Lazarus, p.2
Lazarus, page 2
part #3 of Interstellar Cargo Series
PART ONE
TRIAL AND ERROR
ICARUS LOG 005:
“I should have stayed in prison. At least there I had three hots and a cot. Out here, in the “Free ’Verse,” I’m contending with dodging plastol bursts, maneuvering evil political machinations, and staring into the light of the electric blue cosmic portal. It’s enough to make even the System’s Most Wanted question his sanity....
1
AMBER
“You just signed your death warrant.”
Cole gave an exaggerated yawn. He felt and heard his jaw pop, though he didn’t give his attentive audience the courtesy of covering his mouth. In truth, he was tired––tired of being paraded around from one spectacle to the next. His ire was raised from the onslaught of long-winded and politically correct questions of his interrogation. And he was downright sick of smelling his worthless attorney’s cheap cologne.
He shook his head at each of the five powerful individuals across the office table––the presidents of the United System themselves––the leaders of the divisions of AMBER: Agriculture, Military, Business, Entertainment, and Research. All of them had made special arrangements to meet with him. None in-person, of course. A dangerous terrorist like him required a convention of guests via augmented reality through restrictive Ocunet lenses. They had called to order this impromptu hearing, though only one of them had spoken of his fated doom. It was toward the white-haired president of Agriculture that he directed his reply.
“That’s fine. You’re on a long list of people who want me dead.”
His government-appointed attorney grunted and shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “What Mr. Musgrave means to say is––”
“Shut up, Matlock,” Cole interrupted. “Don’t waste your bad breath. These proceedings ended long before we got here, so you can take your shoot-from-the-hip approach and holster it.”
His attorney, whose name he did not remember, cleared his throat and shrank quietly back into his chair. Cole, however, sat forward, interlocking his exposed fingers and resting his wrists on the edge of the table. It was about the extent his arms and body could move on account of his many bindings.
“I honestly don’t know what it is you people expect from me––”
“You will appropriately address the leaders of our great United System with the honor and respect they deserve,” one of the several dozen heavily armed guards spoke from behind him.
Cole turned in the direction of the grave baritone, but none of them held any expression. Instead he responded to the female guard who rivaled Emmerich in size and scowl. “Now why would I do that? Call them Mister or Madam President? Two of them are male, three female. Let’s say I stare at the table when I respond “appropriately” or try to have a productive conversation; no one’s gonna know to whom I’m talking. We don’t need any more confusion than there already is.”
“Captain Musgrave.”
Cole smirked at his former title, and turned back to one of the three middle-aged women: President Miranda Jensen of Research. “Yes, Milady?”
“There is no need to be difficult with us,” she said, her voice low and raspy—almost seductive. “We all––Mr. Concord of Agriculture included––have nothing but the interest of the people of the United System at the forefront of our minds.” She cast her white haired equal a fleeting, yet dismissive, glance. “It is in your best interest to assist our cause.”
Cole tapped a few of his fingers on the cold, steel countertop as he processed her words. He pretended not to feel violated by President Jensen’s cool and calculating gaze. “And just what is this ‘cause’ of which you speak, Your Ladyship?”
If Jensen was annoyed by the improper title, she showed no outward disdain. “The betterment of our beloved society, of course.”
“Ah,” Cole said flatly. “Spoken like a true politician. I wasn’t aware it was election season.”
“This is preposterous!” Concord said, slamming his virtual fist upon the table. “What is the point in subjecting ourselves to this charlatan’s impudence. Clearly he is little more than a flippant cur who chooses to play coy in the face of the galactic tragedy he concocted. We have wasted valuable time by allowing him the opportunity to make a farce of these proceedings.”
Flippant cur? Impudent charlatan? Way too flowery a description for a supposed mass-murdering psychopath like me. “Hey, don’t blame me for ruining your tee-time, Your Eminence,” Cole said to Concord. “I didn’t schedule this political conclave. The five of you woke me up, remember?”
“An arrangement I vehemently regret,” Concord replied back, red-faced. He looked to his surrounding presidential colleagues and gestured toward them. “As I stated moments ago, I vote we adjourn this travesty and expedite this miscreant’s capital sentence.”
Not exactly the words you used earlier, President Thesaurus, Cole thought.
“Such a vote will be brought to order once this panel has acquired the necessary information we seek, Mr. Concord,” the president of Military said to his peer. The harsh delivery of the comment left little room for debate, and the other three presidents agreed with the sentiment, leaving Concord’s proposal thoroughly quashed.
Concord’s face bloomed a deeper shade of red, but he did not offer a rebuke. Cole popped a knuckle. “Well, I’m glad we sorted that out. ‘Cuz we were making such progress before His Excellency’s scurrilous interruption.” Yeah, that’s right! I know fancy words too.
“Captain Musgrave,” Jensen began. “Do not mistake the gesture for kindness. These are grave matters over which you jest. These proceedings will last as long or as short as we deem necessary, so I suggest you dispense with your sarcastic babe-in-the-woods act and take a more forthcoming approach with us.”
Says the woman whose division secretly enacted a coup to infiltrate the very corporation we are now discussing, Cole thought. “Hey, I’ve been completely forthcoming from the start. I can’t help it my silver tongue poked a hole through His Majesty’s paper skin.” He nodded toward Concord. “If you want whatever it is you want, you’ll just have to sift through this truculent pilot’s spontaneous balderdash.”
There was agitated chatter amongst the presidents, though only Jensen seemed unperturbed by Cole’s outspoken manner. The corners of her painted lips turned upwards, and he could almost see the wheels turning in her mind as she readied to unleash upon him her sinister machinations.
“The Terracom Interdimensional Gateway Station,” she began after the murmuring had died down. “You claim that you learned of its discovery through your mother.”
“Again with TIGS?” Cole interrupted. “Look, Your Worship, I’ve already given a detailed recounting of my escapades to investigators. Whatever you need to know is––” He stopped mid-speech when she held up a silencing hand. He snapped closed his fallen jaw, curious as to what she would say next.
“We are aware of the details given,” she said after lowering her hand. “What we are interested in hearing is what was not said.”
Cole’s eye twitched. I was wondering when someone would catch wind of my glaring omissions. “Shouldn’t you guys be talking to Mrs. Business?” He nodded toward the frigid countenance of the woman who represented the noted division. “Pretty sure they have closer ties to Terracom than I do. Besides, what would I have to gain by keeping information to myself?” He knew exactly what the answer would be.
Jensen’s smile grew. “It’s not what you have to gain but those who you’re hoping to protect.” There was a pregnant pause, and Cole knew she was gauging his reaction. “To answer your first question, we are in close correspondence with Business, though Terracom has since seceded from their division following the events surrounding your involvement. That is another matter entirely.
“But civil unrest is none of your concern. The lives of Richter Solomon and Dr. Lin Dartmouth are.”
“Pawns,” Cole said in as convincing a tone as he could muster. “Both of them. I know nothing I say will reverse whatever it is you plan to do––or have already done––to them, but they aren’t anything more than unfortunate bystanders. Arthur T. Forester, however, is a different story altogether. If that was even his real name. He’s the mastermind behind this whole fiasco, so you might want to look into him. That sneaky little shit spy played us all for fools. Fortunately for all of you, he dealt with the likes of a cunning and wrongfully accused pilot by the name of Cole Musgrave.”
“The investigation into Arthur Forester is ongoing,” Jensen said offhandedly. “As is the one involving your accomplices. They’re involvement is undeniable, as is your willingness to protect them from an end not so dissimilar to what yours will be.” She tilted her head as though studying an animal through bullet-proof glass. “Point the finger all you want, Captain, but the fact remains that any dealings you had with this so-called spy ended before your short stint with the Ravens.”
Shit, she’s done her homework. “Look, that was a wrinkle none of us expected. We had no choice but to obey Jude––”
“Your brother?” the president of Military clarified. He raised a bushy eyebrow. “Let’s not forget your familial ties with the Revan name.”
“Half-brother,” Cole clarified. “And besides, I didn’t ask to become his personal slave.”
“Is that why you murdered him?”
Cole faltered. Whoops. I forgot all about that lovely little broadcast. “Look, Uncle Sam, think what you will of that farce. Everyone––the five of you, included––saw that he came at me with a machete.”
“What was seen, Mr. Musgrave,” spoke a new voice—that of President Amrita Sharmila of Business, “was the creation of the perfect scapegoat.”
Cole frowned, not liking where the conversation was headed.
“Do not think for a moment,” Sharmila continued, “that this panel is not aware of the true facts of this case. There is what the People know and what we know.”
Cole blinked. “Such as?”
Sharmila turned to the president of Military. “I believe Mr. Sinclair would be best suited to answer that question.”
President Darius Sinclair of Military squared his shoulders and leaned forward as though he were ready to reach across the table and throttle Cole. “Thank you, Ms. Sharmila. I will gladly accept this task.” He glowered at Cole before speaking. “As was stated, there is the public’s truth, and our truth. While this panel is aware of your true identity, the public has concluded that you are indeed Darkstar himself.”
“What?”
“And according to the vast majority of the populace, you are to blame for every single tragedy that has befallen our beloved United System since you were first hijacked by the traitor, Chrysanthemum Emmerich,” Sinclair continued.
The latter statement was nothing surprising to Cole, but to think that he had been burdened with his brother’s thorny crown was preposterous. “Thirteen years I worked under Big Brother’s watchful eye––with nary a fart gone undetected. Yet, somehow––overnight, mind you––I managed to become a notorious gangster who’s been running an underground criminal operation since before I was discharged from Starforce? How did that lovely fib get started?”
“You can thank yourself,” Jensen said, rejoining the conversation. “Your visage has been displayed throughout the galaxy since you sacked the terraport.”
I hope they at least used a good photo of me.
“And why would they not consider you as public enemy number one?” Sinclair asked, interlocking his fingers before his pale, angular face. “Aside from the aforementioned coup aboard the prototype ICV-71 vessel, the destruction of the terraport, and the public execution of your brother, you also managed to escape from federal custody, ransack a government facility of top secret technology, infiltrate the Galactic Information Satellite for reasons still unknown....”
“Heh.”
“...which caused significant tension between UniSys and Terracom,” Sinclair continued overtop Cole’s chuckling. “You also managed to resurrect the missing U.S.S. Daedalus and uncover a conspiracy involving Terracom and their interdimensional gateway station.”
“Shouldn’t you thank me for that last one?” Cole asked, in-between the damning list of charges.
“Before causing the mass destruction of both, along with the majority of the Starforce fleet sent to intercede,” Sinclair finished dully. “Thousands of innocent lives were lost.”
Cole shrugged. “All victims of circumstance––none of which can be blamed on—”
“Do you think this is a damn joke?” Sinclair shouted, shattering the calm discourse.
Cole was undaunted by his tone and crimson-fury face. “I do. Because that’s what these proceedings are. The five of you say you harbor some all-powerful truth which you keep hidden from the public, but the real truth––the only truth––is that those of us who were aboard the Icarus know what really happened. But seeing as no one outside that ship is willing to read between the lines and accept that there’s a gray area, what we get is government blackmail in the form of labeling me a terroristic gangster while dangling the lives of my crew over my head in the hopes of eliciting some sort of response which will help you gather intel on something I probably know nothing about.”
Cole sat back in his chair with a resounding whump and took a deep, calming breath. He looked to his side and found his attorney still sitting there, drenched in his own sweat. “A lot of good you turned out to be.”
“Is there any more evidence needed to adjourn these proceedings?” Concord asked the panel. “It is quite obvious that nothing of value will be gained regarding the Source.”
“‘The Source?’” Cole repeated, unfamiliar with the term. “Another secret you believe me to be withholding information about, perhaps?”
Sinclair scowled at Concord, though it was Jensen who replied. “Nothing of which you need concern yourself. I’m afraid Mr. Concord is correct about these proceedings.”
“Oh, suddenly you’re tight-lipped?” Cole asked, finding the change in attitude amusing. “What happened to you needing my assistance to better our beloved society? What about getting to the source of the Source?”
“That opportunity has passed, Captain,” she spoke with finality. “Your intentions are clear, and so the matter will lay.”
Cole raised his hands up as high as they could go, and he attempted to wave goodbye. Already Concord and the president of Entertainment––who had remained silent the entirety of the discussion––had logged off. “Well, gee, it sure was an honor getting to know each of you on such a personal level. I feel like we’re all best friends now. The five––well, three of you better get back out there and fight that good fight. We all know you’re gonna need it now that you’re at war with Terracom. If only there had been some way for you to put aside your titanic political egos and actually listen to what little old me has to say. Who knows? You might’ve learned something.”
“That is doubtful, Captain,” Jensen said. Her eyes had acquired a fierceness, and Cole knew she was about to tear into him. “That you think so little of our dire predicament only solidifies your guilt. You may not be Jude Revan, though you certainly possess the aptitude to be his alter ego. Now that your fate is sealed, why should you care about the recent crumbling of our economy––the violent riots occurring throughout all of the Debt Colonies? And most importantly, why would you ever give a damn about the murder of countless innocent lives, regardless of whether or not you’re responsible?”
“You’re sexy when you’re angry.”
Jensen scoffed, disgusted. “Your sentencing will commence as planned, and the fate of Dr. Dartmouth and Mr. Solomon shall remain a mystery to you. Goodbye, Captain.” She stood, her holographic image faltering.
What am I doing? “Hey, I did you guys a favor, though none of you realize it!” Cole yelled, knowing his little outburst was too little too late. Withholding information to protect Lin and Rig had only dug deeper his grave. Saving them was no longer a possibility, and it probably never was one to begin with. It was time for him to look out for number one. “The United System might be at war with Terracom, but we’d all be dead if I hadn’t stuck my nose where it wasn’t wanted. Dig a little deeper, and you might be surprised what you uncover. I know I was.”
Cole sat up straighter when he saw Jensen hesitate. Knowing this was his last chance to avoide execution, he pounced. “I won’t apologize for the way I am, and I definitely won’t ever claim full responsibility for everything that has happened since I first took my position as a test pilot for SolEx. But I will tell you that there’s more going on than this government knows.You might not think you need me, but I’ve seen...things.”
Jensen’s fading image turned and came back into focus. She remained standing. “Of that, I am certain, Captain. You’ve also done things. Things which call into doubt your credibility as a reliable resource. You had your chance to save yourself and make a difference, but you elected the way to your end.”
And with that, the president of Research turned and left for good, leaving Cole alone in the conference room. With the exception of his attorney and the host of guards. He faced the cringing man to his side and pointed with as much conviction as his bound hands would allow.
“You’re fired!”
2
EXTRACTION
00:21.13
Triston acknowledged the dwindling time to complete his mission: barely twenty minutes. He lowered his face shield and forged his way deeper into the heart of the prison facility. For the hundredth time he checked the stolen plastol sidearm tucked in its holster, then soundlessly stepped up to the entrance. He turned his back toward the reinforced door and assumed the same rigid stance as the recent guard. He hoped no one would notice his smaller stature. If not for his years of training, experience, and the high-tech tools he had been given, this ludicrous plan would have been for nought. Even with the necessary assistance, success was far from guaranteed.
