Sacred Planet: Book One of the Dominion Series (21 page)

The slick-haired fellow on the screen didn’t seem to warrant such an urgent headline. He stood on a stage behind a glass lectern with the holographic letters “EFO” in its body. The camera view showed only him but gave the impression he addressed a large audience. His eyes swept wide and far, bearing a sparkle as deep as the galaxy itself.

“That’s why . . .” the Carinian minister said from hidden speakers, “the work done at Earth Forever is so important.”

In the professionally timed pause between statements, Davin had time to realize what “EFO” stood for. It was the Earth Forever Organization. They’d garnered lots of news over the years, their spokesmen always saying something outrageous about why Earth belonged to such and such or so and so. Davin never paid much attention to Carinian politics, but he knew enough to know Earth Forever generated more heat than a Hornet engine.

“See, it’s people like you all . . .” The suave Carinian stepped to the side of the lectern and aimed his finger at the audience. “Who will someday, hopefully soon, set things right in the galaxy.” He took a few more steps away from the lectern, and the camera followed him. “The smart people of Earth Forever realize that Carina has deeper ties to Earth . . . than any other nation or group could possibly imagine. It means more to us. It holds a special significance . . . to us.”

He kept pausing for dramatic effect. It got on Davin’s nerves, but apparently the audience approved.

“Earth isn’t a
prize
,” the Carinian said. “It isn’t a
conquest
. And neither is it Carina’s little brother.” The audience laughed, and the speaker waited for them to settle. Once they did, he cupped his hands in front of his body. “Earth is the
cradle
of all we hold dear in this universe. It is the deepest root of life’s great tree. And it’s the homeland of the venerated prophets of old, who delivered to us immeasurable wisdom through their words and their pens. Earth isn’t just
any
planet. No. It’s the
Sacred
Planet.”

The guy spoke with such passion and persuasion that it lulled Davin into a trance. He almost forgot to think about the words themselves. If Earth was Carina’s “sacred planet,” to whom did it belong? The Earthers or Carina? Davin gathered that the religious fanatics in Carina would claim it belonged to them, and that they weren’t going to be shy about saying so. They had Moses or Jehovah or Zeus or somebody to please, so they
had
to say crazy stuff. This guy was just particularly good at it.

Then Davin remembered the headline. Maybe it didn’t exaggerate after all. If anything, it probably underplayed all that was going on in the speech.

But a thousand lightyears separated Davin from the crazies, so he pressed the power button to switch off all the screens, contemplated the sudden, terrible darkness of the room, then stretched out on the couch. Sleep came quickly.

Orion Arm, on the planet Agora . . .

Emma studied the Axwell megastructure out the window of her private shuttle as they approached from above. A titan of chrome, glass, and white stone, the Axwell Building towered seventy stories atop a platform over the ocean. Sleek, white boats docked in its halo of bays or plowed through the indigo waters toward Apex, the centermost of the Commerce Islands. Sweeping kelp farms of orange and emerald green surrounded a smaller isle in the distance.

As the automated shuttle shifted course toward the landing pads on the far side of the cylindrical mammoth, Emma took in a panorama of the soccer field-sized rooftop. A giant fountain in the center shot a stream of white water high into the air, and two smaller fountains flanked it on either side. The strip of green surrounding them showcased a colorful rose garden and a handful of evenly spaced trees. At the front of the rooftop, on a tier one floor down, a dozen or more Spanish-style villas lined the curving stone terrace, each set on tiny plots of land that only a multimillionaire could afford. Stone spires at the edges of the rooftop came to a point high above the villas, and communication rods reached even farther.

On a tier above the fountains, a handful of white, palatial mansions buttressed by Corinthian columns gleamed in the sunlight, owned by the richest and most powerful people on the planet—the one percent of Agora’s one percent. It struck Emma as the sort of opulence she would expect to see on Mount Olympus, each home impressive enough to rival the Pantheon. After all, the residents of these estates were practically gods among men.

The house in the center, directly in front of the great fountain, belonged to Georgio Heimer, president of Cornerstone Jurisdiction. That was Emma’s destination. It might’ve been her imagination, but Heimer’s mansion looked a tad bigger than its neighbors.

* * *

Emma fidgeted with the buttons of her suit vest as she was led through breathtaking halls and chambers, everything polished and tidy. Even the butler, a prim and placid old man, wore a perfectly crisp suit and had perfectly manicured, medically grown hair. It had to be medically grown. Men in their sixties didn’t naturally have hair like his, full and untainted by gray.

Emma noticed a myriad of details, parts of the house that didn’t exist in any other. Chandeliers of hanging crystalline gems, gilded trimming, cloudy white marble countertops on every table and counter, screens in the walls showing a map of the rooms. Emma thought her 2,800-square-foot condo on Apex was more than she needed, despite what everyone who knew her said. They all thought she should be living in something that matched her income level. A bigger box.

So many people seemed to be caught up in the pursuit of residing in a bigger, nicer box. So many that Emma sometimes wondered if there was something wrong with her for not wanting the same.

Heimer’s mansion reminded her of why she liked her modest condo. This place was huge, cavernous, and most of it useless. It instilled in her nothing but a desire to get out, to go back someplace where efficiency held higher value than pointless luxury.

The butler gave a small, professional smile as he opened the door to the library. Emma waited until she got inside to swallow, afraid she might alert the man to her secret lack of confidence. Inside, between the tall, dark wood shelves packed with books, a circle of high-backed chairs sent a jolt of surprise down her spine. Her nervousness shifted into something else entirely. A handful of familiar faces turned toward her as she approached the circle.

Georgio Heimer stood and smiled, the lifted skin of his face showing no wrinkles despite his age. He was the only man of the group not wearing business clothes, instead donning loose, white pants and a silken button-down. A man of his status had no one to impress.

“Miss Scarlet, please join us,” he said with practiced cheerfulness. “Good to see you again.”

“You too, Georgio.” Her eyes swept across the faces of familiar, powerful men.

“You probably know most of these gentlemen,” Georgio said, then pointed at one. “Braden Axwell . . .”

The suave, young heir of Axwell Investment Corp stood and offered his hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Miss Scarlet.” His confident green eyes met hers and didn’t stray.

Emma shook his hand. “Emma. Call me Emma.”

Braden dipped his head. “Emma it is.”

Headlines rang a bell in her brain as his name settled. A quick connection formed between the news stories and the young man standing before her. “I was very sad to hear about your father.”

Braden brushed it off. “Years ago, but I do appreciate that.”

Georgio gestured to the next man. “And you may have met Arco Paley before.”

“Yes,” Emma said, shaking the grizzled and burly fellow’s hand. “Good to see you again, Arco.”

“Good to see you as well,” he said with oxymoronic stoicism. Arco unbuttoned the gray jacket wrapped tightly around his barrel chest and returned to his seat. A Paley-Powell Security Co. pin sparkled on his lapel. The man had carried himself with this much professionalism every time Emma had seen him. As head of a multi-planetary security company, he maintained the straight-faced image well.

Emma moved automatically to the last gentleman in the room, a lanky luneborn with a characteristically wide smile.

“And last but not least—”

“Mitchell Stott,” Emma said, grasping the man’s slender, open hand.

Mitchell’s smile widened. “Oh, Emma and I go way back. All the way to M-Forty-Two and back.”

They shared a laugh. The others looked on, smiling expectantly.

“We had to rid the Nebula area of pirates a few years ago,” Emma explained. “Couldn’t get any supplies to our shipyards out there, so we hired some of Knight’s gunships.”

Knight Protection Services had chased the pirates to a semi-arid moon, and after the orbital bombardment, the cleanup crew found several thousand charred bodies, including those of children. Halcyon hadn’t been bothered by pirates since. It was a bittersweet experience, one Emma preferred not to think about except in basic details.

“Ah,” Georgio said with raised eyebrows. “Very good. Glad we’re all acquainted. Please, sit.”

Once they’d all settled in and a well-dressed young woman dropped off an ice water on the table beside Emma, Georgio spoke again.

“Let’s cut to the chase, shall we?” The others nodded. Georgio rested his elbows on the chair arms and interlocked his fingers. “By now, we all know about Halcyon’s predicament, and we’d all like to avoid getting involved with the Carinians. The question is, how? My proposal, just so we have a starting point for discussion, is to band together and form a separate entity that will operate as a discretionary defense force.”

“Hold on,” Emma said, eyebrows pressed down in confusion. “Did I miss something? What is this ‘discretionary defense force?’”

“Yes,” Georgio said. “You did miss something. I’m filling you in on it.”

Emma’s nervousness returned. “Okay, go on.”

“We all saw the Carinian gunships pass through Chandra system,” Georgio continued. “The Carinians are getting bolder. Their government is getting more radical. The VN can’t afford to risk being unarmed if they push into Orion. We need some kind of defense force in case—”

“A military,” Emma interrupted. “You mean we need a military.”

“Something like that, yes.” Georgio wasn’t the least bit facetious. No one in the circle was.

“Despite the fact most people in the VN are anti-military?” Emma asked. “Despite the fact that three multi-planetary companies
tried
to form a VN-wide military decades ago and failed?”

Braden sat forward. “That’s what makes your predicament so interesting, Emma. It provides an opening that’s never existed before.”

Mitchell crossed his scrawny legs, still wearing the grin that never seemed to fade. “People’d rather see those ships going to a VN military than a Carinian one. Know I would.”

“Back in the Colony Wars, everyone knew the great powers would avoid Orion,” Georgio added. “But now, the VN planets are afraid. The Chandrans have seen Carinian warships in their space. Everyday on the news, there’s more warmongering from Carina. People are
scared
, Emma.”

“More scared than they would be of a government forming right under their nose?”

Georgio waved away the question. “Emma. You know us. The people of the VN know us. We don’t want to form a government. That’d create more problems than it would solve.”

“Well, you’d have a monopoly on interstellar military force,” Emma said. “That sounds an awful lot like ‘government’ to me. I’m assuming it’ll be a private entity? Where will your income come from?”

“We already have verbal agreements with jurisdiction companies on Chandra and six other planets in the VN.” Georgio rattled off with ease. Clearly, he had been working on this for some time. “And we’re in talks with some conglomerates in the Sol region. Delta Pavonis, Cassiopeia, a few others. A discretionary defense force will be a sort of preventive insurance policy, just in case outside forces start getting ideas.”

“We need some way to deter Carinian aggression,” Braden said, fingertips resting against each other.

Emma’s throat constricted. This was bigger than she had thought. And far more complicated. But as her gaze swept around the circle, populated by some of the VN’s most powerful men, she detected no nervousness amongst them. No hesitation.

“You’re all serious about this?”

Nods all around.

“And you’re certain this will never expand into something we don’t want it to be?”

Georgio inhaled a long breath and tightened his lips into a thin line.

“We’re certain this is what needs to be done. Not for us. For the whole Voluntarist Network.”

Sagittarius Arm, on the planet Upraad . . .

Kastor traversed the Upraadi palace with immunity. Abelard had broadcast over the commoner insurgency’s radio network that this nobleman and his ilk were on their side. Even so, the hesitation was apparent from the commoners’ sidewise glances and agitated grimaces. Dozens of exo-suited men and women followed them, heat and fetor emanating from grimy, reddened skin. Their war party grew as they surged through the maze of rocky corridors. Eyes seethed with rage against the spacious palace and its countless tapestries and chambers.

Kastor wondered if their new followers came along for the chance to kill Radovan or in with the hope of killing
them
.

Guarin stared forward with a hard scowl. The Grand Lumis wouldn’t approve of these methods, nor of the intended outcome. Kastor didn’t care. His object wasn’t to win whatever popularity contest Guarin had already won.

Guerlain, beside him, seemed as pleased as a cat with a mouse’s tail under her paw. The repeater rifle looked absurdly big in her hands, but her muscles were designed for maximal strength-to-size, like all warrior noblewomen. Compact but formidable.

Trajan’s datapad hissed in his slender fingers. “Master!” Trajan called from behind Kastor. “The Commodore!”

Kastor stopped to let Trajan catch up and then took the datapad. Commodore Vanora’s hard-edged face stared out of the screen from the bridge of the
Aegis
. The setting was dark, but the woman’s short-cropped hair, thick neck, and characteristic frown gave her away. The noblewoman obeyed orders so fiercely it seemed as if they were her own ideas, which apparently made this one particularly heinous.