Rigel III
Estate of Joran Kell
November 13, 2505
Joran Kell dressed like discipline and profit given form. His conservative suit reinforced the public image of an industrial capitalist. Behind the face he presented to the Alliance, his companies were fronts for a private enterprise he called the Consortium. Kell controlled the Rigelian Trade Consortium, one of the galaxy's largest merchants, and he ran everything like an empire, with profit as the only law.
Abdullah Ziad waited to meet with Joran Kell. Supreme Commander Quedon of the Zontaerian Imperial Fleet was coming today, and Kell was orchestrating it all, the silent puppet master in the shadows of intergalactic politics.
This was not the beginning of the plan, only the moment it finally surfaced. Months earlier, Kell and Ziad had discovered their aligned interests in a discreet meeting in Damascus, shaping what now moved into action. They'd patiently and quietly refined the details since then until the board was ready.
"Mr. Ziad," Kell said, bowing before the leader of the Islamic Bloc.
"Mr. Kell," Ziad replied in fluent English, his accent barely perceptible. Ziad was adept with languages. He was no fool. The man may have led a radical Islamist regime, but foolishness was not among his traits.
"This will be a momentous day for the Islamic Bloc and the Galactic Alliance." Kell's thin grin widened as he offered him a seat.
"If this meeting becomes what I think it will, it could reshape the Alliance. Yet you cheer for this?" Ziad stroked his graying beard, confusion narrowing his eyes.
"Mr. Ziad, I don't care one way or another about Earth's affairs. I care about business opportunities. They will not dry up for me if Earth falls. They may exponentially expand. My competition is on Earth. If Earth falls, they fall, and I win again. So how is that bad for me?"
"I see. I understand your position, even if I question your true motives or loyalties." Ziad reached into his pocket, removed a tin of snuff, and inhaled sharply before settling back.
"The Supreme Commander is on his way," Kell said. "My courier brings him now. We have the highest security. His stepping onto Rigel III is an act of war."
"Yes, it is. However, it is Astro Corps that has provoked this war. So today the enemy of my enemy may become my friend." Ziad's smile carried a sinister edge that unsettled Kell, and Kell did not get unsettled easily.
"Mr. Kell, he's here." A voice boomed from the com speaker on Kell's desk.
"Excellent, send him in. Come, Minister, let us go into the parlor." Kell led Ziad from his office into the parlor of his palatial estate.
The parlor glittered with crystal chandeliers fashioned from the emerald crystal of Zontaeria. Zontaerian crystal was enormously expensive inside the Alliance. To own it was a mark of power. To own it in the abundance Kell displayed was a declaration of immense wealth. Fine liquors from across the galaxy stocked a large wet bar. Someone had lined the room's walls with billiard and gaming tables and prepared a long dining table for three. Kell took the head seat. Ziad sat to his right. Quedon would occupy the left.
Quedon entered, flanked by Kell's security. The men were impressive in their own right but were diminished beside the towering Zontaerian. The reptilian stood almost two and a half meters tall. His mottled gray-green skin glistened under the crystal light. His yellow, slitted eyes burned with fire. If he rampaged, no human in the room would stand a chance.
Kell gestured to the seat. Quedon sat, sizing up each man at the table. Kell offered him a glass of Zontaerian Quevok, their famed brandy. Quedon downed it in a single gulp and gave a curt nod.
"You bought this from the Bravoqe clan. A vintage Imperial Era thirty-four sixty-two. Impressive taste, Mr. Kell."
Kell poured a Rigelian whiskey and offered one to Ziad. Ziad waved it off. Kell substituted a Rigelian spiced tea, which the minister accepted. Once all were served, Kell sat at the head of the table. At his nod, the security guards withdrew. Ziad knew that the room was still being monitored. Kell was no fool.
"Gentlemen, this is a historic meeting between the Islamic Bloc and the Zontaerian Empire. It is good to meet face to face at last."
"I am here because my emperor wishes me to hear Minister Ziad's proposals." Quedon leaned back, savoring the brandy. He inhaled its aroma and swished it around his mouth before swallowing.
"Our proposal is simple. We wish to ally with your empire. Together we can overcome the Astro Corps fleet and allow your forces to conquer Earth. Without Earth, the Alliance will crumble. It is a loose confederation of disparate interests held together only by Earth's resolve. Take Earth away and it will be ready for your people to subdue." Ziad leaned back, sipping his tea. His plan was simple, but he knew the chance to eliminate Earth was tempting to the Zontaerians.
"We could take Earth without you. Why would we need you?" Quedon sneered.
"Of course your people could take Earth without us. We lack your superior weapons or even what Astro Corps has. What we have is access to the Sol system." Ziad activated a holopad.
A map of Sol appeared, threaded with green lines marking Islamic Bloc travel corridors. Red blips showed Astro Corps patrol cruisers.
"So we use the corridors against them. Our shipments are used to transport weapons secretly. We arm cells across the system with Zontaerian arms. On the day of the attack, these cells strike key facilities across the Sol system and Earth. Our ships, with upgraded weapons, strike Jupiter Station and the Io shipyards. At the same moment, your forces jump into Sol. Astro Corps will not rally in time. Your fleet destroys them, devastates Earth, and your second wave arrives before any Astro Corps battle groups respond. When they do, you will have already established your position." Ziad smiled as he studied the invasion plan. Quedon leaned forward, resting his chin on one clawed hand.
"When facing a powerful enemy, the best strategy is to seize what they value most. Once you hold it, they bend." Kell drank his whiskey.
"The original phrasing is from Sun Tzu," Quedon corrected. "If asked how to cope with a great host of the enemy in orderly array and on the point of marching to the attack, I should say: Begin by seizing something which your opponent holds dear, then he will be amenable to your will."
Kell looked momentarily dismayed but quickly hid it under his smile.
"My thinking lies in an old Bedouin proverb, but it holds the same truth. Kill the lion in his den before he kills you in the open. We could kill Astro Corps in its den and be rid of it once and for all."
Ziad sat back, smiling wider.
"There are multiple parts of this plan I like," Quedon said. "There are things we would change, but I believe the emperor will love the initiative you show, Minister Ziad. Tell me, why turn against your fellow humans?"
"They are infidels," Ziad said flatly. "They do not follow the will of Allah. The Prophet teaches that if they will not convert, we may strike them down. They have had their chance to turn to the way Allah has instructed. They have not. Instead, they impose harsh restrictions on our nations. They deny us economic opportunities and restrict our travel in our own star system. No more." He pounded the table, chest heaving.
"The Alliance and Astro Corps have indeed been unfair to the Bloc, Supreme Commander," Kell offered. "Of course, my businesses prospered as a result, but the harsh treatment since the Martian War twenty-three years ago has been extreme." Kell poured another whiskey.
"Why sanction this, Mr. Kell? What do you gain from Earth's fall? Would not your businesses be harmed?" Quedon cocked his head with a quizzical look, as if Zontaerians did not know criminal enterprises of their own.
"My legitimate ledgers will suffer, yes. But with a disaster of this scale for the Alliance and Earth, my off-the-record businesses will thrive." Kell smiled and raised his glass. "To business, the only interest that interests me." He drank.
"You have given me much to consider. I will present your ideas with my invasion plan to the emperor. I will contact you, Mr. Kell, and tell you and Mr. Ziad our next steps."
Quedon finished his brandy and rose. He bowed slightly toward the two men, then strode out. Kell's guards rejoined him at the doors.
Quedon walked out sneering. Humanity was ripe for harvesting. Ziad's and Kell's willingness to sell out their own world doomed Earth. That suited Quedon fine. He would miss humanity, though not much. He strode away confident the Divine Will had granted the Zontaerian Empire another chance to conquer and subdue.
Kell leaned back in his chair and refilled his glass. His mind was already calculating routes and ledgers, reviewing the implications of what he had set in motion. He needed to place a call to Spengalia Prime before the week was out. There were gaps in their technology, gaps he could sell them the means to close. The galaxy's next war had just begun, and Kell was already counting the profits.