To sweeten the possibilities, Livia’s representatives to the New World Conglomerate and Orbital Stations offered immediate trade deals, saying they could hammer out the political decisions later.

  Petty wanted more Orion ships immediately. The CEOs and populace of the New World Conglomerate wanted prosperity. Both lures pulled Chavez and Petty into agreeing to a face-to-face conference in Greenland, at the former Eastern Settlement where the Vikings lived from 985 AD to the early 15th century, for roughly 400-450 years.

  The place was nestled in the fjords of southwestern Greenland, with mountains and glaciers adding breathtaking scenic beauty.

  Back in the day, the Vikings had lived in wooden longhouses and raised a stone church—after they turned from Thor and Odin to Christ. These days, people lived in prefabricated homes.

  Work on erecting the necessary structures had begun two months ago, including a spaceport with an extra-long landing strip.

  During the Peace Initiative, as it was called, Livia’s internal security services took care of a small matter. This included bombing a desert mosque in Iran. The site was roughly twelve kilometers from where the plane had crashed, the one John Steele had sabotaged with his revolver, with Colonel Garvey coming down in a Vehicle Descent Shuttle (VDS), rescuing Dr. Huber, Dawnstar, and Steele from jihadists.

  This bombing of the desert mosque proved critical to the Jihadist Freedom Party, as its founder, Mohammed Khamenei, had started the JFP in the historic mosque twelve years earlier.

  M. Khamenei’s youngest and favorite son Selim had been worshiping at the mosque when the WG forces destroyed it.

  M. Khamenei was still very much alive. His vision of a greater Islamic Republic had gained traction since the Iapetus railgun catapulted forty projectiles onto Earth. They had each hit with the destructive power of a nuclear device. The annihilation of critical factories and transport hubs had seriously weakened Earth industrially and economically. The downward spiral had hurt this part of the world in particular, causing many suffering individuals to embrace Islam with greater fervor.

  The bombing and destruction of the M.K. Mosque—as it was known—inflamed many in the JFP, including the highest leadership.

  The growing unrest did nothing to disrupt Livia’s Greenland plot. But it would have ramifications in the weeks and months to come.

  In any case, the preliminary meetings between the Orbital, NWC, and WG people continued, laying the groundwork for the coming conference. There were several direct video-link talks between Drusus, Chavez, and Petty. It was all very cordial and promising.

  In most regards, Livia and the World Government possessed the best secret services. The New World Conglomerate came in at a far second, with the Orbital people the worst. The NWC possessed the best ground soldiers, the Orbital people the best space marines, as they had the only space marines.

  At the site in Greenland, Livia allowed both the NWC and the Orbital people to send security details to overlook everything. Those details did not find anything suspicious.

  The weeks piled up, and the conference drew nearer, presenting the possibility of unity against the aliens.

  Livia started to become ecstatic over the prospects. She expected a decapitation strike to take out the best New World Conglomerate and Orbital leaders. Both places would be reeling from the blow. In anticipation, she had already deployed several of her best Thuggee operatives to the orbital stations.

  The Thuggees were an old Indian cult of garroting experts, using a cord or cloth to choke their victims to death. The modern Thuggees served Kali and thus served in the Kali Intelligence Division, its secretive branch.

  Those few Thuggee experts on the orbitals would know what to do once Petty died from the…

  Livia often chuckled, and many wondered at her improved mood. She never said the nuke part aloud.

  Livia smiled even more as she made a list of her most troublesome generals or other high-ranking WG individuals, those she distrusted but lacked the damning evidence needed to execute. Chief among the list was Senior General Tom Bain of Missile Command.

  Bain was too clever and fearless for her tastes, though he had ensured that the World Government possessed the best missile force, along with a secret space force ready to blast off into orbit.

  As she thought about Bain’s impending death, Livia chuckled with true appreciation.

  Bain would attend the Greenland Conference, adding his atoms to the mushroom cloud along with her most hated enemies.

  The weeks wound down, and the first day of the conference drew near. Soon, the event was only days away, but that was when others began to conspire against Livia’s brilliant solution to the Gordian knot of Earth unity.

  -4-

  Senior General Tom Bain lay in bed coughing, sneezing, and then hacking his lungs out. He had an apartment in Delhi, India, not in the underground bunker system where the Director stayed, but in the vast metropolis. He lived in one of the high-rise apartments where many of the higher-level Missile Command officers also lived.

  Bain was single, his wife having divorced him two years ago. An aide sat in another room on the off chance he needed something or someone.

  Bain wasn’t deathly sick, but he started hacking again, finally spitting phlegm into a nearby basin beside his bed.

  The aide, a young man, poked his head into the bedroom. “You okay, sir?”

  Bain nodded miserably, lying his head back on the pillow.

  The Senior General was a big man, with disheveled black hair and once rock-steady nerves. Those nerves had saved his life and the lives of the World Government’s highest command staff during the Indonesian Island fiasco. The Director had been ready to institute decimation amongst them. That meant every group of ten would draw lots. The one who drew the black lot would submit to death by clubbing by the other nine. It was an old Roman custom brought forward by the Director.

  In the Delhi bedroom, Bain stared up at the ceiling, remembering. So much had happened since that day. For instance, certain industries had retooled from Guardian III missile construction to secret Phoenix rocket ships. Bain had been so certain the rocket ships would give him everything he desired. Had that desire been space command? No, it would have meant ruling over everything, particularly the Earth.

  You see, Bain had a devastating secret. It had gone a long way to ruining his health.

  As if to prove the point, the general began coughing and wheezing again, his huge frame shaking as he lay in bed.

  Bain was in his mid-forties, probably the most competent general in the World Government. That included the evil people in the secret services, particularly those in the Kali Intelligence Division.

  Bain groaned just thinking about it. Then he coughed more and spat more phlegm into the bedside basin. Looking at the contents—

  Bain made a face. That was disgusting, but at least it wasn’t bloody. He had picked up a bug while playing soccer last week against the younger officers.

  Bain sighed morosely.

  He was sweaty and it was hard to think straight. He was obviously feverish, and he was supposed to go to the great Greenland Conference a week from now. Just thinking about it made him start coughing again.

  The aide returned and set pills and a glass of water on the nightstand.

  Bain struggled up, popped the pills into his mouth, and chugged them down with as much water as he could stand.

  The aide left with the empty glass.

  The problem came an hour later.

  Bain struggled out of bed. He wore a nightgown that failed to cover his ankles and half his calves. He was a big man, although not a giant like the females that guarded the Director. Nevertheless, Bain was normally strong. Now, he felt powerless.

  He stood beside the toilet and whizzed for what seemed like forever. He coughed and shivered, and meandered back to bed, collapsing into it. He shivered until he pulled the blanket to his chin.

  He couldn’t sleep, although he stopped shivering. He’d been feeling well a week ago when he inspected one of the secret launch sites for the Phoenix rocket ships.

  They were three times the size of Guardian III missiles. If all the Phoenixes launched together, the World Government would have approximately 40,000 tons-worth of a space force. That didn’t match even half the tonnage of a single Orion ship. But Bain had been so certain the Valiants’ Enforcers versus Admiral Tojo’s Orion ships would have destroyed each other in a near parity slugfest around the Moon.

  Instead, the cowards hadn’t faced each other, but had each cautiously hung back. That meant all three Enforcers had left the Moon, while four Orion ships turned into five. That was five times too much tonnage: as one Orion ship could take out the entire Phoenix space force.

  The Phoenix space fleet was meant to swoop in after the Enforcers and Orion ships shattered each other. The Phoenixes could have captured the orbital stations then. It had been a good plan. Everything had been ready for it, but then the two antagonists—

  Bain shook his head and groaned again, coughing and shivering anew.

  The aide returned and set a pitcher of water on the nightstand.

  Bain struggled up and chugged from it. His plan was to whiz the fever away, to drown it. Instead, he could hardly get any sleep. When he finally shut his eyes and snored, he woke up, and climbed out of bed to take another whiz.

  This was a damnable situation. Everything that he had done had gone wrong. It felt like he had barely prevented Livia from launching massed missiles at the orbital stations. That would have created a disaster with the Kessler Syndrome.

  He had meant to land military forces on the orbital stations, physically taking them over with his Phoenix rocket ships. He would have done it with special Missile Command commandos. They were part of a secret elite force.

  Had Livia divined his master plan? She had sent Colonel Sharma and a KID wet squad to his Missile Command headquarters here in Delhi.

  Bain dreaded the KID.

  Surely, Colonel Sharma would uncover his carefully laid plans to wrest control of the government into his huge hands.

  Bain closed his eyes and fell into a troubled sleep. He dreamed of playing soccer against the younger officers of Missile Command. He had felt slightly ill at the time and shouldn’t have played. He’d wanted to show them he had what it took. He had run himself ragged that afternoon. Afterward, he’d become violently ill and feverish.

  Bain opened his eyes and realized the aide was shaking a shoulder.

  “Sir, you have a guest.”

  “Huh?” Bain said.

  “It’s Colonel Sharma. She wishes to speak with you.”

  Bain wondered if this was it. Had the KID squad come to murder him in his bed? He’d laid such deep plans. Had Sharma already discovered the worst?

  This was horrifying. He felt the fear in his belly. Once he had been calm. Now he was terrified. What should he say?

  “Yes,” Bain said. “Send her in. I’m ready.”

  Was he ready, though?

  As the aide left, Bain climbed out of bed and went to his desk, grabbing a handgun from a bottom drawer. He could hardly stop shivering. He went back to bed and slid the gun under his pillow, lying down. He groaned and pulled the covers up.

  Should he murder Colonel Sharma? If he did, he would have to go all the way. But he felt so weak, damn it.

  Bain closed his eyes, not sure what was going to happen next.

  -5-

  “Sir, sir,” the aide said.

  Tom Bain’s eyes snapped open. They were red-rimmed, and he looked pale and shaky.

  Colonel Sharma stood nearby. She was a small Indian woman, probably from the south, though Bain didn’t know what region.

  Bain slowly sat up. Had he exposed what was underneath his nightgown?

  Sharma looked away for a second, so maybe so.

  Bain was too sick to worry about it. He leaned back against the wall, pulled his blanket up, and wrapped it around him. He was shivering, sick. His gun was under the pillow. Was it too far to reach from here?

  Bain looked around the bedroom. He didn’t see any of the colonel’s Thuggee assistants. He knew about the strangling cords. He didn’t want to die like that, his tongue sticking out of a purpling face. He wasn’t going to die as a sacrifice to the ancient death goddess Kali.

  “Can you hear me?” Colonel Sharma asked.

  Bain focused and saw her round, brown face with a black dot in the middle of her forehead. Sharma wasn’t pretty, and she wore a severe brown uniform. It wasn’t flattering in the least. Could anything she wore be flattering? She was on the heavy side. Bain wouldn’t call her fat, although she probably ate too much. He thought these Kali Thuggees were supposed to keep in shape.

  “General,” Sharma said once more, “do you understand a word I’ve been saying?”

  Bain focused with everything in him. “I’m sorry. I have a fever.”

  “I can see that. Are you well enough to speak with me?”

  “Yes… yes,” Bain said.

  She nodded. “I’ve been going over details at headquarters, and there are many items I wish to talk to you about. There are… things that do not make sense to me.”

  It felt as if an oven squeezed his face with its heat.

  “For one is the immediate launch order,” Sharma said. “I did not see any mention of that in any directives you sent to the Director’s office. Is there a reason for this lapse of a surprise launch?”

  Bain shivered. He told himself it was due to the fever. The surprise launch was in case he needed to flee the Director or the Thuggee cultists she sent after him. He didn’t want to die as they choked him out. He wanted to save his people, those in Missile Command. He wanted to reach the orbital stations with all the Phoenix rocket ships and ask for asylum. Unfortunately, if he tried that, Livia would probably launch massed missiles as his Phoenix rocket ships as they tried to climb out of Earth’s gravity well. No doubt, Petty’s people had orders for immediate laser fire against such a launch from the orbital stations. How would they know he was trying to escape a vengeful Livia Drusus?

  “I’m sorry,” Bain said with a dry mouth. “I don’t know what kind of germ I have, but I’m having trouble shaking it.”

  “You’ve normally been so healthy and serene,” Sharma said. “Do you have a troubled conscience, perhaps, Senior General?”

  Normally, he would have feigned anger at this. He couldn’t even drum it up. It was all he could do to keep his eyes open. He started coughing, and he knew he couldn’t spit in her presence, so he swallowed it, hating it. He was ready to throw up. But he concentrated on her instead.

  “I don’t think I can make the conference in Greenland,” Bain wheezed. “I’m far too sick for that.”

  “I have wondered about that,” Sharma said. If she knew about Livia’s bomb plot, she gave no indication. She was probably too low-ranked to know. Not that Bain thought any of this or knew about the bomb plot.

  He looked at Sharma and cocked his head. Maybe he could get rid of her for the weekend. Then he could figure out what to do about these new developments.

  “You know, Colonel, you’re part of Missile Command now, particularly in the Phoenix operation.”

  “What are you implying?” she asked.

  “That you represent Missile Command at the Greenland Conference for us.”

  Her brown eyes seemed to gleam. Then she shook her head. “It wouldn’t be correct for me to go. You were invited by the Director herself.”

  “I know.” Then Bain coughed long and hard. As he coughed, he reached for the water pitcher.

  Sharma intercepted that, handing the pitcher to him.

  He guzzled water, and it quelled his cough. Almost immediately, he felt an overpowering need to whiz. If he did that, she might search under his pillow and find the gun. That would certainly be damning, wouldn’t it?

  His face felt hot, and he knew he couldn’t think straight. He started to shiver again. He groaned and wrapped the blanket around him.

  “Please, Colonel, I wish you would take my place at the conference. Take several of your aides along, as I don’t think my people and yours have meshed to the degree you need.”

  “It would be a great honor to go,” Sharma said, as if thinking about it.

  “It would.” Bain shuddered and wrapped the blanket even tighter around his shoulders. “I would consider it a personal favor if you would go for me. I will sign a paper saying as much.”

  “Yes, I would need that,” Sharma said.

  “My desk…” Bain wheezed, “the second drawer from the right. If you open it and bring me some paper…”

  Bain realized he was a fool because there was a document or two she could spot that would ruin him. Instead, she brought him paper and a pen. He scrawled in a shaky hand authorizing her and three others to go to the Greenland Conference in his place.

  “You will represent Missile Command,” Bain said. “You mustn’t say anything about the Phoenix rocket ships. That is a state secret.”

  “I am well aware of that,” Sharma said with a sneer. “Just to be clear: you say this is a personal favor?”

  Bain had a moment of inspiration. “I want us to get along. This is my present to you, showing you my sincerity.”

  “You do realize I am the eyes and ears of the Director.”

  “Most certainly,” Bain said. “I love the Director and serve her, knowing she is the best possible ruler for the World Government. This pleases me that I can give you such an honor.”

  Sharma nodded. “I would not accept, but you are clearly very sick.”

  “Very sick,” Bain agreed. His eyes closed for a moment. When he opened them, he saw her staring at him.

  “I hope I have found favor in your eyes,” he said.

  Sharma cocked her head. “Why would you say that?”

  “I don’t know. But please, go and represent us in Greenland.”

  “I will do it.”

  “May I shake your hand for good luck?”

  “I would, but you are too sick and possibly contagious. I do not care to catch whatever you have.”

  “Yes, you are wise.”