The Defense of Provenia: A Military Sci-Fi Series (The Unity Wars Book 2)

by Peter Nealen

  Once again, Gaumarus and his little band debarked first, as if Colonel Piett and the majority of the Knights were simply too determined not to show that they were impressed by the indig and their weapons to move. Or maybe neither group wanted to turn their backs on the other.

  The squabbling among the human survivors of the Battle of the Monoyan Plain fled Gaumarus’s mind as he stepped off the train. He stared around him.

  The staging camp was set in a deep pit. The base of the pit had to be several hundred meters below the surface, and the walls were sheer and damp. It took him a moment to realize that it wasn’t an excavation; it was a sinkhole. Which meant they had to be closer to the Averung Sea. It was the only place that made sense. There was a tang of saltwater in the air, and the humidity was considerably higher than it had been.

  But the shape of the pit, the probable location, and even the structures built around the base of the walls and burrowed deep into it, were only details. What really commanded his attention was the billowing cover that had been drawn across the mouth of the pit, high above.

  That, and the starship squatting on its landing jacks in the center.

  It wasn’t a pretty ship; its off-white paint was scorched and streaked, and there were micrometeorite impacts pocking the forward surfaces. It didn’t look like it had seen a proper refit in a long, long time. It was vaguely blocky, though all the corners were curved and smoothed, its engine pods jutting out from a squarish central fuselage. It looked like a mid-sized freighter, unless he was mistaken, but the engines had clearly been refitted, and were meant for a much larger ship.

  Unless he was greatly mistaken, that was just the kind of ship a smuggler or blockade runner would fly. He suddenly thought of Blue Moon Above the Salt Cliff referring to their “off-world friends.” And the references to the Latecomer rebels helping the indig cause became even clearer.

  “What on the Way?” Verheyen asked. “How did that get here?”

  “Do you know where we are?” Gaumarus asked.

  “I think so,” Verheyen said. “The Perei Massif, along the western coast of the Averung Sea, has a lot of these big sinkholes. It would make some sense. But this…”

  [Come,] Blue Moon Above the Salt Cliff beckoned. [Fights with Great Beasts is waiting.]

  Without waiting for an acknowledgement, Blue Moon Above the Salt Cliff started down the slope from the train platform. There was a narrow trail leading down toward the floor of the pit, where pumps chugged and pipes ran into the rock walls. Clearly, the indig were busy keeping the waters of the Averung Sea out of the pit. They must let some more in when it was time to launch or land a ship inside.

  There was more machinery down there, including bigger versions of the motorized carts that Gaumarus had seen in the City. This was a major operation. The carts weren’t in use at the moment, but some of them looked big enough to handle heavy loads.

  Maybe even fighting vehicles.

  They circled halfway around the pit before they came to a tunnel leading deeper into the rock. The Provenians had always known that the indig were burrowers; that was part of why there had been no sign of them from orbit when the nearly crippled Epoch had arrived. But they had always imagined it had been limited to the lowland tribes’ pit houses.

  There was no way that they had done all this only with the explosives that a few smugglers could slip in every now and then. They’d been busy, clearly for years and years.

  More gas lamps lit the tunnel as they moved into the rock. Drains echoed with the chugging of pumps and the gurgling of water.

  Finally, the passage began to rise, and then they came to a metal door with two indig sentries outside. Blue Moon Above the Salt Cliff chittered at them, and one opened the door.

  The room beyond was a war room, lit by bright, actinic arc lights like they had seen in the council chamber in the City. A table was covered by a detailed, three-dimensional map of the Monoyan Plain.

  There were easily two dozen indig in the room, their long vests tooled with different tribal markings. There were also half a dozen humans, wearing dingy shipboard coveralls, and all armed.

  The humans looked up as Gaumarus and his companions entered the room. One of them, a big, beefy-looking man, muttered what might have been a curse and grabbed for the pistol at his waist. He froze when three big-bore repeaters swung up to cover him.

  Behind him, Gaumarus heard a choked-off Oxidanese curse, but no big rifles swung to face him, so whoever had put two and two together, realizing that the smugglers must have also been associated with the rebels, had had the presence of mind not to reach for a weapon.

  Blue Moon Above the Salt Cliff turned to Gaumarus. [These are some of the off-world friends that I spoke of,] he signed. [And this,] he pointed to the hoary indig standing over the map, [is Fights with Great Beasts.]

  Fights with Great Beasts was clearly older than even Raider of the Enemy’s Stronghold. His bristled hair looked brittle and cracked, and he only had three eyes; the fourth was only an empty, scarred pit. He studied the newcomers without showing any sort of reaction for a moment, then beckoned them toward the map table.

  [The raiders from the sky have begun to probe the mountains,] he signed. When he paused, Gaumarus realized that he was waiting for someone to translate for those who did not speak the sign language. He quickly stammered out what the old chieftain had said in Oxidanese. The Knights would understand, and he didn’t know what language the smugglers spoke. One of them started muttering in a strange tongue though. Of course, they would have needed to have someone who understood the sign language so that they could communicate with the indig.

  [Since they might not have turned their attention toward our lands had the humans not come here,] Fights with Great Beasts continued, [the humans will be allowed to do their part to defend the mountains, and in so doing, defend our world.] It didn’t seem that Fights with Great Beasts was terribly sympathetic for the humans who had already borne the brunt of the M’tait assault.

  He pointed a clawed hand at the map table, which was when Gaumarus noticed that there were small models of the M’tait hunterships placed in the middle of the Monoyan Plain. There were also detailed models of the major settlements nearby, including Cators.

  [Our off-world friends have brought a mighty weapon,] Fights with Great Beasts signed. [It was meant for the human rebels, but we seized it before it could go to them. It will now be our weapon. Here is the raiders’ mother ship.] There was one model that was considerably larger than the others, looking not unlike a volcanic mountain with double peaks. [We will launch a diversionary attack here.] He pointed to a salient near the edge of the plain. [While the raiders in the sky are focused there, the main attack, with the humans, will place that weapon inside the mother ship and destroy it.]

  Gaumarus translated, his mouth going dry. Fights with Great Beasts was watching him, and he could feel Colonel Piett’s and Morav Dun’s eyes on his back.

  It was going to be a one-way trip. He knew that already. And he didn’t know of any way out of it, not with indig rifles at their backs.

  17

  “He must be out of his mind,” Morav Dun said in the sudden silence after Gaumarus had translated.

  “I’m pretty sure he’s not,” Gaumarus said, not even bothering to use the Knight Subcommander’s rank. “He’s quite serious.”

  “What is this weapon, do we know?” Kan Tur asked, before things could really get heated.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Colonel Piett said. He had lost some weight over the last few days, but he was still pale and sweaty. But he seemed determined to retake some of his standing, regardless. “We have an obligation to get back to our own lines. You may thank the indig for their help, but they ought to stay in their holes and wait until we have cleansed the surface of these invaders. These indig are clearly not ready to face the true threat of the M’tait.”

  Gaumarus looked at him. He knew that translating that to Fights with Great Beasts would not go over well. And he
found that he really no longer cared that much what Colonel Piett wanted or said. “I will not tell him that, sir,” he said. “For no other reason than that I value my life, and don’t want the indig to decide that we are all expendable, just before we might have a chance to get back to our own territory. If we cooperate with them, we might still have a chance, not only to fight the M’tait, but also to survive the next few days.”

  “That is not your decision to make, Corporal,” Morav Dun ground out. “You will do what your superiors tell you to.”

  “That is military discipline, yes,” Gaumarus said, swallowing hard. He knew where this would lead. “But only a madman would consider that discipline a suicide pact. I cannot blindly follow when I know that doing so will get all of us killed.” His mouth felt like a desert. “Right at this moment, I understand the indig better than the Colonel, and I cannot take the time to correct his misconceptions. Suffice it to say that we do not have any other choice.”

  His own despair was threatening to overwhelm him, but he fought to keep himself composed. Maybe Kan Tur was wearing off on him. If ever there was a time when an emotional outburst would be warranted, it was then, knowing that the indig had effectively condemned them to death while simultaneously offering them a chance to die fighting. But a distant part of his mind recognized that there was no point in so doing. At least this way, if they succeeded, they might hurt the M’tait. And while the mountain tribes might be their enemies, holding a grudge nearly a century old, the M’tait were everyone’s enemy.

  [Friend of Hunters,] Blue Moon Above the Salt Cliff signed, [understand. Many of the Mountain People will die as well. You are right; these raiders from the sky are a threat to all. It is unfortunate that it took an attack on one of our villages to make the Council see that. Together, perhaps we can drive them off our world. The weapon is human technology. You can understand it and use it better than we can. We would figure it out sooner or later, but there is no time.]

  Gaumarus looked at the other. He realized that Blue Moon Above the Salt Cliff had never lied to him, not truly. Withheld information, certainly. But never lied. He had never said he was of the lowland tribes.

  He sighed and looked at Kan Tur. Maybe the Knight read something in his face, because he nodded slowly. He turned to Morav Dun and Colonel Piett.

  “They are offering us a chance to fight, maybe to strike at the heart of the M’tait. No, they’re not going to give us a choice. But do we really need one?” He looked back and forth from Provenian officer to Knight Subcommander. “We’re all soldiers, aren’t we? Isn’t the possibility of dying in combat something that we accepted a long time ago?”

  “Dying in combat is a risk for frontline soldiers, yes,” Colonel Piett huffed. “But without officers to direct the soldiers, their deaths would be in vain, purposeless!”

  “You don’t understand, sir,” Gaumarus said. “The only choice we have is to help. Otherwise, Fights with Great Beasts sees no reason to keep us alive.”

  “He’s right, you know,” one of the smugglers said. “You’ve seen too much. Hells, we’ve probably seen too much lately, and it’s making me nervous.”

  “Do these abos really think that they stand a chance against the concerted might of any number of Knights of the Order of the Tancredus Cluster?” Morav Dun demanded.

  “Maybe,” the smuggler said, before Gaumarus or anyone else could answer. “Especially considering that we brought a hundred powerguns this trip, in addition to the nuke.”

  Morav Dun stiffened. Gaumarus couldn’t be sure, but from what he’d seen so far, he imagined that even the Knights’ armor wasn’t going to stand up to the kind of punishment a powergun bolt could unleash.

  “We are Knights of the Order of the Tancredus Cluster,” Kan Tur said quietly. “At least once upon a time, that meant something. It meant bravery. It meant doing what was right, regardless of the personal cost.” He looked around at the rest of the Knights and the Provenians alike. “Yes, the abos can threaten us with death if we do not cooperate. That is something of a problem, I will admit. But is the mission itself worthy? I would say that it is. If we can strike at the heart of this fleet, we might even drive the M’tait off the planet. It is a worthy cause, brothers. Are we not taught that we must focus on the task at hand? Let the future attend to itself, after the threat of the M’tait has been lifted.”

  The other Knights didn’t look happy. The Provenians looked even less so. But the unescapable reality of their situation was starting to sink in. At least, Gaumarus thought it was.

  “I will not be forced into any action by the dictates of mountain tribe savages,” Colonel Piett blustered. “I am an officer in the Provenian Defense Force!”

  He did not get the chance to say more. Blue Moon Above the Salt Cliff had translated as he’d spoken, or at least told Fights with Great Beasts roughly what was said. Fights with Great Beasts chirruped a command, and four indig stepped forward.

  Weapons were suddenly leveled, and Colonel Piett’s voice trailed away as he went ashen pale. He looked like he was about to vomit. An acrid smell filled the war room as he lost control and sank to his knees, quivering.

  Morav Dun stared down at him, then looked at Kan Tur, then at Gaumarus. “Very well,” he said. His translated voice sounded even flatter than normal. “You may tell the abos that the Knights of the Order of the Tancredus Cluster will fight the M’tait. But,” he interjected with a raised finger, “we do it because there is a chance that we might win glory against the enemies of all life in the galaxy. Not because we are forced.”

  Gaumarus translated. He suppressed a bitter sneer at the hollow posturing.

  After that, it became a matter of hashing out the details of the plan.

  “What is it?” Verheyen asked, peering at the metal capsule.

  “It’s a low-yield thermonuclear charge,” the smuggler captain, an Oretrian named Ulf Marsden said. “Technically speaking, it’s the ‘physics package’ in a reduced-weight casing. Its estimated yield is between five and six kilotons.” Gaumarus didn’t say as much, but he had no idea what the standard for such a measurement was. He just knew that the innocuous-looking device, small enough for a man to carry, if slowly, had awesome destructive power inside it.

  “Hopefully it will be enough to destroy a M’tait Mastership, if we can get it planted inside,” Kan Tur said, joining them. He had a heavy-looking bag slung over his shoulder, and lowered it to the table next to where the bomb sat.

  “Is that what the big one’s called?” Raesh asked.

  Xanar Dak nodded. “There are records of them appearing a few times in this part of the galaxy,” he said. “That is what they were called the first time one was sighted. The Hunterships seem to be led or directed by the Mastership; hence the name.”

  “Are we sure it’s powerful enough to do the trick?” Gaumarus asked.

  “No,” Kan Tur replied as he opened the bag. “But it is the best chance we have.”

  He opened the bag and started pulling powerguns out. They lacked the sleeker, more graceful lines of the Knights’ powerguns; they looked stubby and blocky to Gaumarus. Even more so when compared to the long-barreled coilguns that the PDF was issued. “Have any of you used a powergun before?”

  Heads shook in the negative. Most had never even seen one before the Knights had arrived on Provenia.

  “If anything, they are simpler to handle than the coilguns you were issued,” Kan Tur said. “The power pack slips into the buttstock. It is good for almost five hundred shots. All it does is catalyze the shot in the first place.” He held up the magazine. “Forty cartridges to the magazine in this model. There are all sorts of esoteric physics involved in how the cartridges work, but suffice it to say that when it fires, it turns a small blank of copper into plasma. Fields inside the chamber and barrel turn that plasma into a bolt moving at just under half the speed of light. Make sure you are using the provided forearm grips; the barrel gets hot enough in just a few shots to melt all the flesh off you
r hand.

  “Sights are standard, with adjustments here and here,” he pointed. “Once it’s sighted in, you need not adjust the sights at all. The bolt moves too fast and too straight for that.” He handed Gaumarus one of the stubby weapons. “Get used to where the controls are and the feel of how it points. These are going to be the only things between you and death, soon.”

  Gaumarus accepted the powergun, turning it over in his hands. The furniture was some kind of hard, black synthetic, and the metal was heavy, coated a dark gleaming gray. He knew that the metal parts were forged from some kind of ultra-dense heavy metal; he’d heard that iridium was the most common material for powergun parts. It was noticeably heavier than his long coilgun, but it was compact and well-balanced.

  He lifted it to his shoulder and pointed it toward the wall. As he did, two of the smugglers came in, similarly armed and wearing gray-painted breastplates festooned with various pouches, crammed with magazines, medical supplies, and tools.

  “Careful with that,” one of them, a stocky man with streaked, blue-and-purple-dyed hair and skin burned to the color of nuyak hide, said in accented Oxidanese.

  “It’s unloaded,” Gaumarus replied, lowering the powergun. He turned his gaze to stare hard at the smugglers. He hefted the weapon. “So, were these for the mountain tribesmen?” he asked quietly. “Or for the rebels?”

  The room went quiet. Every Provenian eye was suddenly focused on the smugglers. The tension was suddenly palpable.

  The smuggler looked around, as his companions edged behind him, hands getting closer to weapons. The Knights watched carefully, but neither said anything.

  “See here, friend,” the blue-and-purple-haired smuggler tried to remonstrate with him, “we have nothing to do with your war. We just fill orders. That’s all. Somebody had an order out for any weapons we could get, the newer the better. We happened to score that nuke and some powerguns. So, we brought ’em. The pay was good, too.”