Beyond Mars Crimson Fleet (10 page)

"Excellent!" Selena was
pleased. "We should have this all wrapped up in a few
days."

"However, there is a minor
problem, Admiral," Trager conceded. "Mars' largest volcano seems to
be shaking the planet apart."

Selena smirked. "As you
said—a minor problem."

"What about our civilian
and military personnel stationed on Mars, Admiral? Shouldn't we at
least try to evacuate them?" the man questioned.

"Absolutely not!" she
stated emphatically. "We simply don't have the time! And besides,
those worthless idiots were given adequate warning to expect
anything! They should have been able to stop those traitors by
themselves! I am not going to jeopardize my plan just to save their
miserable skins! Let them die on Mars!"

"Yes, Admiral," Trager
submitted to Darius' edict. There was no choice; Trager risked his
life to the wrath of the unpredictable female cyborg in arguing the
point.

Suddenly, an electronic
voice spoke from the walls of the bridge, "Admiral Darius, there is
an incoming communication from the directorial council. Message
origin: Chairman Armon Quinton, Ma’am."

"Put it on immediately!"
Selena ordered.

"By your command," the
electronic voice acknowledged.

The floor in front of the
woman cyborg soon rippled like water. The rippling grew into a
small metallic round table, which rose from the deck almost
instantly and directly in front of Selena's command chair.
Underneath the table stretched a vertical metal ring from the
floor. As the table ascended to a height of five feet before
stopping, the vertical metal frame slowly transformed from an
elliptical shape to a perfect circle. Once the platform had
stopped, a small mist was sprayed from all inner edges of the hoop,
aiming for the circle’s center. The mist filled the inner air
surrounded by the metallic ring, suspended motionless as though
stuck in time. Suddenly, a popping sound was heard, and arcs of
energy then began to dance and crackled in the mist as an ion smell
permeated each nostril. It took only a few moments, but the energy
began to take shape in hues of color. Finally, a three dimensional
bust of a balding elderly man in a slate gray “Mao” suit
materialized.

"Good morning, Selena,"
Quinton greeted. "I've just received your report on the Martian
crisis. I take it that everything is going well."

"Yes, Mr. Chairman,"
Selena answered with some humility in her voice. Everything is
going exactly as planned. The Martians have beaten off the reserve
fleet you sent, and should be entering hyperspace in just under an
hour. And we'll be right behind them. It's a shame that Paladin
decided to keep the location of Valamars a secret between him and a
select few of his officers and crews. Otherwise, we could end this
right now!"

Quinton's lips became a
crafty grin. "Patience, Admiral. It’s a game that we have to play.
If it was too easy, they might have suspected a trap. Paladin is no
fool. He knows that some sort leak was inevitable along with a
reaction from us. But we will find their new world and eliminate it
soon enough. It will present a splendid example to all our other
colonies contemplating similar ideas," Quinton spoke with a
positive outlook. "And you, my dear, will have what you so richly
desire: a seat on the Supreme Defense Council itself!"

Selena was mesmerized by
the pledge. "I promise you, Mr. Chairman, I'll personally send you
a report of our victory!"

"Thank you, Admiral. I
expect no less. Good day—and good hunting," Quinton signed
off.

As the hologram cut off and
the plate sank back into the deck, Selena sat silently pondering
the conversation. Suddenly, she rose majestically and walked to the
main viewer followed closely by Trager. He could see that her eyes
were fixed on the distant stars.

For a moment, she stood
riveted, contemplating her destiny. "Trager, move the fleet forward
at flank speed at once!" she broke her silence. "It's time we begin
our pursuit!"

"Yes, Admiral," Trager
replied. He began to turn, but then stopped. A frown filled his
face and he turned back to Selena. "By the way, Ma’am, I went over
all the evidence in Crewman Laura Jillian's trial. The chief
engineer has located a redundant copy of both the missing log and
video. After examination of both, he clearly states that it was
equipment failure and not sabotage," he pointed out.

Selena smirked. "Then have
him erase the video and the log, and change his report to my
findings."

"But Admiral, the girl is
innocent! She should be released!" Commander Trager
pressed.

The admiral slowly turned
around to her insistent subordinate, radiating a smile nearly as
wide as her face. "She was!" Selena stated in a happy, but assuring
tone. Darius then cocked her head and flipped a palm-up opened hand
towards the viewer, indicating for Trager to look.

Trager's
eyes quickly shot to viewer's projection of the space beyond
the
Quinton
. His
mouth dropped open, appalled by what he saw: the figure of a
helpless woman crewman floating outside the safety of the ship less
than fifty feet away. The image became familiar as he realized that
he was witnessing the slow and agonizing death of Laura Jillian
by
spacing
.

For her punishment, the
woman captive was callously shoved out of an airlock without the
protection of a spacesuit; her demise guaranteed. Laura, however,
still struggled vainly for life like a drowning swimmer. Her arms
and legs flailed frantically about, trying in desperate movements
to propel her somehow back to the ship. It was a morose and
heart-wrenching sight.

Suddenly, Laura’s body
began quivering in uncontrollable convulsions, her choking face
etched in the most frightened conveyance. Moments later, mercifully
Laura’s body became still—and Trager knew she was dead.

Trager took a deep breath
while biting his lip. He bowed his head in respect. "Why, Admiral?”
his voice was low and angered. “Why did you have to kill her?" he
had to know the answer.

Selena
watched the body tumble slowly through space and away from
the
Quinton
. "She
was just too damn pretty!" Darius said with a certain mirthful glee
in which to taunt her subordinate. "Now, get our fleet underway!"
her mood radically transformed to temper.

Trager looked up angrily.
"Yes, Ma’am!" his incensed tone was clear. The junior officer then
stiffly walked away.

Within a few minutes, the
hulls of the white ships of the Crimson Fleet began to glow as
electromagnetic energy surged through them: at first to a pinkish
tinge that soon became a deep neon red. This was the result of
electrons emitting red photons as they absorbed and then discharged
the energy while orbiting their atoms. But with this slow and
steady colonization came the metamorphosis. The once sleek hulls
began to transform, fluidly reshaping and growing appendages that
looked like huge sharp daggers covered in fluorescent blood.
Without any doubt, these were weapons. Finally, the glowing ships
had mutated into their full battle mode and began moving
forward.

* * * * *

Chapter 5:
EKTOS

The lights of Brussels,
Belgium sparkled and glowed hypnotically against the winter's
evening sky as the sun sank below the western horizon. As usual,
the city was filled with the gaiety of a robust nightlife that was
oblivious to all other notable events. This included the war that
raged around the solar system’s fourth planet.

In its colorful "red lamp" district, vast multitudes
of boisterous and cheerful people wandered the streets in search of
their own particular adventures and intimate passions. Guided and
dazzled by worded neon signs, flashing beacons, holographic
displays and vying tunes of popular music; the throngs of
partygoers lived only for the moment. Shops that never closed,
eateries that offered the most unusual cuisine, and nightclubs that
afforded everything from the exotic to the erotic; all catered to
this realm of illusion, fantasy, and self-indulgence. Truly, the
nickname of "The Taboo Bazaar" was well earned, where anything from
the most sinister crime to the most outrageous fetish was had for a
price. This was all made possible by the city’s bureaucracy, which
was governed by a corrupt, bribable, and most indifferent
authority.

The Brussels of long ago no
longer existed. It was a city that was forced to forsake its
medieval architect, its colorful history, and its religious
heritage for the ultra-modern, the trendy, the political, and the
cardinal. When it was chosen as the seat of the Earth government, a
vast transformation was required. It was to not only reflect its
overwhelming grandeur to every being that experienced the city, but
to display the dynamics of the human race itself.

From once where buildings
of antiquity and elaborate artistry stood, technological marvels of
complex design and fabrication now resided. The ancient buildings
were either removed or demolished to make way for this pre-arranged
geometric “showcase” of plastic, metal alloys, and lattice crystals
that were fitted together like some complex jigsaw puzzle. As these
new structures altered permanently the skyline, Brussels slowly
became not only a Mecca for the political bureaucracy, but a
central hub for the Earth's corporate businesses, and a playground
for the young, wealthy, and famous.

But the immorality of
Brussels held more than just scandalous affairs, tangled intrigues,
and a thriving underground world of obsessive debauchery and crime.
Beyond the normal politics and corruption, something else existed.
It existed in shrouded passages and expansive chambers hidden
beneath the streets. It existed beyond any legislated laws or
control. It existed in whispered rumors between the more judicious
members of the parliament and the directorial council. And in the
obscurity of the unknown, it watched the population with a guarded
hunger.

From surveillance devices
and scanners concealed in shiny metal globes that hovered like
balloons over every fairway and street, to the “Smart Encoders”
that were embedded into every human being, it entered every life
that passed within the city. Shielded by its anonymity, it
unendingly devoured all the personal information that databases
gave it—and then swiftly acted without regard or ethics.

* * * * *

Armon
Quinton sat at his desk in his huge and lavish office of
Council Chairman, unaware of the lateness of time.
Counter to his confident and stately public image, his brow was
furlough and immersed in worry as he viewed a holographic report of
missing persons. The report had become a dreaded daily chore, which
he was forced to conceal from all levels of government. As the
man's upper lip twitched in heightened nervousness, he continued to
scroll through the names and faces.

The famous and high profile
now also punctuated the video ledger. A male stage actor and a
female singer whom he had personally known were among this day's
victims. But beyond this tragedy, the daughter of a powerful member
of the council was also added to the infamous roster.

Finally reaching the end of
the report, Armon closed his eyes and covered his face with his
hands. For a moment, he reposed quietly, not thinking at all and
desperately trying to be somewhere else.

"Computer, end
transcripts," he called out to his machine servant.

"Yes, Mr. Chairman," the
machine responded. "Will there be anything else?"

"Hold all incoming calls
and allow no one access to this room," Quinton dropped his hands to
his desk. "I am not to be disturbed for any reason."

"As you command, Mr.
Chairman," the machine responded again.

Armon Quinton rose fatigue
from his plush seat, his mind set in defeat. He took a deep breath
and then shuffled to a framed body mirror that filled an entire
section of wall. As Armon stopped before the looking glass, he
gazed upon his own reflection. The man saw the wrinkles of stress
and tiredness engraved in his own face that matched the burden he
carried, one which he found heavier with each passing
day.

As he continued to stare at
himself, he felt very much alone. However, the name of “Ektos”
finally drifted into his mind and Armon's jaw locked while his eyes
tightened in loathing.

Ektos was the one in control. It was he who ran the
government, not Quinton, and for that reason alone, Armon hated
him. Yet, he hated Ektos more for the control he held over Armon.
Implied innuendo and incrimination were strategically placed in
messages of communication that were meant to be intercepted. Each
served as a subtle reminder of encoded blackmail by his shadowy
master whenever Quinton tried to restore his own authority in
opposition to Ektos’ directives.

It took
Armon a lifetime to build the
New World
Order
that was now the Earth. His hand
guided every decision. All the bribes that were paid, all the lies
that were told, and all the people that were either intimidated or
eliminated, were of his doing. And it forever welded Quinton and
the government together.