TREADING ON DREAMS – ACT I

 

"Remember, the enemy has only images and illusions behind which he hides his true motives. Destroy the image and you will break the enemy." – Enter The Dragon, classic 2-D vid.

 

            The outer hatch closed and locked behind the departing pinnace.  The craft would “fall” away from its larger partner for a few hundred meters before firing its own chemical engines to take it down to the planet.  James didn’t mind the extra stop on their journey; he was being well paid for it.

            James turned and caught sight of Major Shrak; it would also give him time to hold a much-needed discussion with the man in charge of the ship’s soldiers.

            “Major, if you would please join me in my office, there are some matters we need to review concerning recent events.”

            The gray haired soldier only nodded, then proceeded to follow his captain up the lift to the ship’s middle or living deck.  There were two doors at the deck’s aft section; James opened the port-side one, which led to his quarters and private workspace.

            Once inside the spacious (by crew standards) cabin, James gestured for Shrak to take a seat at the imitation cherry-wood table which was bolted to the floor a meter-and-a-half beyond the door.

            “Care for a drink, Major?”  James inquired as he moved to a small cupboard on an adjacent wall.

            “I’d take some of your rum if you can spare it.”  Shrak’s voice remained pleasant, though there was a detectable tension in the room.  James poured into the TI-Major’s glass, and then mixed his own River Pirate, though he favored the Yangtze Cola over the rum; now that they were back in normal space, he may have to fly the ship.

            James set the glass of rum in front of the Major, and then took the seat opposite him.  Both men sat there a moment, eyes locked, drinks in hand, waiting to see who would be the one to break the pleasant façade and cut to the heart of the matter.

           Welthammer lost, “Major, how long have we known each other?”  James instantly regretted beginning with the clichéd line.

            “Just a few months over two years, sir.”

            “Right.  Major, when I picked you up from Mars two years ago, you told me that you were assigned to the local military garrison; that you joined the colonists in rebellion against the Middle Kingdom, and that you had no previous contact with Arthur Clarke’s rebellion, is that correct, Major?”

            Shrak set down his glass, “Yes, Captain, that is more or less what I told you.”

            “Am I to understand then, Major, that you lied to me that day, and have since felt no compulsion to correct yourself?”

            The old soldier sighed, “Captain Welthammer, the whereabouts of Arthur Clarke are, as you are no doubt aware, highly confidential, it didn’t seem prudent to let a strange freighter pilot know such information.”

            “But you can tell a couple of strangers in a bar?!”

            “Captain, I have reason to believe that M. Hicks is meant to find Arthur Clarke.”

            “What?  You mean fate?  Do you believe in that bullshit, Major?”

            “I’m not entirely sure; Captain, but I do trust the instincts of my lieutenant.  “

            James was having trouble keeping up his anger, “But tell me this, Major, if you did know where to find Clarke and the rebellion, then why did you choose to remain behind in my employ, and not report back?”

            This seemed to give Shrak pause; he downed the rest of his rum, then idly moved the glass around in his hand.  “Captain, when my battalion and I put down on Mars a couple weeks before you arrived, we were sent off by Arthur Clarke himself.  He told us that this would be the first strike against the Middle Kingdom, the first step in the eventual downfall of the Emperor.  The full weight of the entire rebellion was behind us on this one mission, our success was guaranteed.  Then we loaded into capsules, and we dropped.  Two weeks later, the Imps hit us with the Bugs, you saw it, Captain, they had us whittled down to nothing in eighteen hours.  Clarke abandoned us, Captain, we weren’t ready to go back and swear our loyalty to that man again.”

            James’s rage was forgotten, “You were fighting the Bugs, Major.  Sure you guys have power armor and big guns, but you ain’t your daddy’s Tech Infantry, and you were up against Bugs.”

            James could see the fire in Shrak’s eyes, “Captain, when you carried us off the planet, there was still an entire Legion’s worth of TI transports hiding in the asteroid belt; I know that for a fact, I had Tiller check your ship’s sensors before we hit the gate.  That planet was ours, Captain, and Clarke threw it and my men away like so many potato peelings.”

            The stillness between them was melted by the sounding of the com. Welthammer hit the response button. “Yes?”

            “M. Welthammer? This is Dr. Hicks.”

            “Hicks. Everything go all right on the surface?”

            “Yeah, everything’s fine. Tiller’s going to take me to the rendezvous point and then come back and meet you at the ship.”

            “Great to hear. Um…”

            “Yeah?”
            “Doc, it ain’t my business, but would you finally mind telling me why people were shooting at you in the first place? My curiosity’s been going crazy.”

            “Let’s just say that certain people were planning to use my research for… bad things.”

            “What bad things?”

            “They were going to brainwash the entire non-Asian population.”

            There was dead silence as James stared at the major. “Right, and I own a mansion on New Paris.”
            “Fine, don’t believe me. Thanks for the lift.”

            “Any time. Discom.” As he hit the com button, Welthammer twirled his fingers around his head. “Man, this universe’s full of crazies.”

            Shrak simply nodded his glass towards his employer and took a sip.

            “Well, when you’re finished, tell that pilot of mine to set a course to New Paris.”

            “You mean the Welthammer Estate?”

            “Well, we always called it a plantation – after all, it’s near Maine City. Come on, we’ve got a few things to pick up.”

 

*****

 

            “Any time. Discom.” Dr. Hicks turned off the com unit and immediately stepped into the flitter cab next to Tiller. “Ready?”

            The lieutenant grunted and knocked on the head of the robot driving the cab. “2^nd Street Imperial Warehouse, next to the Plaza of Winged Victory.”

            “Yes, siiiiiiiiiiir!” the overanxious robot said and the cab sped away graciously through the beautiful streets of the capital city.

            Icarus stared at William. “Imperial Warehouse?”

            Tiller simply tapped his ear, then nodded towards the robot. The doctor quickly understood. Damn, the Imps would bug every damn cab in the Empire? Yeah, that does sound like something those bastards would do…

            The rest of the short ride was quiet until they arrived at the address. True to Major Shrak’s word, they could see the Forbidden City looming in the background, black drapes attached to the outside walls. Once Tiller slotted his credchit into the cab’s comp, the robot chirped back, “Thank you! Have a nice day!”

            They stepped out and the flitter went along its merry way, sowing its saccharine wisdom somewhere else. Hicks couldn’t help looking towards the palace. “Damn, it’s hard to believe that Chiang’s gone.”

            “Everyone goes sometime.” The lieutenant shrugged.

            “You think Rao’ll do a good job?”

            Tiller just stared at him for a moment until Icarus realized what he was saying. “Oh, I guess I shouldn’t really care.”

            “You can care, just realize who you work for now.” William nodded towards the warehouse and started walking; Icarus followed.

            Around the corner, in the alleyway, there was a lonely basement door, locked with a heavy chain and a rusted thermal print lock. It looked like it hadn’t been used in years. Without a word, Tiller put his thumb on it and it chirped weakly. Before Hicks’ eyes, the chain broke neatly in half, right on the door hinge, then fused itself to the door. Effortlessly, William lifted one of the doors open and walked inside; again, Icarus followed.

            As soon as both of them were inside, the door slammed shut. “Camouflage,” Tiller explained, “the door will lock again, and the chain will swing freely.” The barely lit hallway showed nothing but plaststeel girders and fungicrete floors, but the lieutenant kept walking. He pointed up at the ceiling and explained, “Imperial Warehouse, still in operation. Can’t hear a thing under several tons of bureaucracy.” The dark-skinned man smiled, finally stopping between two pillars next to a wall.

            “Dead end?”

            “For some.” Tiller grinned again as two beams of light covered over his body. Suddenly, the wall opened into a lift. “Etheral multi-phasic scan. You’re quite safe if I go first.” Icarus swallowed his curiosity and fear with one breath and followed the increasingly creepy lieutenant into the lift. As soon as Hicks got in, the wall slammed closed, and they went down.

            A few seconds later, as the door opened, it was an electrician’s wet dream. Massive holoproj displays, comps running thousands of simulations and collating jobs, white-suited technicians running to and fro on some important matter. The only paying them any attention was the guard at the door. “Tiller?”

            The lieutenant looked at him for a second, then smiled and stretched out his hand. “Nice to see you again, Hasgarth.”

            The guard took it. “Same. Damn, Tiller – I thought you were dead and buried on Mars.”

            “Near enough. Didn’t you know a little thing like an army of tame bugs couldn’t stop me?”

            “Remind me not to play you in poker.”

            “You’ll win your money back, I promise.” Tiller seemed more relaxed to Hicks; almost a different person. “Where’s the boss man?”

            “Near the big board – where he always is. Who’s the guy?”

            “New recruit.”

            “Vouched?”

            “I vouch for him.”

            “Suit yourself – not my life.”

            “Thanks, corporal.”

            “Sergeant-Major now.”

            “God, the standards in this place…” the lieutenant shook his head, laughing as he guided Hicks towards the large holoproj. A mane of thick white hair, striped with black, was sitting on top of an older-looking leather chair. Funny, Hicks thought, that doesn’t look like cow leather.

            A voice emerged from the chair. “So, Tiller… finally stopped joy-riding and came back to work?”

            “Yes, sir.”

            The chair turned around and the doctor couldn’t help but take an initial shock. Here he was, old, scarred, and wrinkled, but still the man who was on all the wanted posters in the Middle Kingdom. This was Arthur Clarke; he may have looked old, but there was definitely power under that aging skin. “And this must be the famous Dr. Hicks.”

            Icarus forced himself to offer his hand. “Pleased to meet you, sir.”

            Clarke gripped it with disdain and turned back to Tiller. “He better be worth it.”

            “He is.”
            “You know, lieutenant, I…” The old werewolf stopped for a second and sniffed the air. “Wait a minute, I know that smell.” Clarke stepped out of his seat and moved closer to Hicks. Sniffing again, he said, “No, not you,” and then he stepped closer to Tiller. “You’re not Tiller.”

            The mage smiled and confirmed. “No, I’m not.”

            Hicks went into shock again. Damn it, was there ANYONE on that losa wreck that was who they said they were?! Yet as Clarke grew angrier and the guards started to close in, the doctor was even more shocked that the mystery man didn’t move. The werewolf kept sniffing the air. “Wait… it’s YOU!”

            Clarke immediately went into Crinos form, changing with the rage that had suddenly been released on the underground lair. As the huge form was about to rip into the not-Tiller, the mage snapped his fingers, and a wave of energy emanated from him, slamming Clarke back. The enormous form rolled back through the air, landing right onto Hicks, crushing him down to the ground. The doctor suddenly found himself in extreme pain under an angry werewolf.

            “I’LL KILL YOU!” Arthur raged.

            “Not yet, sergeant,” the mystery man proclaimed, “I didn’t come out from under my rock just for you to kill me. I want to talk.”

            “You’ll talk as I hear you scream!”

            “I can turn your fur to silver, sergeant, or… we can talk. But why don’t you get off my friend first.”

            Clarke only noticed that he had hurt the doctor at that point. The leader of the Resistance made no apologies as he got up, but merely circled the man he considered his prey. “Now, before I kill you, bastard,” his claws instantly extended, “speak.”

 

*****

 

            “Can she walk?”

            “Well, she’s conscious, but if she doesn’t take it easy she’ll pass out again.”

            “Good enough.  The oyabun wants to see her and he’s on a schedule.”

            These words greeted Cho as she swam out of unconsciousness, the stench of smelling salts in her nose.  A wave of nausea rolled over her, her stomach clenched, and her head felt like it was about to split open.  A calloused hand slapped her cheek repeatedly.

            “You awake, M. Yamazaki?”

            “Unngh?”  Cho responded, barely managing to raise her head and open her eyes.  The light seem painfully bright.  She felt so weak she could barely move – yet at the same time she couldn’t stop shaking.  As her eyes focused, the blurry face her wakagashiria, Zhou Tanzhai, swam into view.

            “Good evening, Mistress Cho.  M. Tanazhi requests the honor of your presence – now.”

            “Uh-uh,” Cho moaned as she let her head roll back onto the pillow.

            “Oh, come now,” Zhou said, gripping her elbows and pulling her up.  Suddenly Cho lurched and choked, and the men surrounding her jumped back.  Cho leaned over the side of the rickety hospital bed, arm clenched across her stomach, swallowing repeatedly, and managed to keep from puking.  “I… don’ think… I cin… walk…” she finally said as the room spun dizzily before her eyes.

            “Sure you can,” Zhou said, pulling her to her feet – but standing behind her this time.  “The oyabun is a busy man, and you wouldn’t want to be late!”  Two more sets of arms grabbed her under the armpits and began to drag her toward the door.

“Wait… way…” Cho protested as she fumbled for a pair of sunglasses on the table next to the bed.  The three men half carried, half dragged her out the door as she clumsily put the sunglasses on.  They were too big and didn’t fit right, but at least they blocked out some of the light.  “Y-you guys… g-got any dust, man?” she asked her guards as she stumbled down the hall. 

“I think you’ve had enough dust,” one of the mobsters scoffed.  “Now come on, move!” he added, emphasizing the order with a rough shove that almost knocked her over.

Something here ain’t right, Cho thought woozily.  Usually fellow yakuza treated her with fear and respect.  These guys were tossing her around like a sack of rice.  Didn’t they know she was master ­wu jen Cho Yamakazaki?  Why, she oughta lay some magical whoopass on them, just to show ‘em who they’re dealing with.  Yeah, that’s what she would do… as soon as the room stopped spinning…

The gansters dragged her down halls, up staircases, and through doors of the lavish casino that served as Yakuza-Tanzhi’s base of operations.  A few patrons looked up in puzzlement at the bizarre sight of three muscular men dragging a half dressed and obviously drugged woman, but most were too busy shoveling crowns into their pachinko games to even notice.  At last they stopped at a door.  Zhou rapped softly and waited, silently.

Cho looked around at the customers groggily.  She was vaguely aware she was wearing a flimsy hospital smock that gave most of the casino a great view of her ass… she should be embarrassed, she supposed.  But she was more concerned with which gamblers might have some opium on them…

“Hai!” came a muffled call inside the office, and suddenly Cho was standing in the office of Toku Tanzhi, oyabun of Yakuza-Tanzhi.  The tiny, ancient man sat behind a huge ornate desk in an immaculate silk business suit, sipping tea from a tiny cup.  His hard, wrinkled face looked like a walnut with white hair.   The three thugs released Cho and bowed deeply.  After a moment’s pause, Cho tried to bow, but lost her balance, and tumbled to the ground. One of the gangsters snickered as she raised herself up on trembling arms.  She tried to stand, but failed and sank slowly to the floor. Not even getting up from his chair, the oyabun merely bowed his head slightly to the mobsters.

Several seconds passed in silence as Toku regarded Cho with cold eyes, quietly stroking his perfectly trimmed moustache.  The sickly, disoriented woman sat on his carpet, shaking uncontrollably, smock falling off one shoulder, oversized sunglasses perched lopsided on her face, filthy and stinking.  Finally the oyabun spoke.

“You have been a valued member of our family for many years, M. Yamazaki,” he began.  “But this is not the first time you’ve been in my office for problems related to your… habits.  And this time, you have caused us a great deal of trouble.”  Silence hung again in the air; Cho stared at the carpet, shaking.   

“Each time you have promised me you would change… get help… quit…” Toku continued.  “Yet here you are again, worse than ever.  You disappoint me, M. Yamazaki.  What have you to say for yourself?”

“L-look,” Cho stammered, looking up, “I – I know I’m in t-trouble… but… y-ya got any d-dust, man?  I r-really, really need a f-fix!”

Toku’s wrinkled face twitched, briefly betraying a hint of disgust.  He sipped his tea in silence while Cho watched him expectantly.  “You have shamed our family, M. Yamazaki,” he continued, ignoring her request.  “First, you negotiate an exorbitant price for a job for one of our most powerful and honored clients.  Then you fail to deliver on your promise, and why?  Because you overdosed on opium – again.  I –“

“Naw, naw,” Cho protested, “I – I was p-poisoned, man!  It wuz—“

“I wasn’t finished,” Toku said, his voice rising sharply.  Cho fell silent.  “Lord Jeong was quite upset.  He missed an opportunity that is not easily replaced.  I had to refund the commission, and buy an expensive gift as a token of apology.  Even then, it is likely that we have lost his business and patronage for good.  He has already hired one of our competitors to finish the job you failed to complete.  And then, as if that weren’t enough, you manage to arise from your stupor just long enough to pull the fire alarm, causing an evacuation of the casino.  Most of our patrons did not return that evening – leading to more lost revenue.  So, you see, M. Yamazaki,” he paused to sip his tea, “your incompetence has already cost me in excess of 1.3 million crowns.  And if there is one thing I can not stand,“ he said, setting his teacup down sharply.  “It is losing money!”  Silence returned.  Toku’s face remained impassive, but he was breathing more heavily.  “I believe in being fair to my kobun, however,” Toku said, calmer, “so on the off chance there is a rational explanation for this disaster, I am giving you one chance to defend your position.”

Cho stared at the oyabun, shivering. She felt more nauseous than ever… and very cold.  “D-didn’t overdose, sai,” she stammered.   “P-poisoned!  G-golram gaijin sp-spiked my Kymer Rouge!”

“I see,” the oyabun said skeptically.  “And who might this gaijin be?”

“Lord C-cornelius!”  Cho explained. “Oyabun of y-yakuza-gaijin!  He wants to k-kill me ‘cause I whacked his f-friend!” 

“Mmm-hmm…” Toku nodded.  “And you know this… how?”

“He t-told me!”  Cho said indignantly.  “When he t-tried to kill me in the… uh… hospital!” 

            “Our infirmary?  Downstairs?”

            Cho nodded.

            “So you expect me to believe,” Toku began calmly, “that the head of a rival family just walked into our headquarters, tried to kill you – after explaining his diabolical plan to you, of course – but you fought him off, and then he escaped without anyone seeing him?”

            “Uh… yeah.”

            Toku drummed his fingers impatiently on the desk.  “I seem to recall that the last time you were in my office, you blamed the Shimamaki fire on a ‘giant technicolor cockroach’.”

            “Naw, naw,” Cho protested.  “That wuz j-just some bad sh-shrooms, man!  I wuz clean this time!”  She twitched irritably.  “Look, you sure I c-can’t get some dust?”

            “Perhaps Lord Cornelius and the cockroach are in this grand conspiracy together?” Toku suggested.  Behind her, Cho heard muffled laughter.

“I’m not makin’ this up!” Cho yelled angrily.

“I have no doubt you believe what you saw,” the oyabun said sternly, “but I can’t take the word of an addict to justify such a failure to the Earl of New Tokyo.  No one saw this imaginary gaijin, M. Yamazaki.  Your own sister Shoko never left your bedside, and even she never saw anything like what you just described.  How do you explain that?”

“She m-must’ve…” Cho looked down, dejected. “She musta been in on it,” she said softly.

“She hasn’t the brains,” Toku said dismissively.  “And this poisoned Khymer Rouge you speak of… I believe you shared it with your apprentices – including my grandniece, Yoko – and none of them fell ill.  How do you explain that?

“I… I dunno… I…”

“Exactly,” Toku said firmly, “you don’t know.  I have given you a chance to explain yourself; you have failed.  You have dishonored our family.  You have become a liability, M. Yamazaki.  Your loyalty is no longer to the Tanzhi, but to the opium.  Yakuza can not tolerate disloyalty.  You know that.  There must be consequence for this disgrace.”

“What, you… you want a f-finger?”  Cho said doubtfully, holding up her left pinky shakily.  “I’ll g-give you a finger – ‘specially if you got some d-dust…”

“This has gone far beyond yubizume, M. Yamazaki,” the oyabun said, shaking his head.

            “Then… what?” Cho asked apprehensively, dread beginning to cut through the haze in her mind.

            “Come, now, M. Yamakazai, don’t feign ignorance,” Toku said, picking up his teacup again.  “You know the punishment for a traitor.”  He sipped his tea.  “In your case, however, it will be a little different.  Lord Jeong is quite impressed by our irezumi –the yakuza tattoo.  Yours in particular - Buddha knows why.  He requested it of me, framed, for his office wall, as compensation for our failure.  Of course, I did not refuse.”  He set down his teacup.

            “He… wants a… c-copy?”  Cho asked, confused.

            “Not exactly, M. Yamazaki,” the oyabun said.  He opened a drawer in his desk, reached in, and held up a skinning knife, the implications obvious without the need for distasteful words.  “I detest having to terminate an employee,” he said, putting it down, “but in this case I have no choice.”  Horror seized Cho, and she began to look around, alarmed.  “Tomorrow at sunrise,” Toku said coldly.  “I have summoned my wakashu to attend.  I wish them to witness the consequence for a failure of this magnitude.  Hopefully it will prevent me having to repeat such an act in the near future. Take her away.” 

            Cho looked around in panic as Toku’s henchmen closed in on either side of her.  She gasped, collecting her Chi, and thrust her arms out at the mobsters.

            “MURI!!” she screamed

            Nothing happened.

            The mobsters paused, exchanged looks, then continued advancing.  Behind her, Zhou Tanzhi chuckled.

            “MURI!!” Cho yelled again, terrified.

            “I took the precaution of injecting you with Quellers before sending for you,” the oyabun explained calmly as his henchmen seized her arms.  “Be sensible, M. Yamazaki,” Toku said, “would I bring you into my office if you still posed a threat to me?  You’re smarter than that.”  Cho gaped at him, stunned.

            “B-but I was framed!” she yelled.  “It wuz C-cornelius!”

            “Yes, and the cockroach, I know,” Toku nodded.

            “I didn’t mean to shame you, sai!” Cho yelled as the gangsters pulled her to her feet.  “I’ll make up for it!  I’ll save face! Just give me a chance!”

            “The only atonement for this transgression is blood, M. Yamazaki,” the oyabun said firmly, shaking his head.  “The decision has been made.  What’s done is done.  Now stop embarrassing yourself and make this easier on all of us.  Go quietly.”  He nodded to his henchmen.  “Quellers every six hours, two shatei with her at all times.”  With that, he picked up his stylus and went back to work.

            Cho sagged in the gangster’s arms, defeated.  She was out of aces.  With her magic, she was wu jen… but without it, she was just a junkie.  As they dragged her away, she looked up.

            “Sai?”  The oyabun looked up.  “My… my sister?”

            “Is not involved and will not be held accountable,” Toku said, sounding bored.  “I will not punish Shoko for the sins of her sister.  Besides,” he said thoughtfully, “that piaoliang can turn five thousand crowns in a good night.  I’m not about to dispose of an asset like that without a very good reason.”

            “Can… can I see her before… before…”

            The oyabun shook his head slowly.  Then, with a signal of his hand, Cho was dragged from the room and the door slammed shut behind her.

            Cho stumbled with her escorts in stunned silence down to a secured room deep within the casino.  Her foggy mind was still trying to grasp what was happening.  She had been cast out of the only family she had ever known after dishonoring them before their most powerful patron.  The opium had cost her everything.  Her status, her power, her family… even her life.  She would spend her last few hours tied to a chair, watched over by former brothers, shivering with withdrawal.  She would not die wu jen.  She would not even die yakuza.  She would die boryokudan… a petty criminal junkie.

 

*****

 

            Kago jerked straight up from his slumber with a slight ache in his back from having slept in an awkward position and hacking a couple times in the thick pollution of the Minos air.  He had been waiting for a bus before he fell asleep.  How long had he slept?  He instinctively glanced at his wrist, which confused him at first.  He had the strange feeling one has when he remembers

several years afterwards how a place seemed to look and feel when he first saw it, which in fact is no different from how it looks in the present.  There is a word for it, isn't there... wonder.  Kago had a strange sense of wonder.  He wrote it off as grogginess.  Yes, a wristcomp -- that was why he instinctively glanced at his wrist, but there was nothing on his wrist.  Confusion overcame him,

followed by a wave of anger at the thought that someone may have robbed him in his sleep.  Eventually, he recalled that he hadn't ever possessed a wristcomp, and at this point, a bus pulled up to the station.  He was headed for the amphitheater.

 

            Once Kago got there, there wasn’t much left to see. People were leaving the vast stadium complex with looks of confusion and shame. Something wrong had happened here; it was printed all over the faces. They walked with their heads slumped, moving slowly, but steadily, towards their waiting flitters or towards the maglev lines. The man made his way in the opposite direction; into the amphitheater.

            Inside, there were Civil Police everywhere, taking holopics, conducting interviews; their job was almost over. Their focus seemed to be around a place in the stands, so naturally, that’s where Kago felt compelled to go. He stepped right over to the band of cops standing there and looked around. Beneath him was a black body bag. “Who was it?”

            The nearest cop suddenly noticed him. “Who are you?!”

            “Adauchi Kago.”

            “Oh,” the cop replied startled, as if he knew who he was, “my apologies, sai. DNA reports just came back from the net. The name was Sharif Adams, former prefect out in Jennifer’s Star. Why he came here and started mouthing off is anyone’s guess.”

            “Mouthing off?”

            “Right during Graham Quentin’s big speech, he starts challenging him. Can you believe it? Right in the middle of a million screaming fundies – had as much chance as a snowball in hell. Still managed to take out a couple of us before their own took him down.”

            “Did you contact the next of kin?”
            “No need – Parents were killed about a couple months back. No one else we could call either. Did you hear on the news about that old battlestation that fell out of orbit? Guess where it hit? WHAM! Straight in the middle of shi-farmer central – got this boy’s hometown and several kilometers in any direction.”

            Kago took a look around and asked, “Where is Graham Quentin?”

            “He’s backstage somewhere; kinda shaken up… well, as much as ice cubes can be shaken. We may have to protect the guy, doesn’t mean I like him any better.”

            “Thanks.”

            “My pleasure, sai.”

            Kago quickly made his way back past the cops, past the guards, past the toddling spectators without anyone blinking an eyelash his way. It didn’t take him long to find the man he was looking for. With a brief smile on his face, he turned to Graham Quentin, and cleared his throat. The three bodyguards all whipped out their guns as one to point them at the new arrival.

            Adauchi was unphazed. “M. Quentin, we need to talk.”

 

*****

 

            Major Dame Cynthia Beatrix just watched the newsvids as they reported the protests against the destruction of several commercial space stations which were destroyed for launching the attacks against the ship carrying the royals. The public was outraged that the reprisals were done with precious little evidence that they were to blame. God, this is stupid, she thought, all those t’ien show rien are doing is stirring up more complaint against the Empire. Maybe Weathers was right; maybe this empire’s just a little too old…

            Just then, the com beeped; she shifted channels to see her superior, General Il-Jan, looming larger than life. He was wearing black, as was she, as part of the month of required mourning by all imperial officers. “Major, I assume you’ve seen the news?”
            “Yes, sir.”
            “Damn it, Imperial Security used to be better about screening that. Must have gotten through the sub-standard feeds.”

            “They hit the wrong stations.”

            “Yes, yes, I know that, foolish girl! I need you to find out where they actually are!”

            “But sir…”

            “This isn’t a request, major – if the Imperial Fleet is going to punish these fools, we need to know where they are. Find them, report, and get out. No heroics, no warning the local squadron this time. We’re sending a golram battle fleet this time and no one’s gonna stop us. Now move!”

            “Yes, sir. Discom.” She sighed after she killed the com circuit. Cynthia quickly made her way down to her personal shuttle. She knew there was probably a corvette, probably smaller, waiting for her in orbit already. Il-Jan didn’t make snap decisions; he just made his subordinates think so. As she stepped into the shuttle, Beatrix was so preoccupied, she didn’t notice the dark shadow that was hiding in the back.

 

END OF ACT I