Enemy Within (One Small Step out of the Garden of Eden,#4)

By Robert Wagoner

Two star systems.One common enemy.

From the smoking rubble of war on a faraway planet, the surviving Centauries—our intrepid but haggard band of explorers—emerge, scarred by their terrible ordeal. Nothing is as it is supposed to be: Fond reunions bring bitterness; Lies exposed confess their terrible truth; An alien planet becomes home, while home has become so alien. A new day reveals an unforeseen darkness.

Back home, Terrae Solaris is in peril. Risking everything against overwhelming odds, the Centauries set off on the final leg of their unenviable journey. But once again, discord threatens to undo them. Once again, secrets from their pasts place them in peril. Once again, Europa’s dark history conspires against them. And no one counted on the one factor that may undo them all: the enemy within.

About the Series:
Enemy Within is the fourth and final installment of the series One Small Step out of the Garden of Eden. The series, set five hundred years after the first Apollo moon landing, follows four young adults through their journey to find themselves and their place in the universe. The series is written for adults but has a PG-13 audience and can be enjoyed by ages 16 and up.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Robert Wagoner
• Release date: May 26, 2012
• ISBN: 9780982628584

Robert Wagoner

At the age of four, Robert Wagoner watched the live broadcast of the Apollo 11 moon landing. He then spent his entire childhood following space exploration and dreaming of being an astronaut. A native of the Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania region; he lives with his wife and children in New England, where he works for a technology firm.

Book preview

A Brief History (short recap of Exodus)

Main Story

Chapter 1 – Scheming Martians

A Look Back – The Sad History of Terrae Solaris

Chapter 2 – Tristan Baylor

Chapter 3 – Carus

Chapter 4 – Christian Baylor

Chapter 5 – Emir Kern

Chapter 6 – Benjamin Morris

Chapter 7 – James Mitchell

Chapter 8 – Mos Thieren

Chapter 9 – Alden Maurer

Chapter 10 – Cyril Davidson

Onward

Chapter 11 – Mars Meeting

Chapter 12 – Hostile Territory

Chapter 13 – Partings

Chapter 14 – Two World Leaders

Chapter 15 – When in Eratosthenes …

Chapter 16 – When on Elara …

Chapter 17 – En Passant

Chapter 18 – Chaos

Chapter 19 – The Argus II Array

Chapter 20 – "MENE, MENE …

Chapter 21 – … TEKEL, UPHARSIN."

Another Look Back

Chapter 22 – A Brother

Chapter 23 – A Friend

Chapter 24 – A Crisis

Onward Once More

Chapter 25 – … Rise …

Chapter 26 – Fading Glory

Chapter 27 – An Election

Chapter 28 – Estrangement

Chapter 29 – Partings

Reader Links

ONE SMALL STEP

OUT OF THE

GARDEN OF EDEN

Series

Part One: Call of Destiny

Part Two: Chasing Tyranny

Part Three: Exodus

Part Four: Enemy Within

To my wife and children.

CHAPTER ONE

Scheming Martians

March 4, 2524 A.D.

Chancellor Gael Pariseau, long-time leader of the Republic of Western Mars, stood before a window in a secluded second-floor overlook of his official residence. The residence stood prominently among the many government buildings in the bustling capitol city, a cavernous habitat buried just beneath the surface of Promethei Terra in the southern highlands of Mars. And just like Earth States’ capitol in Eratosthenes, the Moon, the Martian city within looked like any Earth city, complete with streets, parks, and a transparent, protective ceiling that mimicked a topaz sky. Yet the metropolis boasted an old world ambiance unique to Martian culture.

The second-floor room overlooked a gorgeous, secluded terrace at the back of the residence. Pariseau, a burly man in a traditional chancellors’ robe and boasting a mop of curly, blond hair, studied every movement and gesture from his unexpected guests sitting around the table below. Their voices washed into the small room from speakers in the wall, and his ears kept attentive to every word spoken. Of course, the new arrivals below, oblivious to the secluded overlook, exchanged mostly small talk as they shared a meal. Yet subtle remarks concerning their intentions leached into the mundane conversation.

And the discussion grew increasingly unsettled each moment.

So we have Terran guests from 18 Scorpii? Marius Fiske, Chancellor of the Republic of Eastern Mars, mused upon entering the room. Also wearing a traditional robe denoting his high position, the smaller man with darker features sidled up beside his peer. As he took in the sight of Michael Gillen, Emir Kern, Kara Ricci, Kate Gillen, Phil Marcotte, and David Tashjian sitting at the table below, his face washed over with the same concern as Pariseau. Most interesting.

Yes, isn’t it?

But are they really who they claim to be?

Pariseau offered a long sigh. They didn’t arrive in their Slipstream-capable ship; that would have been the best proof.

And a windfall for us too.

"Yes, that’s why they didn’t bring the vessel here. My experts debriefed them and performed bio scans. The scans confirmed recent exposure to cryogenic suspension conditions."

Do their stories check out?

Mostly. Pariseau’s brow crumpled. They claim to have arrived from 18 Scorpii a week ago. Yet their cellular-level markings suggest they arrived as much as two months ago. It’s hard to tell if they’re lying: The Terrans surpassed us in cryogenic technology long ago. Maybe they improved the recovery time. The burly man studied the table for the longest time, particularly taking in the sight of Michael Gillen below. He gestured with his eyes, and his face sobered. "But him … I don’t need my experts to tell me his identity. I’d know Michael Gillen’s face and solitary expression anywhere."

Yes, our meeting with Mos Thieren and James Mitchell thirteen years ago.

Exactly.

Trading concerned looks, the two men fell silent and watched their guests below, whose gestures and veiled conversations suggested an unstated tension between them. Michael sat away from everyone else, a difficult task given the table was round and not that big. Despite the company of his team, the young man sat there as if existing in his own separate world.

Gillen still has that untamed, reckless look, Pariseau mused, his pale blue eyes taking in the sight with much disdain. —but now it’s worse.

I count only six of them, Fiske added. Didn’t Earth States send twelve people?

Yes, and those who remain are clearly divided.

And what about their mission to capture Aurelian Galerius?

Pariseau nodded, his concern readily apparent. They won’t talk about their mission. Something happened to them on Sco-II.

Silence fell over the small room, and the chancellors studied the interaction between the 18 Scorpii crew below.

Gillen sent a private message through one of my aides, Pariseau finally said. He wants to meet with you and me privately—after we meet with him and his team. No one on his team is aware of the request.

Really?

Yes, Marius, and I can’t help wondering about the timing of this unexpected visit.

And why a separate meeting without his team?

Pariseau took in the sight of Michael sitting at the table below, the young man’s distant gaze and guarded demeanor. He’s up to something, Marius—and none of his team knows it.

Because if they did, none of them would support him.

Exactly. He looked his long-time friend straight in the eyes. "Michael Gillen needs our help, not theirs."

Fiske took in Pariseau’s pensiveness before turning once more to Michael Gillen below. After a long moment of studying the young man, he waxed over in concern. But can we trust him?

"Can we trust any Terran anymore? Pariseau huffed, his gaze steeling against such a thought. Terran treachery forced our alliance with Carus on Europa. I foresee a similar turn with Michael Gillen. A brooding pause followed. Whatever Gillen is up to, he’s working on his own. And if he has access to ships with Slipstream propulsion, we must take advantage of such an opportunity. The very survival of Mars may lie in Michael Gillen’s hands, even if he doesn’t realize it."

A LOOK BACK

The Sad History of Terrae Solaris

CHAPTER TWO

Tristan Baylor

October 15, 2470 A.D. (fifty-five years earlier)

Professor Tristan Baylor sat fear-struck in the visitors’ chair in the office of Maayan Gerhardt, President of Earth States Military Academy on Earth. Watching the livid administrator pace back and forth behind the sprawling desk, the twenty-six-year-old ignored the beautiful fall day washing in through the windows.

And unlike his many other visits with his middle-aged superior, the young man’s thoughts didn’t brim with the complex politics of the day, the end of the Ceres Skirmishes three years earlier, or urgent university business; all frequent conversation topics. Neither did Baylor foresee a lunatic rising to power on Europa twenty-nine years in the future, a lunatic who would wield the incredible power of the coming Europan Empire to terrorize the solar system. No, such musings belonged to the hand of fate alone. Instead, the aspiring academic merely hoped to survive his summons to Gerhardt’s office. His young face betrayed his grave concern.

"You had to know that Isolda didn’t come here alone, Gerhardt fumed, still pacing. —that word would reach her father about this. Shaking his head, he stopped and glared at his unnerved protégé through a tense silence. Where is she now?"

My apartment.

Has she contacted her father?

The young man offered a hapless shrug.

The graying administrator let out a cynical laugh. "You may be the youngest tenured-professor at the university, Tristan. And your International Cooperative Program may have brought you many accolades. But with Isolda, you acted foolishly!"

In surrender, Tristan slouched in his chair. Putting one elbow on the chair’s armrest, he rested his chin on a curled palm. A sigh followed. I let my passion get the best of me.

"That’s an understatement. You seduced the eldest daughter of an Elaran chancellor, a young girl betrothed from birth to the next chancellor in line! Isolda was to be wed to him upon graduation from the university. He let his words linger. Do you know how bad you made this university—and all of Earth States—look to the Elaran people?"

Tristan suffered Gerhardt’s probing gaze. His thoughts filled with the many political problems plaguing that small moon orbiting Jupiter. Isolda said it was her choice. She didn’t love him.

"Love? President Gerhardt scoffed, finally sitting down in his chair. What do either of you know about love? You only met her two months ago. His face sobered all the more. And what does love have to do with international diplomacy and matters of state? You of all people should understand that. Then his eyes narrowed. Do you even know how old she is?"

Tristan, taken back by Gerhardt’s confidence, hesitated. She told the justice of the peace she was eighteen.

She’s not. Elara doesn’t recognize our calendar year. They also have differing views on rites of passage into adulthood. A foreboding pause followed. Let’s just say that, if she were a Terran, she wouldn’t be old enough to consent to marriage. When the young man withered, he scoffed, "You married a child, Tristan. Your fly-by-night nuptials aren’t legal."

The young man squirmed, and an awkward silence fell over the room.

Gerhardt leaned back in his chair. His face welled with cynicism. "Explain something to me, Professor Baylor: How does such a promising Political Studies professor and future Nobel Laureate, a man responsible for creating the most prestigious international exchange program in Terrae Solaris—bring disgrace upon himself and his country so easily?"

The young man sat there, dumbfounded.

The ink isn’t even dry on the Pallas Treaty, Gerhardt pressed. "The Ceres Skirmishes only ended three years ago. International tensions are high, and the Weightless are overrunning Elara. Isolda’s father is buried by complicated problems …—a calculating pause—… and you decide to steal his oldest daughter from his successor."

"I … I don’t know. But I can’t undo it."

When I sent you to Elara two months ago to personally escort Isolda to Earth States, you were supposed to assuage the chancellor’s concerns over sending her here. You were her surety, Tristan. And had you played your cards right with the chancellor, he would have appointed you as his special envoy. As Isolda’s protector, you would have offered her hand to her future husband at the marriage ceremony, an honor never given to an outsider. Your success would have been Earth States’ success. His face filled with scorn. Instead, you gave in to your baser instincts and disgraced all of us.

Once more, an awkward silence fell over the room.

Tristan sat across the desk, trading telling looks with his superior. But then he took a deep breath, and sat up in his chair. I accept whatever punishment the university deems appropriate.

Yes, you will, Gerhardt said, his eyes narrow. I spoke to Chancellor Baris. The father of Isolda’s betrothed wants to keep this quiet. They agreed that Isolda is defiled; she can no longer take her place as a chancellor’s wife, so her younger sister will be betrothed to the man instead. Since Elaran betrothals stay secret until official engagement ceremonies closer to the wedding, no one will ever know Isolda’s disgrace.

What will happen to her?

Gerhardt looked him straight in the eyes. "She can’t stay here." Once more, an intentional pause. But Chancellor Baris is a cunning politician: You will resign your position here at the university. You’ll then accompany Isolda back to Elara. Upon your arrival, her father will announce her engagement to you, to foster Elara’s newfound alliance with Earth States—a cover story. He will also appoint you as sponsor of a new International Cooperative Program at the University of Elara. After an acceptable engagement, you and Isolda will wed, and both of you can disappear into obscurity. He tapped the desk three times. Do you accept?

After a hesitation, Tristan offered a reluctant nod.

Good, because you don’t have a choice. Now get out of my office, Tristan. I never want to see you again.

* * * * * * * *

Professor Tristan Baylor made his way down the stone walkway that cut through the main quad of Earth States Military Academy, his head down and his face drawn in shame. Though the afternoon sun warmed his face against the cool, fall air, the aspiring twenty-six-year-old paid no mind. Neither did he notice the brilliant golden yellow leaves adorning the trees lining the grassy quad, nor the ivy-covered buildings surrounding the quad, nor the many uniformed cadets enjoying the fleeting fall season. Instead, his thoughts ran heavy over his discussion with President Gerhardt just minutes earlier—

An uproar erupted among the crowd of cadets just ahead.

Two sophomore cadets stood inside a makeshift circle of ranting onlookers, beating each other. One of the cadets stood tall and composed against his diminutive, rather lanky opponent, who boasted more injuries and a possessed indignation. The fight was already catching the attention of the rest of the grounds.

"Not again," Baylor lamented.

He rushed toward the fight, breaking through the onlookers egging on the combatants. Stepping into the heart of the conflict, he wrenched them apart by their collars. Enough!

The fighting immediately ceased.

So he stared down the two young men. What is it this time? Keeping them apart with his arms outstretched—a formidable task, given his smaller, thinner frame to the larger cadet’s size—he waited them out. However, when both cadets traded piercing stares, Baylor looked the taller cadet square in the eyes. Explain yourself, Cadet Mitchell!

He’s a troublemaker! Can’t keep his mouth shut!

You started it! the smaller cadet fumed.

A nineteen-year-old James Mitchell, still restrained in Baylor’s grasp, fumed even more. Glaring at his antagonist, he sneered. "You shouldn’t be here; you don’t deserve to be here, Galerius! Go back where you belong!"

Aurelian Galerius, also nineteen, boiled at the intentional mocking. He lunged at Mitchell once more—his efforts thwarted by Baylor’s unwavering grip on him.

Enough, Cadet Galerius! Baylor shouted. In his peripheral vision, he noticed several administrators approaching the standoff. So staring down both of them, he shook his head. I’m tired of the fighting between you two. If I catch you fighting again, I’ll have both of you expelled! Is that understood?

James Mitchell and Aurelian Galerius traded contending stares. However, both cadets relented. Professor Baylor urged Mitchell away in one direction, while Galerius’ fellow Europan cadets pulled him in the opposite direction.

Baylor, one arm wrapped around the larger James Mitchell to keep him moving away, looked to Aurelian Galerius behind him. He flashed the young Europan a sympathetic look. Aurelian, go to your room. I’ll catch up with you later.

The crowd behind him quickly dispersed, and the administrators lost interest.

The young professor ushered Cadet Mitchell away. When another cadet, a good friend of Mitchell’s, followed them, Baylor steeled his gaze at him. Go to your dorm, Cadet Derringer.

A young Boyce Derringer relented and walked away.

What’s wrong with you, James? Baylor chided, stepping an arms length away and keeping pace with the young cadet. I expect better behavior from a sophomore cadet with such overwhelming talent and leadership skills. Yet every time I turn around, you’re trading fisticuffs with Galerius.

"That fool doesn’t know when to shut his mouth."

Do you really think world leaders send their children to our International Cooperative Program—so over-zealous Earth States cadets like you can beat on them? When Mitchell offered a hapless gawk, he pressed, Why all the fighting with Aurelian?

Mitchell took a few steps while brooding. He straightened his disheveled uniform too. Though his face brimmed with youthful naiveté, his gaze nevertheless radiated a deep sense of conviction and purpose. He carried his tall, athletic frame likewise. Even his natural swagger foretold of a remarkable future. Yet he bristled over the brawl with Cadet Galerius. Something isn’t right about him. He’s different—and full of wild ideas. And he’s far too eager to criticize Earth States.

You need to understand his predicament, Professor Baylor countered, still keeping pace down the walkway. When the young cadet flashed an incredulous look, he added, Europa still stings over forced governing oversight by the Mars republics—and reparations they can’t afford. Despite a cordial public face, they don’t want anything to do with Terran efforts to foster international cooperation. They didn’t send us children of their nobles, as we requested. Instead, they filled our roster with commoners.

Mitchell, his eyes wide, glanced back at where Aurelian walked away in the distance. Then he looked to Baylor. Galerius is an Europan commoner?

I know such a structured class system is an alien concept here on Earth. Not so on Europa.

Mitchell rather relished the words. In fact, he almost laughed. Then at least the sentiment about him is unanimous.

Aurelian overcame so many obstacles just to come here, James, Baylor said, his dissatisfaction readily apparent. Every day, he fights an uphill battle against our alien culture, our language, and the reservations of his own people for being here. He works to support himself too. You should respect that.

I respect reasonable discourse, not his zealous ranting.

Aurelian is struggling to keep his place here. Fighting with him only aggravates his problems.

James Mitchell took in the words with much ambivalence. Silence fell over the two young men, who continued walking away from the main quad.

I know you spend a lot of time tutoring and mentoring him, Professor Baylor, Mitchell eventually said. But you’re wasting your time with him. He’s not right in the head.

"That’s your opinion, James. I see as much potential in him as I do in you. Once again, he rebuffed the young cadet’s incredulous grimace. He jumped at the chance to come here to help his people. He has good ideas to make Europa a better place, ideas not commonly expressed on Europa. And he’s tenacious. He’ll work to influence Europa for the better. We need people like him to make Terrae Solaris a better place."

Young James Mitchell took in Baylor’s imploring through a few silent steps. His pensiveness persisted. The young cadet respected his older mentor, who—just seven years his senior—had risen to a prominent position at the austere university. Nevertheless, a hint of cynicism washed over him. With all due respect, Professor, you put too much faith in your International Cooperative Program.

You’re the only person on campus who thinks that.

That’s because Terrans are isolationists by nature. Most of the university has no vested interest in the program other than morbid curiosity. When he received an affable but dismissive nod, he added, "And what good the Cooperative does won’t stop the tragedy already taking place: The Pallas Treaty is falling apart. Europa is already re-arming their military."

The Pallas Treaty doesn’t forbid Europa and Ganymede from maintaining a minimal defense, James. The Outer Rim is a dangerous place. The fleets Earth States is putting at the new Ceres base will protect Inner Rim territories in the Asteroid Belt, not maintain peace throughout Outer Rim. Europa is simply protecting itself.

Young Mitchell laughed a sardonic laugh. Everyone knows that’s not what’s happening on Europa. And rather than enforcing the Pallas Treaty as required, those spineless Martians are using the treaty to line their pockets. They traded their ideals for money. President Randall is letting Mars get away with it too. If he doesn’t do something soon, we’ll fall right back into war again.

So if you were President Randall, what would you do?

The cadet squared his athletic frame, and his face steeled. "I would stop this diplomacy nonsense; remind Mars of its responsibility to keep Europa in line. Earth States has the position of strength in the solar system right now. If Mars didn’t act, I would step in with our fleets at Ceres and occupy Europa before they posed a threat."

So you would violate the terms of the Pallas Treaty? When his protégé nodded, he flashed him a calculating smile. Isn’t that what you accuse Europa and Mars of doing?

"What good is a peace treaty if no one follows it? Better to shame our allies and enemies into doing the right thing than suffer another war. Peace is possible—but only with the right leadership."

Silence fell over the two men, who continued walking down the sidewalk. The young professor glanced at a troubled James Mitchell, whose face betrayed his thoughts. "James, I know the Ceres Skirmishes exacted a terrible price from your family. I hope someday you’ll use that pain for the good of Earth States. You have such potential.

But realize that the problems facing humanity are complicated. Mars isn’t just ignoring the Pallas Treaty: The Ceres Skirmishes decimated their economy. And the Europans are competing for such limited resources just to stay alive. Life is easy here on Earth. Not so in space.

Letting his words linger, he pressed, "The solar system grows smaller every day, James. Prejudice and hatred run rampant throughout the international community. Understanding and discourse must prevail. That’s why I started the International Cooperative Program in the first place. We must integrate our cultures and learn from one another, not just react with force. Otherwise, war is inevitable."

Young Mitchell took in the words through several silent steps. I don’t think we’ll ever agree.

I guess not, the professor shrugged. His face washed over awkwardly, and he hesitated. And our time to persuade each other is over: I’m moving to Elara soon. He paused, expecting a surprised reaction from Mitchell. However, the young cadet only offered an affable return gaze. So rumors of my disgrace have spread across the campus already.

I’m sorry they dismissed you.

The young professor stopped, and he grew awkward. The Martians aren’t the only ones guilty of compromising their ideals. But I’ll make things right: I’m marrying Isolda with the blessing of her father on Elara. And I’m starting an international cooperative there. Earth States students can come and work alongside students from every other Outer Rim nation. Perhaps Elara is a better place to start.

When do you leave?

I’m already gone as far as the university is concerned. Do me a favor, James: Give Aurelian the benefit of the doubt. I see great potential in him, just as I see in you. He has the smarts and tenacity to influence Europa for the better. Aurelian Galerius may very well be the key to a different Europa someday. Imagine the possibilities.

* * * * * * * *

January 23, 2473 A.D.

(two and a half years later)

The pilots’ lounge in the commercial transport company somewhere in Pwyll City on Europa brimmed with conversation. The unkempt room, home to unkempt pilots waiting their turn for their next fare, boasted the slightest foul odor. Garbage lay scattered throughout, and tattered furniture complemented the room’s deplorable ambiance. An invisible, artificial gravity field oscillated with the most annoying sensation, hinting of an old, dilapidated generator somewhere deep in the structure. Even for Europa, a Jovian moon suffering the harsh consequences of the Ceres Skirmishes less than six year earlier, the place fell far below acceptable standards.

Galerius! the dispatcher called, popping his head into the open doorway. The room fell silent, and a twenty-two-year-old Aurelian Galerius looked up at him. You just got a fare to Tyre tonight. But take vehicle 27-A instead: The mechanics reported an engine diagnostics problem in your usual craft. The customer is waiting in the transport for you.

Aurelian looked to the unimpressive young man sitting on the couch across from him. Then he looked to the dispatcher. But Raske is up for the next run.

The customer specifically requested you—and the customer is always right. Go before he changes his mind.

Looking once more to his friend, Aurelian stood, threw his tattered jacket over his shoulder, and walked out of the room. His slumped frame and dawdling pace betrayed his indifference. Making his way through the complex, he pondered his turn of fortune. No one had ever requested his services before. Most fares were one-time runs across Europa. Thus, a thousand faceless patrons from his tenure at the company passed through his mind’s eye.

He reached the transport dispatch level two flights up. Walking along through the bay, he counted down the crafts sitting idle in their assigned spaces. The company specialized in transporting business executives on private bookings, so most of the vehicles held only a modest number of passengers. Their sleek designs and lavish features contrasted against the austere structure around them.

Transport 27-A sat just ahead. Walking by the passengers’ window, the curious, young man stole a glance into the passenger compartment. Unfortunately, the overhead lights in the bay reflected off the window harshly, obscuring much of the man’s face.

Good ev’ning, Aurelian greeted while climbing into the craft and shutting the door. He never looked back. The passenger sat directly behind him, preventing him from seeing the man’s face in the courtesy mirror. Yet an Elaran business organizer lay on the seat next to the man.

Likewise, came the man’s voice from behind him—a strangely familiar voice that Aurelian couldn’t quite place. But the accent was certainly Terran.

Glancing into the courtesy mirror a brief moment, the young pilot powered up the craft. Lights dimmed in the cabin as the vehicle lifted off the floor of the bay. Aurelian navigated the vehicle into the transit passage nearby. The vehicle sped down the passage until slipping through the environmental shields. Soon, the craft, clearing the tunnel, ascended into the black void of space over Pwyll City. Millions of lights from the settlement below lit the inside of the craft.

What brings you to Europa? Aurelian asked, settling in for the long ride to Tyre, the capitol city of Europa. Business or pleasure?

I’m surprising an old friend I haven’t seen in a while.

The voice sounded so familiar. Yet he couldn’t place it. That’s nice. I’m sure they’ll appreciate it. What do you think of Europa so far?

"As acceptable as it can be, given what the war did to it. … But I’m disappointed in your choice of a public service career, cadet."

Young Aurelian’s face sobered, and his gaze into the black sky ahead waxed self-conscious. Professor Baylor.

Tristan, almost twenty-nine years old and wearing an Elaran businessman’s suit, moved his organizer aside and slid over to see Aurelian through the courtesy mirror. "You can dispense with the professor salutation, Aurelian. I haven’t been a professor for at least a year now, a punishment my father-in-law inflicted on me for defiling his daughter. Friends don’t address each other so formally either."

Aurelian nodded. How’s Isolda?

Good. Still on Elara. She always stays home when I’m on business on Europa. I’m here often … trying to earn the respect of her father. When his protégé nodded, he continued, "But then I heard you dropped out of the university so soon after I left. Now I find you here." He paused for effect. Instead of helping your people with all those brilliant ideas of yours—you’re a two-bit fare jockey.

I still have ideas.

And how are you spreading your message? One fare at a time? That’s how every great nation rose to prominence: fare jockey’s rambling off to their unlucky fares.

Aurelian, falling silent under the harsh words, deflected his mentor’s comments with his piloting. He brooded for the longest time, and nervous glances into the courtesy mirror betrayed his frustration. I guess we both fell far short of expectations.

Silence once more fell over the small cabin.

"You may be content wallowing in your misfortunes, Aurelian. Not me. Since we parted company two plus years ago, I’ve learned a lot about Europa. Europa is in desperate need to put aside the crony politics of the day. This moon needs new ideas. A calculating pause followed. I have all your notes and papers from your cadet years. I even organized them into a manuscript draft called The Europan Experiment. The draft bears your name."

Aurelian’s face filled with so many unenviable emotions. Why are you doing this, Tristan?

And why are you flying drunken businessmen around Europa while your country falls apart?

Not my problem anymore. Just take my work and run with it.

I would never do that to you, Aurelian. Besides, I’m not a public speaker; rhetoric isn’t in my nature. Not so with you. And despite your denial, you were destined for greatness. I can help you achieve that.

Aurelian grimaced.

So Tristan pressed, My father-in-law, the Elaran chancellor, wants to help Europa solve its problems. He gave me access to his contacts here on Europa. I’ll introduce you to the movers and shakers in government. I’ll get your work published and schedule speeches for you. You’ll live among the nobles as if you were born with noble blood. Once more, a calculating pause. Do what I say, and you’ll be a junior senator in Parliament within five years. I guarantee it.

Aurelian fell silent behind the controls of the craft, and his mind raced with so many competing thoughts. Another grimace followed. An aspiring Europan commoner nipping at nobles’ heals—with a meddling Terran outcast at his side who works on behalf of an Elaran chancellor? You obviously don’t understand the Europan people.

And you don’t understand the opportunity I’m offering. This is your one chance to seize your calling, Aurelian. Through the courtesy mirror, he looked him in the eyes. Let me know your answer by the end of this flight. I won’t offer again.

CHAPTER THREE

Carus

December 25, 2494 A.D. (twenty-two years later)

Carus, Chief of Staff to Ranking Senator Aurelian Galerius, hurried down the abandoned public corridor of the affluent residential complex somewhere in Tyre, the capitol city of Europa. With the late hour upon the entire settlement, dim lighting washed over the broad corridor. The entire city lay subdued, allowing his unexpected travel to go quite well.

He had received an urgent call from Coletta, Aurelian Galerius’ long-time housekeeper.

Even prior to the call, he hadn’t retired for the evening. Instead, the chief of staff had spent his time preparing for an upcoming political rally. Another crisis had overcome Europa. The economy and infrastructure, forever hamstrung by the Pallas Treaty, was deteriorating. Riots were once again erupting throughout major cities, and civil war appeared on the political horizon. Europa was once again a dangerous place. In response to the Prime Minister’s do-nothing policies, detractors had scheduled a rally to force the executive’s hand—and gain their own political influence. The media would cover the event.

Carus had focused all his energy on the rally. The rally was Aurelian Galerius’ chance to introduce himself to all of