🚀 go-pugleaf

[[Continued from Part One]]



     Leftenent Commander Ricardo Montelbon (Coincidence) was staring out
into the depths of space, sipping Xolchacoffee and smiling in a dramatic
(and somewhat disturbing) way.
     Leftenent Peter Weller (Coincidence) didn't like it.  Not one bit.
If anything, his superior's orders had gotten even more erratic.  Not
only had they been performing encroachment-level scans of Ottsamattawidu
worlds... but all of a sudden he had ordered *all* such scans ended, and
had taken to just haunting the halls.
     His command staff -- Leftenent Burton and Subleftenent Biggs-Dawson
-- had also been poking around, not actually doing things.  Just
watching.  Which made Weller even more nervous.
     His support staff -- Officers Fox and Lien and Doctor Picardo --
had been ordered to stay on the "Cold Equations" and make no contact
with the Base Station.
     It was beyond weird.  It was beyond scary.
     It was all vaguely uncool.
     Weller glanced at his Xolchawatch.  Any moment now... so time to
have a reason to be in the lounge.  He wandered over to Montelbon.
"Evening, sir," he said.
     "Weeeeeeeeeller," Montelbon hissed, pleasantly enough.
     "It's a nice view," Weller said.  "I like this one."
     "It is a view into the heart of the Taaaaaaaaaybard Reach
Chaaaaaaaannel..." Montelbon said, looking.  "And after all,
Weeeeeeeller, that is why we are here, is it not?  To look within the
heart of the Channel for siiiiiiiiiiiigns of our enemies, and
proteeeeeeeeect those in our charge?"
     "It's why I'm here, all right, sir," Weller said.  "Anyhow, I've
got some Xolchipalium Consumption reports from Task Force Seven if you'd
like to go over them?"
     "Refeeeeeeeeeer them to Burton.  He likes nuuuumbers, eh?"
Montelbon smiled in a way that was designed to be comradely.  It was
not.
     "You've got it.  Also, I wanted to check manpower disper--"
     There was the Klaxon of priority communications.  "Um, sir?"
Goldblum's voice echoed throughout the lounge over the Xolchabose
speakers, "I, uh, I think maybe you should come up here--"
     "Right.  On my way," Weller said, swinging out the door.
     "I shall come wiiiiiiiith you," Montelbon said, following.
     "I can probably handle it."
     "Of that, I have no doubt, officeeeeeeeer...."
     Weller affected the perfect body language of an Officer being
crowded by a C.O. and walked down the hall.
     Perfect.  Montelbon was taking the bait.  Now to see if they could
reel him in.
     The two strode into the communications center, and Goldblum half-
fled from the seat at the board.  Weller took it.
     Leftenent Geena Davis (Coincidence) was on the screen, covered with
soot.  There were flares and flashes behind her, and Officer Julie Brown
(Coincidence) was seemingly trying to put out a fire.  "Peter," she
said. "we've got a pirate raid in progress.  We need backup, Sector
Nine."
     "Sector Nine?" Montelbon asked, brow furrowed.  "That is deeeeeeeep
within the Channel--"
     "I hear you," Weller said.  "I'll call Leftenent Russell and see if
I can't route a small floatilla in your direction--"
     "No," Montelbon snapped.  "You will nooooooot do this!"
     Weller spun in his chair.  "Sir?" he asked.  "We've had a request
for backup.  We can't just ignore it."
     Montelbon's eyes pulsed with barely contained rage.  "We... dare
not antagonize the Ottsamattawidus fuuuuuurther, Leftenent.  A major
incursion into the Channel--"
     "Sir," Weller said, his eyes hooded with anger, "your scans are
what stirred them up in the first place.  We cannot and will not leave
X.D.F. personnel in trouble and not back them up.  If I have to call
Central Processing I will--"
     "No," Montelbon snarled.  "You will not--"
     "Is anyone there?" Davis called on the Comm Panel.  "Anyone?  Peter
-- did you receive--"
     "Um, sir," Goldblum said.  "What -- er, that is--"
     "What," Weller and Montelbon snapped in unison to the junior
officer.
     "Urk.  Um... look, one Gunboat wouldn't antagonize the
Ottsamattawidus.  Um, it looks like the Support Staff of the `Cold
Equations' doesn't have much to do right now anyhow.  What if they were
to fly out there and give backup?  They could take the `If This Goes
On....'"
     Montelbon's face twisted in anger.  "I saaaaaid--"
     "Sir," Weller snapped, "it's not a bad idea.  It gets a few
officers who seem to be cooling their heels anyway into the field, and
we're not shifting forces around.  We can route any further information
right through the Base Station."
     "Right through heeeeeere," Montelbon said quietly.  "Yeeeeees.
Well done, Goldblum.  Well done, Weller.  Do so.  Have Fox, Lien and
Picardo go -- they might need Medical Support."
     "Right.  You've got it.  Of course, without support, you and your
Command Crew will have to stick here for a while longer--"
     "I am awaaaaare of that," Montelbon said with a cool smile.  He
walked out.
     "He's, um, he's getting weirder," Goldblum said.
     "I know," Weller said.  "Seriously uncool."  He settled into the
chair again.  "Geena... `help' is on the way."
     Davis was wiping soot off her red-skinned face.  "Oh great," she
said.  "Mind telling me why you wanted me to fake an alert?"
     "When I know, you'll know.  Promise."
     "Good enough.  Out."
     Weller looked at the blanked screen.  He had the authority to send
Fox, Lien and Picardo deeper into the channel.  Davis and Brown would
cover for them.  They could make it to Ottsamattawidu space and find out
just what the Hell was going on.  Maybe get the evidence they needed for
Weller to justify calling Central Processing and telling them the Hero
of the Eastern Front was either suborned or cracked in the head.

                           * * * * * *

     Mike came in, dressed somewhat casually.  Jane was with him, in her
uniform without her mask.  She was wearing her Headphones, and so she
was interacting normally.
     "You're a bit late," Trashman said coolly.  Jane almost flinched --
Trashman was good at that.
     Mike just smiled a bit.  "Traffic, don't you know?"
     "Of course.  Admiral -- I believe we're assembled?"
     Admiral Narnius nodded.  He, Lenoxius and Frobozius were sitting at
a table in one of the conference rooms at the Militia's landing field
facilities.  Jane and Mike sat as well.
     "First off," the Admiral said, "our congratulations and thanks.
Your quick thinking saved Planet Seattle and possibly helped to preserve
the Ottsamattawidu Confederation itself.  I expect there will be medals
and the like."
     "Certainly," Trashman said.  "The lion's share of the credit should
go to Spandex Babe, Dangerousgirl and the Masked Bruce -- their actions
were the decisive ones--"
     "Nuh-uh," the Masked Bruce said.  "The whole team did it.  Without
the whole team, it wouldn't have worked."
     Trashman smiled slightly.  "Well, I won't argue the point.  Thank
you for your words, Admiral.  Now, shall we get to the business at
hand?"
     "Indeed.  The business still to be dealt with remains the
Omniquantum Megabracers--"
     "Um... do you guys mind if we call them the Oanthat?" Mike asked.
"I mean, it's just more... I dunno.  Poetic."
     Frobozius snickered.  "You don't get the military mindset at all,
do you?"
     "Oh hush," Lenoxius said.
     "Be that as it may," Trashman said, "there is still the Oanthat to
deal with, yes.  For the moment, they seem to be safely contained.
Mike, how do you feel?"
     "Pretty darn spiffy, boss.  No troubles, and no weird tendency to
talk in neo-Kosh-like statements."
     "Excellent.  This gives us some breathing room."  Trashman turned
to Narnius.  "What do you propose?"
     "What we discussed before," Narnius said.  "We'll have our
unimaginative soldier come to the surface, transfer the bracers to him,
and--"
     "Hope for the best," Mike asked.  "Seems risky."
     Lenoxius raised an eyebrow.  "Maybe," he said.  "But we don't
really know what else we *can* do."
     "Well... here's something to think about.  You don't know what the
Lathe of Life is, right?  You're assuming it's experience -- but you're
giving the bracers that were meant to be used by someone who's gone
*through* that Lathe of Life to a man whose only redeeming quality is
he's unimaginative.  That's not the brightest plan I've heard all week."
     "We're aware of that," Narnius said.  "We don't have an
alternative."
     "Sure you do."
     "What?"
     Mike leaned back, folding his arms behind his head.  "I can keep
them," he said.
     Narnius blinked.
     Trashman raised an eyebrow.
     "Are you high," Frobozius asked.
     "I'm *not* high," Mike said.  "Think about it -- I've not been
affected by them.  You've got no guarantee that'll be true of anyone
else besides me.  I've got experience.  *And* I'm an Un-KAL Mil-TEE --
I'm used to powers beyond the ken of Man or Hottentot.  Who else do you
know that falls under those headings?"
     "You're not an Ottsamattawidu citizen," Lenoxius protested.  "This
is one of the most powerful artifacts our Militia has--"
     "It does you no good without a wielder," Mike shot back.  "And
besides -- the Oanthat aren't Ottsamattawidu.  You just recovered them
after the death of the last wielder.  I'm a member of the Xolchipalian
Defense Forces -- right there you know I'm not going to act against the
interests of the Confederation."
     "Mike," Trashman said quietly, "I think we should discuss this in
priv--"
     "There's nothing to discuss," Narnius said.  "The bracers are going
to stay in the hands of the Militia.  What would I be able to tell our
beloved Empress if--"
     "*Sir!*" one of the communications Ensigns shouted, running into
the room.  "Come quickly -- we've got a Gold Level communication from
the Imperial Seat!"
     "What?" Narnius said, pushing out of his chair and following the
Ensign.  The other officers followed, and Trashman, Jane and Mike
followed behind.
     "Mike," Trashman murmured.  "What is this?  Are you certain those
Bracers have had no eff--"
     "Boss," Mike said, "I don't want to have to risk all our lives
again to get the Bracers from another proto-megalomaniac.  I'm gonna
argue the point.  But if they say hand them over, I will."
     Trashman nodded.  "I understand," he said, and the three crowded
into the monitor room, along with many officers of the Militia.
     They were staring at the main display, which had the Empress Glum
on it.  She had just started speaking when the heroes arrived.
     "...rumblings of secession have grown into open rebellion on at
least two planets, and I have been made aware of discontent on many of
the worlds of the Outlying Domains, particularly those that are closer
to the Muuuahahahahan Empire's holdings in this dimension and its
allies.
     "It has become clear that the government, as it is currently
incarnated, is not serving the concerns of the Confederation beyond the
short-term needs of protection against our enemies.  It is for this
reason that I am issuing this Decree, effective immediately.
     "The current Parliament is dissolved, by my authority as vested in
the Articles of Confederation.  Election will be held in exactly six
Imperial Months time to provide a new Parliament."
     There was a gasp in the room.  "I knew it," a Slackeryan muttered.
"This is the first step to the purge--"
     "Shut up," another said, staring at the screen in disbelief.
     "...many of you are wondering just what, exactly, this will
change," Glum was continuing on the screen.  "The remaining points of my
decree will clarify.
     "The most persistent, and most legitimate, criticism against the
representative government is that it lacks the power to enact the wishes
of the people, that too much power is still centered in the Throne.
Some have... vehemently... suggested that the solution is to dissolve
the Confederation, and restore the Empire.
     "I intend to do the opposite."
     There was another gasp.  No one interrupted this time.
     "Upon the inauguration of the new Parliament, the decree of
Kikadkem III, which revoked all privileges of royalty for all except the
Emperor and those directly in line for the Throne in 3,570 F.E., will be
extended to cover the Throne itself.  All Imperial power will be
divested onto the Parliament and its elected Prime Minister.  The
Imperial Palace will become the residence of the Prime Minister and the
meeting place of the new government.
     "For all intents and purposes, I am the Last Empress of the
Ottsamaddawidu Empire, although I will retain the nominal title after my
royal privileges are dissolved, and it will be passed on to my eldest
children, much like other titles are passed down.  The Palace, as I
stated, will be a gift to the new government, while I will retain my
family's land on Lanalus and Planet California.
     "This choice was not an easy one to make, but I believe it must be
done, for the Confederation to succeed.  The humans of Earth have a
saying: `sink or swim.'  And while humans also tend to say things like
`I like Ike,' and `gosh, that 'Wheel of Fortune is brainy t.v.,' please
don't discount the saying on that basis.  If the Confederation is to
succeed, its government must have the ability to make it work.  If it
fails, then it must be allowed to dissolve into independent star
systems.
     "Thank you, and good night."  The Empress and her backdrop
disappeared from the screen, replaced by an episode of 'I Fleegled an
Arcturian,' (already in progress).
     There was a long pause.
     "Why do advanced civilizations *always* bring up `Wheel of
Fortune,'" Jane muttered.
     "My Elvis," Narnius said.  "This... how... how could they do this?"
     "It's wonderful," the formerly outraged Slackeryan said.  "They're
empowering the people!"
     "It's a travesty," another one said.  "Parliament sucks!"
     "It's a very brave move," Trashman said quietly.
     "And you know what else it is," Mike said, leaning near the
Admiral.
     "What?"
     "It's a sign that in six months, there's going to be an entirely
new government.  Who knows what they're going to want or feel about what
you decide today.  All your stability means nothing, all of a sudden.
Hard to say which way to jump, isn't it?  I mean, if you take the
Oanthat and give them to your officer, and he goes nuts in a year or
so... well, the new Parliament's not going to like that much at all, are
they?"
     Narnius blinked.  He slowly turned to Mike.  "And if *you* go
`nuts' in a year?"
     Mike smiled slightly.  "I won't."
     "You'll forgive me if that doesn't comfort me much."
     "Sure..." Mike smiled a bit more broadly.  It was a predator's
smile.  "On the other hand -- if I *did* lose control... I'll be in the
Moroboshi Delta, on Planet Earth.  Far enough from even the closest
worlds of the Confederation to be a threat to your interests.  You want
to tell me what the best way to serve the people... and the new
government... is?"
     Narnius arched both his eyebrows slowly.  "You know how to present
a convincing argument," he said quietly.  "I'm not sure *that* makes me
any more comfortable than I already was."
     "Which means you're agreeing?" Mike asked, looking ever so slightly
smug.
     "Which means I'm agreeing," Narnius said, looking ever so slightly
disturbed.
     "Pleasure doing business with you," Mike said, and shook the
Admiral's hand.  Behind him, Trashman was watching, eyebrow slightly
raised.
     But he said nothing, for the moment.




[[Continued in Part Three]]



--
Eric Alfred Burns             | The happiest moment in anyone's life
sabre@superfluous.wa.com      | is that moment of glorious, madcap fraud
http://www.halcyon.com/sabre  | when you send personal e-mail out
Poet, Writer, Gadfly-for-Hire | on company time, like this piece here.