BtH21

==Chapter 21 - By the Horns==
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===Sending a Messenge===
ComStar Class A HPG Station
Samantha City, Taurus
Taurian Concordat
October 28th, 3025
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“Jack,” Helena growled. “You said you could get this to work—what’s the hold up?”
The engineer crawled out of an access hatch on the side of the HPG, and he sighed. “Boss, I don’t know what half of this gear is supposed to do. Typical piece of Terran shit with a dozen components where any sensible engineer would use one! Everything is cross-connected the Nth degree—it’s like they deliberately designed a Rube Goldberg machine specifically to spite anyone who ever got their hands on it! I’ve got power flows all the place here, leading to circuits that don’t do anything! But if I cut out those circuits, the whole frigging thing goes dead!”
Helena glared down at the engineer—and the team of scientists assembled from those embarked on Saucy Sam, and the surviving ComStar Adepts and Acolytes who had agreed to cooperate.
“Damn it, Jack,” she snapped. “I’m not asking you to rebuild the blasted thing—just make it work!”
“Boss, I . . .,” and seeing the look on Helena’s face, he sighed and rubbed a greasy hand through his hair. “Fine. But if we are going to be using this-this . . . piece of sh- . . .,” he winced as Thomas walked over and quickly adjusted his word choice, “junk, then we need to understand what each of these components are supposed to do—and right now, I don’t. Know. What. Purpose. Half. Of. Them. Have.”
“Understand it later,” Thomas commanded. “Right now, I need this on-line—can you do it, Commander?”
Jack sighed again and he began to mutter. “Blood paranoid Terrans, none of these technicians know anything other the SINGLE system component they were assigned to run. The only ones with a complete knowledge were killed by ComStar security.”
“ROM,” corrected Henri Jouett as he smiled. “And Precentor Taurus probably knows—but he will take some . . . persuasion to reveal his knowledge.”
“Did you know they don’t have a single manual of operations? They memorize their tasks—rote memorization without understanding the basic theory of how it works!” Jack whined.
“JACK!”
“Okay, okay, okay,” he muttered. “We may burn out half of the circuits that I don’t know what they do, but okay.” He steeled himself and he stood up from the floor and turned to the senior Adept that had changed sides—Dennis Frasier. “Is the generator aligned?”
“On target, Pre-,” the man blushed. “Commander. HPG is on target and auto-stabilized.”
“Charge capacitors and prepare to establish communications wormhole.”
Dennis nodded and the team of former ComStar personnel began to sing out the litany as they worked the dials and pressed the keys.
“I fucking hate Gregorian chants,” he said as the machinery hummed to life. “Ready to record and transmit—if I am reading this board right,” and he crossed his fingers.
“Then let us begin,” said Thomas.
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===Unpleasant Messager from A Far===
ComStar First Circuit
Hilton Head Island, North America
Terra
October 28th, 3025
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“. . . and the Pronouncement of Interdiction has been distributed across the HPG Network, Primus,” the Adept reported. “As of two hours ago, the Taurian Concordat has been officially Interdicted as per your command.” Then he paused, and he swallowed heavily. “I must report, however, that the Taurus ‘A’ Station has missed its past four transmission windows—and we have no confirmation from Taurus that the Interdiction has begun.”
Julian frowned, even as the members of the First Circuit started to whisper among themselves. It wasn’t unheard of for an ‘A’ Station to temporarily go off the air—but the timing was . . . worrisome. “Contact directly one of the Concordat ‘B’ Stations—have them confirm and see if we can determine what is wrong with the Taurus HPG.”
“Primus,” the sweating Adept said with a deep bow, “we did so six hours ago—none have replied to our transmissions.”
“It takes time to realign the HPG,” one of the Precentors of the First Circuit began, “and ‘B’ Stations are limited . . . perhaps their response is just delayed.”
“Even a ‘B’ Station should be able to respond to a priority transmission from the First Circuit in less than two hours,” snapped Myndo Waterly. “Unless the Precentor in command is incompetent—did we send all of our fools to Taurus?”
Before anyone could reply, the sound of pounding feet came from a corridor and an Acolyte ran into the First Circuit. Ignoring the Primus and the circle of Precentors both, he whispered to the Adept, even as Julian ground his teeth. The Adept jerked, and his head snapped around to stare with horror at the Primus—and his jaw dropped, leaving his mouth open.
“Pri-primus,” he stuttered. “We have received a transmission from Taurus—relayed here. I-I,” his voice trailed off.
“CONTROL YOURSELF!” Julian snapped. “Play the transmission.”
The Adept swayed. “Pri-primus . . .,”
“Did you not hear the instruction of the Primus?” Myndo asked smoothly. “PLAY IT,” she commanded.
The Adept bowed low and he walked over to a system control and adjusted the lights. A holo-projector in the center of the floor activated; the image was shaky, filled with static, and slightly out of focus. Julian frowned.
“Adept,” he said softly. “Are we experiencing technical difficulties?”
“N-no, Primus—the transmission from Taurus was not precisely attuned,” he answered with an audible swallow of the lump in his throat. “The computers are processing and cleaning the transmission as . . . we . . . speak,” and he grew quiet as the image solidified—the color base still slightly off and shaky, but it was not the image of Precentor Taurus. No, the image that stood in front of the First Circuit was that of Thomas Calderon.
Sharp intakes of air came as several of the Precentors gasped, and Julian grabbed the sides of his podium in grips so tight that his knuckles faded to white.
“Primus,” the image spoke as it wavered. “I have received your . . . ultimatum and carefully considered a reply. In the words of General Anthony McAuliffe during the Siege of Bastogne in Terra’s Second World War—NUTS! Or, if you aren’t a fan of history, then a simple PISS OFF is our answer to you. Part of our answer, anyways,” he said with a chuckle. “I believe you recognize the chamber I am in? Your own ‘A’ Station on Taurus? It is mine now; it belongs to the Concordat.”
Horrified—and furious—voices began to echo around the chamber, but the transmission continued.
“As you might notice, your Precentor Taurus is not present—he is under arrest and the evidence is damning. I have been assured that he will be sentenced to death for his crimes against the Concordat. My forces have seized not only the ‘A’ Station on Taurus, but every ‘B’ Station within the Taurian Concordat—and we are operating this station now to send you this message.” Thomas paused and canted his head as he smiled. “Seriously, you did not think that the sons and daughters of Samantha Calderon could figure out how to operate this technology? If so, Primus, you are a fool.”
“We here in the Periphery have much experience with the perfidy of Terrans, Primus Tiepolo. Your demands were unacceptable to us—and your actions in causing the incident upon which you based those demands were unconscionable.”
Julian’s face went white, and the image sneered at him. “That’s right—we have access to your archives here on Taurus. And it was orders from Terra that instructed Precentor Taurus to alter Grover Shraplen’s message to Brigadier Tharn of the Pleiades Hussars. Those altered orders and communications which resulted in the attack on your facility on Jansen’s Hold; without them, it would have never occurred. I don’t know what is more contemptible, Tiepolo—your callous sacrifice of men and women who served you or your greed over what the Concordat possesses.”
“But that is now over. I hereby declare ComStar an outlawed organization within the territory of the Taurian Concordat—all who owe it allegiance will leave immediately under pain of death for defiance of this order. I hereby nationalize your HPG stations—we Taurians will operate them ourselves, for our own good.”
“Of course, we will consider handing them back to you—in exchange for the head of one Julian Tiepolo. Nothing attached—just the head,” Thomas said with a grim smile. “There is an old expression, Primus, which you should have considered before this gambit began—fuck with the Bull and you get the horns. Don’t push us into going further, or by the Horns, you will regret those actions forever.”
The transmission flickered again, and then it abruptly ended. And utter chaos descended on the Chamber of the First Circuit.
Julian swayed and he tried to speak, but he couldn’t draw breath—and then he staggered as the pain in his chest exploded. He collapsed onto the floor.
“PRIMUS!” someone shouted, but Julian couldn’t see his face—his voice seemed so very far away. “GET A DOCTOR IN HERE!” And everything faded to black.
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