The Machine Awakes (5 page)

“Sit down, Commander Avalon,” said Zworykin, still looking at Hammerstein. Avalon froze. Moustafa was only partway out of his seat, and he slowly dropped himself back into it. All eyes were now on the Bureau Chief.

She turned to face the Fleet Admiral. “Sir, as an adjunct member of the Command Council, I only have limited security clearance when it comes to combat missions. This Shadow Protocol appears to relate to the Fleet at large rather than internal affairs, so if you will excuse me, I will return to the Bureau and—”

“Sit.
Down!
”

Avalon jumped. Zworykin was staring at her, his expression as dark as his uniform. Avalon, her mouth suddenly dry, felt compelled to sit.

Zworykin stood from his chair and touched the comm on his collar. At the back of the conference room, opposite the Fleet Admiral's position, the double doors slid open and two psi-marines marched in, their membership in Zworykin's corps indicated by the black triangles on the front of their uniforms. Without further orders, they raised their plasma rifles, aiming directly at Sebela.

Hammerstein stood and marched over to the two marines as the table erupted in protest.

What the
hell
was going on?

“Silence!”

The noise stopped as the arguing officers obeyed Zworykin's command.

The Psi-Admiral walked over to Hammerstein, leaning in close. “How far would you go,
hmm?
What would you do to stop the war, Commander?”

Hammerstein's jaw went up and down as he struggled for an answer.

“Well?”

“I … anything,” said Hammerstein. “I would do anything. We all would.”

Zworykin cocked his head. “Anything? Really?” He turned back around to the rest of the group. “Interesting answer,” he said as he slowly paced around the table, hands still clasped behind his back. As he passed each member of the Command Council, Avalon saw them stiffen and look away.

They were afraid of him too.

“You would do anything, no matter the risk, no matter that victory against the Spiders might mean the creation of a new enemy, an unstoppable being that doesn't even belong in this universe?” The cruel smile returned to his face.

“What being?” asked Hammerstein.

“They don't know.”

Avalon looked around. Fleet Admiral Sebela stood from his chair. Gone was the tiredness, the weariness that seemed to have suddenly fallen upon him. Avalon could see the fire in his eyes, the way he held himself. It was time to face this rebellion down.

Zworykin began to laugh. “Of course they don't! Oh, but they will soon. My dear,
glorious
leader, all of Fleetspace needs to know how you betrayed us. How you tried to sell us out to that
thing
from subspace.”

Subspace? Avalon didn't know much about subspace, other than it was one of the dimensions that underpinned their own, three-dimensional reality. But subspace wasn't used by the Fleet for anything.

On the other side of the room, Commander Moustafa was staring at Zworykin, his jaw slack.

Avalon frowned. What did
he
know?

Then she remembered a story—a legend, really—just one of many tall tales told by marines out on patrol on cold nights under alien skies. A story about the things that lived in subspace.

Monsters.

And the word Zworykin had used. His exact choice of description.

“A … thing?” she asked.

Behind her chair, Zworykin dropped his voice to a croaky whisper, like he was one of those lonely marines out on the front, weaving a story. “Yes, my dear Commander Avalon. You're the great-granddaughter of the woman who started it all, hmm? The namesake of our famous founder? Well, this thing has many names, but the Fleet Admiral here knows it best by one picked out of Japanese mythology: Izanami-no-Mikoto. You won't find that name in the Shadow Protocol, even if the text in your briefing was declassified.”

He walked over to the Fleet Admiral. “But that doesn't matter. The Shadow Protocol failed. You failed, Admiral. It is just as well you did, otherwise that creature would be loose in our own universe. Your failure saved us, but it was failure nonetheless.”

“I've had enough of your histrionics, Zworykin,” said Commander Hammerstein. He shook his big head and turned back to the armed psi-marines at the door. “Out of my way. I'm reporting this back to my division. The Command Council will have to be dissolved so we can sort this mess out.”

The psi-marines didn't move. Avalon could see Hammerstein's distorted reflection in their opaque visors as he looked from one to the other.

“I said stand down, marines. That is a direct order.”

Zworykin chuckled. “You misunderstand, Commander Hammerstein. This council is already dissolved. The Psi-Marine Corps has already established control of the capital.” He turned back to the Fleet Admiral. “I am hereby relieving you of duty and will take interim command of the Fleet in your place. You will be held to face a Fleet tribunal in due course.”

Avalon leapt from her chair. “You can't do that, Zworykin,” she said. “Any charges brought against Fleet officers have to come through the Bureau. Through
me.
” She moved between the rebellious Admiral and the Fleet leader. “If you have a case, then
present it.
”

Zworykin smiled. “Oh, you're good, Commander. Very good. You'll be useful to me. Perhaps I'll bring you up in the ranks, give you a better position on my new Command Council. Now,” he said, stepping back and addressing the room, “tomorrow is Fleet Day. An important and symbolic occasion for everyone in Fleetspace. For that reason, although I have assumed command and my staff have secured the capital, the Fleet Admiral—although under arrest—will fulfill his public duties, and will continue to do so until such a time as the change of leadership can be communicated to the public and to our forces in their combat theaters.”

The members—
former
members—of the council looked at one another, then back at Zworykin.

“That is an
order,
” he said. “Failure to comply will result in court martial.” He waved at the two marines. “Escort Admiral Sebela to his private office and ensure he remains there.”

The psi-marines acknowledged and, lowering their rifles, moved around either side of the table until they stood next to Sebela. In unison, they reached for Sebela's arms, but he quickly lifted them, indignant.

“Please,” he said, “I think I know where my own quarters are.”

He marched himself out of the chamber, the two marines following close behind.

“The rest of you,” said Zworykin, “will return to your divisions and continue the business of war. The council is dissolved. The Psi-Marine Corps are monitoring all transmissions. Any leak of the change of leadership to the public will be met with my
displeasure.
”

With that, Zworykin strode from the council chamber. As the other officers milled around in confusion, Avalon and Moustafa drew together into a corner of the room.

Moustafa put his hands on his hips, eyes wide as he looked at Avalon. “So, is it just me, or did my CO just stage a coup?”

Avalon looked around the council chamber as the others filed out. The room was cavernous, all black, hard, shiny surfaces, glassy like the table. Everywhere she looked, she could see a dull reflection of herself and her friend.

“This is bad,” she said. “Very, very bad.”

“No kidding. What do you think Sebela was doing?”

Avalon frowned. “The Shadow Protocol? What was Zworykin talking about? A creature from subspace?”

Moustafa shook his head. “Whatever that is, it sounds like bad, bad news.”

“I need to talk to him.”

Moustafa paused. “Zworykin?”

“No, Sebela. I need to find out what just happened.”

“And how do you plan on doing that?” Moustafa gestured toward the door. “They're not going to let you anywhere near him.”

Avalon shook her head. “Didn't you hear what our new Fleet Admiral said? Until he says otherwise, it's business as usual. Which means…”

Moustafa's eyes widened as he joined the dots. “Which means you're still the Bureau Chief.”

“Right,” said Avalon. “And that means that any officer under arrest—like Sebela—is technically under my jurisdiction.”

“Okay, but look, you have to be careful. I get the feeling our new CIC won't take kindly to you snooping around.”

Avalon folded her arms. “We all need to be careful. This whole thing is very, very dangerous.”

“As a coup, this was a pretty bloodless one.”

Avalon felt her expression tighten. “So far,” she said.

 

3

Avalon found the Fleet
Admiral's official quarters in darkness, the main office lit only by the multitude of lights from New Orem shining through the floor-to-ceiling window. Sebela stood looking out at the city, arms folded, nothing but a tall black silhouette.

The Bureau Chief raised a closed fist to her mouth and was about to cough politely when the Admiral spoke.

“So they're still obeying the orders of some of us?”

Avalon joined Sebela at the window, her forehead creased in confusion. Sebela glanced at her, then nodded toward the door.

“Oh,” said Avalon. “Well, under confinement you're officially under Bureau jurisdiction, sir.”

Sebela gave a tight-lipped smile and turned back to the window. As Avalon looked out at the vast Fleet capital, she found her eyes drawn to a large section of even blue light, beyond the shining skyscrapers on the other side of the city from the Capitol Complex. The glowing space had no buildings and stretched to the horizon.

The Fleet Memorial. Where those who lost their lives serving humanity were interred. No matter where they died, no matter how far away. The Fleet always brought them home. Always.

“Five thousand, three hundred and twenty,” said Sebela. Avalon glanced at him. He was looking toward the Fleet Memorial as well.

“Ah … yes, sir,” said Avalon. Then she frowned. “Five thousand, three hundred and twenty what?”

Sebela unfolded his arms. “Personnel killed in action in the last cycle. Tomorrow is Fleet Day. I haven't even written my speech yet.”

He turned to the Bureau Chief, a sad smile playing on his lips. “Somehow I'm not really in the mood.” He chuckled and walked toward his desk, an antique made of real wood.

Avalon watched him, wondering what he found so funny. He was under house arrest, and what Zworykin had planned for the former commander-in-chief didn't bear thinking about.

“I imagine he'll be true to his word and keep
you
around in his new regime,” said Sebela. He seated himself behind the desk and waved at the lamp to his left, which faded up, spilling a cone of warm yellow light over his workspace. Then sat back and ran his fingers along the edge of the desk, apparently studying the magnificent grain of the ancient wood. “You are as young as you are na
ï
ve, Commander Avalon. But Zworykin is arrogant. If he is to finalize his transition to power, he will need the Bureau on his side, and he thinks he can bend you to his will.”

Avalon folded her arms. “I'm not such a pushover,
sir.
”

“Ha!” said the Admiral. He tapped an index finger on the edge of the desk. “There is the famous fire your grandmother had. You are young but
stubborn.
I think Zworykin has a battle coming. To him the Bureau is a distraction—he has always thought so. He thinks as little of it as he does of you. In a way, that is a good position to be in. He doesn't see you or your department as a threat. Remember that, Commander. That may be a truth that is useful to you if you are to survive what is coming. Perhaps here is a chance to live up to your name at last.”

Avalon sighed.
Here we go,
she thought. “I'm sorry I can't live up to her legacy,
sir,
” she said, her eyes shooting daggers at Sebela. Zworykin didn't have a monopoly on arrogance at Fleet Command, that was for sure. But Sebela seemed to be on her side, at least, even if he was now showing it in his typically infuriating way. He was also right. In a way, she actually shared the view of the others on the Command Council that the Bureau wasn't really part of the Fleet, at least not its military command structure. The whole point of the Bureau was that it was an independent branch, tasked with policing the internal affairs of the Fleet and, where such tasks overlapped, handling local law enforcement. Sebela—and now Zworykin—were in total control of the Fleet, and therefore of the Bureau, but the Bureau was allowed to run autonomously under the chief's control.

Until today, anyway, thought Avalon.

Avalon changed the subject. “You seem remarkably calm about this, if you don't mind me saying.”

Sebela smiled again, but this time the expression was sad. “Anything for a quiet life,” he said. “And Fleet Day is an important occasion. I am duty-bound to honor those who serve the Fleet. Even Zworykin can't take that from me.”

Avalon sat in one of the huge armchairs on the other side of the Admiral's desk. They were real leather, and the seat creaked pleasantly beneath her as she crossed her legs.

Sebela met her eye. “So, are you going to ask me about the Shadow Protocol or not?”

Avalon frowned.

The Admiral laughed. “Oh, Commander, I am a psi-marine. I can sense the question dancing at the front of your mind.”

“Well,” she said, “I apparently don't have the required clearance to know about it. But I do want to know what is going on. How could a single mission fail badly enough for Zworykin to gain the leverage to stage a takeover?”

“Perhaps it is just as well you don't have clearance,” he said quietly. “I wish we'd never conceived of the mission. Never made contact.”