Utopia Prime

By George A Butler II

Something unthinkable has happened on Utopia Prime. The Empire’s citizens have risen up and killed their masters. The Empire’s response is far worse. On a far distant world, war erupts. C.T. Dauntless is dispatched to return the planet to order. Charged with crimes against the Empire, all hell breaks loose on the planet of Utopia Prime.

Princept Pamquin is out to change that. Disgraced through events orchestrated by him, he is promoted to Reginal Governor of Utopia Prime. A position most believe will be his end. He lands amidst the chaos of rebellion and begins to forge a world he hopes the Empire will find useful again.

Meanwhile, Kaz and Justinia, a sophisticated launcher crew, must navigate the riddles of war and come out alive, but an evil provocateur has other plans.

The fifth book by George Allen Butler II explores the question, if an individual creates life synthetically, do they own that life, or is that life free to choose its own destiny? Decide for yourself.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Feb 7, 2020
• ISBN: 9781728344560

George A Butler II

George Allen Butler II was born in Danville Illinois on Oct 20th 1968. He graduated from Danville Area Community College in 1988. After trying several lines of work, Accounting, Small business owner, railroad repair, he enlisted in the U.S Army’s Rocket Artillery in 2000. He served in several overseas tours of duty from the Liberation of Iraq in 2003, Korea in 2004-2005 and 2010, Enduring Freedom Afghanistan in 2008, and Operation New Dawn 2011-2012. While deployed, George Butler sat down to write the books he always wanted to. Fox Elvensword and the Sword of Bhaal is his first published work. The story is continued in Fox Elvensword, The Champion of Tanger, Fox Elvensword and the Shard of Terraman, and Fox Elvensword, The Road to Paladinhood. Utopia Prime is his first science fiction work.

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© 2020 George Allen Butler II. All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse  02/06/2020

ISBN: 978-1-7283-4457-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-7283-4458-4 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-7283-4456-0 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2020901562

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

This book is dedicated to my two sons, Aaron Michael Butler and

Tristan William Briel. I am proud to see you become the men you are!

Special thanks to my sister Michelle Chesnut for her photography

skills, to Margaret Rainey for her awesome cover, to Lisa Miles

for her expert editing skills, to Josef McCoy for long hours of

discussion, and to everyone who helped bring this book to life.

CONTENTS

Prologue

Part One

Chapter 1     Planetfall

Chapter 2     Decisions

Chapter 3     Princept Pamquin

Chapter 4     Pre Combat Checks

Chapter 5     Dauntless Strikes

Chapter 6     The Unexpected Call

Chapter 7     The Map Room

Chapter 8     Infill

Chapter 9     Shaping the Battlefield

Chapter 10   Two Six

Chapter 11   Aftermath

Chapter 12   Transitional Government

Chapter 13   Stars

Chapter 14   Husks

Chapter 15   Decisions

Chapter 16   Landing Zone

Chapter 17   The Governor

Chapter 18   The Governor’s Mansion

Chapter 19   Counter Attack

Part Two

Chapter 20   Transition

Chapter 21   The Trip to Gavin

Chapter 22   C.T. Pegasus

Chapter 23   Mayfair

Chapter 24   The Darkest Reaches of a Man’s Soul

Chapter 25   The Specimen

Chapter 26   Return to Dauntless

Chapter 27   Patient

Chapter 28   Swords

Chapter 29   Dark Thoughts

Chapter 30   The Subject

Chapter 31   The Maturation Tanks

Chapter 32   Defreeze’s Office

Chapter 33   Time to Go

Chapter 34   Coming Home

Chapter 35   Anticipations

Chapter 36   Patriarch Titus

Chapter 37   Contemplations

Chapter 38   The Shipment

Chapter 39   The Important Meeting

Chapter 40   Eros Slovene

Chapter 41   Homecoming

Chapter 42   The Alarm

Chapter 43   Tank Trash

Chapter 44   Together Again

Chapter 45   Selections

Chapter 46   A New Base

Chapter 47   The Prototype Sentinel

Chapter 48   The Darkest Reaches of his Twisted Soul

Chapter 49   Sinestra the Witch

Chapter 50   The Experiment

Chapter 51   Break in Action

Chapter 52   The Contender

Chapter 53   Fight

Part Three

Chapter 54   The Twenty Fifth Floor

Chapter 55   Pursuit

Chapter 56   The Limitations

Chapter 57   A Broken Sentinel

Chapter 58   Insertion

Chapter 59   Blue Sky

Chapter 60   The Jalku Ray Perfectionist

Chapter 61   The Ride

Chapter 62   The Insurgency

Chapter 63   The Sewers

Chapter 64   Decision Point

Chapter 65   The Subway

Chapter 66   The Meeting

Chapter 67   A Stiff Drink

Chapter 68    The Office of High Marshal Ezra

Chapter 69   The Office of Ricard Corbus

Chapter 70   The Demonstration

Chapter 71   Contemplations

Chapter 72   Muster Formation

Chapter 73   The Summons

Chapter 74   Redeployment Operations

Chapter 75   The Response

Chapter 76   The Call

Chapter 77   Observations

Chapter 78   Exodus

Epilogue

About the Author

PROLOGUE

Justinia folded her toned arms as she stood silently in the corridor just outside of the room she shared with Kaz. She loved this spot, because she could stare out of the starboard-side, ceiling-to-floor windows of the Combat Transport (C.T.), Dauntless. Tonight, she gazed at her reflection, noticing how her white-leather flight jacket and tight, form-fitting white pants matched the sterile white walls of the huge, deep-space cruiser. She studied her steel blue eyes and long blonde hair that she kept tied up in a perfect ponytail. Her defined facial features pronounced her as El’dar of the highest racial cast. Justinia flexed her overly-corded muscles, exposing the high level of bioengineering the El’dar had achieved. She was the perfect specimen, biological engineering taken to the extreme.

She loved to stand out here in the corridor at night, reflecting on her recent activities, and enjoying the nighttime air-conditioning flowing through the halls. The coolness reminded her of a cool breeze on a hot summer’s day. It was immensely refreshing, especially after the spirited activity she had just completed with her mate.

She brushed back a strayed lock of her blonde hair as she focused through the window. Other than the occasional passing star, there was nothing outside to see. Deep space travel was largely uneventful.

Justinia understood why she was alive. She had been created specifically to be the perfect mate for her trueborn El’dar counterpart, Kaz. From a process beyond her comprehension, she had been engineered from a drop of his blood and a sample from the inside of his cheek. Even her mind and personality had been molded specifically to complement his. She could love only him, and she understood he belonged to her, mind and body, as well.

The Empire’s master plan, as she recalled being told by her instructor, was to combine a marine with a biologically-created mate incapable of sedition. The plan had spread like wildfire throughout the military. Armed with all the latest technologies, the scientists were making the genetically-enhanced El’dar a little too perfect. Slowly, the biologically-engineered companions were becoming the mates of choice amongst trueborn. Enlisted trueborn were mandated to mate with their biologically-engineered counterparts to create genetically superior trueborn. The taller, faster, stronger, and smarter trueborn required the science to be pushed to the limits each time. The scientists obliged. Justinia was smart enough to know that her replacement was being developed in a maturation chamber even as she stood there.

When Kaz provided the DNA samples upon applying for military service, scientists had gone to work on computers designing her, and an embryo was placed in a maturation tank. Her brain had been manipulated as it developed to have the same memories of a marine who had served before her. She had a lifetime’s worth of knowledge stored in her mind that allowed her to communicate, eat, and walk as if she was a well-trained twenty-year-old female marine. The process of creating her lasted four years; the same amount of time that Kaz served in college. Justinia had been trained in her military job specification to complement Kaz on the battlefield in one year of combat training. She knew Kaz had served the same amount of time.

She was his liaison the day he had arrived on C.T. Dauntless; the fulfilment of the contract he had signed the day he joined. The Empire believed that assigning mates to new recruits the day they stepped foot on a deep space cruiser helped them adjust to their new environment.

She had posted herself at parade-rest along the hangar wall with a stack of papers for him to sign. She waited patiently for him to disembark the transport shuttle. She remembered her heart beating in her throat in anticipation of seeing him. The fear he might reject her was possible in her mind that day.

She knew he was the one from the moment he stepped from the back of the Phoenix shuttle and looked about. It was love at first sight for her as if she had been waiting a lifetime for him to come home from war. She remembered it took a couple of hours for him to warm up to her, even though he found her physically irresistible from the start. Their explosive first night together cemented their relationship forever.

A fleeting smile touched her lips as the memories of that night rippled through her mind. He was aggressive and forceful as he took her, giving her no opportunity to resist. Their kisses had become violent as she gripped his brown hair while he pulled her clothes off her. This was the way they consummated their love every other night or so since. Just like tonight, she always finished the event off with a jaunt through the late night air-conditioning in the corridor.

As she stood there in the corridor, she knew Kaz was sleeping in their room behind her. He had remarked earlier that he was completely exhausted from the day’s long, drawn-out battle drills, not to mention that she had given him a rough ride to culminate the night’s celebrations. She could handle extreme physical activity better than he could.

The smell of his sweat was still on her chest. She gently touched her chest as she remembered the experience. She smiled as she remembered the reason for their celebration.

Once again, as a team, they had achieved the highest marks in the simulated target range, far exceeding the platoon’s established norm. She smiled as she anticipated spray painting yet another of the symbols of excellence on the hull beside Kaz’s cockpit. She had to resist the urge to rush down there to paint the symbols now rather than later. There would be ample time tomorrow to do it during morning maintenance.

With that settled in her mind, she took the time to reflect on their current mission, and status. She pressed her hand against the cold glass as she thought about the orders related to them in their last mission briefing. C.T. Dauntless was tasked to conduct what had become a very standard mission. The cargo hauler, Mayfair, had not sent a status report since its arrival at Utopia Prime, as was standard protocol. She knew this was highly unusual as computers generally handled this without the need of El’dar interaction. Something bad had happened to the Mayfair, and C.T. Dauntless’ first mission was to check on her status. C.T. Dauntless was only a few hours away from planetfall.

Early in the morning, after standard maintenance, they were going to fire up the engines on launcher Two-Two and load her into the Infiltrator drop shuttle. While the bridge crew conducted their mission, the marines of Dauntless were going to take this opportunity to conduct ground assault training maneuvers while in orbit around planet Utopia Prime. The Dirty Deuce, as Kaz lovingly called it, would be called into action to lead Dragon Platoon during those maneuvers. Tomorrow was going to be another hectic day.

The briefing also covered the possibility that Utopia Prime could have committed insurrection. The regional governor could not be contacted, but that was not as unusual as the Mayfair not responding. Governors often took days off to go sightseeing, or whatever else the governors do with their free time.

She knew the Empire used planets like Utopia Prime to grow exotic foods, and that it was an important stop for starcraft between the major homeworlds. Utopia Prime was also important because of the manufactured technological things too expensive to produce on the homeworlds, due to strict government regulation on emissions and pollution. On Utopia Prime, the Empire’s manufacturing companies were relatively free to do as they wished, as long as they did not endanger the lives of any El’dar citizens.

To accomplish the physical labor needed on the satellite worlds, the biological engineers created the ever-problematic scrag. She knew the scrag were ideal for these uses, as they were not much more than reptilian humanoids, capable of surviving in the most hostile of worlds. They were engineered to survive on limited food and water resources. She knew that the scrags were notoriously hard to control, without direct El’dar supervision and strict rules to regulate their activities because of their high intelligence.

The Empire engineered these scrags to live under the direct supervision of imperial governors who regulated their activities. As long as the scrags obeyed their owners, everything ran smoothly. Sometimes, operations ran so smoothly that the regional governors and their constituents often allowed the scrag to govern themselves. Ultimately, their intelligent minds formed radical ideas about independence, and even secession from the Empire. They often developed a sense of self-importance when left unsupervised.

The outside possibility existed that Utopia Prime had already attempted secession, which meant that C.T. Dauntless would be going to war to protect the Empire’s interests. The scrag conspirators needed to be slaughtered, and a fresh new crop of scrags would come in and take their place.

Justinia knew her primary mission well. Dirty Deuce would be up front, first to fire and remove all surface-to-air capabilities of the opposing forces to allow the huge Phoenix shuttles to fly safely to their targets. She would do her job flawlessly to ensure none of the Empire’s air assets would be in danger during their initial air strike.

Her second job was to eliminate all counter fire units on the ground to secure other combat units’ safety while going about destroying the planet’s resistance forces. It was a big undertaking, but one she found rewarding in the end. Without her, the offensive capabilities of C.T. Dauntless were vulnerable.

If sedition on Utopia Prime had occurred, a lot of scrags were going to die tomorrow in the most painful ways possible. C.T. Dauntless was not a forgiving combat transport, and neither were her marines.

She said goodnight to the vast expanse of space that kept her company at night, and returned to her quarters to sleep.

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PART

ONE

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CHAPTER

ONE

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PLANETFALL

"T his is C. T. Dauntless on final approach. Come in, Mayfair," Kristin said into the radio receiver.

Loud static filled the bridge as the crew of Dauntless awaited a reply.

This is C. T. Dauntless on final approach. Come in, Mayfair, Kristin repeated into the radio receiver. Mayfair, please respond.

The door to the main corridor opened, and Captain Defreeze walked onto the dark and nearly-deserted bridge. He looked over the bridge that was filled with forward-facing computer stations mounted on sturdy, white metal desks. Each station had a sleepy-eyed bridge officer leaning over his or her console, their faces glowing blue in the reflection of the screens. Three massive ballistic windows on the far side of the bridge permitted an undistorted view of the rapidly-approaching planet. Captain Defreeze walked immediately over to the radio operations station, where Kristin was sitting.

He was dressed in stark contrast to the rest of the crew, wearing his white dress uniform adorned with ribbons and golden accoutrements from the many engagements he had participated in. His salt-and-pepper hair was neatly trimmed into his usual flattop haircut. Even his combat boots were shined to perfection.

The blue-tinged faces turned abruptly toward the sounds of his footsteps. The captain walking toward the communication’s station caused everyone in the room to stand up as if sitting down at that moment was the wrong thing to be doing. The lights flashed on, responding immediately to the movement, and bathing the whole room in light.

Captain on the bridge! someone yelled from the closing door.

As you were, Captain Defreeze announced. I want a standard combat orbit of the planet. Monitor all communications on the planet, and be prepared to give me a full status report within the hour.

Everyone on the bridge sat down abruptly and began typing orders into their stations, as if they all had a part to play in his instructions.

After taking the time to smell Kristin’s fragrant blonde ponytail, Captain Ulysses Defreeze looked over at the helm, where Lieutenant Durst was programing the helm’s controls to assume a deep space geosynchronous orbit. Everything was running smoothly, except that the cargo hauler Mayfair still had not responded to their radio call.

Do we have a visual on Mayfair yet? Captain Defreeze asked as he tugged his dress jacket down. He wanted to look his best if he had to address the captain of that ship face-to-face on the monitor.

Not yet, Sir, Kristin said as she checked her readouts on the monitor.

There she is, on the other side of the planet, Durst stated as he typed in commands on his console.

A tactical readout appeared on the screen to the captain’s left, showing the Mayfair drifting in a decaying orbit over the planet. He looked through the huge forward window at the rapidly approaching planet. The tan and green of the planet’s continents mixed with the teal blue of its waters. Thick clouds passed lazily in the atmosphere, obscuring the continent’s boundaries. Unfortunately, the planet Utopia Prime obscured the lost cargo transport as well.

Argh, Captain Defreeze said as he stood up.

He rubbed his chin in contemplation, but he knew what he had to do in this situation. I want two shuttles with two EVA platoons to check her out. Full battle regalia. Make sure someone with expert radio-repair skills is on board as well. We may have to assist them with fixing their communication system. Let’s hope we came all this way to find out that a meteor struck the communications array, and that we are here just to help them with repairs.

Aye, Sir, Kristin responded. I have One Six and One Seven on standby for QRF missions. I will send them immediately to investigate.

She flipped the radio over to the correct channel and held down the transmit button. Alpha One Six and Alpha One Seven prepare to depart on standard meet and greet with Cargo Transport Mayfair. The boss wants full battle rattle on this one as well. Make sure to send your RTO on board in case radio repair procedures need to be conducted. Please respond.

Lieutenant Creston was reclining in his pilot’s chair when the orders came through. He reached up and pressed the side of his helmet to key the microphone. He heard the grumble of the Quick Reaction Force already boarded behind him as he sat up.

Roger, C. T. Dauntless, Creston spoke into his radio. He swiveled in his cockpit chair back to the troops, who were also reclining in their chairs. You heard Dauntless Main. Full kit, let’s go.

The troop area of Alpha One Six, Vampire, exploded into action as Creston’s RTO fired up preflight controls, throwing light everywhere. From the stark white overhead cargo compartments white ceramic body armor fell on marines in their hurried attempt to dress for combat operations on Mayfair. Most knew there would be little to no activity on board the cargo carrier, but the new recruits were eager for their first starship infiltration exercise. Every mission was treated as a training exercise.

The engines roared to life, bathing the interior in blue and red light from the flames.

C.T. Dauntless Traffic Control, the pattern is clear. Alpha One Six, you have the ball, Sanven stated over the ship’s intercom.

Roger, C.T. Dauntless Traffic Control. Alpha One Six has the ball, Creston replied as he reached over and fired up the engine’s output to launch velocity.

He looked up at the hangar exit doors as they started to open. He looked back at Patriarch Tetravarious, who gave him a double thumbs-up in the passenger section, indicating his squad was ready. Looking over the group, Creston saw that they were at least strapped into their chairs even if they were not completely kitted up, and he reached back to hit the rear hatch actuator, causing it to slam closed. Those that still had to strap boots on did so, and fixed their helmets on for transport. He rechecked his controls, making sure everything was reading green, and then verified that Dauntless’ front hangar doors were completely open. He listened intently to the rear hatch seal, making sure it was fully pressurized before stepping down on the accelerator.

And, here we go, Creston said to Lawson, his RTO who was sitting beside him. Lieutenant Lawson swiveled around to his controls, and began typing updates into his log.

In a burst of motion, Alpha One Six shot forward out of its hangar and into the darkness of space. Instantly the interior lights turned off, shrouding the shuttle in complete darkness. Everyone felt the instant loss of gravity.

This is Alpha One Six, C.T. Dauntless Traffic Control. We have cleared the hangar and no longer need the ball, Creston said into the radio receiver mounted on his helmet.

C.T. Dauntless Traffic Control, roger. Alpha One Six no longer has the ball, Sanven announced in affirmation of the report. Good luck, and please be careful out there!

C.T. Dauntless Traffic Control, Alpha One Seven now has the ball, Sanven’s voice blurted over the radio.

Captain Defreeze sat back in his command chair, and watched his monitor as Alpha One Six cleared C.T. Dauntless’ air space. Soon after, Alpha One Seven followed in Alpha One Six’s exhaust wake. Knowing that formation was done to camouflage their numbers, he nodded with satisfaction at the efficiency of his marines, even though this was a low risk mission so far. He also knew it could go sour at any moment.

Looking over at his status monitor, he frowned as he saw that Mayfair still had not replied to his numerous messages, nor had the planet sent a welcome or status update, as was protocol for an incoming CT. Something was dire on the ship, and it had something to with the planet as well. He may have to send troops to enforce the Empire’s edicts.

This is One Six to C.T. Dauntless. Are you seeing this? Lieutenant Creston’s exaggerated voice came from the radio speaker.

The collective gasp across the now-bustling bridge crew caught his attention and he looked up at the front window to see the listing Mayfair. The dark grey bulbous hulk, looking remarkably like a metallic pickle, was clearly following a standard orbit. Its engines were off, and the rear exhaust cones were cold. A strip of metallic debris streamed from its port side to form the start of a planetary ring. The large hole in its side was all he needed to know that its port side solid air tanks had ruptured. There were no lights glowing from the bridge windows, or any on the view ports, indicating that life was present. If anyone had survived the apparent explosion, they had likely died from asphyxiation soon after the power went out.

I need a status on her engines, as well as a repair team assembled, Captain Defreeze ordered across the now active bridge. Send pictures of the Mayfair to Central Command along with a report of her damage. I want to know if that was caused by a planetary strike. It appears to me at first glance to be a ballistic missile hit. I want confirmation of that before I recommend a full strike force against the inhabitants of this planet!

The bridge hustled into organized chaos as his lieutenants went to work in a mad rush at their various stations to carry out his orders. Captain Defreeze sat back in his chair and contemplated. He so very much hated murdering the property of the Empire, but if they were responsible, he would have no choice. The Empire would have to make an example of these dissidents. Sedition will not be tolerated.

I want a full sensor sweep of Mayfair, Captain Defreeze ordered. I need to know if anyone is alive over there.

I am picking up massive amounts of radiation, Sir, Lieutenant Cass announced as he looked over the data displayed on his screen. It could take us a while to sweep the contaminated areas.

Captain Defreeze stood up abruptly, and nodded as he realized the lieutenant was correct. He scrutinized the listing cargo transport as if he was missing something. The damage was on the planet side, indicating they must have been responsible. He walked over to the helm and looked down at the tactical display.

Put Dauntless on the far side of Mayfair. I want to be close enough for extraction, yet far enough to be covered by Mayfair in case Utopia Prime has more nuclear missiles ready to launch.

Aye, Captain, Durst said as he fed the information into the computer.

Defreeze stood there long enough to feel the ship’s engines kick in. Satisfied that his orders were carried out he returned to his chair, and reset his monitor to display the live video feed from Alpha One Six.

Creston was wide-eyed as he steered the Phoenix around to get a good look inside the solid air tanks on Mayfair’s side. Debris was still streaming out of the hole, including some exploded missile parts. Now there was no doubt what had done the damage.

Keep an eye on the planet, and alert me to any indication that another one of those missiles is heading this way, Creston ordered.

Like I would not! Lawson said as he checked his instruments. It is highly unlikely they would shoot at us with Dauntless so close by. She would make a better target.

If they have the balls! Creston said. I, for one, want to be well clear of a nuclear strike.

Oh my, Larson took a deep breath that had Creston looking from his controls to see what Larson was looking at. His monitor lit up yellow, showing the amount of nuclear contamination around the destroyed air tank.

That ship is full of radiation, Larson said. We can’t drop marines in there. Their suits are not rated for that type of radiation.

Alpha One Seven, are you seeing what I am seeing? Creston asked after keying his mic.

Roger, One Six. No safe place to deploy the package, came the response over the radio.

Roger, One Seven. Break. C.T. Dauntless, this is Alpha One Six, over, Creston said as he steered the Phoenix down under the belly of the Mayfair.

C.T. Dauntless, over, the radio hummed.

C.T Dauntless, this is Alpha One Six. No joy on infill. Request immediate return to hangar, Creston said into his mic.

"Alpha One Six, this is C.T. Dauntless actual. What exactly is the issue with infill?" Captain Defreeze asked over the radio.

This is Alpha One Six. Level ten radioactive contamination at drop site and hangar bay, Creston announced into the mic with confidence. The ship is lit up as if struck with a dirty thermonuclear weapon. The combat suits will not protect the marines for longer than five minutes. We are simply not properly geared to handle this.

Roger that, Alpha One Six, Captain Defreeze answered. Bring them home.

Roger that, Creston said. C.T. Dauntless Traffic Control, this is Alpha One Six looking for the ball.

Alpha One Six, stand by, the voice over the radio announced in a very shaky voice.

Creston looked up as the powerful combat transport maneuvered effortlessly into position, one click in front of the Vampire.

Dauntless is maneuvering for a fight! Larson exclaimed as he looked over his controls.

More likely a combat pickup and jump to beyond ballistic missile range, Creston said confidently.

Alpha One Six, this is C.T. Dauntless Traffic. Execute combat pickup maneuvers on my mark, the radio hummed. Mark!

Creston bumped up the speed as he fed instructions into helm control. Hang on tight!

The Phoenix surged forward as thrusters fired abruptly, burning their excess fuel. It banked away to the right and then back to the left toward the rear of the starship. He watched as Dauntless’ huge ion engines fired up into pre-launch burn. He looked down quickly as the landing lights lit the path into the hangar bay. He followed them flawlessly, cutting his engines the second he felt his wheels contact the hangar deck. Everyone was jerked forward in their seats as the catch wires gripped the rear wheels. The nose dipped down suddenly when he stepped hard on the brake, bringing the Phoenix to a stop mere feet from the grey bulkhead wall.

Creston looked over, and noticed Alpha One Seven was right on the mark as well. He watched her come to a halt on the other side of the hangar without leaving so much as a black mark on the glossy white floor.

Dauntless’ engines fired up to full throttle as she succeeded in breaking orbit. Slowly at first, Dauntless turned away from the Mayfair and planet Utopia Prime, then faster, building up speed as she left the planet and its ballistic missile range far behind.

Stop me just the other side of the planet’s moon, Captain Defreeze ordered. I want senior crew in conference room one with intelligence reports in hand.

Once again, the bridge crew bustled around as they scrambled to carry out his orders. Captain Defreeze walked to the rear of the bridge and out through the double sliding doors. Only a few wide-eyed lieutenants dared to accompany him.

CHAPTER

TWO

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DECISIONS

"T his is clear insurrection, Sir," Lieutenant Baine stated confidently, as he followed Captain Defreeze through the corridor.

Do you have concrete proof that we can send to Central Command? Captain Defreeze asked, with one brow slightly arched.

Lieutenant Baine handed the photos he was holding to the captain. Captain Defreeze took them, and looked through the stack. What he saw etched a look of shock on his face.

The first pictures meant nothing. Just a few of Mayfair’s crewmembers being led through the streets in handcuffs, chained together like criminals. However, the next few pictures were incriminatory. Captain Defreeze tightened his lips when he saw the photos of senior bridge officers hanging from simply constructed gallows at what looked like a political rally. The last picture of a little girl hanging from a tree gripped his heart. Blood had soaked her white summer dress from where she had been flogged before her execution. He knew the child must have been the governor’s daughter. The obvious signs of torture infuriated him. She must have been used to force a confession out of the governor.

Captain Defreeze handed the pictures back. I want to see if the others have evidence this powerful. And, if they do, I will order a full ground strike force to take out the ballistic capabilities of the insurrectionist government. Full disclosure will be sent to Central Command, with those pictures included as the evidence we used to order a full ground strike.

He walked shakily toward the double doors marked Conference Room One. As he approached, immediately the doors opened. The oversized viewer was already on, showing scenes of rioting. Lieutenant Teresa had successfully hijacked the planet’s television feed.

Captain Defreeze stood still, as he took in what was being displayed. Live video footage of scrags running wildly through the streets of the capital city were emblazoned on the screen.

He continued to watch as the image changed to a scrag female sporting long tentacle-like black hair, scaled green skin, and oversized black eyes. Her nose and mouth were more suited to an amphibian than a lizard. The scrag was wearing a flowery, pink print dress in an attempt to look more attractive. She held what looked like a microphone to her face, and she chattered excitedly into it. He could not help but notice her dark, scaled hands and robust muscular arms, which, he noted, were much larger than most El’dar. The yellow claw-like fingernails of her hand were hideous.

Captain Defreeze did not recognize the language she was speaking.

What is she reporting? Captain Defreeze asked, as he walked to the command chair, trusting he had the correct gender.

Lieutenant Teresa straightened up, and pulled down smartly on the white jacket of her form-fitting uniform. Her blonde ponytail bounced as she looked back to narrate the events on the screen.

She is reporting that the government lied to them, Teresa started out. She believes the alien starship in orbit is here to deliver the Empire’s punishment for the unprovoked attack on Starship Mayfair. The looting and rioting behind her are fallout from the government’s lack of good judgment. She reports the police have fled the city and are preparing to assist in the planet’s defenses. She believes that will prove to be folly as well.

Captain Defreeze looked up smartly as the monitor displayed a new scene.

The rioting displayed here, Teresa went on, is in response to the lack of police supervision. Her recommendation is to beg the Empire for peace.

The images changed again to tracked box-shaped military personnel carriers parading down a deserted dirt road. The vehicles emitted a black smoke from their exhaust pipes as they rumbled along. Mud flew from the tracks as they went. Words constructed of odd-shaped letters scrolled across the bottom of the screen.

These are the forces of the combined planetary militia that the provisional government believes will defeat the alien invaders, Teresa continued. Already, new nuclear warheads are being fixed to rockets capable of striking the imperial starship still in orbit. They will be ready to fire within the next few hours.

The screen changed again, showing only a single scrag dressed in a grey suit with a red tie. He was standing behind a lectern surrounded by microphones. Behind him, the blue banner with white designs could only be the symbol of the new government. The look on his face was defiant. He shook his fist regularly at the ceiling, as if cursing something above him, causing the tentacles on the back of his head to bounce in rhythm.

I believe he is claiming a victory on us already, Lieutenant Baine remarked, with a smile. He affirms their army will fight to the bitter end!

Lieutenant Teresa nodded as she continued. He is claiming we are already in full retreat from his air space around the planet after seeing the magnitude of their new weapon. As he predicted earlier, the aliens will not be able to defeat the new world government of Utopia Prime!

She looked back to the double doors as lieutenants filled the room, and Captain Defreeze watched as they took their positions from the front to the far back. Dressed in the black combat uniform of the Empire’s officer elite, they stood in their assigned positions around the commander’s briefing table. Most had data pads in their hands as they stood ready to be called forward to give evidence against the scrag insurrectionists.

I’m going to make this simple. Does anyone have evidence this was an accident? Captain Defreeze asked calmly, looking down.

Other than the shuffling of feet behind him, not a sound was made. Hearing only distant voices asking and receiving information about vehicle status reports, or the occasional timetable for when some report would be done, Captain Defreeze lowered his head. He knew he had to order a full planetary purge. He could think of no other possible action he could legally take.

Captain Defreeze took a breath. I want status reports on the combat affectability of your troops within the hour. Everybody gets a piece of this action, so be ready. I want those ballistic missiles found, and taken out, before we send in our ground troops. We will use deep penetrating rocket-propelled missiles to bust their launch sights. Once that mission is complete, our primary means of attack will be drop shuttles. They will be closely supported by their assigned grav-tanks, so stock them up on extra ammunition. Leave no one behind. If they can shoot a weapon, they go, no exceptions. From the looks of the planet’s combat force, they are willing and able to repel effectively, so I expect to see some excellent tactics out there. I want to see a full-blown tactical map of their defenses, complete with intelligence, in my ready room in one hour. Dismissed!

The double doors opened abruptly behind him. The lieutenants turned noisily to rush out of the room to carry out his orders. Everyone needed to make appropriate plans with their respective patriarchs.

Lieutenant Teresa, are these broadcasts being taped? the captain asked.

As standard practice, all planetary communication is recorded and archived, Teresa responded.

Then send copies of this streaming to Central Command, Captain Defreeze ordered as he stood up. I want no confusion as to why I ordered military action against the laborers of Utopia Prime. As for now, I think I need a stiff drink. I will be in my lounge.

Teresa typed his orders into her command pad as Captain Defreeze left the room. He noted the sadness on her face, as she understood she was justifying the immediate genocide of the workers of Utopia Prime. He knew a part of her actually sympathized with the female scrag reporter, as this could not possibly be her fault.

CHAPTER

THREE

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PRINCEPT PAMQUIN

P rincept Pamquin quickly walked down the main corridor to the Senate Assembly Hall. His hard-soled patent leather shoes made clicking sounds on the white marble floor. All around him the dark oak of the ten-thousand-year-old building was weathered and cracked from countless years of age. The dim lighting cast a pall over the heavily-traveled corridor. Numerous busy government officials and aids walked past him. They were careful not to touch him.

He smiled all the way up to the huge, ancient oak doors etched with the striking serpent symbol of the Empire. This set of doors was one of a hundred sets still existing from the first days of the founding of the Empire, ten thousand years before. Each set of doors had a specially trained attendant to clean and care for the delicate, aged oak.

Two tall soldiers stood each side of the doors. Dressed in ancient gold breastplates, they wore flamboyant golden helmets crested in tall, red horsehair combs. Each one was armed with a cavalry saber on the left side, and a bullpup automatic rifle on his right. The assault sling clipped to the back of the rifle was strapped securely to their chests. Their high-top black boots polished to a mirror sheen.

The guards snapped to attention to signify they recognized Princept Pamquin, and that he may pass.

He reached out to push the oak doors open into the huge senate chambers beyond, and felt the hard wood rubbed smooth around the edges from years of being touched this way. The ornate hinges creaked with age as they swung wide.

The noise of the senate chamber in adjournment assailed his ears as he walked toward the massive bowl-shaped amphitheater. All he could see through the corridor into the main hall was the shimmering hologram of Utopia Prime, floating high above the senate floor.

Pamquin quickly walked down the entrance corridor of his assigned area to stand and gawk at the senate bowl, where thousands of officials stood in small groups in the stands, discussing the issues of the day.

Princept Pamquin looked down at the barren senate floor ten feet below the crowded stands. The green, carpeted floor itself was large enough for two full size combat teams of a thousand marines, with vehicles behind them, to stand at attention and receive the applause of the assembled senate in session.

He looked up at the holographic image, seeing the starship C.T. Dauntless as it floated effortlessly around the planet. On the opposite side of the planet was the image of the Mayfair streaming a long line of waste from the gaping hole in the side of its main hull. The yellow and black nuclear symbol was flashing ominously in the hole.

Pamquin saw neither the chaos nor the danger that the hologram displayed. All he could see was Utopia Prime offering a freedom he would never get here on the Homeworld.

He looked over at the vast plasma screen mounted high on the wall of the assembly area at the north end. The images of El’dar children being dragged from the governor’s mansion to be executed on the lawn did not move him in any way. He had seen these images before. Nor did he flinch when a young girl was executed with a pistol, as she was crawling away from her scrag capturers. The spray of blood from her face was the last image before the video switched to something else more graphic. Whoever had made these videos wanted to push the senate into immediate action.

Pamquin! I will see you damned into hell before I let you ascend to the ranks of pro council! an elderly woman suddenly screeched in his direction.

Pamquin turned, smiling, to see the only woman he knew who would dare challenge him openly in the senate chambers. He looked over the white, high-heeled boots, the white flowing dress adorned with a cream-colored sash, and the white, hard plastic shoulder pads to the wrinkled face of the old, white-haired woman.

Temper, Princept Nineveh, Pamquin said. What could I have done this time to inflame you so?

You are a bastard, she clamored. You are the kind of filth that deserves to rot in his own excrement in a dog pen!

Wow, Pamquin said as he held his hands out for her to see his palms. Is there anything I can do to change your mind?

You can go to your office and neuter yourself, have your offensive genitals sent to my office on a silver serving tray, and wait for me to come and give you absolution, Nineveh said as she stepped threateningly forward. Her lips quivered with fury as if her hate for him was all-consuming.

Wow, she really has given this some in-depth contemplation, Pamquin thought.

But, my dear, I would die of blood loss before you could arrive, Pamquin said, lowering his head. Spilling the Empire’s life-giving fluid on the ground is a sin.

It’s too good for the likes of you, Pamquin, she spat. Better to waste the Empire’s gift on the ground than allow it to pump through your loathsome veins.

A hand grabbed her from behind, and Pamquin recognized Princept Onquin.

He will be gone soon enough, Nineveh, Onquin said as he pulled her back. I seconded his nomination for the new regional governor of Utopia Prime. He stands to inherit this mess. I will see to that. I have thousands of supporters. Soon, he will be light years away from the pro councilship.

Pamquin smiled and bowed.

It’s too good for the likes of him! Nineveh spat as Onquin pulled her backward. It’s too good for that conceited beast!

Pamquin looked back at the assemblage. Being next in line for pro council was nice, but it was nothing in his mind compared to being regional governor of a planetary system. Just like Princept Onquin said, he was a shoe-in to take the job. However, Pamquin also had thousands of supporters.

He took a moment to reflect on the nasty mess that had been left behind at his mansion last month. The unexplained murder insured his nomination. He remembered the scene as if it had happened yesterday. The girl lay still and silent, in nothing more than her black bra and underwear. Her exquisitely styled black hair was spread out all around her head. Her face was shoved down into the water of the ditch. No one knew how she got from the party to the ditch, or why she was dead, but he did remember her going wild at his black sadism gathering.

She must have ingested some wild concoction of psychotropic drugs. Pamquin had watched the girl submit to some intense and brutal tortures for the thrill of the experience, exploitation, and exhibitionism. Had she not died on that fateful night, he would have laid heavy credits that she was with child from one of her many tormentors. As it was, her memory now haunted the halls of the imperial senate.

When asked if he had anything to do with the crime, Pamquin had responded, One does not murder a good whore, one pays her double.

That statement had rocked the Senate to the very foundation, and further tarnished his reputation beyond repair. Although he had been cleared of any wrongdoing, more princepts than just Nineveh were upset with how he had dealt with the situation. No one believed he was totally innocent of the crime.

The unexplained and still-unsolved murder was the scandal of the century, and the senate wanted rid of Pamquin. He smiled at the fact that Nineveh’s own daughter was at the heart of the mess. The girl, being related to a princept, had been its own blessing in disguise. She insured Pamquin’s days were numbered in the great halls of the Empire.

After weeks of looking over his back for the assassin that would most likely come, the incident at Utopia Prime had happened, and Pamquin did not hesitate to put his name in the hat for the regional governor’s position. With the murder still fresh in everyone’s mind, Pamquin knew he was going to receive this commission. Fifty percent of all regional governors were murdered within ten years of taking office. Of course, no regional governor ever returned to the Homeworld. No regional governor ever stepped down from such a lofty position. The posting only ended in the death of the governor. He would be so far away from the politics and constant danger of the Homeworld. The all-encompassing power of a regional governor suited Pamquin just fine.

He stepped forward to look down upon the senators, one level below, and he watched them lift their pads to vote him into an office far away from the Homeworld.

Realizing he had not cast his own vote for himself, he turned to sit on one of a hundred thousand hard wooden seats, so designed to cause severe back pain to whomever sat too long in them. Obviously, the Creators did not want princepts to tarry too long in session.

The names came up beside the pictures of the candidates one by one as he flipped through them on his screen, until his own face appeared. He placed his thumb on the picture to cast his vote. The screen flashed bright white to signify it had accepted his vote. His face reappeared, and in green numbers beside it ‘85%’ appeared to show the percent of the vote he had received so far.

Confident that he had already won, Pamquin stood up, smiling, to look at the hologram of Utopia Prime. He placed his hands on the stainless steel safety rail as