Susan Delacourt set the paper down in front of her. For a moment, she simply stared at the man across the table from her, who returned her gaze with a knowing smile. Unable to find a more political manner of delivering her response, she shook her head. “You don’t ask for much, do you, Elder Miller?”
Clark Miller, the newfound leader of the Way and the Chairman of New Sonora, nodded slightly. “True, but when we do ask, we mean it. Do you have any objections to the plan?”
“Other than the fact that it amounts to treason, you mean?” Susan sat back heavily in her chair. She scrubbed the back of her hand across her eyes; it was suddenly hard not to feel overwhelmed. “I guess I would ask why in the world you think I would be able to pull this off. Why not someone else with more experience in the military to lead your new, illegal defense force?”
Elder Miller’s expression grew more serious. “I must ask you not to refer to this action as treason, Ms. Delacourt. It is nothing of the sort.”
It was impossible to stop the incredulous rise of her eyebrows, but at least Susan managed to keep her disbelieving laughter in check. “I’m fairly sure the Directorate of Defense will not feel the same way you do, Elder. Though I could be wrong, I think the Council will side with the military on this issue as well.”
He did not respond immediately. Instead, Elder Miller studied her, his expression now carefully neutral. His gaze was curiously inoffensive, as was the silence that stretched between them. There was no pressure to speak, nor was there the impression that he was doing anything more than thinking the situation over for himself. Susan supposed that it must have been a talent to be able to simply give off a comforting presence, one that would have served him well before he rose to his current vocation. As a public relations agent, he had likely practiced that ability on an almost daily basis as he thought over strategies and plans with his clients. It would not have helped his career to make people feel uncomfortable as he did so.
At the same time, it was a relief when he spoke. His voice was still even, and absent of any kind of the anger Susan had secretly dreaded. Elder Miller was not an offensive individual, but that did not mean he was incapable of a terrifying kind of rage. She relaxed slightly as he broke the silence.
“Ms. Delacourt, in explaining the extent and reasoning for this move, I will need to take you much further into my confidence than most people would find wise.” His light blue eyes sharpened substantially. “Many of my advisors would tell me that I would be risking the survival of our entire community merely by discussing the matter with you at all, but I do not intend to allow an overabundance of caution to deter me from my duties as both Speaker of the Way and Chairman of this city. Do not treat my decision to reveal these things lightly; I am not foolish, nor overconfident. I must simply rely on what I know of you, and what I know must happen, as a guarantee that you do not go directly to the Council with this information.”
Susan frowned. “Elder Miller, I would not betray your confidence to anyone. I might be something of an outsider amongst the others here, but I know you would not be considering these options without reason.” She kept to herself the opinion that those reasons might not have been entirely sound. Though the persecution of the followers of the Way had risen in recent times, she doubted that any such discomforts would justify measures like the one that lay on the table in front of her.
Elder Miller stood and walked over to the nearby window. It was specially treated glass that allowed sunlight to filter in while keeping prying eyes from penetrating, ensuring privacy while displaying the grand vista of New Sonora. The buildings of the city sparkled in the light of the noonday sun, shining in shades of blue and white. Office buildings, meetinghouses, industrial sites, and shopping centers were laid out in organized lines. Here and there, parks and trees had been planted to shelter the streets. It was a beautiful place, one where Susan had hoped to find peace at last.
For another long moment, Elder Miller considered that view. Then he turned back to her. His face was unaccountably sorrowful. “We are leaving, Susan.”
It took a few seconds for the true importance of those words to strike home. Her mouth fell open. “Leaving? You’re leaving New Sonora? Where will you go?”
He shook his head. “Not just New Sonora, Ms. Delacourt. We’re leaving Eris. We’re leaving the Known Worlds.” He looked back at the shining city. “Though it pains me to say it, our time has come and we must go.”
“But that’s insane! Where could you go?” Susan stood and crossed over to where he waited, trying to catch a glimpse of his face. “The Wild Colonies would slaughter the lot of you in an instant, and that’s if the Known Worlds even permitted you to go in the first place! Too many people already say you have turned against the Worlds; now you’re just going to give them more reason to strike at you openly!”
Elder Miller turned his attention back to her, and his eyes were cold. “I am aware of that, Ms. Delacourt. Unfortunately, our enemies will not give us any other opportunity. If we stay here, we are doomed.”
The pronouncement fell with all the weight and surety of a death sentence. His words cut Susan’s protests short, and she fell silent. Elder Miller held her eyes for a moment, and then he turned and walked back to the desk.
“It is not yet public knowledge, but for the past three months, New Sonora has been the target of several bombardment attempts from space. They use asteroids, modified in deep space and launched on intercept courses with the city.” He sat with a hint of weariness, his voice filling with resignation. “The attacks have been kept quiet by our opponents as well. They give the appearance of desiring to remain anonymous. The rocks have all been engineered so that if they hit the city, the maneuvering thrusters and directional computers would burn off in the atmosphere, and nothing bigger than a tactical rig accompanies them.”
He sighed and looked down at the desk. “We cannot count on that always being the case, however. Hatred for the Way and those who follow it has grown over the past year, to the point that anyone off Eris—or even simply outside the borders of New Sonora—who professes to follow our traditions is likely to become a target for robbery and assault. If they are lucky, it extends to nothing more than that, but I have heard reports of worse things happening to isolated groups of our people.”
Elder Miller met her eyes again. “People in the Known Worlds will continue to need a scapegoat for the troubles they face. The war against the Wild Colonies is not going well; they know, in spite of the official declarations of the Directorates and the Council, that they stand on the brink of annihilation or subjugation, and they look to blame whoever they can for their own poor decisions. Since the war will continue to worsen, our situation can only grow more insecure.”
Susan finally found the words to speak again. “But Elder Miller, going to the Wild Colonies is suicide. There are just as many, if not more, among the governments there who would destroy you simply for being from the Known Worlds, let alone followers of the Way. As bad as things are here, your chances are far, far better.”
“I wish that were true, Ms. Delacourt, but the Known Worlds are not a safe haven from the people of the Wild Colonies either. I have heard reports from soldiers returning from the front lines that indicate that if the war continues as it has been, the Known Worlds will soon be overrun. Those of us who have not been killed by our own countrymen will then be butchered at the hands of the Wild Colonies.”
The statement pushed Susan into silence again. Every patriotic instinct rebelled against the idea of the Known Worlds falling to the barbarous nations of the Wild Colonies, but deep inside she knew it was the truth. It was the kind of truth that was felt in every official statement, every denial and every oath to never surrender, the kind that grew only heavier the longer the war had continued. She pictured the planets of the Known Worlds in flames and gritted her teeth. When she looked up, she found Elder Miller watching her. “The Directorate is doing its best. They’re holding the line as well as they can, Elder.”
Elder Miller smiled sadly. “I know, Ms. Delacourt. I, too, have done the best I could. I have attempted to speak to the people of the Worlds repeatedly over the past two years, trying to convince them to turn away from this path. Every attempt I have made has been rejected. Some listened at first, but all too quickly they found things they did not like or teachings that made them feel uncomfortable.” Elder Miller seemed to shrink into himself, his eyes distant. “They no longer listen, for the most part, to what I have to say. My warnings are either suppressed by people of influence or go ignored by the majority of the population. Those fragments which do reach them are twisted by pundits and spokespeople to the point where I no longer wonder why so many hate us.” For a moment, the man seemed on the edge of tears.
Then he straightened, and his smile returned. “It was not hard for them to paint me as an opportunistic, disloyal charlatan. There are too many today who have the talent of warping a good man’s words until he seems to be an unapologetic madman.”
Susan remembered the reports she had seen in the newscasts and information centers. Half the time, she had been appalled by what the anchormen and commenters said. The other half, she had been forced to wonder if the head of the once-traditional religion had somehow lost his sanity. Now, speaking with him face-to-face, she knew the answer for herself. “If not in the Known Worlds, and not to the Colonies, where will you go?”
Elder Miller nodded. “We plan on leaving Eris and founding a new colony beyond the borders of those two nations. There, we can hope to start over, as our ancestors did when they came here.” He looked out the window again, and a certain kind of longing touched his eyes. “While I will miss this place, I know that the Lord of our fathers will watch over us as we journey through the stars. He will guide us to where we are meant to be.”
“That may be so, Elder, but I would prefer a bit more information on the details.” Susan shook her head. “A defense fleet might be a good idea for a refugee camp, but it won’t get you out of the Known Worlds. You would be restricted to the network of resonance gates set up by the Council and the Directorate.” She studied him closely. “You would not just need a defensive force. You would need a colony ship with its own resonance key.” When he remained silent, she continued. “That kind of ship tends to be very rare outside the control of the Directorate. It would be a tempting target for pirates, raiders, and rebels alike. It would be extremely wise to prepare to defend it until it is loaded and ready to leave.”
Elder Miller smiled. “You are correct, Ms. Delacourt. For that reason, we have prepared our escape quite carefully. First the fleet, then our colony ship.” He tapped the tabletop with one finger. “The Epoch is currently still under construction at the Grant Yards three systems away, but we expect it to be finished within the month. Once it is ready, a portion of the fleet will retrieve it while the rest shield New Sonora from attack. Then we will begin our evacuation under cover of the defense force, and set out on our journey for the safety we have been denied here.”
Susan nodded. “You seem to have thought most of this out, Elder Miller, but one detail bothers me.” She paused. “May I ask again why you came to me to lead your defenses?”
The Speaker of the Way let his grin fade. “I assumed you would already know, Ms. Delacourt. You’re the best candidate we have for the job.”
She frowned. “Me? I doubt I am the best commander you could find. I was just a low-level officer in the Directorate of Defense before I was discharged.”
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
He nodded. “That’s correct. I believe you served on a variety of different ships, including the Victorious, correct?” Susan blinked. The tone of his voice suggested that he knew far more about that particular situation than would be comfortable for anyone involved. Memories threatened to return, and not all of them pleasant.
When he did not continue, she inclined her head a bare fraction. “Yes. That is correct, Elder Miller.”
“Then you were aboard her when she was the flagship of Taskforce Four-thirty, am I correct?” This time, Susan decided to remain silent. Elder Miller continued. “As I recall, that taskforce ran afoul of the Riaskat pirates a few years back. It would have been right around the time you were a junior tactical officer onboard the Victorious, if I am not mistaken.”
Susan let out a quiet sigh. He knew. Apparently whispers of the betrayal she had endured had reached even here. She looked down at the surface of the table. “Your information is disturbingly good, Elder Miller. I am beginning to understand why some in the Directorate would consider you a threat.”
To her surprise, the man laughed. He held up his hands in a placating gesture. “I must apologize, Ms. Delacourt. I have grown far too used to teasing information out of my son piece by piece, and the habit tends to spill over into more polite company. Please excuse an old man his games, and we will return to business.”
Uncertain exactly how to respond, Susan nodded. Elder Miller composed himself and continued. “The wording of your discharge after the actions against the Riaskat pirates was well crafted, Ms. Delacourt. Were it all I had to go by, the statement would have left me suspicious of what you would say about your commanding officers. I would have thought you a mentally unstable former officer, bitter and ego-driven. Ready to make all sorts of claims and accusations related to her previous responsibilities, and perhaps her role in the battles that led to the escape of Taskforce Four-thirty from the grips of a pirate armada.” He paused. “Fortunately—or perhaps not, depending on your perspective, I suppose—I have had the chance to be on the receiving end of a politically motivated smear campaign. There is too much similarity for me to discount the possibility outright.”
A silence stretched between them. Susan kept her gaze on the table, unwilling to meet the Elder’s eyes. It would have been too easy for him to see her shame, the kind of shame that had only grown as she had kept silent and watched incompetent, self-serving officers grow famous from her victories. Thanks to her, men who had been a panicking, blubbering mess were now admirals, while she had been silenced and thrown out of the fleet.
The taste of that old betrayal kept her from an immediate response. As the seconds ticked by, she wondered what the Speaker was thinking of his supposed great commander. He broke the pause a few moments later. “I apologize, Ms. Delacourt. Though the Lord has provided me with ample opportunities to learn my own faults, I occasionally do need to remind myself that I am not all-knowing.” The self-deprecation in his voice surprised her, and Susan brought her eyes up to meet his. He smiled gently. “If I have dredged up unpleasant memories, I am very sorry. It was not my intention to do so, and I regret causing you discomfort.”
He looked away, his eyes once again directed towards the city of New Sonora. “Unfortunately, I must be certain if my fragile speculation is anything more than my own illusions. If I am wrong about you and your abilities, Ms. Delacourt, please speak now and I will hold my peace.” Elder Miller turned back to her, and his gaze filled with sudden determination. “But if I am right, I must ask you, on behalf of the people of the Way, to accept this command and help us reach safety. You are our best chance, and the Lord would not have led you to us if it were otherwise.”
The quiet plea silenced her first instinct, the reflexive rejection of the burdens of command. There were other issues as well—the Directorate did not smile on former officers who took up high-ranking positions in unregulated private militia. At least, they did not as long as those forces were not under their personal control, and the Wayfarer defense force would be anything but influenced by the agendas of bickering government officers. She would feel pain in this command, pressure to succeed in the face of impossible odds. Her family would certainly not understand, and at the end of the road, even if she won, she would face exile and death in the unknown.
Yet Elder Miller’s plea had touched some part of her that had long remained dormant. She felt duty tug at her. It struggled against her doubts and fears, working its patient way through her heart toward the surface. These people needed her help, and they fought against a foe that even in her limited view was easily identifiable as a menace to civilization. The Directorate had betrayed her, true, but perhaps these Wayfarers held more honor than her former comrades.
At the last, one thing weighed more heavily than all the others. In the midst of the storm of doubt within her mind, a quiet voice whispered trust and calm. She made her decision and smiled.
“I might be a bit rusty, Elder Miller, but you have your commander. When do we start?”
“Efficiency is the key to any operation, Chancellor. I think that as you examine the relationship you have built with Bennett Securities, you will find that efficiency is our guiding principle here. Furthermore, I believe you will be impressed by what we are, and what we mean to accomplish while in your service.” General Liliburn Bennett turned back toward his visitor in order to see what impact his statement had made.
If he had been expecting an enthusiastic embrace, he would have been sorely disappointed. His guest, Chancellor Alexander Ripley of the Governing Council of Eris, regarded him with the same sort of distaste a civilized individual would normally have reserved for a flea-bitten dog. The expression was especially scornful coming from that pasty, overfed face. “Efficiency is not what I’m looking for, Bennett. I would settle for a little more haste. Why haven’t you killed the Wayfarers yet?”
Bennett restrained a sigh; such a gesture, though appropriate, could only have served to damage the delicate balance of his relationship with the Chancellor of Eris, which would have been rather unwise. Though physically unimposing, the man held sufficient sway over the political architecture of Eris that he had not only been able to control the planetary government for a decade, but also bankroll several lucrative underworld enterprises as well. Thus, Bennett felt it would be best to sound polite. “Chancellor, you must understand that I have only your interests at heart here. The current rate of progress will best serve those interests as our plans move forward.”
Ripley snarled. “What plans, Bennett? While you’ve been up here planning, that damned Wayfarer priest has been talking. He’s telling everyone who would listen that my administration is corrupt, that I’m some sort of shadowy mob boss! Me, the Chancellor of Eris!” The pudgy man seemed a hairsbreadth from spitting in disgust, but some sense of where he was apparently restrained him. “He accused my treasury managers of embezzlement, said my campaign uses dirty tricks and thugs to intimidate opponents, and worse.”
With what he hoped was an expression of sympathy, Bennett nodded. He had heard the scathing assessment of the Chancellor from several recordings Clark Miller had made for distribution. It made for rather interesting listening, even more so since most of the accusations seemed to be true.
Of course, that only made the allegations worse for a man like Ripley. The Chancellor was nearly frothing at the mouth with rage now, and he turned on Bennett, face pale with rage. “Meanwhile, here you sit. Planning, while the next election cycle begins in two weeks, and all you do is keep losing rigs and chucking dirtballs at them!” He waved at the holographic display that hovered above them, displaying Bennett’s ships. “You have an entire fleet; there’s no way those cultists could stop you. Just attack them and be done with it!”
Bennett did not reply immediately. A mercenary leader had to know when a careful pause would help or hurt the client relationship, and Liliburn Bennett always prided himself on displaying that sort of skill in his undertakings. Instead, he turned his attention back to the hologram which floated overhead.
The display always served as a source of pride. It showed a cluster of heavy cruisers and pocket carriers floated through space in perfect formation. Each ship had been built up and modified from a standard Known Worlds’ Guard cruiser. The cruisers had extra armor and weaponry layered onto their already solid hulls, while the escort carriers had been customized to provide launch bays and hangers for rig squadrons. Owning even one was considered highly illegal, or at the very least, worrisome to the Directorate of Defense. Then again, such rules had not applied to Bennett Securities for years, but discretion was important.
His real triumph resided at the core of his fleet—a brooding bulk that outmatched even the menacing hulls of the cruisers and carriers that surrounded it. Rig hangers and plasma cannon emplacements ringed its hull, and a gigantic mass acceleration gun was fixed to its prow. His pride and joy, it was called the Maximum Security, and as annoying as the man was, Ripley had spoken the truth. The Wayfarers would never be able to challenge it, not in a hundred years. Bennett’s annoyance melted away as he laid eyes on the holographic representation of that majestic craft, and he felt a smile crease his otherwise mirthless expression.
“Chancellor, I must remind you that the core principle of my business is efficiency. Not speed. Efficiency.” He returned his gaze to the politician, who was rapidly becoming purple with frustration. Bennett made an idle gesture. “Please, allow me to explain. It would seem efficient to make our move now. An all-out assault would guarantee their destruction, and our business would be complete. Supposedly, we would both be happy with the arrangement.”
Ripley snorted. “I damn sure would!”
Before the man could interject further, Bennett continued in an even tone. “Consider what would happen afterwards, however. A mercenary fleet attacking from nowhere, so far from the main theater of war? Millions dead, even if they were only Wayfarer scum? The public outcry would compel the Directorate of Defense to investigate. My fleet and I would become hunted men, and our connection to you might be revealed. Of what use would our work be then? No, such a course of action might be quick, but I would not say it was efficient.”
The Chancellor shifted slightly, and Bennett smiled. “Further, consider which has more impact on the minds of your constituents: the final warnings of a man wiped out through treachery, or the crazed ramblings of a cult leader who dies in an accident? Especially one caused by his own hand?” Ripley blinked. As the Chancellor’s expression turned thoughtful, Bennett pressed on ahead. “My plans will secure not only your present, but also your future. They will guarantee that the Wayfarers are remembered only with scorn and contempt, and their lies against you will be nothing more than delusions. You must trust me.”
He watched as indecision flickered in Ripley’s eyes for a moment. Then the Chancellor nodded. “Fine. I will trust in your plans for now.” Ripley scowled, his eyebrows attempting to form a threatening line on his brow. “But if you fail me, Bennett, I want you to understand what it will mean for you. Your friends, your family, this whole company. I will bring it down around you and make you watch as it burns. Do you understand me?”
The urge to kill the man rose in Bennett’s throat. It would have been easy—his pistol was still in its holster, and a simple twitch of the finger would send a curl of plasma through the Chancellor’s skull. His crew would think nothing of pitching the corpse out into vacuum; they had been given the opportunity to do so on many other occasions. No more whining, no more pathetic threats—just the business at hand. After all, Chancellor Ripley was far from the only client who had purchased the Wayfarers’ destruction.
The thought brought a hint of smile to Bennett’s face. When he was finished with this job, he would be rich beyond his wildest dreams, and all at the small cost of a few million cultist deaths. All he needed to do was exercise a measure of caution—which meant Ripley was needed for a short while longer. An untimely disappearance for the Chancellor might jeopardize Bennett’s other plans, which had been scheduled in painstaking fashion. After that, Bennett would be free to rid himself of the troublesome man—one way or another.
Ripley continued, obviously unaware of how dangerous his situation had become. “I’m talking to you, Bennett! You had better earn your pay, you damn mercenary, or else I’ll—”
Bennett brought his gaze back to the Chancellor and raised one eyebrow. Something of his more primal desires might have shown in his gaze, for Chancellor Ripley’s threat died on his tongue. For a moment, Bennett merely stared at the man, his fingers touching the metal of his pistol, idly toying with it. He waited until Ripley’s face had gone completely pale. Then he smiled, humorless and predatory.
“So we shall, Chancellor. So we shall. You need not fear that at all.” Bennett turned his attention back to the hologram of his fleet. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the man start to open his mouth in some petty attempt to recover his blustering pride. Before Ripley could get a word out, Bennett continued, his voice even and cool. “I believe your shuttle is waiting, Chancellor. I would not want you to be late for your Council meeting.”
Ripley’s mouth snapped shut, and he took a step back. Bennett sent a signal for his guards to collect the man, and the Chancellor was escorted out of the ready room without a single peep more to disturb Bennett’s thoughts.
Fool that the Chancellor was, he had a small point. The Wayfarers had been far too lucky in their intercepts of his asteroids. Worse, he had heard whispers among his contacts that the cultists had somehow managed to procure more ships. It was, at the very least, time to increase his efforts, if only to appease Ripley. What was more, the last thing Bennett wanted was to allow the fools in New Sonora to become complacent or comfortable. The more paranoia his targets felt, the easier his plans would become.
An idea blossomed in his head, a modification to his bombardment plans that would cripple his targets and prepare them for the final blow. He smiled as he pressed a button on his control console. “Captain Terrance, come to my ready room. We have a new attack to discuss. General Bennett out.”
In the darkness of the room, illuminated only by his beautiful fleet, Bennett laughed. All was going according to plan.