great deal since then; even though he gave away most of his yearly income, he was still a multimillionaire. He could afford buying an extravagant ring. Unfortunately, doing so would be wrong.

He knew it was much too soon to be looking at engagement rings, but he was looking anyway, and he knew it was because he wasn’t satisfied with their current arrangement. His time with Christine had made him happier than he’d been since Linda Lamar’s passing – and, to be honest, since years before then – but it’d also left him off-balance and confused. Life was never simple, something that had proven to be a constant source of disappointment and regret.

“Let me see that one,” he told the salesgirl, a very pleasant youngster in her late twenties who’d been too professional to act like a star-struck teenager around him, but whose quickening pulse betrayed her slight nervousness. She quickly showed him the piece in question, a platinum ring with a 9-carat rock and a half-dozen lesser diamonds set around it. It was a damn sight better than the ring he’d bought for Linda back in 1945. Just one more difference among many.

Christine was nothing like Linda, he realized now. He’d first become smitten with her because of her physical similarities with the dead love of his life, but he’d quickly discovered they had precious little in common beyond their hair and eye color. Oh, they were both strong people, but they expressed their strength in different ways. Linda had been brash, bold and impudent, but under that bluster lurked a measure of insecurity and vulnerability. Christine, on the other hand, was easygoing and shy, but once she was convinced of taking a course of action, nothing could move her.

Any illusions he’d had of recreating his blissful life with Linda had died a quick death. Christine was her own person; she was more affectionate and sweeter than Linda had ever been, but her ideals and opinions were from a different time and place. She was more comfortable doing things on the computer or her e-tablet than sitting in front of the TV with him, for example. Sexually, she was more adventurous, always wanting to try new things. John was beginning to worry he might be too stodgy and set in his ways for her.

“… like to see another?” the sales clerk was saying. John nodded and pointed to a slightly less-extravagant ring.

He knew he was being foolish. They hadn’t even talked about moving in together, although she spent most nights at his place. The idea of cohabiting without benefit of marriage bothered him, though; his attitude towards such things had become set in stone in the 1930s, and some things were harder to change than others. John felt he was taking advantage of Christine by not making an honest woman out of her. Yes, he understood that’s not how she saw things, but he couldn’t help how he felt about it. At least if they got engaged, living together wouldn’t feel so wrong.

Except he’d be jumping the gun if he proposed now. She might even say no.

In the end, he bought her a nice gold and diamond pendant and headed to her apartment.

She smiled at him when she opened her door and saw who it was. “John! Hey, I wasn’t expecting you to drop by. Uh, sorry about the mess,” she added as she let him in.

The apartment she’d gotten from Legion Housing, after she’d refused to keep her old place, was small and plain, although she’d added color and some personal touches: art prints hung from the walls, including a beautiful James Bama portrait of Doc Slaughter, and assorted other knickknacks gave the place a feminine touch. She’d started adding a few things to John’s own apartment, stuff like throw pillows and a new set of curtains, which, given that she spent so much time over there, was fair enough.

Her place was indeed a bit messy, especially for John’s tastes; he lived by the old axiom ‘a place for everything and everything in its place.’ Piles of books lay haphazardly on the coffee table and the floor of the living room, along with two laptop computers and some discarded soda cans. There was a pile of dirty dishes in the sink, and several pizza boxes on the kitchen counter. He’d noticed that she often became so focused on whatever she was reading or studying she forgot about cleaning up after herself.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I just wanted to see you.”

“Sounds good,” she said while she picked up books and tried to pile them up in a slightly more orderly fashion. “I’ve got watch duty in about two hours, but we could grab some dinner before that. I was going to order some pizza, but we could go somewhere instead.”

“Sure. I wanted to give you something first, though.” He took the box with his present out of his pocket. The brief flash of panic he saw in her eyes, before she saw the size of the box and realized it was too big for a ring, told him he’d been right all along; it was much too soon to propose.

Her face lit up when she saw the pendant. “Wow. That’s beautiful!” She hugged and kissed him. “You’re a pretty amazing boyfriend, you know.”

“I try.”

Maybe living in sin wouldn’t be so bad.