Ten

Three weeks later, Tarbos, a maintenance warehouse, 2AM local time

Tarbos nights were uniformly dark, since the planet’s one tiny moon reflected almost no light.  This made clandestine meetings all the easier.

“You brought the progress report?”

“Yes.  The delegates are forming a Constitution.  It looks like it will be based on the principles of at least three Earth nations.”

“Never mind that.  What about military forces?”

“There is a provision for a Navy.  They’ve shown a design for an armed ship, a frigate.  Larger ships are being designed.”

“That’s not going to go over well with my superiors.”

“I didn’t think it would.  I’m just telling you what happened – do you want the truth, or do you want a bunch of song and dance?”

“You’ve done well.”  A package was passed over.  “One week from tonight, same time, same place.  Mind your security.”

“I always do.” 

Tarbos, the Main Conference Hall, the next morning

King Harold I of Corinthia leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling as Stefan Ebensburg of Caliban read off a listing of proposed amendments to the Confederate Constitution.  Several attendants sat around him, their expressions alternating Deep Thought, Rapt Attention and Barely Conscious.  In front of the King, Russia’s Vice President Vladimir Tarakanov was paying close attention, jotting down notes in a flawless Cyrillic script.  The UK’s Prince Harry sat next to the Russian, turning now and then to exchange a whispered comment with his cousin, King Harold.

Mike Junior was finding them all pretty amusing.  His father was doggedly trying to pay attention to the droning Ebensburg reading what was to become the Confederate Bill of Basic Rights.

Freedom of Religious Practice.  The Right to Privacy.  The Right to Bear Arms.  The Right to Free Speech. The Right to a Trial by Jury.  All the rights enumerated in the American Bill of Rights, but put in a bit more modern language; where America’s Second Amendment read “A well-regulated militia, being necessary to the security of a free state, the right of the people to keep and bear arms, shall not be infringed,” the Confederate Third Basic Right was drafted as “The right of no free citizen to bear arms in defense of home, community, or planet shall be called into question.”

Mike liked what he’d heard so far.  A very libertarian interstellar government seemed to be in the works.

A janitorial closet, nearby

“Will this work?”

“Yes.  Turn that dial – there – to thirty minutes.  Push the big button.”

A thunderous roar split the quiet of the morning.

The Main Conference Room

The blast hurled Mike from his chair, slamming him against the floor with rib-cracking force.  A choking blast of dust and grit washed over him, and the shock wave of the explosion rippled sickeningly through his body.  The roar of explosives seemed to come almost as an afterthought, passing as quickly as it came, leaving only the tinkling of broken ceramics, glass and the crackling of flames somewhere.  Mike looked up, eyes stinging, to a room filled with smoke and dust.

“Junior?” he called out.

“Dad?”  Mike coughed instead of sighing in relief at the sound of the familiar voice.  “Are you alright, Dad?”

“I’m fine.  Look for the Vice President, Junior.”

“He’s over here, Dad.  He’s bleeding, but I think he’ll be alright.”

“Good.”  Mike stood up, stretching his arms and legs experimentally.  “The blast came from the back, over there.”

A pair of broad-shouldered OWME Security troops was already running in that direction.  Another tall figure in the uniform of an OWME Security Lieutenant appeared in the dust and haze.  “Ladies and gentlemen, let’s get you all out of here.  Quickly, people!  Let’s all get to a safe location!”

“And where might that be?” Mike wondered quietly.  All but two of the delegates stood slowly, many wincing with the pain of injuries.  Two at the back of the room did not stand; Mike shook off the arm of the Lieutenant to go over to the two prone figures.  He shouted for medical help as he went, but it was to be of little use. 

New Albion’s Angus MacPherson and Forrest Cox of Zed lay dead in the dust and rubble and with them, all hopes of a quick conclusion to the Convention.

The Lieutenant crossed to Mike’s side, shaking his head at the sight of the two bodies.  “Sir,” he repeated, softly, “we really need to get you to a place of safety.  There may be more explosives.  We need to sweep the building.”

“All right,” Mike agreed.  “Who would do something like this?”

“If we can figure that out, sir, I hope they give me five minutes alone with him,” the Security Officer replied.  He’d served four years as a U.K. Royal Marine on Earth, and the warrior mentality was ingrained in him.  “I’d know just how to handle him.”

“I hope you get your chance.”

Fifteen minutes later, Mike found himself in a skimmer with his son and the Gutierrez family, racing south along the coastline.  An OWME shuttle pilot had been impressed to run the skimmer; several other skimmers were accompanying them on the journey, carrying the delegates to safety.

Mike Junior leaned forward, poking his head over the seat into the driver’s compartment.  “Where are we going?”

“Twenty klicks south, the Tide Pool resort,” the driver called over his shoulder, raising his voice so the other passengers could hear.  “It’s a pretty big place.  OWME executives like to hold meetings there, but I don’t reckon it’s big enough for what you all are doing.  Still, it’s a hundred-room hotel.”

“I bet they’ll have a ring of security troops all around it, too,” the younger Crider predicted, dropping back into his seat.

“We can’t really continue the Convention, can we?”  Mike Senior was watching the rolling surf whip past, fifty yards from the skimmer’s window.  “We’ve lost at least two delegates.  We need to have someone from each of the settled worlds.”

“We’ll get new delegates, Mike.”  Hector Gutierrez was holding a blood-soaked bandage to the side of his head, but the cut was superficial.  “This is too important.  We’re delayed, but we’re not stopped.”

“Of course,” Mike agreed.  “You’re right.  This is too important.”  He turned back to the window.  “I wonder who else thinks stopping it is important – and why?”

To see more of Animal’s writing, visit his page at Crimson Dragon Publishing or Amazon.