ALTERNATE TALES OF THE STAR FORCE
STAR BLAZERS—THE ENTROPY WARS
By: Frederick P. Kopetz
With the Cooperation and Assistance of Derek A.C. Wakefield
CHAPTER TWO: WHEELS WITHIN WHEELS
I. THE MASTER SCHEMER…
Planet Earth
The Vicinity of the Great Megalopolis
The Savela Estate
Tuesday: May 17, 2231
0945 Hours: Earth Standard Space-Time
A chauffeur-driven air-limousine, a huge car all in black, pulled through the gates of the Savela Estate on Earth.
The vehicle went down a number of paths, rolling past a private landing pad on the way.
The occupant of the limo smiled to herself as she lowered a tinted window of her car to look out at three space yachts of Pellian registry that sat there. They were hers, all legitimately acquired through business activities. Or, so everyone thought.
It has taken so many years, she thought with glee. I’ve started to show a few strands of grey hair since I started, but pulling the wool over everyone’s eyes has been a nice, calm, gradual process. The plan is now close to succeeding. We just need..a little more time….
The car stopped in front of a gothic-looking manor that sat in an elegantly
landscaped meadow. A fountain squirted water outside, and the chaffeur and two servants stopped by the door of the car,
waiting as the gullwing door lifted. Then, they assisted Mrs. Katrina Monica
Invidia Savela out of her car.
The middle-aged woman’s pumps clicked as she went up the driveway in her skirted suit. At the doors of her manor, two butlers held the doors open for her as she passed them with barely a nod.
In the entrance hallway, she clapped once when sitting down on a padded bench near a closet door. A servant girl came forth, and helped her exchange her pumps for house slippers.
Then, another door opened, and a man in young middle age with slightly greying hair near his ears smiled at her as she ran up. They embraced, and she whispered to him, “Hi, Foxy.”
“Beautiful as always, Katrina, dear,” said the man for the benefit of the servants. Kazuo Foxworth-Savela, “Katrina’s” Terran husband and lover, always knew how to be discreet, having come from wealth himself. “Let’s go the the piano room to discuss your latest business trip.”
“My pleasure,” said Katrina.
Then, another butler came forth, handing Katrina Monica a list on a small padd. “Lady, just to remind you, you do have two appointments today. One at 1130 Hours and then one at 1400. You also have a long-distance visiphone call scheduled at 1500. This party wants to help vet the contracts being renewed for her sister.”
“Thank you, Baldur,” said Katrina. “The first two will be easy. The third call…well, we must be delicate. She’s always been a little suspicious of me, that one. Her and her damned Pellian friend. Luckily, I have enough contacts in Younger’s faction in the Pellian Commonwealth that I’ve always been able to avoid awkward questions.”
“Of course,” said Baldur.
“Where is Cosmo? I want to see him,” snapped Invidia. “I need to know how the work is going for the Grand Experiment. New Dezaria’s getting pushy about it. I want those generals off my back!”
“Dear, you rule New Dezaria…in secret, of course,” said Kazuo.
“Yes, but the generals are getting rather pushy…”
“You could always have them shot,” suggested Kazuo.
“Come, on, dear, where is the fun in that?” laughed Katrina. Then, Katrina and Kazuo held hands as they left together. They seemed like a very refined and affectionate couple.
They were. For the most part.
One unintended wrinkle in the plans of the long-hidden Princess Invidia was that she hadn’t suspected she would fall in love. Much less with an Earthling.
But, in her way, she had Kazuo well in hand.
In the music room, decorated with paintings of different alien spacecraft, “Katrina” smiled at Kazuo as she sat playing a quiet, yet menace-filled piano composition she had picked up in her travels of the galaxies.
“What is that piece again?” said Kazuo.
“Goruba for piano,” said “Katrina” in a soft voice. “I picked it up from our Black Nebulan friends on New Dezaria years ago. In the old palace. The new one has since been renovated.”
“Princess, you are just as much of a schemer as ever. How surprised I was many years back when you told me everything on the wedding night. Such an exquisite little sneak you are, yes!”
“The rumors of my death have been…shall we say, rather exaggerated, hmm?” drawled Invidia in her low, sultry accent. Then, she laughed. “How is the General Cosmodynamics bid going?”
“We have a proxy on twelve percent of the stock straight, with dividends, and options on twenty-five percent. If we pull the options, we have thirty-seven percent.”
“And control of a big piece of the Contrail Syndicate,” smiled Invidia. “Plans on New Dezaria are going well. I was just seeing my contacts.”
“Why not go there and run the Plan from their end in the Black Fox Nebula?”
“Dear, it is more fun being here to see what happens and to play innocent when the Earth Government eventually takes the bait and invites the forces of its own doom to occupy her own planet! By invitation! It will be so amusing!”
“It depends upon getting the right man in at the top in the Megalopolis.”
“Yes,” said Invidia. “The right puppet. How is that going?”
“Better than you’d think,” said Kazuo. “Although my friends tell me one of the Prime Ministerial candidates is an “x” factor.”
“Meaning?”
“We don’t know what he’ll do…”
“Hmmm…,” said Invidia. “We will have to be careful…”
“Yes.”
II. AT THE ACADEMY…
Planet Earth
The Vicinity of the Great Megalopolis
The Space Fighters’ Training School
Monday: May 23, 2231
1400 Hours: Earth Standard Space-Time
“What a long day this is,” said Midshipman First Class Anastasia Trelaina Wildstar in a whisper as she stood in formation in her pinkish red and white Midshipman’s uniform beside her cousin, Midshipman First Class Jessica Wakefield. “Is it ever gonna end?”
“Where’s your brother Steve?” whispered Jess. She wore a gold star like all of the other females in her family.
“Playing around in his place in Delta Company with his thumb up his butt as usual,” said Anastasia, who was referred to by her father (and most everyone else) as Anya. “All he’s got on his brain are his scientific equations and stuff.”
“How long do these graduation rehearsals last?”
“Mom told me ‘centuries’. One of the few things she was ever right about,” said Anya. “I could use a big bag of Astro Munchies right about now. I don’t care that Ariel says they’re not healthy for me. My damn sister. She’s turning into a clone of Mom every day.”
“What’s your big trip against your Mom again?”
“Jess, you know she’s a ditz!” hissed Anya.
“Your mother is possibly one of the smartest people on Earth, and you think she’s a ditz?” whispered Jess.
“You know she is. She has to wear her glasses like half the time, and she’s always tripping over things. When I was last home a few months ago and she was home, right before she went out into space again, she almost tripped over a footstool; the one she keeps in front of Dad’s recliner. The great Nova Wildstar, almost done in by a dumb footstool! What a ditzo!”
“That’s a right ‘oriible way to speak of your Mum,” said a refined British voice behind Anya. “Five demerits, Wildstar!”
“Uncle Clive,” sighed Anya as she turned to face the tactical officer who had just written her up, namely, Captain Clive Hartcliffe, who was on TDY here at the Academy between commands.
“You cannot bloody call me that in formation, Wildstar. Number one, I’m not really yer Uncle, number two, it’s bloody fraternization, and ye bloody know it. Sorry, luv. You graduate tomorrow but you have to spend tonight marchin’ off your last tour.”
“Give me a break, sir!” said Anya.
“Wanna add some more demerits?” said Clive.
“No, sir,” said Anya.
“Than shut yer pie-hole,” said Clive. He spotted another cadet laughing and said, “Guess what, Mister McCloskey, you and Mis Wildstar are havin’ a date tonight on the punishment quad! Five demerits for you, too, cheeky baby! Yer a swine!”
Later on, it was raining while Anya, McCloskey, and some other cadets marched off their final demerits with AK-01 rifles on their shoulders. McCloskey turned towards Anya and said, “You shouldn’t graduate tomorrow, Wildstar!”
“Why not?” snapped Anya waspishly as water ran off the brim of her cap.
“In our Ethics Class, you were the biggest idiot I’ve ever met here at the Academy. How did you ever pass Ethics?”
“My final essay. I got a B-Plus on it.”
“And what did you write about?”
“The logic as to why Earth should become an Empire,” said Anya.
“Ohhh…another one of those New Order types?”
“I am not an adherent of the New Order,” snapped Anya. “I just think they have some good ideas, that’s all. I can’t discuss this stuff at home, of course.”
“Let me guess; Mom and Dad don’t like your viewpoints?”
“They detest them,” said Anya. “When I raised a prime argument of the New Order, that we should follow a tenet of Neo-Colonialism and force less advanced civilizations under our protection with our military force for their own good as well as for our own, Mom slapped me right across the face. So much for my great Mother being a person of peace. We’ve barely talked since.”
“Figures,” said McCloskey. “You know, I agree with some of what the New Order teaches…” said McCloskey.
“So?” said Anya.
“Maybe we should take at some point tomorrow…after we graduate?”
“If I can get away from Mom and Dad long enough, I’ll buy you a beer,” said Anya. “Be quiet…I hear a tac coming. We’re not supposed to be talking…”
McCloskey nodded as they marched on.
III. HOME AGAIN…
Planet Earth
The Tokyo Megalopolis
The Supreme Court Building
Tuesday: May 24, 2231
0920 Hours: Earth Standard Space-Time
Nine very old men and women, the youngest of them being about sixty-nine years old, sat behind the huge curved Judges’ Bench of the Supreme Court of the Earth Federation beneath the huge gold Seal of Earth that was attached to the white marble wall behind them.
Today, they were hearing the case of Aniston v. Forrester.
This was a case that had taken years to reach this far in the legal system. The basic case and controversy was a challenge to the Digital Space Net Copyright Act of 2221, that covered the for-profit transmission of songs across the Space Net that connected the various planets of the Galactic Alliance.
The case had begun when some kid on Iscandar, searching her PC late at night, had downloaded in 2225 a song by the popular artiste Aurora Forrester, from her then-new album which was known as Life in a Space Cyclone. This album of Aurora’s was cute, boppy piano-based pop music.
Aurora’s then-manager Egon Aniston had sued the Iscandarian girl involved for something like thirty million credits once he and his accountants had found out what her SIP address had been.
Aurora heard about the case and ordered her manager to settle for far less. The manager had refused, charging that this would dilute her trademark rights.
Aurora had fired her manager the next day and ordered him to stop the case and had rehired her old manager. He and his lawyers refused as a matter of principle.
This day, the lawyer up behind the podium arguing for Egon Aniston was Nigel Henley-Gordon; a British lawyer originally admitted in Westminster, Anglia, who also just happened to be the Chief Procurator, or High Criminal Prosecutor, of all of Planet Earth. Gordon was a rather self-important man of about fifty-nine, impeccably clad in a four-thousand credit pinstriped suit, simulated silk tie, men’s Prada shoes, and handkerchief in one pocket.
Henley-Gordon adjusted his glasses, smoothed down his distinguished-looking beard, and continued his summation as he brandished his gold-plated pen stylus at the lawyers’ podium like some kind of weapon.
In his impeccable Oxbridge upper-class accent, he said, “Ladies and gentlemen of this Court, I am here, as you know, in defense of an important canon of legal principle. The Digital Space Net Copyright Act of 2221. That Act, which I helped draft when I sat in Parliament across the great square outside in Government Centre, specifically stipulates in Article Nine, Section Two, “A Right of Action For Damages can be lodged by the manager for an artiste. Miss Forrester had signed a legal contract with Mister Aniston in late 2224. Mister Aniston was then legally Miss Forrester’s manager, and he stood in the shoes of Miss Forrester…”
“Interesting considering that Miss Forrester doesn’t wear shoes on half her cutesy album covers,” said Justice Vanessa Wellesley from the bench as she tapped her pen. “And I need to advise you that you have one minute left, Counselor.”
The light went off on Henley-Gordon’s podium. Damned machines give you just twenty-five bloody minutes, bloody robots.
“And so,” said Chief Justice Christian Rinaldi as he played with his white, full beard above his black robe. He was now eighty. “Counselor Henley-Gordon, are you saying that the entire Digital Space Net Act states that the manager has the absolute right of action even if the artist disavows the case?”
“Of course, your Honor,” sniffed Henley-Gordon. “At this time, Aniston was Forrester’s legal representative and power of attorney, and…”
“She disavowed him, sir,” said Justice Isao Hayata. “Do you deny that?”
“No..I…”
The red light went off. “Time’s up,” said the Chief Justice as he banged his gavel. “Yield to Miss Forrester’s counsel.”
“Thank you, gentlemen and ladies,” said Henley-Gordon with a bow. He then turned to face his opponent as a few electronic flashes went off from the Press Gallery far above the Court and its counsel tables, podium, empty witness dock, empty prisoners’ dock for the few criminal trials of original jurisdiction based upon maritime law, Space Maritime Law, and Diversity of Governments that were held here, and rows of spectators’ chairs.
His opponent was a youngish-looking fifty-three year old woman who wore glasses and a cranberry-colored blazer, cream blouse, school tie, shortish grey pleated skirt that showed off her long, bare legs, and cranberry-colored pumps that matched her coat.
She winked at her younger sister Aurora through her glasses before taking the podium. Nova Wildstar, MD, at her father’s urging, had started law school part-time in 2223 and had graduated and passed her Bar in 2227. She had primarly chosen to earn her second doctorate as a result of wanting to know how to defend herself in malpractice actions.
“Mrs. Wildstar, you are already sworn as attorney of record,” said the Chief Justice. “In referring to your brief, you argue that the rights of the artist are more important than the rights of management?”
“That is right, sir,” said Nova in her gentle voice, which sounded calm and composed compared to Henley-Gordon’s rolling tones. She looked over and watched Henley-Gordon smirking at her as he went back to his defense table. Upper class twit of the year, thought Nova to herself. I’m gonna win this for my sister whether you like it or not. “There is a lot of precedent which gives an artist the right to fire their management if they feel they are beging mismanaged. One of the oldest germane precedents was in the 20th century, in ABKCO Music, Inc. v. Harrisongs Music, Ltd. In that case, it was decided, among other things, that a former manager of an artiste’ who
later reneges on his fiduciary duties to that artiste’ cannot profit by then switching sides in a lawsuit against the original artist. That ruling is germane to our current case because in our current litigation, Aniston was fired by Miss Forrester and is no longer her agent, but he still wishes to make a profit by acting as Miss Forrester’s agent even though the agency relationship has long been terminated. And it must be noted repeatedly that in papers previously filed before the District Court in Colorado, Miss Forrester has given up her right of legal action in this case when she and the Iscandarian teenager involved came to an out-of-court settlement and the Iscandarian paid Miss Forrester eighteen credits and ninety-nine cents to purchase the album in question and to pay token damages of two credits towards Miss Forrester’s legal fees. It must be noted that Counsel then gave the Iscandarian teenager back the two credits because she is acting on a pro bono basis for Miss Forrester.”
“So you allege that the case between Miss Forrester and the Iscandarian involved was settled for about eighteen credits?” asked one of the judges.
“Yes,” Nova replied.
“Do you have a copy of that settlement order?” asked Chief Justice Rinaldi.
“Submitted with my brief, sir,” said Nova.
The Justices conferred for a moment and then Chief Justice Rinaldi said, “We see the settlement order and the Court takes official notice of it. You may step down, Doctor Wildstar. The Court’s heard enough. We will adjourn and render a decision within ninety calendar days.”
Henley-Gordon stood and said, “Honorable Justices, may I submit a rebuttal?”
“No, oral argument is finished,” said Rinaldi as he rapped his gavel once. “You two may leave. Clerk, call the case of Penoyer vs. Watt.”
Nova and Nigel met outside of Court, and Henley-Gordon said, “Wildstar, that was dirty snooker in there! You never submitted that prior Judgment to me!”
“I did,” Nova replied. “Back in the initial set of documents I sent you back in September along with my letter requesting that we settle this case. We could have finished this matter right then, but you rejected our settlement offer and you are costing the Iscandarian Government a lot of money.”
“How is that?” said Henley-Gordon.
“They had to hire counsel for the teenage girl to represent her interests before I took the interpleader and agreed to combine the cases. Someone had to represent that girl. Her parents are just poor fishermen on Iscandar and don’t have a tenth of the thirty million credits you were demanding.”
“I would have settled for a tenth if we could have gotten their crystal homestead at Bailiff’s Sale,” sniffed Henley-Gordon. “The place would have made a fine vacation home for me on Iscandar, which ought to be under our heel anyway because hardly anyone lives there. Everyone believes that! Come on, 2199 was over thirty-two years ago!”
“You believe that?” snapped Nova as Derek came up behind her to nudge her away from the reporters. “You, sir, make me sick!”
“Come on,” whispered Derek in Nova’s ear. “Let’s do an early lunch. Then, we have a graduation to attend…”
Nova nodded and turned away from Henley-Gordon and the reporters’ questions.
In the meantime, down in one of Earth’s underground cities, in an ostensibly abandoned military base, a Marine SS Lieutenant in black turned towards four men and said, “We just got this on a hidden camera system we tapped into, my Lords.”
One of the men, a R’Khell agent in a red Fez known as Hagyar, said, “So, Doctor Wildstar’s more involved in little petty cases rather than the big picture? Isn’t that too bad, Buggnatz?”
General Buggnatz, who was now a deep-cover agent of the terrorist organization of Spectra, which was now on the run after having been driven off its own planet, said, “They’ve always attacked the wrong people at the wrong time and the wrong target. It started twenty-three Terran years ago when we attacked their Argo and they made me look stupid in return but never got the head of the Centipede. Literally. Since then, we tried terror attack after terror attack, all to no avail because of their damned counterinsurgency forces. Twenty-three years. The Luminous One has had enough of this lot. I say hit the rock with a proton missile, and blow up these infidels! They…”
“They’re worth money to us as a slave world, Buggnatz, regardless how you and Zoltar feel about this bunch,” said General Raeder of what remained of the Cometine House of New Dezaria. “And our Black Nebulan Empire would become so much greater soon if we are able to pull off the planned Assassination of the Grand Emperor of the Cometines and we then take control of the whole of the Comet Empire like I’ve wanted to for years. And I want Invidia to be one of the first ones killed.”
“Lordship, what do you think?” demanded Buggnatz as he bowed towards the fourth man there, one Colonel Maples.
Maples sniffed, chuckled, and hid his face in his hands for a moment. When he finished coughing, the face of Terran Gary Maples had vanished, to be replaced by the snarling, grey-mustached visage of Ekogaru the Great. “I think we go on with the current plan, men. I have had General Stone in my pocket for years. After he was expelled in 2209 as Chief of Staff when he over calculated and attacked our interests far too openly, he was banished from Earth and now serves me on R’Khell’eva. He does not know everything yet, but the time will come when I will finally expose all my plans to him and indoctrinate him even more deeply into working towards the New Order, and the pitfalls of working against it! Besides, we are close to having another influential person on our side.”
“Whom?” demanded Hagyar. “I’ll have you know, Lord Ekogaru, that Lord Piper Sandberg is growing sick of your…”
Ekogaru smiled, flipped up a sleeve of his EDF jacket, and pointed at Hagyar. Fire appeared at his fingertips, and then, a bolt of energy roared out through the air towards Hagyar’s right shoulder. A moment later, Hagyar was on fire, and the remains of his amputated right arm flew back and smashed against a panel. As he screamed in agony, Buggnatz and Raeder put out the flames.
“You go to Lord Piper Sandberg, that scum-master traitor and leader of your so-called Jihad, minus your arm and tell him that if he wishes to lodge a protest against the Technomugar New Order, let him come and do it to my face and see how long he lives!” roared the Dark Lord. “Through the practice of peace shall I destroy many! No one is indispensable in the New Order! Not you, not the leadership on New Dezaria, not Invidia, not any of you, not Zoltar, and not General Stone! I am your Master! And never forget it! Now, we will continue to work our plans. I want someone weak whom we can use as a tool placed in the Prime Ministership of Earth…someone who will, when the time comes, let us occupy that benighted world and enslave it without a fight! Then, I can deal with the nascent Pellian High Queen at my leisure…and crush her quietly, as we should have been able to do years and years ago.”
As Hagyar whimpered in pain, Ekogaru said, “Now, that we have that little unpleasantness behind us, shall we go on to other matters?”
TO BE CONTINUED….