"LUNAR:  Starship Andromeda"

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LUNAR:  Starship Andromeda

By Jeffery C. Branch and Daryll Pung

Episode Eight:  Just How Deep Does This Rabbit Hole Go?

Rated: R

In standard orbit over Pollus 4, inside the Alpha Zone, 14 March 2740

            For the first time since taking command of the ship, Sailor Eldrea felt the crushing weight of commanding a mighty dreadnaught such as Andromeda on her shoulders, and the feeling was not pleasant.

            Despite all of her decisions having been correct and completely by the book, the situation with the Pollusians had still unraveled, leaving her temporarily mired in a miasma of doubt.  Now the Senshi of Alchemy was forced to explain to the planet’s military command about the incident with their battle fleet, about the destruction of Kestrel’s ship with all hands aboard.  That was what hurt Sailor Eldrea to her very core, the senseless loss of life which she had been helpless to prevent; despite having killed in the past, she felt that every life lost, be it at her hands or not, should mean something, and what was going on here went far beyond that.  For several moments, the cocksure Senshi, feeling the eyes of everyone on the bridge locked on her, didn’t know what to do next.

            Dammit, Audra!  Snap to, woman!  This is no time to be a spineless wimp, she thought angrily.  Sailor Siryn entrusted you with her ship; placed her faith in you to make the right calls while she’s down on the planet.  If I screw up now, I won’t be of any use to her!  I’d sooner slit my throat than let that happen!  I am NOT going to fail my captain!  I am NOT going to fail my friend!

            Straightening herself in the chair, Sailor Eldrea put on a hard, brave face.  Once again, it was time to perform her duty.  “Mr. Kwan, cut into the transmission from the planet.  If anyone’s going to break the bad news to them about Kestrel, it’s going to be me,” she said a firm, strong voice.

            “Rerouting now, ma’am,” Kwan said crisply.  “On screen two.”

            “Call it a hunch, captain, but I’ve got a funny feeling they’re going to have a pretty hard time believing our side of the story,” Khatari quipped.

            Sailor Eldrea let out a short, rueful chuckle.  “Newsflash, Tactical.  I barely believe it myself.”

            The Chinese officer pressed his panel and screen two winked on to reveal a thin faced, middle-aged man in the Pollusian military uniform, complete with a garrison hat on his head.  The man looked startled, then confused at viewing Andromeda’s bridge.

            “This is Admiral N’Kohrek Wrajera, Overlord of the Pollusian Space Fleet.  Who… who are you?” the officer demanded.  “What happened to Commander Kestrel?”

            “I am Sailor Eldrea, first officer of the SLS Andromeda,” said the Senshi in a low, solemn voice.  “Admiral, I regret to inform you that Commander Kestrel and everyone aboard his ship was lost during a… confrontation with our vessel.”

            Wrajera’s eyes widened from shock.  “Lost?  As in destroyed?  What in the seven hells happened?  What about Kestrel’s battle group?”

            Sailor Eldrea, not looking forward to what she had to reveal, took a deep breath before she spoke.  “To give you a condensed version, Admiral, two ships from Commander Kestrel’s group defected, their captains requesting asylum from us, which I was duty bound to grant.  When that happened, Kestrel sought to destroy them because the rogue crews had supposedly defied Pollusian military law, so they attacked us, and we defended ourselves as per Royal Star Navy rules of engagement.  At one point, Kestrel… lost control, overloaded his ship’s core for a suicide run, and the rogue crews destroyed him out of… self-preservation.  The remainder of the battle group is still intact; however, they’ve been disabled, and are currently adrift.  On behalf of the crew of Andromeda, I deeply lament the lives lost in this unfortunate incident.”

            Wrajera’s brows creased; he was silent for several moments.  As the crew watched, Sailor Eldrea silently hoped the Pollusian wouldn’t get into a shouting match with her.  Her soul was weary from all the meaningless death and destruction; she just didn’t have the strength for another argument.  Finally, Wrajera responded.

            “What law are you talking about, captain?” he asked.

            “Well, Admiral, Kestrel stated that defectors from the military were immediately subject to death.”  The Senshi of Alchemy paused as an icy fist of apprehension suddenly gripped her heart.  “Pardon my ignorance, but there is such a law in your books, isn’t there?”

            “No!  There is not!  Military defectors are subject to expulsion from the service, public humiliation and maybe imprisonment depending upon the severity of the offense.  That is all!” Wrajera snapped, anger tightening his face.  “There is nothing in our regulations about ship or ground commanders performing summary executions of defectors at their own discretion!  Never has been!  Exactly what is going on out there?  Captain, I demand answers!  And I demand them now!”

            Eyes all over Andromeda’s bridge widened while jaws fell open after hearing Wrajera’s declaration.  Almost instantly, everyone silently voiced the exact same thought:  a sneak attack.

            “Son of a bitch,” an astonished Sailor Eldrea slowly whispered, her thoughts racing as suspicion burst to the forefront of her brain.  The fucking DK!  It’s gotta be!

            Behind her at the Tactical station, Khatari shook his head while fighting the urge to chuckle at the growing absurdity, if not insanity of the situation.

            “And the surprises just keep on coming,” he muttered.  “I can’t wait to see what happens next.”

Royal Hall, Marquis City, Pollus 4, inside the Alpha Zone, 14 March 2740

            With the council chambers badly damaged by Sailor Siryn’s attack against Carnus to the point where it was rendered dangerously uninhabitable, the Senshi of Sound, Counselor Ventura and the Pollusian leaders retreated to a spacious boardroom one floor below.

            That suited the Irish woman just fine.  After coming down from her adrenaline fueled combat high, the sight of the wrecked chamber reminded her of the terrible incident twelve years ago in her hometown of Dublin, the incident that forever changed her life after she nearly killed an auditorium full of helpless people when her frightening power first emerged, eventually forcing her into becoming a Senshi.

            As everyone sat around a large, marble meeting table, the Senshi of Sound fixed her bright green eyes on Ventura, sitting next to her.  “All right, Counselor, you said to me you know why Kodos sought to eliminate the church.  Let’s have it.”

            The gorgeous black woman nodded.  “As you wish, captain.”  Ventura then turned to Kodos across the table, his head bandaged from having been assaulted by Carnus.  “So, Praetor Kodos, who did you lose during the Dry Lung Disease outbreak?”

            The eyes of everyone, save for Kodos, Drocargh and Zhitenn, widened from Ventura’s question.  Sullen and looking drowsy from pain-killing drugs administered to him by a medic, Kodos took a few moments before responding.

            “My wife and my three daughters.  They were staying at a resort in the southern countryside for a week long vacation at the time of the outbreak.  I was supposed to have been with them, but I was here, finishing reports for the current planet’s rulers and planned to join them the following day.  When the outbreak occurred, the resort and everything within a fifty-kilometer radius was quarantined.  My family, my entire family died within days of contracting the disease.  I never saw them alive again.”

            Sailor Siryn heard the pain in Kodos’ voice as he relayed his story.  With her younger sister Moira missing, maybe dead, she understood his grief.  “For whatever it’s worth, sir, I’m sorry.  I know how it feels to lose a loved one.”  She then turned to Ventura.  “What does the church have to do with the outbreak?”

            “I’m surprised you haven’t figured that out for yourself, captain,” said Ventura, a trace of a condescending tone in her voice.  “The church was ruling the planet twenty-five years ago.”

            The Senshi’s eyes widened, then she stared at Zhitenn, seated a few feet away.  Looking uncomfortable, he lowered his head.  Seated next to Zhitenn was a youngish looking councilmember, his eyes narrowed while he fingered something inside his robes.

            “We weren’t told about that,” said a startled Sailor Siryn.  “Viceroy Zhitenn, is this true?”

            “Of course it’s true!” Kodos snapped before Zhitenn could respond.  “As distrustful as we are of outsiders today, the level of xenophobia exhibited by the church was many times worse when they ruled a quarter century ago!  When the outbreak occurred, the non-religious supporting members of the ruling caste begged the church for help from the RSN after our medical facilities were horribly overtaxed and unable to check the spread of the disease, but those pious, pompous bastards refused!”

            “Why?” a puzzled Ventura asked.

            Kodos locked angry, hateful eyes on Zhitenn who shrank before his baleful glare.  Everyone in the room could feel the man’s burning rage.  “Well, Zhitenn?  Should I answer that, or will you?  Oh, silly me, I forgot!  Even after all these years, you still don’t have the courage to admit to the horrific mistake the church made!”

            Instead, Kodos turned to Sailor Siryn.  “I’ll tell you why!  The church refused to allow any outsiders, especially anyone loyal to Neo-Queen Serenity, whom they saw as a false deity, to set foot here because they believed that such ‘godless heretics’ would contaminate Pollus’ so-called holy sanctity!  Better to die pure than to live as converted blasphemers, church leaders said!  They even had the nerve to call the outbreak a ‘test of faith’, that only true believers of Theth-Anon would survive the catastrophe while failed, corrupted souls were cast down into the Abyss to burn in eternal torment after dying!”

            At that point, tears poured down Kodos’ face.  Sailor Siryn was concerned at the pain-filled mania in the Praetor’s voice.

            “My beloved wife!  My darling children!  They, and countless thousands more needlessly died, black marked as heretics because of religious fervor run amok!” yelled Kodos at Zhitenn, who looked openly uncomfortable, as did his aides.  “Because of the madness of the church, Zhitenn!  YOUR church!”

            What happened next, no one anticipated.  Kodos stood, pulled a small weapon from under his robes and aimed it a shocked Zhitenn.

            “Gun!” a startled Ventura yelled.

            Before anyone could move, Kodos fired a blast between Zhitenn’s eyes, killing him on the spot.

Marquis City

            A constant, low hum of the anti-grav drive filled the cab of a medium-sized utility truck, angular in appearance, with writing on the side advertising its refurbishing nature, as it maneuvered its way down the main street towards the imposing sight of the Royal Hall.  The environmental systems were providing cool air at a constant rate of flow, but that didn’t help Ursola, seated in the driver’s console, too much; he was fighting to remain calm, and barely winning that fight. 

            In the rear off the cab, amidst the must and dust of old furnishings and tools, was secreted the Andromeda security squad, Commander Ryvvius, Lieutenant Miriele and Ensign LeClerc; the reason for Ursola’s nervousness.  They remained quiet, not moving amidst the smooth ride, listening to the hum of the anti-grav and the hissing of thrusters as the vehicle moved through traffic.  Their expressions were disciplined, neutral; each currently silently going over their roles in the upcoming action, and hoping that this plan would work without a glitch.

            Ryvvius, one of the confiscated DK tunneling pistols clenched tightly in his fist, opened a small sliding panel to the front, and regarded Ursola.  “How close are we to the Royal Hall, Mr. Ursola?”

            “A few klicks away by your measuring system, Commander,” Ursola replied quietly, tautly.  “But I’m still not sure if that secret entrance to the Hall is going to be guarded by Kotou’s men or not… and I’m not too proud to admit that I’m very nervous about this.  I hope this doesn’t end up getting me killed; I would rather enjoy seeing the sun set again this evening.”

            Ryvvius nodded.  “A chance we unfortunately all have to take.  We will do everything in our power to keep you safe so that you can watch your sunset, Mr. Ursola, but it is extremely crucial that we reach Sailor Siryn and warn her about this hideous plot by the DK to overthrow the planet and attack the Andromeda.  I would certainly prefer getting there in time to prevent an ambush upon her and Lieutenant Ventura by the traitors on the council.”

            Ursola nodded, and Ryvvius slid the panel shut, turning back to the Andromeda crew.  “Ensign McDowell, from a tactical standpoint, what sort of punishment can this vehicle withstand in a firefight?  Will it offer us any protection?"

            McDowell snorted derisively.  "Highly unlikely, sir.  A barrage of fire from any sort of energy or kinetic weapon would likely turn this truck, and us, into Swiss cheese, unless some bastard scores a lucky hit on the fusion fuel cells and blows us all to hell first by making us little more than nuclear shadows."

            Ryvvius frowned, shaking his head.  "That analysis is not very comforting, Ensign," he said wryly.

            McDowell shrugged.  "You asked.  Sir."

            Ryvvius nodded.  "I did indeed.  Let's get ready for action, people."  He glanced around.  "Be ready for rapid deployment and resistance.  There's no time for subtlety, not with this much at stake.  To quote a crude motto popular among late twentieth century Special Forces soldiers, 'Kill 'em all and let God sort 'em out'.  Understood?"

            McDowell shared a glance with his men and Ensign LeClerc; all nodded grimly and silently; two moved to the rear of the truck, ready to hop out as the first wave and lay down cover fire.

            Ryvvius turned to Miriele, whose hands were clenched around the confiscated DK weapon she was holding; she was pale and trembling slightly, her normally light blue skin a very unhealthy-looking off-white.  “Are you okay, Lieutenant?”

            Miriele managed a crooked half-smile.  “At the risk of sounding indelicate, I’m about to pee in my pants, but I’m ready for anything.  I promise I won’t let you down, sir!”  A hint of her action-oriented, hyperactive Vegan heritage peeked through, and Ryvvius couldn’t help but give her a comforting smile.

            For a Vegan, this girl really is unusually calm, he thought idly.  She possesses astounding self-control.  Remarkable.  He reached over and squeezed her shoulder.  “You’ll do just fine, Lieutenant,” he assured her.  His smile then turned teasing.  “Remember, if worse comes to worse, just make sure to shoot at the bad guys!  Okay?”

            Miriele giggled girlishly, a reminder that she was, for all intents and purposes, still a teenager, adult though she may be legally.  "I'll keep that in mind, sir!" she responded, some of her natural blue coloration returning to her skin.

            "Commander," called Ursola from the cab.  "We're nearing the Hall.  I'll be turning momentarily onto the approach to the underground garage, which is where the secret entrance is."

            Ryvvius turned with a nod.  "Right.  Everyone, stay low, stay quiet, and be ready for action."  He turned, and slid the panel to the cab open the slightest fraction.  "Mr. Ursola, please inform me immediately of anything you find suspicious.  All of our lives may depend on your vigilance." 

            Ursola started to nod, but then suddenly stopped.  "Oh, dear."

            "What is it?  What is wrong?" Ryvvius all but demanded.

            "There are four armed men standing at the entrance to the garage, and they're looking right at me," Ursola whispered out of the side of his mouth.

            "Are they your people?" Ryvvius queried quietly.

            "No," whispered the Pollusian.

            Muttering an old Cygnian curse about faithless women under his breath, Ryvvius turned to the others.  “Gentlemen, and lady, battle stations.  It looks like we’re going to have a spot of bother.”

            McDowell rolled his eyes as he disengaged the safety on his weapon.  “In layman’s terms, sir, the shit’s about to hit the fucking fan.”  The others copied his action.

            “With a vengeance,” Miriele added, swallowing nervously, her mouth suddenly very dry.

In standard orbit over Pollus 4, inside the Alpha Zone, 14 March 2740  

            For a small moment, Sailor Eldrea remained frozen as her mind dealt with the implications of her suspicions and what Admiral Wrajera had just revealed; but only for a moment.  She frowned.  Kestrel, you fucking, no good bastard!  Just what the hell is going on here!  Just whom were you working for?

            “Blast it.  Admiral, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry about all of this.  Someone’s trying to pull a fast one, and now, more than ever, I want to know who is behind it.  I promise you, I will get to the bottom of this maddening situation.  I’ll send you the communication and telemetry records of the battle and everything leading up to it; and I intend to have a conference with the rogue captains to pick their brains and find out what they know.  I do suggest you dispatch repair vessels to help out your damaged destroyers while I seek answers to all of this; I just ask a little patience while I talk to those captains in private.  I will keep you informed,” Sailor Eldrea said, managing to stay calm, though her fists were clenched.

            On the screen, Wrajera scowled.  “Very well, Sailor Eldrea.  I will agree to those terms… for now.  You may conduct your investigation if it helps resolve this situation.  However, you have two hours in which to produce results; if none have been obtained in that time, I will dispatch a larger battle fleet and get answers from those two captains and their crews my way.  Admiral Wrajera out.”  He could be briefly seen stabbing at a control before the screen blinked off to show a view of the starfield with the beaten Pollusian ships adrift.

            The bridge was momentarily quiet, save for miscellaneous beeps and hums from the various consoles and equipment; Wrajera's ominous threat hung heavily in the air.  Sailor Eldrea was the first to break that silence. 

            "Well damn.  Double damn it all."  She began to pace, her face taut from intense frustration.  "We manage to avoid inflicting overly heavy casualties on the Pollusians, save for Kestrel's ship, which was coincidentally destroyed by their own, but only after he began a suicide run, after a battle that shouldn't have happened in the first place because no such law exists in their books!  All this while preserving our own skins... and if that battle fleet shows up, the way things stand now, Andromeda would be hard pressed to survive that encounter without inflicting extremely heavy casualties on the Pollusians; disabling tactics wouldn't work on a force of that size!  And these are supposed to be our people!  I'll be damned if I am going to be responsible for a massacre of thousands of citizens of a GM protectorate!  What the fuck, over!"

            “Excuse me, captain, would your... ribald commentary on the current situation be construed in Lunarian terms as... a rant?” a curious Setar asked.

            Sailor Eldrea, still fuming, stopped pacing to fix a terrible, withering stare on Setar that, in the past, made even the most veteran officers cower.  But the attempt failed miserably as the Vulcan, totally unfazed, stared right back.  Suddenly, the Senshi felt extremely foolish.

            Dumbass!  What were you thinking?  Squeezing blood from a stone is easier than trying to intimidate a Vulcan, she thought.  Really, Audra, you should know better.

            “To answer your question, Mr. Setar, yeah, that was a rant.  Helps me to blow off steam, and sometimes, put two and two together,” Sailor Eldrea replied.  She then smirked at Setar as, oddly enough, the repartee calmed her down.  I wonder if Setar planned that?  Nahhh!  “Once you get used to me and my moods, I’ll be easier for you to understand.”

            “I look forward to that greatly, captain,” Setar replied, his expression as deadpan as ever.

            “I’m sure you do.  Bridge to Flight Control.  Swift, dispatch a single shuttle, make it one of our passenger craft with a security force aboard, and I want at least four Battlewings riding shotgun, to pick up those damn captains and no more than two of their aides each, their pick, to explain this.  Gambler's choice who does the escorts, of course; remaining fighters are to swarm the two rogue ships, ready to fire, save for Blitz's wing to cover us.  Make it snappy, Swift."

            "Flight Control, aye," Swift promptly replied.  "Informing all craft now."  The channel went silent with a beep.

            "Kwan, pass on those restrictions, no conditions, to the two captains; have them muster in their launch bays, port side," the Senshi of Alchemy continued.

            "Aye, ma'am," Kwan said, bending his dark head and getting to work.

            Sailor Eldrea turned.  "Khatari, dispatch a tactical team to that shuttle; and ready another tactical team for the primary shuttlebay.  I want everything that happens in there recorded.  And I've had a change of heart; I want you there, too, to observe these chumps."

            Khatari blinked in surprise.  "May I ask why, captain?"

            "Insurance.  You trust the Pollusians even less than I do, and your instincts about them have been on target from the start,” Sailor Eldrea replied curtly.  “I’ve been giving them the benefit of the doubt.  However, if what I now suspect is true, we’re not the only ones being played, and if something goes wrong, you can spot the trouble first and take action.  Bottom line, Khatari, I want this ship’s next-to-top badass watching the top badass’ back- namely, mine.  Good enough, mister?”

            Khatari barely managed to repress a smirk at the compliment, even as he dispatched the security teams.  How about that- she needs my help.  “Perfectly, captain.  I’m at your service.”  He paused, and then cocked his head in curiosity.  “Who do you think is behind all this, captain?”

            “I imagine you probably suspect the same source as I do,” Sailor Eldrea said wryly.  “And their ships are ugly as hell.  Let’s move.  Time is short. Mr. Setar, you have the bridge.”  The attractive brunette strode towards the lift, which hissed open as she approached; Khatari quickly followed her inside.  As the doors hissed shut, Setar seated himself into the captain’s chair, raising an eyebrow as he did so.

            “Interesting.”

            A bare twenty minutes later, the hum of the shuttle’s engines died down, and the last of the steam and exhaust was removed via the automatic systems; leaving Leftenants V’lnova, G’denel, and four aides, all sitting ramrod stiff in a row of padded folding chairs as the shuttle’s hatch slid shut.  Sailor Eldrea strolled front and center, spinning to face the six, crossing her arms, adopting a belligerent stance, while a six-person, body-armored security squad stood a few paces behind them, weapons held in a ready stance and portable force field generators standing by; and Khatari stood off to the right side, a rifle in his hands and his eyes narrowed, watching the six like a hungry lion.

            “Right.  I am Sailor Eldrea, first officer of the Royal Star Navy starship Andromeda.  Off to the side is the head of our tactical department, Lieutenant Commander Goran Khatari.  Our fine tactical department is represented behind you, and you’ve met other members of both the tactical department and our excellent piloting team already.  I know you’re Leftenant V’lnova,” she paused and spared him a glance before shifting it to the other Pollusian wearing similar insignia, ”so you must be Leftenant G’denel.  Let’s cut to the chase; what position do your aides hold, and most importantly, how are they going to help with the explanation about just what the hell is going on out here.  I demand to know what you so anxiously desire to tell me; and I damn sure want to know now, before another battle fleet gets here and more people die!”

            “They are our tactical and operations heads,” Leftenant G’denel replied nervously.  “And we possess information about how the top levels of the military have been infiltrated as part of an orchestrated plot to destabilize the planet.”

            “Infiltrated by who?” Sailor Eldrea asked coldly, her feelings of unease and suspicion peaking.

            “By DK spies,” V’lnova put in.  “We discovered the plot, and attempted to leave the planet to get the word out to the GM, but were ordered to join the battle group by Kestrel before we could do so.”

            “We suspected him of being one of the enemy agents; we believe he in turn discovered our plan to defect and spread the warning, hence his attempt to destroy us with that inane babble about that non-existent defection death penalty; we knew then that he did indeed know for sure we were on to him.  That’s why, Sailor Eldrea, we fired when we did; we could live with killing a DK spy, along with who knows how many collaborators.  Some honest Pollusian soldiers were undoubtedly killed, and we regret that, but it had to be done, and we now face the consequences with our heads held high, so long as some good comes of it and this hideous plot is stopped,” G’denel explained.

            V’lnova removed an isolytic cartridge from his pocket.  “This, Sailor Eldrea, contains all the information you need; plenty of firm evidence to back up all of our claims.”

            “I’d like to see it, then,” Sailor Eldrea said, stepping forward and extending her flesh-and-blood hand.  V’lnova moved to give it to her.

            “Stop!  It’s a trap!” shouted Khatari, dropping back and leveling his rifle, clicking the safety off as the charging whine built up; several things happened simultaneously.

            The first was that Sailor Eldrea abruptly dropped back into a combat stance, relying on her combat-trained instincts, which suddenly went into overdrive.

            The second was that the security squad raised their rifles, disengaged their safeties, and energized the field generators, before dropping to one knee and sight-acquiring their targets.

            The third is that one of the aides grabbed V’lnova’s wrist, of the hand holding the cartridge; there was a snapping sound as it cracked from the force of the grip; V’lnova’s surprised face contorted in pain.  At the same time, another grabbed G’denel around his neck, and with a brutal twist, broke it and dropped his body; he was dead before his body hit the shuttlebay deck.

            And, finally, all four aides abruptly shifted form, outlines blurring and uniforms ripping as their hides toughened and grew into the massive dark gray shapes of four-armed, brutish Dark Kingdom Infiltrators.

Royal Hall, Marquis City, Pollus 4, inside the Alpha Zone, 14 March 2740

            Kodos, weapon in hand, wore a smug look of satisfaction while staring at the body of Zhitenn as it lay on the floor, a two centimeter wide smoking hole between his open, lifeless eyes.  The other Pollusians, save for one, were shocked at what they had seen; Sailor Siryn, meanwhile, was furious as she moved on Kodos, swatted the gun out of his hand and roughly hoisted the man off his feet.

            “Asshole!  What did you do that for?” she roared.

            “It’s called justice, you ignorant bitch!  Haven’t you been listening?  Zhitenn had that coming for killing my family!” Kodos snarled back.  “I don’t expect you to understand, and frankly speaking, I could care less if you do.  If you want to reduce me to pulp with your hideous scream, help yourself.  I’ve finally gotten my revenge.  Life means nothing to me now.  Go ahead!  Kill me!”

            Sailor Siryn, her teeth bared like a wolf, her rage spiking yet again, tensed her vocal cords.  At point blank range, even a low power scream would indeed reduce Kodos to mush.  The seemingly endless cycle of deceit and violence she experienced while on Pollus 4 had pushed the Irish woman to her limit.  Ventura, watching the scene, was greatly concerned, thinking she would have to intervene again as she feared the Senshi was enraged enough grant Kodos’ death wish.

            For Serenity’s sake, Fiona, don’t do it, thought the black woman, openly worried.  You’re better than Kodos.  Better than anyone on this fucking planet.  Don’t give him the satisfaction!  Please!

            As everyone watched, Sailor Siryn did something unexpected.  Her rage-infused face suddenly softened, and she smirked at Kodos.

            “Not so fast, laddie.  You’re not getting off the hook that easy.”  The Irish Senshi let Kodos drop to the floor like a sack of potatoes.  Ventura, seeing the change, breathed a sigh of relief.  “No way are you taking the coward’s way out.  I’ll see to it you stand trial for murdering the head of the Pollusian Church, among your laundry list of crimes.  Tell me, how long had you planned to kill Zhitenn?”

            “Strangely enough, only within the last half hour.  My original plan was to have him incarcerated, to let him rot in a prison with his followers for the rest of his life, but my emotions got the better of me when memories of my family were dredged up,” said Kodos, slowly climbing to his feet.  “Zhitenn was the only surviving member of the Church leadership caste from twenty-five years ago.  The other five members went into the quarantined area days after the outbreak began, boldly proclaiming that Theth-Anon would protect them from the disease because of the power of their faith.  HA!  Those fools wound up dead just like everyone else.  Zhitenn was then named the sole leader of the Church, only to be stripped of all leadership power after Pollus became a GM protectorate and a council was established.”

            “Why didn’t Zhitenn join his fellow leaders on their doomed pilgrimage?” Ventura asked.

            Kodos snorted.  “He claimed to have suffered a serious injury and couldn’t travel with the others.  But I suspect that was a lie; that he succumbed to cowardice and stayed behind because he knew the pilgrimage was a death march.  I should’ve killed the bastard then and there, but he was too popular with the masses, and the church would go on without him.  Instead, I rose to a leadership role, became head of the council and secretly put my plans into place to abolish the church as revenge for the death of my family.”

            “Meanwhile, the DK spies already entrenched here hatched their own plans to take over Pollus.  To hear Carnus tell it, you practically helped them,” Sailor Siryn growled. She shook her head at Kodos, disgust plain on her lovely face. “You poor, dumb bastard.  They played you like the proverbial fiddle.  How did Austrum, or rather, his doppelganger learn of your scheme?”

            “Austrum was the council’s chief of finances.  Imprisoning millions of Anonists figured to be an expensive undertaking, so I took him into my confidence and asked him to perform a feasibility study.”

            “And since Austrum was an Infiltrator in disguise, he promptly leaked your plans, resulting in the chaos that followed,” said Ventura.  “Carnus certainly picked just the right council member to impersonate.  After all, from one corner of the galaxy to the other, it’s usually money that makes the world go ‘round.”

            “Well, that’s all water under the bleeding bridge.  As for the here and now,” Sailor Siryn glared disdainfully at Kodos.  “Vr’heiden Kodos, as per Regulation 45978.2A of the Official Code of Conduct for Planetary or Protectorate Administrators, and the authority invested in me by the Royal Crown, I hereby relive you of your duties as head of this council.”

            Kodos’ face flushed red from sudden fury and he roughly grabbed Sailor Siryn by the shoulders.  “WHAT?  You can’t do that!”

            Furious at being manhandled, Sailor Siryn shoved him away and he tumbled back to the floor.  “Hands off, jackass!  Touch me again and I’ll break your arms!  Not only can I do that, mister, I just did it!  After everything you’ve done, you aren’t fit to clean the fucking street, never mind run this world!”  The Senshi of Sound then whirled around and glared at the others who shrank under her burning gaze.  “Who’s the deputy council leader?  Speak up, dammit!  I’m out of patience with you idiots!”

            “That would be Austrum, madam,” said one of the other members meekly.  He shook visibly from fright.

            The Irish Senshi scowled. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

            “If I may, captain, I believe this situation calls for employment of the Emergency Powers Act,” Ventura suggested.  Secretly, she loved watching Sailor Siryn ruthlessly bully the once arrogant Pollusians.  Amazing!  Sailor Siryn’s transformed those haughty, self-conceited blowhards into cowered children.  That woman isn’t just a Senshi, she’s a force of nature.  I must admit that Fiona is absolutely fascinating!  “That’s a tailor made option for a shoddy situation such as this.”

            Sailor Siryn frowned.  “I know, Gabrielle, I know.  And I hate it.  I resist having to resort to such an incredibly drastic measure, but it’s clear I have no other choice.”

            “What are you talking about?” a puzzled Drocargh asked.

            “A last gasp option available to Sailor Senshi in their capacity as starship commanders when faced with a planetary council incapacitated or otherwise unable to perform their duties,” said a grim faced Sailor Siryn.  “An option that’s used under only the most dire of situations where a world’s stability, if not its very survival is at risk, and this disaster certainly qualifies.”

TO BE CONTINUED...

 

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