In the M101 Galaxy Cluster, thirty-two million light years from Earth, UDA Admiral Lige stood on a raised dais at the center of Black Mariah’s bridge. Below him the floor screen showed views of an AmerIndian Confederacy outrider ship being decimated by his UDA fleet. “Titan, Atlas and Nero adjust course to intercept the right flank. Recall all fighters and activate Hellfire immediately.”
With that order Lige strolled down from his command position, headed toward the anti-grav platform. “Lieutenant Brax, clean up.” He waved his hand dismissively and exited the bridge.
His aide, Jaret Tucker, waited for him on the anti-grav platform. “Stock portfolio is up three percent over projection for the week and seven percent for the month. Now totaling at 1.6 billion creds. You have three priority communiqués. One from President Sullivan. One from Delia. One from Decker.”
Lige raised an eyebrow. “Decker first.” Jaret nodded.
“Unable to discern whereabouts of Steel Circle. Evidence leads to a water world, most likely in the Periphery, possibly in the NGC 3218 sector. Have learned Celetain Prax will push for a separate tribe for GEB tribals. Reports indicate Prax is been under great stress. She has prophesied a political upheaval in the AC and the emergence of a new leader. A list of four AC hidden supply cache locations and two Kichai corporation fronts is attached. Next report on 03/08/2192.”
Lige smiled. “Excellent. Dispatch one prime ship for each location mentioned with fifty body tank troops each, twenty-five Hammer Grade, twenty-five Nail grade. Report the corporation fronts to the UDA IRS enforcement branch. Decker is performing well. Transfer a bonus of double his monthly pay to his account on Earth. Read Sullivan's communiqué.”
The circular grav platform descended through circles in each deck supported by an anti-grav system. The circles in each deck were illuminated with blue or red denoting if the deck was currently pressurized.
Jaret began the President’s message. “Thank you kindly for your superb work on the Zealot project. I have already filed petition for a valor medal. I am constantly surprised by the information you are able to proffer concerning the AC. You are my only Admiral who seems to always know the AC's next move. I commend you on the intelligence gathering system you have developed. Yet, I must ask why, with your ability to find hidden credit accounts, supply caches and even battle plans, you have been unable to supply me with the data I need most. Where is my daughter, Alexa? How and why was she kidnapped? When will she be returned home? I am aware that you are solely qualified to return my daughter. Your performance in handling AC issues has proven that competency is not the issue here. I am beginning to doubt your dedication to this issue. The Festival begins in two weeks. If my daughter is not safely back on Earth at that time I will be forced to re-evaluate my support for your progress in my Navy.”
Admiral Lige stood motionless, not commenting. Jaret knew better than to interrupt his silence. Lige did not like to be threatened. The Admiral steadied himself, adjusting his uniform. “I will dictate a reply to Sullivan's message tonight. Delia's communiqué, please.”
Jaret read, “Father, Thank you ever so much for the beautiful Fucara necklace. I wear it every day. Each day when I am done with classes I go to the observatory deck of the library. It is so beautiful, the trees and pond remind me of home. You can see the neo-classic influence in the architecture of the buildings on campus. I watch the dusk sky hoping to catch a glimpse of your fleet. I look forward to your return. I have missed you. Please return as soon as you can and above all else, be safe. Love, Delia.”
The anti-grav platform stopped and Jaret strode out, stepping over the twelve centimeters distance between the platform and the floor of Deck 79. Lige followed. Jaret was true samurai in every sense of the word but lineage. He had shown on many occasions that he would lay down his life for Lige. Jaret, now twenty-six, had served with Lige for ten years (since Lige had been a UDA special ops platoon commander).
On a wetwork mission on Outpost Lowen Nine, Lige’s crew had taken a wrong turn when trying to leave the sight of a successful hit. The crew was barreling down a hallway when suddenly a small canister clinked and skittered toward them ending up in the middle of Lige’s men. Each man knew the thermite grenade would vaporize ten square meters. His men skidded to a halt and stood for a short knowing second until Jaret pushed Lige back and jumped on the grenade, yelling, “Run!”
The platoon only had enough time to turn and run a few meters before the grenade detonated. Lige had looked back when he heard the loud hiss of a smoke grenade. Jaret lay there with large clouds of smoke billowing out from under him. Lige ran back, scooped him up and led him out. The smoke temporarily blinded Jaret. Lige lost two men because of the delay Jaret's injury caused but his respect for the boy had been forged then and there. Jaret served as his right hand man from then on.
“What is the report from Stein?”
Jaret tapped the stylus on his datapad. “Stein reports nothing out of the ordinary. Delia is studying hard. One of her professors has shown more attention to her than he should, but like the other two or three suitors she fends off each quarter, she refuses his advances and has paid him no further attention. Her mind is on her studies. Stein's report confirms your daughter does spend twenty or so minutes each evening watching the stars from the library observatory decks. She misses you. Security at Yale is superb. Stein contends he is not protecting her from any real danger. He is one of our best operatives. Perhaps his skills could serve us better somewhere else in the field.”
Lige and Jaret entered the busy prison block. Two guards stepped aside to let Lige pass. He stopped in front of a cell built like a vault.
“Stein is fine where he is. My daughter is a precious and rare creature. Her education and growth is as important to my plans as any of our other projects.”
He turned and faced the door of the cell. “Ace Taft nine two six.” The thick door clicked and swung open automatically at Lige’s voice command.
Jaret followed him into a small cell. The floor and walls were all slate grey. There was nothing in the room except a deep sleep chamber, an ancient relic left over from the early days of space travel.
Lige opened a small hatch on the deep sleep chamber and keyed in an opening string. The chamber hissed and the neuro-ice surrounding the chamber's inhabitant melted to a liquid state. It drained into the chamber's reserve tanks. The person in the chamber blinked and coughed as the lid opened and lifted smoothly on pneumatic controls.
The chamber's occupant lurched forward, blinking and gasping. Lige waited. Suddenly, as the figure began to breathe normally, Lige shot his hand out grasping the person's chin, holding firmly.