“I knew you would,” the Queen said, as she allowed her eyes to close. “Thank you.”
Ubatha was as good as his word, and immediately went in search of Ji-Jua, who had been thoroughly chastised by then, and summarily relieved of his command. So the Chancellor located the cabin assigned to the visiting offi?cer, announced his presence via the intercom, and waited for a response. When none was forthcoming he pushed a pincer into the access slot and heard servos whir, as the hatch opened. It was dark inside, but there was no mistaking the body that lay on the deck, or the pistol that lay inches from the dead offi?cer’s outstretched pincer. Having failed in his duty to protect the Queen, Ji-Jua had taken his own life. A terrible waste—but useful nevertheless. Because once the news of the Queen’s injury became public, there would be an overwhelming desire to place blame. Knowingly, or unknowingly, Captain Orto Ji-Jua had volunteered to go down in history as the offi?cer responsible for the monarch’s disabling wound. And for that, Chancellor Ubatha was grateful.
METROPLEX, SAN FRANCISCO
The old warehouse stood because no one had gotten around to knocking it down. Shafts of sunlight slanted in from windows high above and threw pools of light onto the muchabused duracrete fl?oor below. And there, seated behind a beat-up metal desk, was a very troubled man. Because one of the many problems associated with heading the Earth Liberation Brigade was the amount of work that the newly created position entailed. It was work that Lieutenant JG Foley found to be especially onerous since much of his life had been dedicated to evading responsibility rather than trying to embrace it. And now, having been transformed from would-be thief to resistance leader, the offi?cer was faced with all the issues natural to any large organization. Which was to say recruiting, stroking, and retaining good people, while simultaneously trying to obtain scarce resources like food, medical supplies, and weapons.
Such problems weighed heavily on Foley, as the woman in front of him rose to leave, and one of his underlings brought a man forward to replace her. There were at least twenty-fi?ve people waiting for an audience, which meant that his socalled offi?ce hours were sure to extend well into the evening, at which point brigade headquarters would be moved to another location.
“Thank you for agreeing to see me,” the man with the blond hair said, as he sat down opposite Foley. He had a medium build, a woodenly handsome face, and appeared to be about twenty-fi?ve years old. Unlike Foley, whose face was covered with a two-day growth of beard, the visitor was clean-shaven. His clothing was nondescript but sturdy—
perfect for urban warfare. “You’re welcome,” the resistance leader said automatically. “What can I do for you?”
“It’s more like what I can do for you,” the blond man answered with a sardonic grin.
“I really don’t have time for word games,” the offi?cer said dourly, as he examined the list in front of him. “I’m sorry, there must be a mistake. . . . Would you mind giving me your name?”
“Chien-Chu,” the blond man said. “Sergi Chien-Chu. But given that you’re a lieutenant, and I’m an admiral, feel free to call me sir. I don’t pull rank very often—but there are times when it makes sense. And this is one of them.”
Like most humans, Foley was familiar with the name. It was hard not to be, since the real Chien-Chu was not only the billionaire owner of Chien-Chu Enterprises, but the man many called “The Father of the Confederacy,” and was rumored to be well over one hundred years old. Or his brain tissue was anyway, since his original bio body had worn out decades before, and been replaced by a succession of cybernetic vehicles, which were said to come in a variety of shapes and sizes.
But was Foley looking at one of them? That seemed very doubtful. . . . Because rich people had space yachts, and thousands of them had escaped Earth orbit during the early days of the invasion. So rather than feeling awestruck, as he otherwise might have, Foley was angry. “Right, you’re Sergi Chien-Chu, and I’m President Nankool. . . . You can leave now. . . . Or should I have some of my men throw you out?”
Sergi Chien-Chu thought of the fi?le he wanted and watched the electronic document appear in front of his
“eyes.” “Before you do that, Lieutenant, consider this. . . . Who, but an admiral, or someone similar, would know that your military ID number is CFN 204-632-141? Or, that you have a heart-shaped birthmark on the upper surface of your left arm? Or, that you were in Battle Station III’s brig, accused of grand larceny when the Ramanthians attacked?
Which is when you found your way to the surface—and wound up in command of the Earth Liberation Brigade. And you’ve been riding the tiger ever since.”
Foley realized his mouth was hanging open and closed it. Even though it was theoretically possible that someone other than a genuine admiral could assemble the information the stranger had at his disposal, it was unlikely, given the circumstances, and deep down the offi?cer knew that the blond man’s claim was true. Somehow, impossible though it might seem, one of the most remarkable people in the history of the Confederacy was seated there in front of him! “Sorry, sir,”
the offi?cer said apologetically. “But this is something of a surprise. . . . A welcome one, however—since you’re far more qualifi?ed to run this organization than I am!”
“Nice try, son,” Chien-Chu said dryly. “But you accepted your commission—and by God you’re going to earn it! In fact, given that it would be unseemly to have such a junior offi?cer in charge of a soon-to-be-powerful army, I’m jumping you up to commander! It’s a temporary rank, of course, but who knows? If you can control your larcenous instincts, and if you show up for work every day, we might make the promotion permanent when this is all over. And drop the charges against you . . . Sound good?”
Foley looked around, saw that his underlings were staring at him with open curiosity, and knew why. He had already spent more time with Chien-Chu than the people who had preceded him. “Sir, yes sir. Would you be willing to drop the charges pending against my men as well?”
“Yes,” Chien-Chu answered. “We’ll drop any charge short of murder, assuming that they take your orders, and remain loyal until Earth has been liberated.”
“Okay,” Foley said. “It’s a deal.”
“Good,” the entrepreneur replied. “Now here’s the problem. . . . We, which is to say the Confederacy’s military forces, are spread very thin at the moment. The truth is that we won’t be able to send a fl?eet here for months to come. And that’s if things go well! If they don’t, it could be as much as a year before help arrives. Meanwhile, as is typical in such situations, all sorts of criminals are busy feeding off the chaos.”
Foley remembered his plan to rob the Mill Valley Security Deposit Building and felt a sense of shame. Chien-Chu saw the expression on the other man’s face and grinned knowingly. “Shocking isn’t it? And, making a bad situation worse, is the fact that some of these criminal organizations are pretending to be freedom fi?ghters as a way to solicit popular support. At least one of which is being led by a retired general. It will be necessary to deal with him eventually, but given the fact that his people would kick your ass right now, that will have to wait. In the meantime we’re going to strengthen your group until the Earth Liberation Brigade is the big boy on the block. . . . And that’s when you’ll be ready to throw your weight around. But only for the benefi?t of the Confederacy. Do you read me?”
The truth was that Foley wasn’t sure he could live up to all of the admiral’s expectations. But Chien-Chu knew about his personal history and hadn’t been deterred. So perhaps he was capable of leading the Earth Liberation Brigade and just didn’t know it. “Yes, sir,” Foley said. “I read you.”