Defying the Prophet: A Military Space Opera (The Sentience Trilogy Book 2) (30 page)

Beside these “admirals” stood another wearing gray, with narrower gold embroidery on the sleeves, and whose three gold collar stars bore no wreath of gold leaves, as did the admirals. Mral had been told that this one was the ship-master of this mighty vessel where he now stood, directly beneath those tremendous main guns projecting out directly over his head. Mral shivered involuntarily at the thought. 

This ship-master intrigued him, every bit as much as the gray-bearded Kalis, as the creature’s prominent mammary glands and shoulder-length, almost white hair, left absolutely no doubt that she was female. 

Female warriors… I had heard stories that humans utilized females in their military, but I’d never really quite believed it. Incomprehensible! That any warrior race should hazard their females to the uncertainties of combat is beyond understanding.

Kalis was finishing the formal reading of the articles of surrender, a written version of the terms that he had offered verbally several turns before. The translator growled out the Raknii translation and all seemed to be in order. The articles were written in human English on the left page of the formal leather bound book, and in written Raknii on the right page.

“Do you find these terms for the peaceful surrender of this planet agreeable, Planet-Master?” Kalis asked, in finishing his recitation.

“I do,” responded Mral.

“Very well,” responded Kalis, as he turned the books to face the Rak. “Please make your personal mark on the top line directly beneath the text on both sheets of both books, indicating your acceptance in written form.”

Mral stepped to the table and used the standard Rak writing instrument to apply his “signature” to all four appropriate places and then stood back, while the other seven Rak took their turns “signing” their personal marks as official witnesses, verifying the authenticity of the documents. When all of the Rak completed signing the documents, Fleet Admiral Kalis sat and placed his signature in the appropriate places. The four admirals and Captain Fletcher then signed as witnesses, as did Commander Goodwin and Brigadier General Theodore March, of the Minnos National Guard, on behalf of all the former prisoners. The signing ceremony concluded with Kalis handing one copy of the surrender document to the Rak Planet-Master… a solemn reminder of the agreement that stayed the hand of death for almost a million of his people. 

Surrendering to an enemy was a hateful, shameful thing that he would never be free of in this life, but oddly enough, Mral felt a sudden unexpected flush of pride, in the midst of his shame. He’d saved his people and established the first dialog with these terrible aliens that didn’t involve bloodshed. He couldn’t explain it, but despite his shame, somewhere deep inside, he felt that Dol was pleased.

* * * *

Anything I’ve ever done that ultimately was worthwhile, initially scared me to death.
— Betty Bender

Noreen Lucado was nervous. She had sacrificed so much in life to finally earn her Senior Vice-Presidency at
Keystone Mining and Exploration Corporation,
just
a few months before the war of Confederate Independence broke out. She’d forsaken family, friends and what most people would call “real life” in her dogged pursuit of her career goals, only to find herself stranded on a deserted island almost as soon as she’d finally “arrived.” 

Most of the available men below her on the corporate ladder were thoroughly intimidated by her position and success. She found those few above her on the corporate ladder didn’t really respect her… just a nice-looking piece of corporate fluff they thought they should be able to dip their wicks into, whenever the urge took them, and then go home to the wife. She’d certainly fought that battle more than once. And of the few men that were at or near her same level, virtually all were self-centered, conniving, backstabbing little dweebs. 

Face it, you’re gonna be an old maid, girl. Hell, you’re 37… you’re already an old maid!

Even after finally achieving her senior vice-presidency at long last, something had gone wrong. Instead of finally joining the ranks of the movers and shakers, she suddenly found herself shelved for her personal convictions that what the Consortium and their ilk were doing to the people of the South was wrong. Unfortunately her boss, Theodore Wentworth, had been one of J.P. Aneke’s chief supporters… a fully functioning member of the
Executive Board
of the Consortium of Industrial Management
.

Noreen could never quite understand how she had misjudged Ted Wentworth so badly. He had seemed so… well, down-to-earth and normal. She never saw the cold-blooded shark that lurked behind that big smile. She’d never understood how he could have been so damned cozy with those inhuman monsters like J.P. Aneke and Aline McCauley, who didn’t give a damn about people other than merely pockets to be picked. 

Two-faced.
White man speak with forked-tongue!

Noreen berated herself for not having been able to see past the smoke screen that Ted had used on her
. 

Gullibility is a dangerous trait in an executive, Noreen.
 

Keystone hadn’t fired her for voicing her personal convictions that were contrary to their predatory business practices. Oh no, but they had cut her out of the loop — stroking her ego and her wallet while minimalizing her with bullshit assignments, far from where any real decision-making was happening. After the war ended, she’d been so frustrated she’d almost been to the point of simply resigning and moving south, to see if any of those new Confederate start-ups could use a talented executive with a Yankee accent.

That’s where providence, or whatever it was, had stepped in. She’d been unexpectedly contacted by the head of recruiting for TBG, a German-based conglomerate that had just bought out BioCom
,
the largest supplier of biological AI computers, after their stock bottomed out following their former CEO Robert Eastman being sent to prison on an entire laundry list of federal charges. It had been a surreal experience… No interviews required — none of the negotiating or other dance moves normally utilized when a company is trying to lure an executive away from where they’re at… just an offer hitting the table with a resounding thud. 

They told her BioCom was now a wholly owned subsidiary of TBG, which was a privately-held conglomerate owned by a distant relative of the German royal family.  Supposedly, this Baron Dietrich Anton Guderian guy wanted to clean house at BioCom, sweeping out all of Eastman’s cronies and install an entirely new management team, who could mop up the mess after President McAllister cancelled the government’s development program for a new Fleet master computer system, and get the company profitable again. 

Strangest of all, this baron had reportedly selected
her
as his personal choice for Chief Executive Officer, Chief Operating Officer and Chair of the Board of Directors.  She’d never heard of TBG or of Baron Guderian before she was suddenly anointed as sole master of BioCom’s future. Needless to say, it was an offer beyond her wildest dreams, but she was uneasy. If anything, it was all too good. 

If something is too good to be true… 

She’d been waiting for the other shoe to drop for months now, waiting for the pinch that would startle her out of this dream.

Being naturally curious about
who
had just dumped all this manna into her lap, she’d done computer searches for everything she could get her hands on, concerning TBG and her new employer. Surprisingly, she discovered that
Tydlich Bundesgenosse Gespenster
was a relatively young company, only a few years old.  Yet, it was rapidly becoming a monster… buying up distressed companies left and right. Instead of selling their assets off piecemeal and grabbing quick profits while throwing tens of thousands of people out of work, like most corporate vultures, TBG routinely invested even more money, installed a top-notch management team, got the things profitable and expanding again, and then generally left them alone. They’d even bought up a few thriving companies, but instead of milking the cash cows dry as happened in so many corporate takeovers, TBG’s supportive influence had made them even more profitable.

They were into damned near everything, but their business strategy was, well… unusual. They didn’t grab nearly every choice nugget in the stream. Indeed, some of their acquisitions appeared downright foolhardy, and they retained a lot of assets that were barely breaking even. It almost seemed like
what
a company produced was somehow as important as how profitable it was. There had to be some kind of underlying solid business strategy there, but damned if she could see it.

It took a bit of juggling with German/English translation software, but she’d finally discovered something else that was puzzling about TBG
.
As best as she could figure out, in German,
Tydlich Bundesgenosse Gespenster
meant “Lethal Confederate Ghost.” 

Weird, TBG was incorporated
before
the Confederacy even came into existence. 

But it seemed that this mysterious baron certainly had the Midas touch, as he had virtually appeared out of nowhere and leapt onto the international business stage, parlaying a modest family fortune into what was reported to now be
trillionaire
status, within just a few years. Never in history had anyone made so much money, so quickly. Yet, about the man himself, she’d found almost zilch. 

Evidently, the baron spends a tremendous amount of money burying his personal records from public view.
 

There seemed to be no records of where he grew up and went to school, who his parents were, where he lived, how old he was, nothing… not even a picture. It was incredible. The richest man in all the worlds was virtually invisible.

Lethal Confederate Ghost. Why the use of “Confederate?” That “Lethal” part is downright chilling… could also be interpreted as “deadly,” but that’s just as bad.  That “Ghost” part describes him perfectly though. 

But not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Noreen immediately accepted their offer, moved from Nork to Bostin and dove into her new job with a passion. It had been a tremendous amount of work, but she’d kept BioCom afloat on a sea of red ink and installed a very strong management team, primarily thanks to TBG’s influx of several billions of dollars, when they’d needed it most. How odd it was to finally be working for someone who not only expected miracles like everyone else, but also provided her with the magic wand she’d needed to pull it off. None of the normal managerial paralysis caused by the
decisions-by-committee
crowd, avoiding responsibility around here. She was THE BOSS at BioCom and decisions got made… no ifs, ands, or buts. She answered only to the ghost that owned their parent company TBG, and he’d left her alone completely… until now.

That other shoe was
en
route
to the floor. Yesterday she’d received a message from the baron’s office, informing her the mysterious Baron Guderian himself would be arriving at the BioCom Research & Development Lab today — and he was bringing her a “special project” he wanted expedited in utmost secrecy. That was it. Not a clue as to what he wanted, or what color rabbit he might want her to pull out of her ass for him. So here she sat, nervously awaiting the arrival of her reclusive new boss and his mysterious super-secret special project that he wanted expedited ASAP. 

What the baron giveth, the baron can taketh away.

* * * *

Planet-Master Mral was nervous. Three turns had passed since the ordeal of his formal surrender of the planet to these incomprehensible giant aliens on the main deck of their monstrous armored warship… directly beneath the tubes of those massive energy weapons, which had only recently torn gaping fissures through the massed Raknii fleet. The ceilings on Rak buildings were much too low for the aliens to navigate comfortably, and so they erected prefabricated buildings of their own, in an amazingly short period of time, here at the former prison camp where the Raknii had kept their human prisoners.

Now he found himself summoned to the new building the aliens were using as their headquarters, and he was invited to sit in a Raknii-style chair in front of a tall, long table.  Behind this table sat the human’s gray-bearded commander and his four fleet-masters… those the humans called “admirals.” Although the aliens were not seated on a raised dais, as would have been the case in a Raknii  judgment chamber, at nearly twice his height, their stature alone forced him to gaze upwards at them, and so induced those same feelings of smallness forced to give answer to greatness.

“Planet-Master Mral,” growled the translator at Mral’s side, in interpretation of the old one’s voice …the commander called Kalis. “Please be at ease here, as this meeting is merely an attempt to gather information to promote better understanding between us, so conflicts arising from misunderstandings between us may be avoided in the future.”

“Avoidance of conflict arising from misunderstanding is an understandably worthy goal, which I share completely, Fleet Admiral,” responded Mral. “But already I am not sure that I fully understand one of the words that you just used.”

“Which word would that be, Planet-Master?” asked Kalis.

“The word… ‘please.’ I am familiar with its usage meaning ‘to give pleasure,’ but it does not seem to fit within the context of your continued statement.”

“Good, this is exactly the kind of thing we wish to learn from this,” said Kalis. “In our language, the word
please
can also be used as a derivative of the word plea, to indicate a humble appeal. The difference is in the context.” 

“Ah, I will note that for future reference, thank you.” replied Mral. “But I’m not sure I understand
why
you would choose to use such a word in this context. As conqueror, you have no need to make an appeal to the vanquished. You command and we obey.”

“The admiral was just being polite,” stated the one called Thorn. An appropriate name for such a tall, thin warrior with such a penetrating gaze.

Mral turned to face the one called Thorn and said, “Thank you, Admiral, but I’m also not sure that I fully understand the meaning of your word,
polite
.”

“In our culture,” replied Kalis, “within conversational settings, use of abrupt command language unnecessarily is considered abusive, so we normally soften the harshness of the impact of our words by flavoring our speech with words like ‘please’ to indicate respect for the other person and a courtesy to the listener.”

“So, if I understand you correctly, you’re saying you regularly add words such as these to enhance the flavor of your conversation to make it more palatable to the listener, much like adding salt will enhance the flavor of bland meat?”

“Exactly.”

“But why should you
care
whether your words are palatable to your underlings or not?”

“We find that others will put forth greater effort with enhanced focus when they feel appreciated and respected by their superiors and coworkers,” replied Kalis. “It costs little to voluntarily make such minor modifications to one’s behavior and speech, but it often produces great benefits in value added to the results of team goals. Besides, it is surely better to be thought well of for courteous speech and actions, rather than reviled as chronically rude.”

Mral weighed the logic of these alien thoughts and immediately saw the wisdom there.

“Is there a word that describes this overall philosophy of intentional actions designed to prevent friction amongst you?”

“Yes” replied Thorn.  “The word is
manners
.”

* * * *