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Planet Nephele II; Hightower Flats
The Nephele, Downing Quadrant, Vega Sector
APR 20 2685/2685.110; 0555 Hours (CST)
Sunset over Nephele II. Nephele Prime peeked over the cinnamon-coloured dunes of the sandy horizon, shedding its first rays of the day against the thin blue sky of the sparse agricultural world.
Gathered around the former farm of Christopher Blair, now turned into a historical monument since the time the first funeral ceremony was carried out when the galaxy believed him dead in 2681, were those surviving men and women that had known Blair in his prime. The ceremony carried out now had no performance by tHE lOVE aNIMALS, no appearance by Saranya Carr, or any fanfare of any kind. What was carried out today had a very solemn, very final touch to it.
Some of the people Major Lance Casey recognized offhand: Lt. Colonel Todd “Maniac” Marshall, Blair’s lifelong rival since their time at the Academy; Brigadier General Gwen “Archer” Bowman, a woman both Blair and Maniac had known at the Academy; Colonel Dirk “Stingray” Wright, who Blair had known in his TCS Concordia days; Commander Velina Sosa, who Blair had known on the BWS Intrepid and his days teaching at the Academy; Lt. General John “Gash” Dekker, the Marine Blair had known from both the Intrepid and the Midway; Captain Patricia Drake and Rear Admiral Daniel Wilford, Blair’s associates from the Midway; Space Marshal (Ret.) Paul Gerald, an older, gruffer-looking officer Blair had served under on the Tiger’s Claw. Master CPO Rachel Coriolis was there, too, quietly paying her respects behind teary eyes. And there was Senator James “Paladin” Taggart, perhaps one of Blair’s truest friends, who was now just finishing up his speech.
Lance was standing away from the others, avoiding the gazes that fell on him after Taggart’s words. Jean had offered to come to the proceedings with him so that he wouldn’t feel so isolated and alone but he turned her down. Lost in feelings of guilt, he almost didn’t notice Maniac walk up beside him.
“‘Maverick’... ‘Pilgrim’... ‘Heart of the Tiger’... three different callsigns, but only one man. He grew up here, you know,” Marshall spoke quietly, his eyes fixed on the monument, nodding bitterly. On any other day it would have shocked Lance that the man would even talk to him as anything close to an equal. “After his parents were killed in the Peron Massacre he lived here with his uncle and aunt until he joined the Academy.”
“Didn’t know that, sir.”
After an awkward pause, the uncharacteristically reserved man went on, “Ever since I met him we... competed... in everything. Sometimes... too many times... I was such an asshole. It was like we were worst enemies, but really... we were the best of friends.” Marshall swallowed. “I just hope he knew that.”
Gwen Bowman came to his side, putting a caring hand on Maniac’s shoulder. “Blair knew, Todd,” she said. “He always knew.”
“Yeah...” Marshall sniffed a little, turning away. “That’s what I keep telling myself.”
“‘The Coward of K’Tithrak Mang,’” Dirk “Stingray” Wright spoke, joining the conversation after some initial hesitation. “That’s what I called him on the Concordia.” He lowered his head. “I thought he was a traitor at the time until he proved me and everyone else that doubted him wrong. But I... I never thought he’d go out like this.”
“I never trusted him,” the seventy-something Space Marshal Gerald inputted. “When I was a commander there... there may have a time when he earned a piece of my trust. Perhaps my faith as well. I would blame what happened to him on the Pilgrim in his blood, on his Pilgrim mother, but I know that is not true.”
“I killed him,” was all Lance could bring himself to say. He expected the group of Blair’s friends to pounce on him, condemn him for what he had done. No one did, though that made him feel no better.
“No you didn’t, lad,” Senator Taggart spoke moments later in his thick Scottish accent, sighing wistfully. “The son of Major Arnold Blair and Devi Soulsong, he was a controversial hero born in a time desperately in need of heroes. He was our living legend, our icon. Perhaps we lost sight of the fact that beneath it all, he was a man. A very human man.” Taggart looked to the sky, his eyes setting on something that only he could see. “I don’t know where he went in that year he was gone for, who or what he found out there, but every man has his own war. I can tell you that Christopher Blair fought his to the bitter end. I only pray that Christopher Blair has finally found his peace. God rest his soul.” With that, the most respected senator of the Terran Confederation headed back to his waiting shuttle, his aides rushing to accompany him. After a few minutes spent in silence, the group of men and women around the monument dispersed, having said and done what they each came to Nephele II to do, having paid their last respects. Marshall was the last one to leave. Behind tear-filled eyes, he gave Lance a look that he couldn’t read, stopping for an instant as if to say something to him, but then followed the others to leave.
Deliberately slowly, Lance’s hand went to his pocket. He took out Blair’s ornate Pilgrim cross, running the delicate chain necklace through his fingers as he stared at it in wonder. “God rest his soul.”
Elsewhere...
TCS Zenith; Operations
Planning Center
The Zeta Orionis System, Petrov Quadrant, Gemini Sector
APR 21 2684/2684.110; 1930 Hours (CST)
Space Marshal Johan Voight lifted the remote and keyed the holoplayer that had been replaying the final funeral scene on Nephele II one more time off. Turning in his chair to face the other officers at the table, most he recognized from the glory days of the old Belisarius Group but a more than a few new ones.
New members... new support and resolve, Voight thought, pleased. With every ConFleet officer slipping into our fold we grow stronger, a combined, growing force that will soon enough be reckoned with by the Powers That Be...
The group assembled before him seemed self-assured, strong in its shared mentality of doing what needed to be done for the government they served and flag they pledged allegiance to. While its roots lay in the old Y-12 Belisarius Group, its current incarnation was not the second—there had been other attempts along the way... “The Project,” “The Purpose,” even “The Movement”—the majority of the said failed incarnations’ roots lay more in the hunted-down, nazi-esque Black Lance and disbanded (and equally abysmal in failure) SRA, not in any cause or purpose that was in its entirety in and of itself. The group today needed no name or label for their group or circle, no nametag needed to unite under. Every one of the men and women in the OPC today had arrived and sat down proudly wearing their Confed uniforms with the bold blue star insignia of the Terran Confederation emblazoned on each of them—these men and women, Voight included, were not the Black Lance, the Movement, the SRA, the Belisarius Group or even any continuing elements of them at all anymore...
No, he felt proud to know it right to allow himself to take comfort in, they were each 100% Confederation officers that each served the Confederation for a purpose that seemed self-evident and necessary to continue to pursue... even if for the time being it had to be away from the prying eyes of the rest of the Confederation machine that wouldn’t understand.
“What you just saw off the projector, gentlemen,” Voight said in retrospect, “was the conclusion of our faction’s first act—Phase One.” A smile of reserved satisfaction gleamed on the Space Marshal’s otherwise unemotional face. “And, as you should all know by now... operation successful—successful, right down to the letter in every way and manner I’d hoped for and more.”
The Q&A session began anew...
“Tell us... any word at all from upstairs...?” came the first question, asked by a Vega Sector admiral. “What has Albrecht said about this?”
Voight sighed, not letting the mention of that damnedable spook too good to sit at the same table as his people ruin the prize of knowing an objective years in the making was completed without a hitch. “A valid question as any right now, but to answer it... nothing, as yet. I’m quite sure, however, that whatever word we will receive from him will be of a thoroughly congratulatory nature.”
“The Black Projects Division...?”
“Has been shut down in its entirety by vote of the Senate since 2673, as far as any citizen or officer outside of our faction within Confed is concerned or otherwise able to be aware,” Voight was happy to report.
“Now, Voight... on to Phase Two?”
The Space Marshal gave a half-nod. “That’s right, Lovell, though you and every man and woman here should know—I do hope, at this point in the game—what Albrecht’s intentions are in that regard.” Voight gave a sigh. He didn’t like rubbing in the truth from the mouth of their benefactor (an old expression about shit always rolling down the hill came to mind), but from the looks of uncertainty and hopes that plans could possibly have changed he knew he had better make it clear, “It will be many years, yes, even an unknown number of decades from now when our faction will be at a point when Albrecht has projected and outlined the appropriate time to initiate Phase Two. It could even be a generation from now—it’s not my call or any of yours, but the instruction GIFs I’ve received along with the rest of you don’t insult our intelligence by showing us the ‘why’ and ‘how’ of it, if not any specific ‘when.’ You knew the timetable in place... and so did I.
“Now... for our shared plan, I hope you all do understand that the pieces are finally moving together, the last of which unfortunately cannot move into place at this point in time. No, not just yet, I’m afraid.” Voight sighed heavily, hoping the group would come to the same understanding he had. “I can only hope that it will be enough for all of you as you can continue on throughout the Confederation we have served in carrying out your normal, everyday duties for the years to come, content enough that you have each done your parts—and done them well, obviously—and otherwise done all that we can as a whole in furthering the cause we have labored so long and hard for in the vision of. Our vision is still very real; still very achievable... in fact, we’ve just brought that vision of ours into a whole new focus.” Space Marshal Voight stood then, his lips tight and face just as expressionless as his words seemed second nature. “Until such a time comes when our combined efforts are again needed and called for, I thank you all for your loyalty... it is a thing not soon to be forgotten, rest assured. Good luck too all of you.” He saluted the gathering. “For the Confederation.”
“For the Confederation!” the now-standing officers chorused in rehearsed unison, returning the Space Marshal’s salute like it were a battle-cry.
One by one, the men and women filed out of the OPC, each of them returning to their shuttles—they had fleet carriers, stations, planetary outposts, naval bases, and senate chambers to return to, duties to fulfill dictated by the regular chain of command within the normal Confed machine. One day that same loyalty they had shown in completing Phase One would be required for the second phase, if not by them then by their children.
Each knew what the price of freedom was well enough, but the price of vigilance came at a heavier cost. Whenever duty called them back to this room, Voight and the circle of ConFleet officers he considered brothers and sisters would be there, ready to pay in spades... even if it meant waiting a hundred years.
F I N I S