Finest Hour (The Exiled Fleet Book 3)

by Richard Fox

  “Vouch that we’re not Daegon?” Wyman asked, glancing up at the darkening sky.

  “If the Daegon came in peace, they would be welcome at langar,” Ranbir said. “Tell me, why New Madras? Why did your fleet come here?”

  “There’s no sugarcoating it,” Wyman said. “We were on the run and thought we’d find friends here…and we have, by all accounts.”

  “Indus and Albion have been allies for centuries,” Ranbir said. “If things were different, if the Daegon had come for our worlds first…I believe Albion would have welcomed us.”

  “It’s not like we or you are the Reich,” Ivor said. “They gave a raw deal to any Francia military they captured. And you ever hear about that convoy from the Elko colony that ran from the last Mechanix incursion? Hit Reich space and vanished.”

  “Rumors for children,” Ranbir said.

  “Two hundred forty thousand people don’t just ‘vanish,’” Wyman said. “Albion was with the Indus when things were dicey during the Second Reach War. Things are sure dicey now.”

  “The fighting at Punam is nearly over,” Ranbir said. “Many martyrs, but every one is a gift to keep this community free.”

  “That’s one way to look at it,” Wyman said as they entered the Gurdwara, a smaller temple than the one in the center of the city. Many Indus were already there, handing over coats to a man behind a counter and taking small plastic tabs in exchange.

  “Shoes,” Ranbir said and pointed to the Albion pilots’ feet. “Remove them please. Leave the dirt outside.”

  “If there’s an alert, we’ll be running back to the flight line in bare feet,” Ivor said, giving Wyman a worried glance.

  “Military personnel have their own storage. The sewadars—volunteers—know the drill,” Ranbir said.

  “Smells good,” Ivor said as she pulled off a boot and knocked packed snow off over a grate in the floor. “Anything’s better than the emergency rations the embassy had. Tea from concentrate this morning…how far we’ve fallen.”

  Wyman got his boots off and Ranbir took them away. The two Albians stood close together, both looking out of place in their flight suits of foreign make and both with complexions and hair colors at odds with the locals, who seemed oddly benign to their presence.

  “You know what langar means, don’t you?” Ivor asked. “Because it doesn’t translate to ‘barbecue the foreigners,’ right?”

  “Really, Ivor? This is hospitality. Show some class…and if they were going to eat us, they wouldn’t bother fixing our fighters.” Wyman said.

  “And these,” Ranbir said, handing Wyman a yellow bit of cloth. “Over your head, please. And for you…” He gave Ivor a head scarf covered in embroidered flowers.

  Wyman tugged at the elastic band, then put the simple cap over his hair. Ivor looked at the unintimidating pattern of the scarf, raised an eyebrow at Wyman, then wrapped it over her head and down one shoulder like the other women entering the Gurdwara.

  “Is there a wedding?” Ivor asked as more people filed past them into a larger room.

  “No…but there are more people here than usual,” Ranbir said as they joined the crowd. The larger room was devoid of pews as Wyman expected for a church. Instead, long lines of rugs ran down the length of the space. At the far end were several men playing simple wooden instruments and a raised platform with an open book.

  Indus moved past them, already knowing where to go.

  “Where…is there an officers’ mess?” Wyman asked Ranbir.

  “At a langar? No, no.” Ranbir gestured to one of the rugs. “Here beggars eat next to kings, and all are equal before the Guru Granth. Come.” He led them to a rug and they sat between two sets of families with small children, mothers and grandmothers watching over them all.

  The kids stared wide-eyed up at Wyman and Ivor as they sat down. One of the children spoke to Ranbir and reached for Ivor’s hair. A grandmother pulled him away and chided the boy.

  “What?” Ivor asked.

  “Your hair.” Ranbir rolled his eyes. “He’s never seen gold hair before. He doesn’t think it’s real.”

  “Better be real, you know how much trouble I go through to keep it conditioned? Too easy to just shave it all like this scrotum.” She elbowed Wyman.

  “Everyone eats here?” Wyman asked, giving a volunteer a quick wave as a plate was set down in front of him. “Just like this?”

  “And all are welcomed,” Ranbir said. “No one is ever turned away. This is part of the Guru’s message—we are all equal before God and all are worthy of respect.”

  “Doubt our VIP could ever come here,” Ivor said. “The minder would lose her damn mind at being around so many people.”

  “Shame,” Wyman said, “he—the VIP—could use a break. Poor kid.”

  Flatbread with a strong odor of garlic was set onto Wyman’s plate, then a volunteer with a trolley wheeled past and ladled onto it, beside the bread, scoops of lentils in green sauce, then cauliflower covered in orange spices, then yogurt. The volunteer smiled at Wyman and held up another ladle.

  “You’re so big,” Ranbir said. “He thinks you’re hungry.”

  Wyman looked down the line to see many more children, all looking expectantly at the cart.

  “No need.” Wyman waved a hand over his plate and the server moved along.

  “It’s different.” Ivor poked her flatbread into her lentils. “Being on the ships, we never see the people on the ground…never really know who we’re fighting for. Makes me…” She sniffed and wiped a sleeve across her eyes. “My God…all those people back on Albion. We just…we just cut and run, didn’t we, Freak Show?”

  Wyman put an arm around her shoulders and conversation died down.

  “You know why we had to leave…who we were protecting.” He gave her a squeeze and she nodded quickly.

  “But you all wouldn’t do that?” she asked Ranbir. “You wouldn’t sacrifice others for one person. Not when everyone is perfectly equal.”

  “Equal in the eyes of God is one thing.” Ranbir’s face turned down. “Equal before men…is another. Our leaders have bodyguards. We lock our doors at night. We will kill the Daegon to save Indus and Albion. No one here judges you. And please…no touching.”

  Wyman lifted his arm up and scooted away from Ivor.

  “We didn’t just get married, did we?” Ivor asked, her face going pale.

  “No, no, that’s the Kongs. The Cathay Dynasty has very odd customs,” Ranbir said.

  “Oh, that’s a relief,” Wyman said.

  “That’s…a relief to you too.” Ivor’s face scrunched in anger. “Not that I want to—you know what I mean. Shut up, Wyman. This green stuff is yummy. What do you call it?”

  “Dahl,” Ranbir said. He looked over a shoulder to the front of the room, where a pair of soldiers spoke to an elderly man with a beard so long it almost reached his waist. “Hurry up and eat…I think there’s a storm on the horizon.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Thorvald tapped into his shuttle’s telemetry data and an overlay cast onto the HUD on the inside of his visor. They were still on course for Theni City, with two squadrons of Typhoons from the Orion as escort. The Genevan glanced at Commodore Gage where he sat on a rough bench bolted to the side of the cargo bay. The Commodore leaned against a corner, his eyes closed, his respiration and body temperature indicating he was still awake.

  The AI within Thorvald’s armor nudged his attention to the escape pod.

  Easy, Grynau, plenty of time to save our principal if there’s an issue.

  +Alert+ came from the AI.

  I am. I am. Monitor escort frequencies for anything amiss. The Daegon wreckage was swept for survivors, but something may have been missed.

  He felt a bit of warmth through his armor. The AI was happiest when it had a task. Older intelligences like Grynau were known to be temperamental, and given the difficulty he’d had bonding with the AI, he was thankful for any progress in their relationship.

  “Thorvald,�
� Gage said, yawning and stretching one leg out at a time. He wore formal dress of a red tunic and riding boots, and he had a sheathed sword across his lap.

  “Sir.”

  “I’m grateful for your and Salis’ protection. I doubt we would have been able to stop that Faceless assassin aboard my ship without your help, but something’s been gnawing at me. Haven’t had time to process it until now.” Gage stood and checked his hair in a mirror, then stepped back and touched his ribbons.

  “By the king, they’re upside down.” He unzipped his tunic, revealing a thin vac suit beneath, and set the top onto the bench. “Bertram would have never let me out of my quarters looking like this.”

  “My apologies,” Thorvald said.

  “Not your job.” Gage unsnapped the ribbons from the inside of his tunic and set them right. “But as to your job…I’m no expert on Genevans or your technology. I know you keep some of the finer details as trade secrets and you’re forbidden from telling me anything about our operation by the terms of your employment…unless there’s an issue that would affect my safety. Or Prince Aidan’s.”

  +Truth+

  Always. Always truth with him.

  “You and your armor…seem to be at odds,” Gage continued, not privy to the discussion between Thorvald and the AI. “That was Captain Royce’s suit, correct?”

  Sorrow washed over Thorvald, and he felt sympathetic emotion from Grynau.

  “That is correct, sir.”

  “And you had to don that suit during the Daegon attack…but why weren’t you in your own armor when that attack came?” Gage asked.

  +Traitor+

  “I…I was bare due to…” His armor tightened around his jaw, warning him against a lie. Thorvald rubbed his chin. “I broke my oath to the King. This is why. I broke my oath and I was caught and Captain Royce stripped me of my Yarvisha—my suit AI—and was to send me back to Geneva in chains…and he was right to do it.”

  Gage leaned toward Thorvald, elbows on his knees. “I need all the details, Thorvald. I’m not an expert on your planet or your contracts, but being stripped of your…AI strikes me as a serious issue. So serious that I don’t understand how Captain Royce’s suit can tolerate you.”

  “There have been…issues,” Thorvald said, “but this AI and I share the same purpose: to protect the Albion royal family. An oath I will honor to my last dying breath—even if I lapsed in my duties. What happened was that I…fell in love.” A cold pit opened in Thorvald’s stomach. “We are to have no relations during our contracts, and after almost twenty years on Albion, I grew lonely. Then I met an off-world woman named Helena. A chance encounter in the palace. Small talk that I should never have entered into grew into a temptation to speak further…and I took it.”

  “I have a hard time believing Captain Royce took such umbrage against something like small talk,” Gage said.

  “Violating protocol would not have voided my contract with the King, but I compromised the palace’s communications security to speak with Helena. After almost two decades helping to oversee all aspects of the family’s safety and security, I found a number of vulnerabilities. We constantly challenge other Genevans to find ways to infiltrate the grounds or otherwise endanger our principals…we don’t really have hobbies…and I kept a few flaws close to my chest to assist in our games. When I wanted to speak with Helena, I used one of those flaws.”

  “And you were caught,” Gage said.

  “Helena was not as careful as I was. Someone piggybacked off her messages to me and almost compromised the entire cyber-protection suite. While the techs were fighting off the hacker…they found me. I don’t deny what I did. It was stupid. My actions put the royal family at risk and that is unforgiveable to a Genevan. To anyone.”

  +Traitor…fool+

  “And what of Helena?” Gage asked.

  “Killed on Albion during the Daegon attack is my guess.” Thorvald shifted his weight from foot to foot. “She no longer matters. My oath to Albion, and to you as regent and to Prince Aidan, remains. To my last dying breath.”

  “And I thought Genevan guards were incorruptible.” Gage leaned back, his palms flat on his thighs. “If I’d known of this when you first arrived aboard the Orion…I don’t know if you’d still be in service. But I saw what you did to protect Aidan when that Faceless was loose aboard my ship. And you fought your way out of the palace with the prince. I have your correct actions as a bodyguard on one hand,” he turned a palm up, “and your indiscretions on the other.” He mimed a scale between both hands. “Which weighs more, Thorvald?”

  +Protect him. Protect him at all costs+ The AI tightened the armor against his chest and back, squeezing him like a vice.

  “My life is yours,” Thorvald said. “If you have doubts, then my AI will abandon me and you can leave me on the planet to fend for myself. I only ask that you send Grynau to Geneva. My House will reward you for its safe return.”

  “Sent on to Geneva…there’s food for thought. No, Thorvald, you’ll stay with me. With Aidan. But as this war with the Daegon goes on…I may not have any choice. The bounty your House offers on the AI and armor you wear is substantial,” Gage said.

  “I don’t understand,” Thorvald said, a cold blade of fear against his heart.

  Gage removed a small tablet from a pocket and tapped the screen.

  “Fleets cost money. The operations cost of just entering slip space to go from one system to another is substantial. Factor in repairs, munitions manufacture and even payroll and it’s pretty obvious why stateless ships turn pirate so quickly—like the Francia military did after the Reich rolled through their systems. If I have to decide between keeping you and Salis around and losing capabilities for lack of funds…it’s not a choice I want to make, but if it comes to that…”

  “I understand, sir,” Thorvald said. “We serve at your discretion.”

  “Which is why we’re even bothering to go dirtside,” Gage said. “The Indus have been generous since we arrived, but that goodwill dried up pretty quick after they fought their first Daegon. Their promise of equipment and repair docks has yet to materialize. So a little public-relations campaign is in order. Whatever resources I can glean from them are resources we don’t have to conjure up on our own.”

  “I thought the Helga’s Fury could sustain the fleet indefinitely,” Thorvald said.

  “The Helga and the Mukhlos could, but the loss of one ship hobbled our sustainment capabilities.” Gage rubbed his face. “And even the Helga needs access to raw materials. What she’s got aboard will be exhausted in a few more days. I could be the finest tactical commander in settled space, but if I don’t have the logistics to back me up, then I’m essentially useless. But let’s not lose sight of the bigger picture. You and Salis…you risked your lives and you saved Prince Aidan on more than one occasion. You kept Albion’s last hope alive, and you have my gratitude.”

  “I can never redeem myself for what I’ve done,” Thorvald said. “All I have left is service…and penance.”

  “I doubt your security breach led to the Daegon attack on my home. I’m going to guess that your error isn’t going to amount to much in the long run, so let’s put it behind us. Agreed?”

  +Oath breaker…coward+

  Thorvald willed away his AI’s emotions and did his best to smile, the corners of his mouth moving unevenly.

  “I serve to my last dying breath,” Thorvald said, bowing slightly.

  “And I could not ask for more.” Gage stood and smoothed out his uniform. “Ever been to an Indus social function? They’re something else.”

  ****

  Gage walked down the shuttle ramp, his breath fogging. Two columns of Indus troops in almost-gaudy blue uniforms with yellow and gold trim formed a cordon to a waiting ground car. The car was of Old Earth style, with garlands of flowers strung up on the sides.

  Ambassador Carruthers waited next to the car, bundled up against the cold.

  The Indus soldiers brought rifles up, slapped the
m against white-gloved hands, and rendered a salute as Gage’s first step touched New Madras soil.

  “Who authorized this?” Thorvald said, tension in his words.

  “I’m a head of state, technically,” Gage said and lengthened his stride slightly to reach the waiting car faster. Carruthers opened the door and Gage slid into the much warmer interior. Thorvald went to the front seat as the ambassador joined Gage in the back.

  Gage blew warm air on his hands as the car drove forward.

  “Pleasure to meet you in person, sir,” Carruthers said. “Our guest has settled in, but there are a number of…concerns.”

  “Bertram can handle anything he needs.” Gage looked out the window as the car left the spaceport and joined an escort of Indus armored vehicles, drones buzzing overhead.

  “Bertram is doing his best, but he lacks any sort of psychological training,” Carruthers said. She touched a button and a screen went up between the passenger seats and the front. Thorvald looked over his shoulder to them, and Gage raised a hand to calm the bodyguard.

  “The boy needs a psychologist,” Carruthers said. “He’s shutting down emotionally and that is not the way little boys should be.”

  “He’s gone through a lot that most little boys haven’t,” Gage said. “You bring in someone from the Indus, that puts him at risk. There’s not…there’s not much else I can do, Ambassador.”

  “Do you think the embassy is the only Albion presence on New Madras?” She furrowed her brows at Gage. “We’ve had a presence here for over two hundred years. Between expat teachers, businessmen—let me show you.” She picked up a tablet from the side of her seat and handed it to Gage. “There is a comprehensive list of every known Albion citizen in this star system. The Indus immigration department gave this to me, and almost all of them have been in contact with my staff since word of the invasion hit. They all want answers and I’ve had nothing for them until you arrived.”

  Gage swiped the list of names up, scanning the occupations. “I take it there’s a psychologist on here that can help your guest?”