A House Divided (Terran Armor Corps Book 4)

by Richard Fox

“Medvedev.” He held up a fist and Aignar gave it a bump. “We’re about to land.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “Flight time was ninety-six minutes. It’s been ninety-four.”

  “You counted in your sleep?”

  Aignar felt the Mule begin its descent and gave the big man next to him a double take, then held his metal hands over the document pouch as the Mule made a too-rough landing.

  “I want my armor back,” he muttered. “Shoot me out of a torpedo? Fine. I’d rather walk back to Olympus than do this again.”

  The landing-pad dome closed over the Mule and air rushed in to pressurize the space. A minute later, the Mule’s back ramp lowered and armed guards hurried up the ramp.

  “All personnel form a single line for inspection!” a guard shouted.

  “I have to break out my cargo,” Medvedev said, unbuckling from his restraints. He grabbed the top of the pod and pulled himself on top. “No extra pay for all the extra work.”

  “Bet you make more in a week than I do all year.” Aignar whacked his fist against his restraints and they came loose. He filed down the narrow passage and clomped down the ramp where passengers stood in line, stretching out as the guards checked IDs. A guard held a small device with a tube up to the mouth of the first one off the Mule.

  “Chief,” said Major Lynch, waving Aignar over to the other end of the ramp. “You’re a VIP. Don’t need to waste time in line.”

  “Appreciate it.” Aignar glanced back at the other line. “Doing a blood-alcohol test?”

  “Naissance inspection,” the major said. “True-born-only duty station. Security concerns. Real pain to find qualified personnel, but such is the way of things.”

  “Same as it ever was.” Aignar held up his forearm with his ID card attached to it and Lynch waved a guard over.

  “She’ll take you to the prisoner,” Lynch said. “This Mule cycles back to Olympus in four hours. You’re on it or you stay here until the next one…in sixteen hours.”

  “Got it.” Aignar looked at his escort. “Lead on.”

  ****

  Outside Tholis prison, Masha’s device crept up the crater walls. It froze as a sentry drone swooped past, then continued its climb. Once it reached the top, it scrambled up the dome along a swatch of metal connecting the segments of the crater’s cover.

  The device halted a few yards short of the apex, its internal sensors working overtime. One thin limb reached out and inserted a needle tip into the metal over the seam. There was a spark as the device disabled a motion sensor before it skittered up and into the mass of antennae on top of the dome.

  Tiny filaments shot out from the device and latched on to the prison’s communication hub, then the device settled down as its coloring changed to blend in with the windswept dust clinging to the dome’s surface.

  ****

  Medvedev guided a cargo pod down the ramp rails and adjusted the anti-grav lifts to slow the cargo’s momentum. He pushed it to a wide yellow stripe on the tarmac a few feet shy of the dome and brought it to the ground.

  “Hey you.” Lynch waved at Medvedev from the Mule. “Inspection.”

  “Right right.” Medvedev walked back to the Mule in no particular hurry. “You know I’m paid by the hour, right? Maybe have some of your staff give me a hand?” He went right past the proffered breathalyzer and back into the Mule, unsnapping a strap on the next pod and tossing it over to the other side of the Mule. He pulled a handle on the pod’s cradle and it shifted a few inches away from the third pod.

  “You know I can deny this shipment and then whatever contract you’re on will be in a world of hurt?” Lynch asked as he entered the cargo bay and stopped short of the pod. “Inspection. Let’s go.”

  Medvedev reached deeper between the two pods.

  “Damn release is always a pain,” he said.

  “Private,” said Lynch as he rolled his eyes and waved a guard over. The guard, who looked like he’d been on his feet for the better part of two days, held the nozzle up to Medvedev’s mouth. Medvedev blew into the tube, then stretched his arm lower.

  “Uh…got an error,” the guard said. “Genre reader says you’re a proccie, but your naissance file says you’re not.”

  “I know what I am.” Medvedev pulled a silenced pistol out from between the pods and shot the guard between the eyes. He put two rounds in Lynch’s chest and a third in his head before he hit the ground.

  The Ibarran agent pulled a handle on the side of the cargo pod and the front fell open. Inside were three legionnaires in matte-black combat armor, red Crusader crosses on the front of their visors and on their shoulders. Air and water lines fed into their helmets just beneath the chin.

  Medvedev touched a control panel and the legionnaires awoke with sudden intakes of breath.

  One ripped the lines away and stumbled out on rubbery legs. He looked at the two corpses, then at Medvedev.

  “You started without us,” he said.

  “Inevitable,” Medvedev said.

  “Where is your pet?” the legionnaire asked.

  Medvedev stripped off his coveralls, revealing a thin pseudo-muscle layer used with power armor. He reached into the pod and removed a black breastplate.

  “She’s doing her part. We do ours.” He attached the breastplate and caught the Terran Ranger–pattern gauss carbine one of his fellows tossed to him.

  “For the Lady,” a legionnaire said.

  “For our Nation.” Medvedev slapped a magazine into his weapon.

  ****

  A guard holding a cup of coffee walked into the landing pad through the air lock, stopping to ponder the three cargo pods next to the idle Mule, and sipped his drink.

  “Captain Lynch?” the man asked. “Lieutenant Colonel Izuma’s trying to reach you on the IR.”

  There was a sound like squirrel chatter to the guard’s side. He looked over just in time to see a rifle butt smash into his face. The blow knocked him out cold and he fell into a legionnaire’s arms.

  Medvedev, now in full armor, rushed to the air lock and pulled a canister off his belt. He banged the bottom against his thigh and threw it into the guard post. The canister bounced off the observation glass overlooking the Terran military cellblock and landed in a technician’s lap, hissing as invisible gas expelled into the room.

  The technician went slack and collapsed against her workstation. The gas spread through the guard post and personnel were knocked out before they knew what was happening—except for Jerry Marris, who was in his Ranger power armor. He slapped his visor down the instant he saw the first technician collapse, sealing his armor and switching to internal air tanks.

  Jerry keyed an emergency channel and ducked behind a file cabinet.

  “Control, this is Post Alpha. We’ve got an emergency.” He looked at the shock baton in his hand and the empty gauss pistol holster on his thigh. The arms locker was on the other side of the post. Looking up at a pane of glass, he saw a pair of legionnaires moving from the air lock to the control room.

  “Control?” he whispered into his mic. All he heard back was static. He switched to a backup frequency and was about to speak when Medvedev reached around the file cabinet and grabbed Jerry by the wrist.

  Medvedev pulled him into the open and paused, almost surprised to see an armored Ranger.

  Jerry activated his shock baton and jabbed it into Medvedev’s crotch. Electricity crackled out of the baton and danced around Medvedev’s pelvis. The Ibarran locked up, his cry muffled by his helmet.

  Jerry grabbed the carbine in Medvedev’s hand and tore it free. He flipped it around and aimed at another legionnaire who had peeked his head up from the workstations in response to Medvedev’s cry.

  Jerry pulled the trigger, but the weapon didn’t fire.

  A blow struck him in the kidneys, and enough force traveled through his armor to send a jolt of pain through his body. He leaned forward with a step, then whirled around to strike with the butt of the carbine.

  Medve
dev caught Jerry by the wrist again and swung the Ranger into a file cabinet with a bang. Bracing himself against Jerry, Medvedev pinned the carbine between their bodies, the skull visor reflected in Medvedev’s mirror-faced helmet. Medvedev worked his finger into his weapon’s trigger well.

  Jerry twisted his right wrist to the side twice and a bayonet popped out of his forearm housing. He jabbed Medvedev in the face, sending a spiderweb of cracks across the helmet but failing to penetrate it.

  Medvedev pulled back and raised his arms to ward off another stab. Jerry chopped a hand against the legionnaire’s gun hand and a single bullet fired with a snap, blowing a chunk out of the wall.

  Jerry shoved Medvedev back against a railing and thrust his bayonet at the legionnaire’s throat. The blow stopped well short, caught by another legionnaire who jabbed a thumb against the side of Jerry’s helmet and pressed the emergency release for his skull visor. It popped off and Jerry held his breath as he tried to elbow the new attacker.

  A kick from Medvedev hit the Ranger square in the testicles and Jerry took an involuntary breath. He collapsed to the ground a moment later.

  “You’ve been away from the Legion too long,” Labaqui said as he helped Medvedev to his feet. “Couldn’t even beat one of their dog soldiers.”

  “I had him.” Medvedev aimed his carbine at Jerry’s head and paused. He tore the power packs away from the armor, then used Jerry’s own cuffs to bind him to a rail post.

  “Jamming still holds,” called the third legionnaire from a workstation. A data line ran from the back of his helmet into a port. “I shut down the trams, but the drones are still operational. The virus your pet gave us isn’t working to specs.”

  “Then we adapt,” Medvedev said. “Ubera, get to the food processors and load up our gifts. I’ll get the contingency plan ready.”

  “Medvedev,” said Labaqui, jabbing at a holo display only he could see, “there’s a complication. More prisoners than we anticipated. Many more.” He pinched a spot of air and tossed it to Medvedev.

  Medvedev looked over the data splayed out on the inside of his helmet.

  “I need to contact Masha. Now.”

  ****

  Nicodemus stood sentinel in his armor next to Stacey Ibarra as orbits of light circled around her. This wasn’t his first journey into a Qa’Resh site, but the sheer alienness of it all put a strain on even a seasoned warrior like him.

  Stacey had been silent inside the data node for hours, shifting through a data base untouched for millions of years.

  A priority message came through the quantum dot communicator in his helm.

  “My Lady,” he said as twirling bands of light reflected off her silver surface. “My Lady,” Nicodemus repeated, increasing the volume on his speakers. The lights slowed down.

  “You just cost me an hour’s work,” she said.

  “We have a situation. A Terran Union vessel, a carrier, likely the Ardennes, just arrived in system and is on course for this city. I recommend we abort. The Ebaki is no match for a ship that size,” Nicodemus said.

  “They tracked us here?” Stacey said. “How?”

  She raised her hands like a conductor and the light around her changed into a latticework. “This place is…attuned,” she said. “Every ripple in the fabric of reality recorded and stored. The magnetar caught the Qa’Resh’s interest so long ago…they must have thought this distortion field could open a path to a different dimension. The idea failed, so they went with another option for ascension…”

  “My Lady, we must abort,” Nicodemus said. “The Union will send their armor to kill you. There are only three of us here to protect you.”

  “Now, now…what’s this?” A swirl of golden lines formed a mirror of her face. “A graviton echo after the new arrivals…emanating from this planet.”

  “Your Templar are true, My Lady,” Nicodemus said. “We would never betray you.”

  “I know…I know. It’s from our ship. Relay to Commander Spiner to send a distress call back to Navarre. Then I have instructions for how to find the tracker.”

  “We’re not leaving?” Nicodemus asked.

  “I’m so close, my dear. So very close.”

  Chapter 18

  Aignar and Valencia walked down rows of cells, all shimmering with one-way privacy screens. The Templar within couldn’t see out, but Aignar could see them, and to walk free past so many battle-hardened men and women of conviction filled him with shame.

  “You hear that?” Valencia asked.

  “What?”

  “Sounded like a gauss rifle.” She looked up at the guard post over the cellblock and touched the side of her helmet. “If some pogue had another negligent discharge, Major Lynch will make all our lives so miserable I’d be better off in one of these cells.”

  “Just one?” Aignar asked.

  “Yeah, and the comms are quiet.”

  “Probably a negligent discharge.” Aignar stopped at Morrigan’s cell. The Irishwoman was doing handstand push-ups, her feet braced against the wall, and was the only prisoner he’d seen without the Templar’s white tabard.

  “This block’s only Ibarran,” Valencia said. “Got a real mouth on her too. Can’t tell what she calls us, but her tone ain’t friendly. You ever heard Irish-accented Basque? Sounds like a drunk schizophrenic screaming in cat. She always calls me a ‘gobshite.’ I think it’s a compliment.”

  “Morrigan…I’ve heard so much about her, but I’m not here to see her,” Aignar said. He gestured to a plastic chair set in front of Roland’s cell. The soldier slept on his cot.

  “The Black Knight’s all yours,” Valencia said and tapped a code into her gauntlet screen. The privacy field on Roland’s cell fizzled away.

  Roland sat up and blinked at Aignar.

  “What’re you doing out there?” Roland asked.

  “What are you doing in there?” Aignar sat in the chair and tapped stiff fingers against the document pouch. “Treason. You’re on trial for treason. I don’t know why I asked.”

  “And the Templar are here because they refused to go along with the Omega Provision.” Roland got up and rubbed sleep from his eyes. “If you’re not in a cell, then—”

  “You’re one to judge!” Aignar snapped. “Behind bars and still raising all kinds of hell for me and the lance. You think I’m like Gideon, ready to crush every Ibarran proccie I can find? I’m not.” He raised a hand next to his face and the fingers snapped up and down randomly. He covered his wayward hand and stared daggers at Roland.

  “What would I have in one of these cells? Not my armor. Not my son.”

  “A clear conscience.”

  “Fuck you.” Aignar rose out of his seat. “The Kesaht are still out there. Battles in seven different systems. The colony on Syracuse is under siege right now. A phase-one golden world with twenty-five million people on it and our fleets are cut off. Every last armor squadron and lance is being sent to the front lines right now, and you and your chanting buddies are doing what? Three hots and a cot. All because of your damn pride, though you’ve got it a bit worse than the rest, I’ll admit that.”

  Roland leaned his forearms against the bars.

  “You went to see Saint Kallen with me.”

  “Shut up.”

  “That meant nothing to you?”

  “It changed after one of your Templar friends cut me in half!” Aignar shouted. He seethed for a moment longer, then tossed the document pouch through Roland’s bars.

  “That’s from your lawyer and that’s the only reason I’m here. See what you’ve reduced me to? A courier. And I can barely do that with these damn claws,” Aignar said. “If you’d get your trial back on track so I can do something a bit more useful with my time, I’d appreciate it. Close him up.”

  Valencia tapped the side of her helmet and looked from the cell to the guard post.

  “Why is nothing working today?” she asked herself.

  “I’m done here.” Aignar turned away, then looked over his sho
ulder. “Cha’ril is pregnant. Thought you should know.”

  “Pregnant?”

  “When a man and a woman really love each other, one night—”

  A drone crashed against the floor and bounced against Roland’s cell.

  “What the hell?” Aignar looked up as more drones fell out of the sky, raining down on the cellblock.

  “Think there’s a problem.” Valencia slapped her visor down and looked toward the end of the row as two black figures came running around the corner.

  “Ibarrans.” Aignar gave Roland an accusing glance.

  There was a snap of gauss fire and the barrel of Valencia’s rifle exploded. She shrieked as the capacitor overloaded and sent a shock up her arm. Reeling back, she knocked Aignar off-balance and into Roland’s cell.

  Aignar saw the sidearm strapped to Valencia’s thigh and leaned forward to grab it, when Roland caught him by both elbows.

  “Don’t!” Roland shouted. “I don’t know what this is, but don’t get yourself killed for nothing.”

  Aignar struggled, but he couldn’t break free from Roland’s hold on him.

  A black-clad legionnaire leveled a gauss carbine at Aignar while the other flipped Valencia over, ripped her suit’s battery packs out, then cuffed her while her body still twitched from the electric assault.

  “Black Knight?” asked Medvedev, who was drawing down on Aignar.

  “That’s me,” Roland said. “Don’t hurt my lance mate. He’s with us in his heart.”

  “The hell I am!” Aignar jerked an arm loose and elbowed Roland in the sternum through the bars. He swung his free arm at Medvedev and landed a punch to the side of his helmet. His fist bounced off like he’d hit a statue.

  Medvedev swept Aignar’s legs out from under him and the armor soldier landed hard. Medvedev put a boot on Aignar’s chest.

  “You’ll stop right now,” Morrigan ordered as her cell door slid open and she strode out. The other legionnaire beat a fist to his heart in a quick salute.

  “This one has iron in him,” Medvedev said.