Chapter 14 - Who Is Eviler, The Helper Of Evil Or Evil Itself?
The Admiral sat, reading Qu'jets detailed report and analysis concerning the Beast.
"You mean, to tell me...the Beast is a Unbound creation? That it itself is in a Unbound state? That it was created by the Bentusi? And...here, that it is alive, sentient, and out to assimilate us all in a quest for order to chaos?"
"Yes, sir."
The admiral leaned back on his chair, Qu'jet taking the time to look about the spacious office facility. Beige walls, ceiling, floor, mid 8000's type furniture...
"Now, we have worse situations on our hands. The only sympathizers we have say the Imperium is preparing to hunt us down. We have defensive preparations to make. We will be moving away from this place, seeing that the Beast will be coming, and maybe the Imperial forces as well. Dismissed."
The admiral coughed as Qu'jet left, walking to a lift, he punched the wall as the lift went down.
Damn! We cannot do this. If we leave, then we will die. If we stay, then we will die.
Walking to his quarters he locked the door, patching in his private comm unit into the carrier Immortal Emperor, Bombardier 2nd class Rochell.
Looking into the screen he sees Rochell, in pilots gear, as if ready to go very very soon.
"Hey, Rochell, long time no see...we have a problem out here."
"What the hell? They said you and your ship defected, and was working with the Beast to over throw everybody. They even say the Beast, you and the Unbound are collaborating. Bentusi Tradeships are leaving. We were following one but we were attacked by Tiamat Crabships...our entire battle group, gone. We got lucky. What's going on? Why do you look like you have something on your mind..."
"Rochell, I have bad news. You remember the Emperor? He lives."
Rochell was silent, his face going pale.
"You're not kidding me?"
"Yep. Councilman Risseau is one of the Emperors clones. Bio-lab matched it. It is he who is working with the Beast. When he was aboard he worked out the deal with that...thing. We know too much Rochell. His computer is here, the crew has seen his presence here...we've even seen the main beast vessel. An Imperial fleet is repairing it as we speak. The 1st Elite Guard is gone. They are Sajuuk-knows-where."
Still more silence...
"What can I do then Rochell?"
He sighed...what could anybody do? The Emperor was very thorough, and would leave no holes within any plans.
"Nothing, I guess. Except send an anoymous thing to INN. Transmitting the data we got from Risseaus unit to yours. Get it to INN...it may be our only hope out here."
Fumbling around he plugged a chip into the computer and transmitted the information, the transcripts, plans, official communiques, and so forth. Turning off the unit he headed off to the nearest bar.
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Walking down the corridors in standard uniform he took a left and went down the hall, seeing the bar where most of the fighter pilots went, called the "Fiirky-bird", the logo a Fiirkan-class scout blazing across a asteroid belt, with the words "The BIG GREAT FIIRKY!" super imposed on top of it.
Walking in he watched the strike craft pilots, in varying degrees of alchoholic toxicitiy. He goes to a stool and orders a "Afterburn", a exoctic concoction of differently brewed spirits, plus other components. Getting the mug he studies the liquid, a light green. Shaking the mug very slightly he notes a viscous state, the stuff was rather thick. Another shake revealed it to be almost like nearly-frozen Jelly.
He chuckles and downs the strangely sweet tasting liquid, the alcohol quickly working through his bloodstream, in a matter of seconds he begins hallucinating...and then strangely clearing up before he enters a drunken stupor.
Lowering the nearly finished mug he looks out the porthole again. The stuff was good, he liked it in that it did not give a eternal hangover, which was a good thing...he'd seen pilots drink themselves stupid, only to have to report to battle stations in seconds. It was not fun...but as per se Taiidani Imperial Military Code, the Afterburn had to be formulated as to not induce massive hangovers, or impair vision and judgment.
Sliding the mug away he watches the chatting pilots, most of them talking about this or that girl, this or that porno flick, this or that kill. Perhaps it was too predictable.
He heard the hiss of the door.
A handful of people walked in, the bar was by far empty, and could accomodate about three hundred or so people. Only sixty looked to be present. It was getting quite loud as of now.
Looking around he discreetly snuck out and was gone, the price of the drink deducted from pay, incredibly novel, this new feature was, used in place of bar tabs.
He'd had enough to drink...even though he did not enter stupor-land. He had to make plans. That and the Voices of the Unbound were calling.
Walking with a steady tread he entered his room, turning around and locking the door; as the light turned on he flicked the switch and killed it, preferring to illuminate his room by the natural starlight, in contrast to the oppressively bright halogens that were preferred by others.
Sitting on a reclining chair he leaned back and stared into the ceiling, putting both hands behind his head, bathed in the pale light of distant stars.