EVE®: Templar One (4 page)

5

ESSENCE REGION—VIERES CONSTELLATION

THE LADISTIER SYSTEM—PLANET IV, MOON 4: RÉNEALT

PRESIDENTIAL BUREAU STATION

SOVEREIGNTY OF THE GALLENTE FEDERATION

The spacious apartment of former President Souro Foiritan was furnished with an aristocratic decor, fitting for an accomplished politician.
Collections of lavish gifts presented by the bourgeois and elite power brokers of New Eden were arranged with artistic precision throughout the flat.
They were the relics of a storied career at the highest level of government, a career that had come to an abrupt and humiliating halt.

Souro preferred to keep the place dark, which was how he found it upon returning from a day of meetings with academia.
But sitting comfortably inside was the man who had replaced him, along with his security drones.

“Good evening,” President Jacus Roden said.
“You don’t return my calls.”

Souro glared at him.

“My datapad discards junk messages,” he said.
“You’ll be hearing from my lawyers about this—”

“Before you say another word,” Jacus interrupted, placing his own datapad on the table.
“Just watch.”

A volumetric projection of two men materialized in the living room.
One was of President Roden.
The other was Federation Grand Admiral Anteson Ranchel.

*   *   *

“HOW MANY HAVE WE LOST?”
President Roden asked.

“One mechanized division and three engineering battalions,” Admiral Ranchel replied.

“Which is how many soldiers?”

“Twenty thousand, give or take a few hundred.”

“‘Give or take,’ Admiral?”

“I’m sorry, Mr.
President.
I’ve become numb to statistics.”

“This many dead because of one capsuleer attack?”

“He had help on the surface, probably Dragonaurs.”

“So terra-ops for Villasen are terminated?”

“I’m afraid so, sir.”

“How many colonists are still down there?”

“About ten thousand in three separate outposts.
They’re spread out by hundreds of kilometers, all of it impassable by ground and with limited comms between them.
We think our forward teams made it to one of the settlements, but…”

“Go on.”

“Once Caldari Navy SPECFOR or Dragonaurs sweep through, it’s over.”

“No prisoners will be taken?”

“Not likely, sir.
No.”

President Roden shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“And, of course, we’d treat them in kind,” he said.

“That’s right,” Admiral Ranchel said indifferently.

“How are we supposed to win hearts and minds with those tactics?”

“We lost hearts and minds a million casualties ago,” the Admiral said.
“The colonists don’t care who’s winning in space.
They’re tired of being shot or tortured for saying the wrong thing to the uniform of the week.”

“I’m sure our soldiers aren’t shooting anyone they’re not supposed to,” President Roden said, narrowing his eyes.
“Right, Admiral?”

“We do what we can.”

“Well that’s not good enough, now is it?”

“No, sir, it isn’t.
The point is, it’ll take months to replace the bodies we lost in that engagement.
We won’t be able to put boots on the ground there for a long time.”

“That’s unacceptable.”

“On that we agree.”

“I’m disappointed you admit it with so little remorse.
Do you have anything else to report?”

“A Navy capsuleer with Placid Command fired on his own squadron, then managed to escape following fleet orders to neutralize him.
His whereabouts are currently unknown.”

“Unknown.”

“The capsuleer’s name was Korvin Lears.”

President Roden tilted his head.

“Was it?”
he asked.

“You know him?”

“Who doesn’t, Admiral?”

“Captain Lears had just participated in a terra-ops interdiction mission over Lima Pearl when he became unresponsive and attacked Federation warships.
He was attempting to save the crew of a Caldari transport, and he succeeded.”

“Who was on that ship?”

“Several officers and a contingent of civilian engineers.”

“Civilians were on board?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And he was ordered to shoot them down anyway?”

“Given the profile of ranked personnel on board, the civilians were deemed expendable.”

“Do you think he was attempting to save the civilians or the officers?”

“It doesn’t matter,” the Admiral said, raising his voice slightly.
“Captain Lears will be charged with treason if and when his clone awakens in our custody.
Sir.”

“You didn’t answer the question.”

“I beg to differ.”

“Ah.
So killing civilians is a valid tactic in our military doctrine now?”

“In those circumstances, yes.
Disobeying orders and firing on fellow pilots is not.”

“He was disobeying an order to attack
civilians
—”

“He was once a close associate of Alexander Noir,
sir.
The worst traitor in our history.
He should have never been allowed in a ship to begin with.”

“Is he responsible for any Federation fatalities?”

“What difference does it make?
A jury will decide his guilt or innocence.”

“I know the rules of our courts,
Admiral.
”

“With all due respect,
Mr.
President,
I don’t think you do.”

*   *   *

THE PROJECTION WITHDREW BACK
into the datapad.
President Roden leaned forward to scoop the device off the table as his host unleashed a low whistle.

“Stress brings out the worst in everyone,” Souro mused.
“I’ve heard about your disagreements before, but that outburst … I don’t know what to say.”

President Roden pushed the tumbler offered by Souro’s maid off to the side.

“Oh?
What else have you heard?”

“The usual,” Souro said smugly.
“Mostly that you’re a ruthless son of a bitch who doesn’t know how to connect with people.
Nothing you don’t already know, I’m sure.”

The man elected to replace Souro Foiritan as President of the Gallente Federation was a capsuleer.
The founder and former CEO of the mega-corporation Roden Shipyards emerged from a reclusive retirement to run for the presidency after Foiritan stepped down on his own accord—or so he insisted.
A host of national setbacks followed by the loss of Caldari Prime when the war began dismantled the popularity that Foiritan spent nearly a decade cultivating.
For all his impressive contributions to the Federation, both to its culture and as a nation, he was remembered most for failing to engage the most powerful class of human beings in history: the immortal capsuleers, or “empyreans.”
The voters demanded change, and when a Federation capsuleer emerged as the front-running candidate, they eagerly offered their support and proved more than willing to overlook a past that was anything but pristine.

Jacus Roden was strikingly different from the charismatic, good-looking Foiritan.
At first glance, he was a much older man; his head was shaved, and he was shorter than average, with a slight build.
He walked deliberately, as though moving too fast would break something.
But his cybernetic augmentations—at least the ones that were obvious—gave him a haunting appearance.
His eyes were his most visible and striking modification: The irises were emerald green, capable of emitting light that some believed was tied to his emotions, while the conjunctiva was laced with microcircuitry.
Separate lines of metal trim ran along each jawbone, beginning below the ear and ending where his sharp chin began.
With the right lighting conditions, Jacus Roden’s head looked like a greenish skull.

No one knew what those eyes could see—only that they weren’t the ones he was born with.

“It doesn’t have to be this way,” Jacus said calmly.
“Granted, I could find what I’m looking for elsewhere.
But I would much rather hear it from you.”

“What if I’m not interested in discussing it?”
Souro muttered, jutting his chin toward the two intimidating sentry drones standing at the door.
“You plan on coercing it out of me?”

“Now, Souro, let’s act civilized,” Jacus said.
“You should speak like the man who brought greatness to the Federation.
If only for short while.”

“I don’t have anything to say to you,” the ex-President growled, downing his tumbler in a single gulp.
“Which means you have no reason to be here.”

Jacus leaned back in the chair, crossing one leg over the other.
“You know, we were all good men once—”

Souro stifled a laugh, then composed himself.

“—but all men, being human, are fallible creatures,” Jacus continued.
His green eyes brightened ever so slightly.
“A man betrays the Federation, and just like that a great enlightenment ends.
Souro, as President you allowed the first public execution in centuries, giving in to the mob’s thirst for blood.
I’m no saint.
But I don’t have that failure on my conscience.”

Jacus was referencing the capture, trial, and brutal public execution of former Grand Admiral Advent Etturer, who sold the secrets of the Federation’s border defense network that had enabled the Caldari Navy to invade the Luminaire system.
The resulting occupation of Caldari Prime, right in the heart of the Federation capital system, persisted to this day, with millions of Gallenteans remaining trapped in quarantined sections of the planet.

Souro Foiritan spoke through gritted teeth.

“What did you come here for,
rodent
?”

“Tell me, how many lives did you destroy during your career?”
Jacus asked.
“I’m a politician now.… That practically makes us brothers.
Do we not act in the best interests of the Federation?
To be fair, it’s only natural to find places where self-interests intersect with …
national
priorities.
So there are no more
truly
good men left, assuming any ever existed at all.
These ugly times bring out the worst in us.
Only the lesser evils remain.
And you, dear friend, are no more or less evil than I.”

Souro feigned the most polite tone that his anger would allow.

“How can I help you, President Roden?”
he asked.

“That’s better,” Jacus said, leaning back and clasping his hands before him.
“We can disagree and still be civil.
Now, I would like to hear, in your own words, why you believe Admiral Ranchel is, and I quote, ‘numb’ to the catastrophic loss of Gallentean life.”

“Because he’s insulating himself from reality,” Souro muttered, refilling his own tumbler.
“All of us are.”

“The reality of facing the consequences of your own decisions?”
Jacus asked.

“Capsuleers have become more powerful than anyone anticipated,” Souro said, pausing to take another sip.
“The toll they’ve taken on human life is too astounding to believe.”

Jacus unclasped his hands, narrowing his eyes.