Legacy of the Centaur (RFVIII), Chapter 15 Part 2
Spoiler alert: This is the work-in-progress of the 8th book in the Reckless Faith series. You may read the prologue here: https://devonai.wordpress.com/2023/10/31/reckless-faith-viii-prologue/
Author’s note: This was meant to be the beginning of chapter 16, but I decided it would fit better as the second half of chapter 15.
The Citadel was the headquarters for all of Alnair’s military might. The largest building on the planet, it had started out some seventy years earlier as the HQ for the forces of several allied countries, eventually hosting at least a small delegation from all of them, before Alnair had become united under one central planetary government. By outward appearances, little had changed over the decades. Consisting of four concentric rings, each thirty meters in height, it boasted a total footprint of over one hundred square kilometers, most of which was available for use as office space. A spire in the central courtyard, clad with white marble, stood over the building, itself ninety meters high.
Seated on a plateau overlooking high desert plain in the middle of Alnair’s eastern continent, the Citadel was well-defended. The original anti-aircraft batteries, long since obsolete, remained as display pieces around its perimeter. Less obvious to the casual eye, plasma cannons, close-in weapons systems, and supersonic missiles sat ready to obliterate any interlopers, near or far. Should someone or something sneak through, the three-meter-thick concrete walls were rated to survive any conventional explosive, and even a small nuclear device. Since learning of their existence, the roof was also hardened to withstand orbital strikes. It was an impressive, expensive building, and Commander Hadar despised it.
Though he had every intention of speaking with him, Admiral Butcher had ordered him to come to his office as soon as he was able. Much to his superior officer’s chagrin, the best Hadar could do was three hours after the Bidelman had returned to orbit. Though he could have easily delegated his mandatory post-mission tasks and briefings to his lieutenants, the curious nature of their sudden departure from Tartarus compelled him to personally ensure everything was in order. Never a consideration before, Hadar had quite recently begun to wonder if there weren’t spies on board the Bidelman.
His shuttle had been cleared to land, and came to rest on a small pad west of the Citadel. He left the small crew to tend to and wait with the vessel, and proceeded alone inside. It was noontime locally, and he immediately encountered dozens of military officers and supernumeraries busying themselves with getting lunch from one of the several restaurants and cafés that the facility hosted. As usual, the polished faux-hardwood floors gleamed from the overhead lights, the walls were free of any decoration, and the toughest senior NCO in the galaxy would be hard pressed to find a single spot of dust anywhere. Sterile, professional, and no-nonsense was the tone in the Citadel, a carry-over from past years where both the peace and survival of Alnair were at stake.
It was primarily this somber mood that led Hadar to so intensely dislike the Citadel. To him, not only did it embody the worst traits of the military, but it also lacked any natural light. Despite how jovial the workers there may have seemed, all of them doubtlessly shared Hadar’s opinion of it: that it was more akin to an emergency bunker, or at times, a tomb, than any place anyone would inhabit willingly. Anywhere else, he could be assured a view of the sky or infinite starfield. It was in no small part responsible for his decision to remain as fleet commander, instead of accepting the promotion to vice-admiral that his time in service suggested.
Though such a rank might have saved him from his current dilemma, his history as a combat soldier made him glad to be in the position he currently found himself; that being, fully responsible for the squad of marines stuck on the surface of Tartarus. No one would advocate for their recovery more than he.
A narrow-gauge rail line, with likewise comically small cars, traveled the circumference of each ring and level of the Citadel, making regular stops at eight stations along their routes. To get to Butcher’s office, Hadar could either take an elevator to the fourth floor, then board a train to the east side of the building, or vice versa. On that day, he chose to take the train first, then board a lift. Along his way, he listened intently to the officers and clerks who attempted to consume at least a part of their meal on their protracted return to their offices. Not one of them uttered a hint of the drama that was unfolding outside the atmosphere of Alnair, nor the fleet’s involvement in it. Whether that was a product of ignorance, or effective opsec training, he would never know.
Arriving at last at Butcher’s office, Hadar strode inside, barely acknowledging the young corporal manning her reception desk. A brief nod was all that was necessary to allow her to wave him inside. He noticed that she used a remote to lock the door to the circumference corridor, and put her telephone on silent. That was fine with the commander. Anything that was about to be said between he and Butcher could remain off the record. The admiral’s office was considerably more opulent than the bland and sanitary environs previous; not only did the senior officer display his many awards in frames along the wall, but he also had several desk and pedestal lamps to replace the cold fluorescents that fit flush into the ceiling.
The man himself seemed somehow fragile in comparison to the broadcast images Hadar was used to seeing. His face was gaunt in the soft light of the lamps, and he seemed to be exhausted. At the beginning of that day, Hadar would have trusted his commander with his life, and meeting him again in person instantly softened his planned approach. Or so it would have happened, if not for the man seated in a leather armchair in the corner. The third person in the room was wearing a semi-formal suit, of the type one might normally reserve for a funeral, or an open-mic poetry reading in a subterranean grotto. Hadar gave him plenty of side-eye before Butcher waved his hand toward a high-backed wooden chair across from his oaken desk. Hadar accepted the offer, the palm of his right hand almost subconsciously brushing the butt of his sidearm as he sat.
“I had hoped this would be a private conversation,” he said, crossing his legs.
“Though you have my full support,” began Butcher, “you will be speaking with Mister Eckes today. You will answer his questions with complete transparency; that’s a direct order.”
Hadar scoffed. “Mister Eckes? Seriously? Will Mister Void and Mister Null be by later to interrogate me, too?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” replied Eckes. “Any further questioning, beyond what I have for you, would be accomplished far away from here. Of course, that eventuality depends entirely on the answers you give me now.”
“The only thing I care about right now is the safety of the marines you forced me to abandon under the surface of Tartarus. If answering your questions will facilitate their retrieval, then I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”
Over the next ten minutes, Eckes grilled Hadar about everything that had happened over the last 24 hours. The commander was easily able to answer all of the questions that Eckes asked him, because his disclosures were either already on the record or could simply be answered with a truthful ‘I don’t know.’ Most of the latter strongly hinted at his involvement in some sort of conspiracy, which was both amusing and infuriating, especially considering who was asking the questions. Hadar kept his outrage to himself, for the most part, only slipping up a couple of times with a sharp retort. Eckes didn’t seem to care.
“Two more things, Commander. First, please tell me where I can find the regulation that allows you to place a satellite without approval from higher fleet?
Hadar looked him in the eye. “It’s a gray area.”
“Commander Hadar had no reason to believe that me or any other admiral here would have denied it,” said Butcher. “He followed the order that I gave him, and left behind a way to communicate with his marines. I would have done the same.”
Eckes said, “Second, you wouldn’t happen to know the location of Secretary Tailor, would you?”
“No fucking clue. So, are you satisfied? Will you permit me to evacuate my marines from Tartarus?”
Eckes stood up, and withdrew a cigarette case from his pocket. “Your men are dead, Commander. Overpowered and murdered by the inmates.”
“With that kind of firepower? Bullshit.”
“They were outnumbered four-to-one. Anyway, believe what you want. Tartarus is off-limits, permanently. The prisoners can starve to death or kill each other, I don’t care.”
“That’s a far worse punishment than most of them deserve,” said Butcher.
Eckes snapped the case shut, and lit a cigarette. “Maybe.”
“You can’t make a disaster like this just go away,” said Hadar. “Those men have families, comrades… Do you think all of them will just accept this outlandish explanation?”
Eckes headed for the door. “That’s the explanation I expect you and your PA people to release to the public. We’re done here.”
The door slammed shut, leaving the two officers in stunned silence.
Continue reading: https://devonai.wordpress.com/2024/03/11/the-wolf-and-the-centaur-rfviii-chapter-16/
