Lost heir, p.2
Lost Heir, page 2
Maeve sobbed brokenly into her shoulder. Bubbling up out of the depths of her misery, she whispered, “I didn’t even get a chance to tell him I love him.”
Spying for the Jacksons
Most histories of the Jacksons and their empire focus legitimately on their brilliance as military leaders or the extraordinary strength of the governmental structures they devised. However, without a dedicated corps of spies and counterspies, the empire would undoubtedly have fallen to the forces arrayed against it within a few years of its founding.
Initially, this is the story of one man, David Jones, or as he preferred to call himself, Daffyd ap John. The records show him to be a man of unusual insight, courage, and cunning, beginning with the raid on Cradle with Dave Jackson that delayed the Final Battle of Earth, providing Constantine Jackson crucial breathing space to establish a citadel on Beacon. Rumor and legend make Daffyd ap John an even more impressive figure.
We will try to unravel the mystery of not only him, but his family and the other men and women who fought and died in secret for the ideals they believed in.1
1. St. Denis, Peter, Inside the Imperial Secret Intelligence Services, Regis, Sector Six, Blauberg City Press Publishers
2
* * *
Adrift
Academy Grounds, Beacon
1035 BBMT 30 May, 3468
Tears flowed hotly down her cheeks and wouldn’t stop. Inside swirled a strange mixture of guilt, terrible loneliness, and fear. Mom and now Dad were gone. She remembered stories where women terribly wronged would set out to blot out their misery by punishing the ones who caused it, but she had already killed her father’s murderer. Even though Morgain uch Robert had caused this, the very core of her being rejected any thought of exacting vengeance on her sister.
Lost. She did not know what to do, where to go, what she should do. She grabbed Priscilla’s hand, squeezing it as she leaned against her father’s aide, wishing she could hide in her arms forever.
Thank goodness Lieutenant Priscilla Jenks had promised she would take care of her, because who else did she have? Morgain, no. Vivian, the next oldest, totally selfish and vain, likely would never take the responsibility. As for the sister just older than her, Nimue, if Maeve uch Robert ever came across her again before the heat death of the universe it would be too soon. Grandmother? Mom had refused to send her to visit, blaming her own mother for what the older three girls had become. If for no other reason than to honor her mother’s wishes, she wouldn’t go. On the other side of the family, Dad’s parents had died in the coup, as well as most of his cousins.
That left Priscilla as her only remaining anchor. But would she stay? Could she? Priscilla had been Dad’s aide, so the military would likely reassign her soon. She felt certain of it.
The question loomed ever larger: What now, what could she do?
She felt Priscilla stroking her hair, hugging her just as fiercely, whispering nothing really, just soothing sounds. Mentally, she shook herself, forcing herself to think. Dad would have told her that she must plan, the first priority being to find someplace safe. That’s what she would do now. With an effort, she slowed her tears. Reluctantly letting go of Priscilla, she took a deep breath, releasing it slowly. She felt her mental turmoil go with it, at least a little. Anguish still churned inside, growing again as she began to truly comprehend life without Dad, but anguish and confusion were not the same thing.
She forced herself to examine the scene, just as Dad had taught her. From every direction Academy police were descending on the scene, in both regular work uniforms and combat gear. A perimeter now surrounded her, creating an island of purposeful activity in the midst of the chaos. I could go to the Academy as Dad wanted. It’s as safe as any place.
Looking around, she realized that, quite oddly, none of the responders approached them to ask what had happened. Fleetingly, she wondered why? Her attention focused on two men, one in combat uniform and the other a campus police officer, arguing over responsibility for the area. Most of their team members were glowering at each other. How odd. She stood considering, trying to understand why they were acting that way, losing consciousness of the scene around her.
“Come on,” Priscilla whispered softly, yanking her hand, disrupting her thoughts. Maeve realized that, while attempting to concentrate on giving her surroundings a thorough review, she had become temporarily oblivious to the immediate area. That wouldn’t do. Dad hadn’t raised her that way. She must get her act together.
Survival first, plan for the future second. Nodding to herself, she followed Priscilla toward a helicopter that had just landed, rotor still spinning just short of a liftoff hover. Ducking her head, she trotted toward the passenger compartment of the combat bird designed to carry ten people. For an instant, terror jumped back out at her. The crew chief’s helmet made him seem to be no more than a robot, mirrored face shield hiding all personality. Panic stabbed at her as she identified him as a threat. Subconsciously, she reached for her pistol but didn’t have it. Then she remembered. Priscilla had taken it from her right after the shooting and she had barely noticed. She should have reloaded like Dad taught her to do.
Overhead, the noise of the rotor blanked out all other sound. Squaring her shoulders, she headed through the turbulence caused by the rotors. Priscilla had boarded the copter despite the potential threats, so she could, too. Maeve stepped into the cabin as the crew chief finished strapping Priscilla in.
“Let’s get you strapped in,” the crew chief yelled over the bird’s noise. “We need to get off the ground quickly. The pilot is picking up threat signatures in the area.”
Maeve nodded reflexively as the crew chief brusquely pulled the straps tightly around her. Thankfully, she could sit next to Priscilla instead of across from her. Feeling Priscilla’s body beside her comforted her. Almost roughly, the crew chief gave her belts a final check before giving thumbs up to the pilot.
Because he had made sure of her straps without fitting her with a headset for the com system, Maeve felt like a package. But headsets dangled from the overhead. Well, she knew how to hook into the com system of a bird like this, so she did. Dad had taught her that, too, over the last five years since the coup. Irritation at being treated like a child helped shake her out of the black thoughts threatening to drown her with questions she had no answers for.
She pulled on the headset, feeling relief as it muffled the roar created by the bird’s turbo engines. Brushing her mid-length hair behind the earphones with her left hand she settled them as tightly on her ears as possible.
Priscilla switched the com to a passenger channel. “You okay?” Her eyes were tense, worried, as she asked the question through the comm.
Maeve tried to smile, but her lower lip quivered. Nodding as tears welled up again. “I’m fine,” she answered, voice cracking as she almost she lost control again.
Priscilla leaned over as much as she could in the five-point straps, reaching her left arm partially around Maeve, and patting her back while squeezing a hand with her right. Priscilla changed her com to off, then removed one of Maeve’s headphones before coming as close to Maeve’s ear as possible, yelling to be heard over the engine noise that ensured only the two of them were part of the conversation, “You go ahead and cry; being brave is about more than fighting tears. We’re headed for Prime Sector Fleet HQ to figure out what to do next.”
Maeve merely nodded, squeezing Priscilla’s hand as tears began trickling down her cheeks. She slipped her right headphone back over her ear. A vision of her father, lifeless on the road behind them, dominated her thoughts. He would never call her princess again, never laugh with her or tell her those impossible stories of their ancestors and some wizard named Merlin, a king named Arthur, a spy named Ian Fleming or James Bond or something, who had accomplished impossible missions. She’d never gotten all of those ancient people straight. Then came the other ancestors up through those who had helped Emperor Constantine, who Dad insisted on calling Jack, create the empire, and the things that had happened since then. She felt so alone knowing she would never see him again.
Did he still exist somewhere else? Whenever he talked about Mom, he had always been sure they’d be together again someday. But Maeve didn’t know, her loneliness causing a shiver to run down her back.
“It’ll be okay,” came Priscilla’s voice in her ear from the com.
“Is Dad okay?” she asked bitterly.
“He’s fine now. I’m sure he’s in a place where no one can hurt him anymore.”
In her darkness, Maeve doubted. “How do you know?”
Priscilla’s arms tightened. “I just know. It starts with faith; if you don’t believe, you’ll never know. That’s just the way it works.”
“It’s not fair,” she whispered.
The belts kept them apart far enough that she could see Priscilla’s tender concern. “No, it’s really not fair, or at least it seems that way. It is true, though. We’ll be seeing Admiral Davies soon and then we’ll know what we can do to keep you safe.
“One more thing, Admiral Davies is something of a stickler for protocol, so when we’re with him or in public, it may be better for you and me both if you call me Lieutenant Jenks. In private, you can still call me Priscilla.”
Maeve nodded, suddenly feeling all wrung out, and it wasn’t even noon yet. Although holding onto her protector made her feel safe, relaxing her, a sudden wave of exhaustion washed over her. Letting go, she eased back into her seat and began to drift off. From under drooping lids, she could see the planet speed by below. The Academy behind them existed as an oasis of calm green . . . or had been before the firefight. In contrast, the area surrounding the fleet base they were approaching looked like a moonscape, even five years after the coup when kinetic weapons had rained down on the capitol city and main military installations. Idly, Maeve thought that it should stay barren forever after such a cataclysmic event, but even here, green had begun to creep back with saplings, weeds, grass, and brambles sprouting across the landscape.
Suddenly, the helicopter jinked down and to the side. Knuckles white and heart beating wildly, she grabbed a handhold. Were they going to die? The pilot’s voice came over the intercom, calm and professional as he spoke with flight control. “Admin Center Control, Apache Three One. We are being lased, taking evasive measures now.”
“Roger, Three One. Try alternate approach vector Delta 7.”
“Roger, Control. Dropping to three zero feet NOE.” She knew this meant nap of the earth or thirty feet off the ground. “Shifting approach to vector two two zero. I say again, going NOE, over.”
“Roger, Three One. We are running a back trace to ID lase location. Are you still under surveillance?”
“Negative, Control.”
Maeve suddenly realized that she had been holding her breath. On the ground she could try to hide, do something to protect herself, but not up here. She hated feeling helpless. She forced herself to breathe.
“Three One, pop up for three seconds so we can see if you can still be lased.”
“Roger, Control. Popping up now.”
Maeve found herself holding her breath again, expecting to hear at any moment the incoming scream of a missile or see a stream of large-caliber bullets that would destroy them in an instant. The thought of having her grief blotted out called to her, while repelling her at the same time. Unbearable sadness filled her, but she wanted to live, too, if for no other reason than to spite Morgain for her parents’ sake. She couldn’t believe how matter-of-fact the pilot’s voice sounded as he reported.
“Control, lasing from one seven zero. Dropping back to NOE. No incoming, over.”
“Roger, Three One. Hostile triangulated, over.”
“Roger, Control. Many thanks. Over.”
Maeve wished she could sound like that in the face of danger. She had been terrified. Priscilla squeezed her hand wordlessly. Suddenly, another oasis of green and calm that seemed out of place in the midst of all this chaos rose ahead. Maeve watched as they approached a group of towers standing as if nothing had ever happened around them. Somehow, the shield generators protecting the center of the base had stayed up, even as those guarding the palace and much of the city had faltered and fallen. Dad had been here, Maeve remembered, eyes darkening. Only that had saved him when so many others had died. That time.
Tears welled up again. How could she cry so much? She never cried! Where did all the water come from? Rubbing her eyes with the heels of her hands, powder residue from the shots she had fired burned her eyes.
She knew what her Dad would expect of her at a time like this, but she couldn’t help it. She could never be Dad, always strong even when Mom died. She had only found out how much he missed her when she went to his room once in the middle of the night, overwhelmed by her own sense of loss, to find him sobbing, calling her mother’s name softly.
But now she had no time to grieve. She needed to concentrate, plan, move forward. With a tremendous act of will, she tried to physically force the tears back.
The bird circled in for a landing atop a medium-sized tower. Maeve, catching movement from the corner of her eye, realized that missile and gun mounts on surrounding buildings were focusing on her chopper. A false move by her pilots and she’d be dead, killed by friends. A mistake by any of the operators of those weapon systems would also end it. She found herself praying, or at least hoping, that everyone did exactly what they should do today.
The chief unbuckled her, before gently helping her down. Priscilla had gotten herself out to wait on the graveled deck. Looking up, she saw a naval staff officer with a squad of Marines headed her way from a glassed-in room about seventy-five feet away. The Marines fell into place around them, weapons pointed out.
The officer, a clean-cut lieutenant commander with the loafer’s loops of an aide, whose name tag read Asroc, shook their hands. “Admiral Davies is in conference or he would have been here to meet you himself,” he yelled over the rotor noise. Pointing toward the waiting area, he led the way.
Why is the commander of the entire Prime Fleet concerned with the orphaned daughter of a midlevel staff officer like my father? She noticed Priscilla lean over and whispered something she couldn’t hear in Asroc’s ear. When the officer gave Maeve a quick appraising examination and a nod before hurrying them off the roof, Maeve’s internal radar went on even higher alert. What is all this?
Unfortunately, Asroc didn’t say another word all the way to the elevator at the back of the waiting area, or down to the command bunker under the building. Nor did the Marines speak, each standing at the ready in a corner of the car. As they descended, it became obvious they were going a long way down. Maeve watched Asroc. Good-looking, but he seemed to be just an empty suit, a time server. She assumed Davies had picked him to be an aide because the admiral didn’t want him doing damage anywhere else.
Maeve decided she needed some information and could now ask safely. Opening her mouth, she didn’t even get a word started before Priscilla cut her off sharply.
“Later,” came the curt order, shutting Maeve up. She hadn’t been a perfect daughter, but Dad had impressed upon her the need for security; a time and place for questions, and times and places not to ask. Dad had been in intelligence and had taught her that the wrong word at the wrong time, or even the right word at the wrong time, might get somebody killed.
Reaching the bottom, the doors opened onto a security corridor and checkpoint. The Marines stayed in the elevator as Asroc motioned her and Priscilla forward. A second surprise hit her as no one stopped them, even briefly, at the checkpoints. They were waved right through.
Sentries guarding a conference room door eyed them as they briskly approached. Asroc pulled out an ID card hanging from a chain around his neck, which they inspected. The sentries came to attention, saluted, then returned to an alert parade rest position.
As they entered the room, Maeve realized that they had walked in on a high-level staff conference. When she made eye contact with the full commander at the briefing podium, he shut his mouth and instantly blanked the screens. Every other person, about twenty plus including the aides, turned toward her. The commander waited perhaps two tics before asking in a nasty voice, “What’s this, Asroc? You know this is a secure briefing.”
At the head of the table, a bear of a man with thinning light brown hair, stood, causing everyone else to stand. In an affable tone, he said, “It’s okay, Simon. I sent Mike up to get these two as soon as they arrived. I’m afraid my business with them will have to take priority for the moment over the after-action report. We’ll convene back here in thirty minutes.” The others in attendance looked rather stunned but quickly began to pick up their folders and paraphernalia. Rather less patiently, Admiral Davies ordered, steely gray eyes boring into them, “Leave it all. I promise no one will go through your things.” Some of the more junior members of the staff glanced up, startled, before springing away like deer being flushed by a hunter. The more senior officers simply left without giving any impression of haste, though a few cleared the room before some of their juniors.
“Steve,” Davies called out to a Marine brigadier before he reached the door, “The navy lieutenant here will report to you when we are done. Take care of her business before you return, will you?”
The leather skinned general, giving an appraising look to both Pricilla and Maeve, answered, “I’ll get right on it, sir!”
The admiral smiled. “Quietly, if that’s possible.” The general, with the name tag of Holmes, smiled back, nodding before ducking out the door dead last.
Spying for the Jacksons
Despite the almost thousand years of history covered in the preceding twenty chapters, there is no episode in the annals of the security service that did more to create the conditions for the coup or bring about the current political state of the galaxy than the love between Maude Jackson, Princess of Green Gardens, and then-Lieutenant Robert ap Morgan. At that time, he acted as Emperor Esau Emanuel’s best troubleshooter and had gone on holiday of a sort after a particularly difficult mission in what had been Sector Nineteen. Maude and Robert met at an official reception her mother, Queen Euryple, felt forced to give.1
