Generals and commanders hovered around President Kindword like a swarm of pesky locusts. She had never met most of them, and they all spoke of horrible futures that lay ahead. They asked her questions she never heard before and never wanted to think about.
"Madam President, where do you want to be if Command Castle were taken?"
"Who do you want by your side in the presidential bunker?"
"Are you considering ceding Elem planets to the Mandata for peace?"
There wasn't a single ounce of hope to be found in Tower Control. It seemed like the UEF was sure of only one thing: defeat. In Kindword's moment of fazed disbelief, Vice President and Director of Command Castle Charles Brigantine — an old, ginger man who had seen more press conferences than battles — leaned over into her ear. The stench of his garlicky breath snapped Kindword out of her limbo.
"Madam President, the Paragon is waiting to take you and the supervisors to the American Capitol on Paltt, the British Parliament on Sheac, and then a press conference on Mashra."
"Now?" Kindword asked, terrified by the idea of having to present herself before the interplanetary press. No doubt her face would be on the front fold of every newswipe, from the popular Elemite Inquirer to the satirical Blue Ball Bulletin.
"Yes. Now," Brigantine confirmed, placing his hand on her shoulder, and nudging her towards the elevator. "My deputy and the director of oversight will prep you on the way."
Kindword felt like nothing was making sense. How did she, the most powerful person in Elem, become the movable pawn of so many men and women in suits? Where was her family in all of this? Why wasn't anybody telling her whether they were safe or not? What about Aleph?
"Stop!" she gasped, grabbing the edge of the elevator doors.
"Madam President, I know this is a stressful time, but we must go immediately," Brigantine tersely explained.
Kindword shook her head. Her snow-peppered hair, usually so well maintained, was oddly draped over her sweaty face. "No, we need to go to Eln," she demanded. "To Oldear."
Brigantine retracted his hand from her back and pinched his lips. "Madam President, I must get you to Paltt as soon as possi—"
"NO!" Kindword snapped, finally regaining her presidential voice. Tower Control came to a near standstill. "I am getting on the Paragon, and we are going to Eln! That's an order!"
Brigantine remembered his place in the chain of command. "Yes, Madam President."
"Notify the deans of our arrival. Tell them it's urgent," Kindword said, entering the elevator and descending to the lobby with the admonished Brigantine. As her security team of twenty large hulky men escorted her to her motorcade, Kindword paid no mind to the hundreds of sidewalk reporters, photographers, and protesters. All she could think about on the ride to the fleetport were Oldear's deans. Only they could convince her of Aleph's loyalty, but unless she told them everything they needed to know about the present crisis, she would never overcome her guilt of letting Aleph fall into Endgon's hands.
When Kindword arrived at the fleetport, she practically charged up the ramp leading to the Paragon, her presidential fleetship. The crew had never seen her so eager to depart. Her security team had to jog to keep up with her.
"Has Admiral Overlook been informed of our new destination?" Kindword asked the nearest lieutenant inside the Paragon.
"Yes, ma'am," he replied. "The supervisors are gathered on the bridge waiting for—"
YOU ARE READING
The Astronites
FantasyIn her senior year of high school, Natalie Hope reunites with her friends, Adam and Barbara, at the funeral of the fourth member of their once-close gang, Jake. They remember the made-up superhero game they played as kids called "the Astronites," wh...
