Fire and Brimstone (Chaos of the Covenant Book 2)

by M. R. Forbes

  “Since when do you care what I think?”

  “I don’t know. Right now, I do. I feel like I’m losing myself.”

  “Just when I think you’ve lost the last vestiges of humanity, you hit me with a statement like that.” Bastion smiled, putting his hand on hers. She decided not to yank it away. “I respect you. All of us respect you, even Fury. She’s having a little temper tantrum right now, but she’ll get through it. You’re a badass and a hardass, and I know we’re better off with you in command than we would have been with me at the helm.”

  Abbey smiled back at him. “You’re not just saying that because I have the keys to the kill codes, are you?”

  Bastion lifted his hands away, spreading them wide to feign innocence. “Would I do a thing like that?”

  “Asshole.”

  17

  “Engage cloaking,” Ursan said, the moment the Brimstone came out of FTL.

  “Cloaking engaged,” Dak replied.

  Ursan stood, looking at the planet ahead of them. Anvil. Blue and green, with an abundance of verdant life and a population in the millions, orbited by nearly three dozen large Outworld military vessels drawn in from equally as many planets, a coalition of forces typical to the loosely affiliated system of the Governance. He knew from experience each of those ships would carry up to one hundred Shrikes. It was a force that was powerful enough to resist all but the most concentrated Republic attack.

  “I could destroy them all if I wanted to,” Ursan said softly. “Every last ship.”

  “Captain?” Dak said, overhearing him.

  He wouldn’t, though. They were Outworlders. His people. They had suffered the same way he had suffered. He wanted to help them.

  “Bolar,” Ursan said. “Prepare the shuttle.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Bolar replied.

  “The Triune just arrived in system, Captain,” Dak said. “She’s transmitting merchant status.”

  “Tell Otero to move in alongside us, so the conscripts don’t get antsy.”

  “How are they going to do that, Boss? They can’t see us.”

  Ursan felt the Gift beneath his skin, the statement making him angry. “Do you think I’m stupid?”

  “What? No, Captain. It’s easy to forget we’re-”

  “Give them relative coordinates,” Ursan said gruffly. “I’m heading down to the shuttle.”

  “You want me to come with you?” Dak asked.

  Ursan paused. He hadn’t been thinking about it. “Yeah. That’s a good idea. Lieutenant Iann, you have the bridge.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Iann replied.

  Ursan carried the satchel with him as he made his way toward the Brimstone’s hangar until Dak put a large hand on his shoulder to stop him.

  “Uh, Boss?” Dak said.

  “What?” Ursan snapped.

  “You might want to change your clothes. You don’t want to draw attention, not with all of the soldiers here, being AWOL and everything.”

  Ursan blinked a few times. Why hadn’t he thought of that? “Yeah. You’re right. I’ll meet you at the shuttle.”

  “Okay.”

  Ursan headed back to his quarters. He quickly stripped off the lightsuit and exchanged it for his standard dress. A fitted shirt, a pair of gray pants, a thicker jacket that would hide a sidearm. When he was done, he scooped up the satchel and put it over his shoulder, moving back toward the door. He noticed the terminal on his desk as he did. He paused, staring at it.

  Something about it was wrong, but he wasn’t sure what. He walked over to it but didn’t turn it on. He blinked again. If he were going crazy, would he know it?

  He moved away from the terminal, exiting the room. Everything would be better once he had Trin back.

  He met Dak and Balor in the hangar. The Trover waved him onto the shuttle, and it lifted off as soon as he was seated.

  “We’ve already got landing clearance, Captain,” Balor said.

  “And the Triune?”

  “Waiting right outside. Unless they’ve got drones sitting up our ass they won’t know we came from an invisible ship.”

  Ursan let himself relax in the seat. He cradled the satchel in his lap, resisting the urge to open it and look in at her. He glanced over at Dak instead, who was rubbing a cloth over his sidearm, an oversized blaster he had been carrying since the day they met.

  “I can’t believe you still have that thing,” Ursan said. It felt like an effort to say something normal.

  “Hix,” Dak said, smiling. “Remember?”

  “A better lover than any Trover woman,” Ursan recalled. He forced a smile. “I’m not crazy, am I?”

  “We’re all crazy, Boss,” Dak replied. “That’s why we do this for a living, instead of staying planetside and waiting tables, or building bots, or whatever.”

  Ursan looked down again. Dak had given him a non-answer, and it was infuriating. He was desperate to stay under control after what he had done to Ligit. His officer was still in medical with a concussion and had already requested to be released from duty or transferred to another unit.

  They made the rest of the shuttle ride in silence, touching down in the spaceport a few minutes later.

  “Where do we find this bot builder of yours?” Ursan asked as they made their way to the loop station for transport from the spaceport. A decently sized crowd moved around them, having disembarked from a civilian transport that had arrived only a few minutes earlier than the Brimstone.

  “Have you ever been here before?” Dak asked.

  “No.“

  “Anvil’s a funny place. You’ve got thousands and thousands of soldiers, both up there in those ships, and down here on the ground. Because of all the soldiers, part of the place is totally on the level. No dirty business. Squeaky clean. That’s what you see from the spaceport.” He waved his arm out at the city’s profile. “Lots of financial institutions have headquarters here despite the relative distance from the meat of the Outworlds, mainly because they feel safe. You get bankers; you get corps. You get corps; you get money. You talk protection, you talk serious firepower, even among the law enforcement. Yeah, and Anvil has a lot more laws than most other Outworlds. It’s almost like being in the Republic.” He laughed. “The Uplevel is where everything legal happens. The Downlevel is where everything illegal happens. The local government keeps it under tight control. Whatever happens Downlevel stays Downlevel, or you’ll regret it. At the same time, that makes it a little wild.”

  “Your man is there?”

  “Not a man. Gorix is Plixian. Anyway, you’re carrying around a severed head, Boss. What do you think?”

  Ursan glared at Dak, causing his friend to take a step away.

  “Sorry," Dak said. "Yeah, we need to make our way Downlevel. It’s early, so it might still be fairly quiet there. Easier to stay out of trouble.”

  “Whatever. I want to get this done as soon as possible. No matter what it costs. No matter what we have to give up. Do you understand?”

  “I’m with you. Just remember, we’re going to talk to him to see if he can do it. He’s a whiz with machines, but it doesn’t mean he can work magic.”

  “Maybe he can’t,” Ursan said. “But I can.”

  18

  Gant paused at the junction between two of the crossing corridors, leaning over to glance around the corner before pulling his head back just in time to avoid notice from the incoming soldiers.

  He growled softly, annoyed with how easy he had thought getting to the communications link would be, and how difficult it had become. The lower decks of the Brimstone were surprisingly populated and active, apparently having been turned over to the ground units to use as a training facility. More than one squad had gone jogging through the same hallways he was now attempting to traverse, and while most of them had been unarmed and unarmored, they were great enough in number that he was beginning to question whether or not he would be able to kill them all.

  Especially since he had lost his gun back on Drune.
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  First things first. He was almost to the link, and he had managed to stay out of sight so far. It had just taken too damn long to get this far; long enough that the Brimstone had arrived off Anvil and he still hadn’t gotten the fragging beacon activated or sent Abbey a fragging message.

  He paused, clamping his jaw to keep himself from chittering in frustration. This wasn’t the time to screw up and give himself away.

  The soldiers moved past, heading along the adjacent corridor. Gant slipped out behind them, padding across the floor to the next corner. He scanned the area. Clear. Then he sprinted down the hallway to a door simply marked “Comm Service.”

  “Please let the link use computers and not brains in fragging jars,” he whispered as he tapped the door control. It slid aside, revealing a small room surrounded by big, black metal boxes. “Praise Gantrian.”

  “What the frag?”

  Gant froze, closing his eyes. “I take that back,” he said as he opened them again, whirling around.

  “A Gant?” the soldier said, staring at him. “Since when does Ursan have a Gant?”

  “Have a Gant?” Gant replied. “What am I, a pet? I’m the ship’s engineer, shithead.” He stared down the soldier, hoping the retort would be enough to send him on his way.

  “No. I’ve been with Ursan for two years. I would have known if there was a Gant on the crew. Where the hell did you come from? Wait a second. Balor mentioned some crazy ass Gant that attacked them -”

  Gant threw himself at the soldier, his lightsuit giving him the power and speed he needed to reach the man’s head. He twisted in the air, his foot stretching out and catching the soldier square in the jaw. He could feel the bones break beneath the blow as he altered his trajectory, bouncing off the side of the wall and landing smoothly while the grunt reeled from the attack. He didn’t hesitate, moving in and grabbing the soldier’s leg, his strong grip turning it and flipping the man over and onto the ground. He scrambled up and wrapped his hands around the crew member’s head, pulling violently, rewarded with a quick snap.

  “Have a Gant,” Gant repeated, grabbing the soldier’s feet and dragging him back toward the open door to the service room. “Have a fragging Gant. Are you kidding me?”

  He got the soldier inside and closed the door, taking a moment to catch his breath. He was lucky the man hadn’t been wearing a suit, or he might not have taken him down so easily.

  He was still muttering to himself as he activated the service terminal. Like he had guessed, it had all been left unsecured. He could have turned all communications off if he wanted, but there wouldn’t be much of a point. The bridge terminals would report the status, and they would simply flip the switch back on. It was the reason he had come in person instead of doing the job from Ursan’s quarters. Once the beacon was active, he needed it to stay active.

  He navigated through the interface and turned the beacon on. It might take some time for Ruby to notice it, but he was certain she would. He still wanted to send a separate message, but he had to keep the beacon lit first.

  He moved to the rear of the room, where a small, bolted door blocked access to the inner workings of the link. He grabbed the bolts with his hands, his dexterity and the strength of the lightsuit allowing him to turn them without tools. He pulled them from the door and lifted it aside, and then ducked into the space.

  Service lights activated at his presence, giving him a clean look at a narrow corridor that skirted around to the back of the black boxes. He followed it until he reached the smallest box. It was the only one marked with the Republic Armed Services logo. The rest was all tech purchased from contractors. He slid it out, careful not to disconnect the wires attached to it, and then unscrewed the outer shell that protected the electronics inside. A simple red light flashed every three seconds, indicating the beacon was active. He was going to make sure it stayed that way.

  He reached down, finding the thin wire that connected the beacon to the network. He pinched it between his thumbnails, severing the line cleanly. A soft chitter of laughter, and he reassembled the box and put it back into place. Then he retreated from the service space, returning to the dead soldier.

  “Why couldn’t you have been carrying a knife or something?” he asked the man, grabbing his legs and pulling again, dragging him into the small corridor. Only then did he return the panel and the bolts to their proper position, hiding the rest of the evidence.

  He returned to the terminal again, noting the beacon was still active. Someone on the bridge would notice at some point, and then they would know there was an infiltrator on the ship. How many would he be able to remove before then? Hopefully more than one.

  He keyed into the Milnet, hopeful that Ruby was present on the standard military network. He knew it wasn’t as secure as a direct link, but Thraven already knew about the Brimstone. What more could he do?

  “Ruby,” Gant said. He waited impatiently, glancing back at the door. “Ruby.”

  Nothing.

  “Captain Mann,” he said.

  “Gant?” Olus replied a few seconds later. “Is that you?”

  “Yeah. Captain, I’m-”

  “Is everything working properly now?”

  Gant paused. Olus was cluing him in that the channel could be dirty.

  “Yes, sir,” he replied. “I’ve made the adjustments to the comm link that you requested. How do I sound?”

  “Loud and clear,” Olus replied. “Thank you for taking care of things so quickly. I’ll have my assistant get back to you as soon as possible.”

  “Roger, Captain. If I’m unavailable, they can come and speak to me in person.”

  “Of course. Mann out.”

  The link dropped. Hopefully, the short exchange wouldn’t draw any undue scrutiny from the Republic’s flagging algorithms, but it was equally possible someone was listening to every word Captain Mann said.

  Oh, well. There wasn’t anything he could do about that. He turned off the terminal and headed to the door. Abbey would be coming sooner or later.

  He hoped to present her with a nice, undefended starship when she did.

  He just needed to find a nice, sharp knife.

  19

  Gloritant Thraven was angry.

  In a sense, he was always angry, but right now he was angrier than usual. He had felt the impact of Venerant Alloran’s death. He knew Abigail Cage had killed her. That wasn’t what was bothering him, though. Quite the opposite, in fact. He had been curious to see if the Terran would be able to stand up against a true Nephilim, a true child of the Gift. He had even gone as far as to presume she would survive, and that Alloran’s long light in the universe would finally fade. He was pleased with the outcome, and even more pleased when he felt the lightest touch of the Gift spread away from the Venerant.

  Abigail Cage had tasted.

  What he wasn’t pleased about was that Captain Mann had found a way around his design. He had circumvented the trap, saved by the fugitives from Hell without being associated with their attack. He had remained hidden and invisible, and had somehow broken away from Cage and the others and made it back to the Driver without any evidence he had been to the Eagan estate at all. According to his operatives, even the records from the hotel had been altered, the security streams erased. He had cleansed his tracks quickly and efficiently.

  It wasn’t all that surprising, but it was frustrating. He wasn’t sure he could arrange the same sort of accident to befall the Director of the OSI as had befallen General Soto, but now he would be forced to try.

  And then there was Ursan Gall. He had known by the way the man had responded to his orders that he had little intention of following them. The Outworlder had always struggled to stay under control, always whining, always complaining. He had suffered him for Evolent Trinity’s sake, but now the Evolent was gone, and Cage had already proven she was stronger than Ursan could ever be, even with only half of the Gift inside her.

  And Gall was losing his mind. He had taken Trinity’s head.
What was he planning to do with it? He had asked about reviving her. Just a head? It was unheard of. The Nephilim were no strangers to war or bloodshed. Their history was thick with conflict, continuing in one form or another for millennia after the defeat of the Shard. Their violence had meaning. Even the ancient technologies they had recovered served a higher purpose. This? This was pure madness.

  Then again, Ursan was one of the Lesser, an evolutionary creature born from the essence of Elysium. He existed to be used, as the Father had promised all Lesser were to be used. It was to be expected that he would be unable to comprehend the fullness of the glory that was to come. It was to be anticipated that he would succumb to the Gift and go insane. Plenty of Potentials did. That was why the Converts existed.

  Trinity had been a Lesser, a truth that he occasionally ignored. She had proven her usefulness.

  Ursan was outliving his.

  There was one other complication that was angering him, the implications of which he had yet to discern, but which had the potential to threaten all of his years of careful planning. He already knew the Watchers were out there, somewhere. He also knew Sylvan Kett had aligned with them, making him increasingly eager to crack the mainframe they had captured and hopefully uncover his, and by extension their, whereabouts.

  What he hadn’t expected was that they would get involved now and in such a direct way. That they had used the Focus to aid Abigail Cage? One one hand, they had done him a favor in saving Cage. On the other, it meant they knew of her as well. If they got to her first? There was no telling what might happen. Plus, they had cost him his flagship and a number of assets he had already allocated elsewhere.

  At least he had a new flagship.

  “Honorant Gizlan,” Thraven said.

  A projection appeared in the open space beside him. A tall, chiseled Outworlder in a crisp, dark uniform. He put his fingers up to Thraven in salute. “Gloritant Thraven,” he snapped.

  Thraven held back his smile. This was a true servant of the Nephilim. A human who could see past the simple destruction to the glory of the future.