" Come on, boy. " he growled, " The man is waiting on you. "
Having no idea who the Sergeant meant, Dyan got out and followed him anyway. He followed the marching non-com across the expanse of the huge subterranean garage to a wide pylon at the center. Here they entered an elevator. The Sergeant almost waited for Dyan to enter the car before closing the door and sending them on their way. The car rocketed upwards, speeding through the center of the tower for quite awhile before it finally slowed to a stop. The door slid aside and Dyan followed the Sergeant out.
The young man found himself in a huge, squared off room fill by a vast array of electronic equipment and operators. The buzzing, beeping, and whirring of the equipment added to the murmur of quiet voices to create a subdued noise. The ceiling soared nearly three stories above Dyan's head. The outside walls were composed of huge panes of Glasstite, fusion-bonded armoured glass, that sloped away from the center of the building. Two equipment galleries hung before those giant windows. Dyan could see miles beyond the city from where he now stood. But the Sergeant marched around the wide pylon in the center of the room and entered another elevator. Dyan followed quickly and they sped upwards.
This time, the two men stepped from the elevator into another room somewhat similar to the one they had just left. The walls were also formed by huge panes of Glasstite, although here they sloped inward at the ceiling. This room also had a gallery around the outside walls, though just one. But there, the resemblence to the room below ended.
The central pylon ended at the same height as the gallery. In the center of the ceiling of this room, a full story above the top of the pylon, was a domed observation deck, reached by a stair from the gallery. The gallery itself held long rows of bookshelves, interspersed with small clusters of overstuffed chairs. A stair led from the gallery down to the top of the central pylon and another wound around the pylon to end to Dyans' right. To his left and right, stub walls, festooned with shelves, hung with paintings, or paneled in rich, dark woods, divided the vast area into seperate rooms, presumably, the rest of the living quarters.
The floor was covered with a thick, spoungey, multihued carpet. Directly ahead was a sunken area scattered with heavy wooden tables, more bookshelves, and several high-backed overstuffed chairs. Knick-knacks, readouts, books and papers were spread about the place in profusion.
The Sergeant led Dyan through the living area and around the pylon. They stopped before the open door of a small room. The grizzled non-com knocked politely, waiting for a reply before entering the room. Dyan followed him in and entered a small office. It held several workstations and terminals, all cluttered with readouts and record disks. In one corner, the profusion ended, leaving a neat area occupied by four more of the abundant, high-backed, overstuffed, and comfortable- looking chairs.
The chairs were arranged around a low, wooden table. The center of the dark tabletop held a silver tray. Upon the tray were several crystal decanturs and three matching glasses. Also upon the tabletop was a pair of mirror-shined boots, crossed at the ankles, and attached to the man who occupied one of the large chairs. In his hand he held the fourth crystal goblet, half-full of a deep red liquid. His other hand held a binder full of printouts. The Sergeant moved to stand beside the seated man and addressed him.
" Commander. Lieunetant VunDoerf. "
The tone of the Sergeant's voice, the respect it carried in that short speech brought Dyan's full attention to the man who commanded such admiration from such a grizzled old soldier as the Sergeant. This, then, was THE Commander. The one man who commanded forces vast enough that Charl VunDoerf felt it necessary to die to preserve peace with. This was the man who ruled an empire within the empires of the Reagency and the Confederacy. The man who held sway over forces that ranged the length and breadth of the entire know universe, possibly beyond, if the barracks rumours were to be believed.
Dyan studied the seated man. He decided that the Commander was approximately forty years old. Standing, he would be about six feet tall. He had a slim build, but possessed broad shoulders and a deep chest. Dyan guessed he weighed around 175 pounds. The rolled sleeves of his shirt revealed hard, dark-tanned, muscular forearms, and his dark blue uniform pants formed tightly to muscular legs. The Commanders' face was tanned and seamed like old leather. The grey he wore showed more promenantly in the trim moustache the man sported than in his neatly combed sandy-brown hair.
And when Dyan met the man's gaze, looking into his eyes was like staring into two pools of deep, icy, blue water. The two men locked eyes for a moments, then the Commander lifted a finger and pointed at a chair. Dyan sat down.
The Commander turned to the Sergeant. " My compliments to commander Yung, Sergeant. Have him come up, please. "
The Sergeant took Dyan's pack and helmet, turned on his heel and marched out. Alone with the young officer, the Commander spoke again.
" Help yourself, Lieutenant. " he said, waving his goblet at the tray. " And accept my compliments on your landing. You are quite a skilled pilot. "
" Thank you, sir. " Dyan replied as he poured a small measure of the red liquid.
" Now, tell me why you have arrived in my city in the escape ship of an old and dear friend. " the Commander said casually.
Dyan choked on the swallow of wine he was tasting, taken completely by surprise with that question. Recovering quickly, the young man answered.
" Commandant Gundersun, as well as my father, Vice- Reagent VunDoerf, were discovered to be agents of your UHR. During their arrest, I became involved and a gunbattle ensued. My father had discovered information they both felt it imperative you have, and it was decided that I had the best chance for reaching here alive. I have come at the request of both my father and my friend. "
" Only that could have gotten you to leave them there. " the seated man stated flatly. Then he continued; " What is this information they felt so vital I know, Lieutenant? "
" This city will fall under attack from Reagency forces sometime in the next two days. " Dyan said.
" We have been monitoring their fleet as it gathered. They do not have enough firepower to attempt an all out attack. And neither Olaf nor Charl would have sent you on this errand over that. What else were you told to bring me? " the Commander asked, fixing Dyan with a cold stare.
" The Reagency will attack you in the next two days. Because, sometime before that, four Delta class battleships will arrive here to support the attack. " the young officer replied.
The Commander said nothing more. Instead, he stared at the wine in his glass for many minutes. When he finally looked up, the man again pinned Dyan with his deep blue eyes.
" They were both killed, Dyan. While you were racing to warn us. " the man said, throwing the black binder on the table before Dyan. " We heard it on the news broadcasts from Kauldierun just a short time ago. I'm very sorry, son. They were both good friends of mine as well. "
The words struck Dyan like a physical blow. His mind reeled at what he heard. He had given his Father back the pistol so that Charl could die fighting, knowing that was what his Father wanted. But the young man had not believed in the reality of the situation, had not believed his Father could really die. Dyan felt sick to his stomach. He heard, rather than felt, the goblet fall from his nerveless hand as his grief washed over him. When next Dyan was aware, the grizzled Sergeant was pressing a glass into his hand.
" Drink it, son. " the old soldier said. " It won't kill the pain, but it will help some. "
The young man tossed down the hefty measure in the crystal glass. Immediately, he began to cough as the stout Darian whiskey burned in his throat. When the tears cleared from his eyes Dyan looked up. The Commander remained enscounced in his large chair. Another officer sat between Dyan and the Commander now. And the old Sergeant stood beside Dyan, filling the empty glass again. The old soldier sat in the fourth chair, then, watching Dyan absently sip the whiskey.
" Your loss is our loss, young man. " the strange officer said. " Your father and Olaf were both good men, well respected and well liked in the UHR. They will be missed. "
" Thank you, sir. " Dyan mumbled.
" But, " the Commander said, " now we must attend to other things. Mourning our friends must wait. We have an entire city to evacuate and very little time to do it in. Sergeant, please conduct the Lieutenant to his quarters. I will deal with his situation as soon as I have the time. You have made the arrangements? Good. That will be all for now, gentlemen. "
The Sergeant took Dyan by the elbow and guided him gently, but firmly, back to the elevator.
