Broken Glass (Glass Complex Book 1) (7 page)

Thomas gripped Steg’s arm and they stopped and turned. “Be ready, lad,” cautioned Thomas softly. The Imperial officer was hurrying towards them, stunner in hand. He was accompanied by two Imperial soldiers, also armed. They were still some distance away.

“’I’ll hold them off, Steg. You head for the exit.”

“What, hold off three of them?”

“Yes. I’ll walk towards them. You turn and head for that door. Run when you hear me shout. Get aboard. Travel well. I will see you when you return.”

“Sergeant, I cannot let you –“

“That’s an order, Steg. From me, from the Acolytes. Now move.”

Steg turned and walked steadily towards the exit that would take him up the ramp to board the star freighter. He heard Thomas move away, back down the corridor. Again the Imperial officer’s voice rang out.

“Stop, both of you. Or I’ll fire.”

Then came the shouted instruction from the drill sergeant. “Go!”

Steg ran. He risked a quick look behind him and saw Thomas throw himself at the three Imperials. Steg ran forward through the exit. He bounded up the boarding ramp where a Rimerian purser was waiting. He handed over his travel documents.

“About time. The Captain wants to seal the ship immediately you’re on board. Departure will be in minutes, if not seconds.” He directed a crew member to show Steg to his cabin. “We’ve already loaded your luggage.”

Steg was startled to recognize the crew member; he was a Homeworlder.

“Welcome to
Well Drinker
, sir. You have one minute to strap in,” the man advised as he directed Steg to his cabin. A ship siren sounded an almost deafening blast. “That’s the pre-launch warning.”

Steg could feel the deck vibrating beneath his feet. The ship was coming alive, gathering itself for its leap into space. He collapsed onto the cushioned and padded seat as the crewman hurried away. The small cabin contained a bunk along one wall and lockers along the other wall. A viewscreen showed a view of the exterior of the star ship and a door at the end of the cabin presumably opened up into a small bathroom. The pull of acceleration caused him to fumble with his straps until at last he was secure. The ship was moving, lifting off and away from Homeworld, away from the Imperials forces that had tried to capture him. Steg was exhausted. But he was also exhilarated. He was headed into deep space.

******

Chapter 6

The First Senior struggled to disengage
from the
photon pulsing channels of the Glass Complex. At last he raised his head and for a moment his eyes were blank as his mind almost refused to accept the reality of his bodily-sourced sensory data. Was this, he wondered, how death happened? Did the body and the mind somehow separate—disassociate—as the brain established its preference for the photon flows within the Complex? He shuddered. He was growing old and frail. Events of recent days had saddened and depressed him; the Glass Complex had failed to anticipate and repel the Imperial attack. He was weary and knew the problems ahead would take him to the brink of utter exhaustion. Would he then have the strength to withdraw from the Complex or would the photons take with them the very essence of his being? The question was one he was barely able to ask and he dreaded the probable answer.

He gathered in his strength and focused on his companions. They were younger, far younger. They could jump into the photon flows with glee and youthful exuberance and who had no difficulties in disengaging from the Complex whenever they so desired. Ah, the joys and strengths of youth, he thought wistfully, almost enviously. At last he realized he had been asked a question.

“Yes?” his tongue struggled with the simple word and he regretted the slight quaver in his voice.

“We have the Guard officers—Major Reading and Colonel Shaw—waiting for your briefing, First Senior. Do you wish them to return later?” The youthful face was filled with concern.

The First Senior shook off his weakness and straightened himself in an act of defiance against his unwilling mind. “No, Tobias. You may bring them into the conference room.”

The small group of Acolytes and the two soldiers quickly assembled around the conference table and waited for the Senior to begin his briefing. At last he gathered the words to use.

“Gentlemen,” he nodded at the two officers. “I am pleased that you managed to come here without encountering our unwelcome visitors. Continue to take care. The Imperials—Alutans—are on their guard against retaliatory action from Homeworld, from either Guards or Militia.”

“First Senior, your call was urgent and so we came.” The speaker was the same major who had witnessed the sword fight between Steg de Coeur and the offworlder, Marius of the House of Aluta. The strain of his current duties and responsibilities was showing in the additional lines of tiredness and worry on his face.

“Indeed. Yes. We need to brief you on the current strategy from the Complex. We have confirmed this is not a sanctioned Imperial operation but rather a rogue venture by the House of Aluta. We believe the key to recovering Homeworld is to cause the Alutan forces to diversify and dissipate their efforts. We need time, time to regroup, time to re-organize, so that we can strike back decisively and finally. So, for this stage, most of our recommendations involve guerrilla tactics here on Homeworld and offworld.” He paused.

“This is agreed, First Senior,” confirmed Colonel Shaw. “We’re regrouping our forces, those who escaped the initial attack and who remain free. We are also quietly activating the Militia, bringing it to full readiness. We’re mustering and arming our military forces in all the major cities and towns. However, a number of logistics problems need to be resolved before we can move against the offworlders. Yes, we have them outnumbered—they landed just over five thousand marines and we can immediately muster close to ten times that number. Given more time, far more than that. As you know, we are short of weapons—they captured and destroyed a large quantity of our munitions stores and defensive weapons on the first night of their attack. Unfortunately, they have heavy weapons, brought in by both star ships. We need heavy weapons and armor if we are going to make any impact. We’re not going to sacrifice our men needlessly. And the Imperials are holding hostages. They have captured Rakyd. They know he’s the rightful heir.”

“Understood,” acknowledged the First Senior.

“However,” continued the colonel. “We’ve initiated and are continuing with a campaign of harassment. We need to do more.”

“Agreed.” The First Senior was patient. “Our requirements do not run counter to your intentions and tactics. We must be certain of results before we fully commit you and your forces. Homeworld has suffered too much loss of life, already. Potential military gains must always be substantial before we authorize any move against the Imperials. Be devious, be subtle, and win ground at the least cost.”

The major spoke. “First Senior, what other steps are you taking?”

“Yes. You both should know,” agreed the First Senior, nodding his head. He paused for a moment. “Well, in general terms only, for security. We have dispatched some decoys, five in all, to attract the attention of our enemy and to dissipate their efforts. And your friend Steg de Coeur is one of the decoys. We had to use him, a family member, to ensure we got the attention of both friends and enemies. He is a very dangerous young man, perhaps the most dangerous of the five, although we have not realized yet what his full potential will be. He has all the attributes of an Acolyte, without the surgical implants. He is unaware of what we have done—we put memory blocks in place—years ago, as a part of our contingency planning. The Complex has run and re-run the Prognosis suite and every time it has different results, most favorable, some very favorable, to Homeworld. He is a wild card. We have high hopes, not only for his survival, but for the degree of damage he will inflict on our enemy.”

“But what can five decoys, do?” queried the colonel.

“Individually? Almost nothing, is the most realistic answer. Remember, Colonel, these decoys are functioning as extensions of our forces here on Homeworld and will have at their call, all the offworld resources that we can muster. When I say all, gentlemen, I mean just that.” The First Senior almost snapped out his response. He realized he was reacting to non-existent criticism and when he continued, his voice was softer, his tone more subdued. “Those five decoys are each able to wreak substantial damage on the Imperial forces arrayed against us. They are a means of focusing our offworld resources and will do far more than you think possible.”

“Senior, I intended no criticism, I assure you.”

“Yes, I realize that. Please forgive a very tired man. As to your other problems, we are arranging to ship in enough heavy armor to serve your purposes. Landing heavy armor is a problem. We may be receiving a large number of tractors and harvesters. Also, substantial, very substantial, diplomatic pressure is being brought to bear on the Emperor and on his allies. We don’t think the Imperial Court has been informed of the real foundations for this venture and disinformation is circulating in the Court. We are using friends and indeed, enemies, to apply pressure.” The First Senior laughed, an almost jarring sound in this quiet, ascetic room.

He continued. “Our projection is that one of the Imperial destroyers will be moved shortly, in order to reduce adverse publicity. When that destroyer departs we will have opportunities to deliver your tractors. Care will be needed—Alutan mercenaries will still be on-planet.”

“So, we’ll be patient,” mused the colonel. “We can wait, that will give us time to prepare. Our forces will use that time to their advantage. Senior, you have been most helpful.” He saluted, the gesture more a sign of respect than a military farewell.

First Senior held himself upright until the two officers had taken their leave and departed and then he collapsed into a chair. The young Acolytes gathered around him. They were concerned at his apparent state of exhaustion. He fought the waves of exhaustion that threatened to overwhelm him.

“Helen, you are now to take charge of the Ebony program. You have studied the data, all the projections. You know what to expect and what the possibilities are. Remember, de Coeur is likely to be our most effective decoy. Expendable, yes, they all are. But only at maximum cost to our enemy, you understand?”

The young Acolyte, her eyes sparkling at the thought of the challenge just offered her, replied without hesitation. “Yes, of course, First.”

The First Senior issued instructions, ensuring each team member understood the need to constantly monitor progress of the decoys, and to provide all the support possible from Homeworld’s resources. Finally he addressed the group. “I must admit—I am tired. You already share most of my workload. Evelyn, I want you to contact the Second Senior for me. He will need to break off his research and be ready to replace me here. And each member of his team will support each of you. We must not fail in these endeavors to rid Homeworld of this Imperial blight. Yes, yes, I know he will bark at you, but tell him of my—our need. He will understand. Now go, all of you.”

They went. First Senior sat back in the chair. He knew and so did they, that he would only call for the support of the Second if he himself had doubts—not about his abilities; rather doubts about his strength, about his survival. He grimaced against his exhaustion. His responsibility was to plan and oversee the defeat of Homeworld’s enemies. And he would succeed. It would be his death, he knew, and then the Second would take over. First Senior spoke aloud to the empty room. “That will upset Second. He won’t have anywhere near enough time for his favorite project. Still, evidence in support of his so-called Ancients is very thin, very thin indeed.”

******

Chapter 7

The captain, pilot and helmsman were standing
in the center of an almost complete sphere of viewscreens when Steg entered the bridge. He stopped for a moment; the images gave the impression he had stepped off into space. The bridge was in darkness except for soft illumination from minor instruments and the glow of numerous viewscreens. He stepped forward onto the small floor area with a certain amount of trepidation, for no matter which way he looked, whether down, up, in front, behind, in every direction, viewscreens portrayed a sector of local space.

The astrogator was marking a navigation target for the helmsman. He indicated with a pointer a glowing spot on a forward viewscreen and the system drew a green circle with that point as center. Steg did not hear the conversation; however, he realized the pilot was defining the course for the helmsman to follow.

“We don’t usually have passengers,”
Well Drinker
’s captain greeted Steg. “However, a Homeworlder is always welcome. In fact, most of our crew are Homeworlders.”

“And probably the owners?” queried Steg.

“One way or another,” affirmed the captain. “We are going to rendezvous with another Rimerian star ship, an ore carrier, the
Walrus
, before we transit. My astrogator has just marked the navigation key for the helmsman.
Walrus
ordered fresh produce and we have a Homeworld container to transfer to them. Transit to their location will take nearly four hours. They are moving towards their nexus, and we have to match course and speed, dock, deliver, and undock, before they transit. Then we will head to our nexus for our transit.”