“How far is our orbit from Karlsberg?” Damien asked quietly.
“Almost the exact opposite side of the planet, My Lord,” Harmon replied. “Seems odd.”
“Stinks to me,” the Envoy replied. “Do me a favor?”
“What do you need?”
“Pull as much from the sensors as you can, and route our shuttle flights over the Karlsberg crater,” Damien ordered. “Run every analysis you can on every piece of data you can get. I don’t expect to get raw data from Ardennes, and I want to know what took out that town.”
Harmon glanced away from the screens and met Damien’s eyes. The Mage-Commander clearly wanted to ask something, but finally shook his head.
“We don’t trust Vaughn,” he said quietly. It wasn’t a question.
“No,” Damien agreed. “I’m not disbelieving him about what happened yet, either,” he pointed out. “But I want to validate every damn thing the man says.”
“As you command, Envoy.”
#
Mage-Governor Michael Vaughn watched the ship settle into orbit on his wallscreen with mixed emotions. He was proud of what he’d achieved on Ardennes, damn it! When he’d risen to power, the planet had been in the middle of one of the worst economic depressions the Protectorate had ever seen.
He’d single-handedly dragged his world out of recession, got the unemployed working, brought in the interstellars, and re-birthed local industry from its own ashes.
There had been sacrifices. He didn’t pretend otherwise - but they had been necessary. Some of them remained necessary, but he couldn’t bring himself to regret rigging the elections. His opponents - like Armstrong - would have undone everything! They didn’t see how fragile the edifice that supported Ardennes’ economy was, how easily their populist reforms would bring it down.
So Vaughn had done what he had to do. And when the ingrates refused to recognize the necessity of sacrifice, when they rioted or raised arms against his government… well, he did what he had to do.
He didn’t expect the kind of men and women he knew Desmond Alexander selected as his Hands to agree with him. Vaughn knew their reputation - Alexander preferred compromise to imposition, negotiation to suppression.
It was weakness - a weakness enabled by the iron fist of the Martian Navy and made easier by the Hands simply flitting away once they were done. They didn’t have to live with the compromises they made - but those they left behind did.
“My Lord Governor,” a voice said quietly behind him, and Vaughn turned to find a small and unimposing man in the red and black uniform of the Ardennes Special Security Service.
“General,” Vaughn greeted his guest with a slight nod. General James Montoya commanded the Scorpions and was one of the few Vaughn would call ‘friend’.
“We’ve put together the package,” Montoya reported, stepping up next to Vaughn and eyeing the image of the Tides of Justice. “Our crypto-geeks swear that even a Navy computer won’t show it as altered.”
“But?” Vaughn asked. He knew Montoya, after all.
“They did their best to support the actual impact craters,” the General said slowly. “But we couldn’t justify claiming the terrorists got their hands on naval munitions. If the Hand’s people really dig into the analysis of the site, they’ll realize the cheap rocks our video shows couldn’t have done it.”
“We’ll need to make sure they don’t,” Vaughn replied. “I will keep her distracted, focused on other matters.”
He considered the Martian warship for a long moment, and then a cold smile spread across his face.
“I want you to prep one of our ‘special’ teams,” he told the General. “Very carefully - they absolutely cannot be traced back to us.”
“What target?”
“The Hand,” Vaughn told him. “I’m sure we can arrange for her to visit one of our hotbeds of terrorist activity, and it would only make sense for them to take a shot at the symbol of the true oppressor, after all!”
“Risky,” Montoya said quietly. “Hands are tough - I don’t know what the King does to them, but I’ve seen video of them in action.”
“They’re powerful Mages, yes, but not gods,” Vaughn replied with a wave of his hand. “But to be clear, my dear James, I don’t expect our team to succeed. I’ll be hardly heart-broken if they do,” he admitted, “but I want them to fail. I want them to come close and die trying - I want to make this Stealey understand the true depth of our danger.”
He felt as much as saw Montoya’s nod of understanding and matching grin, and the other emotion fighting with pride and fear rippled through him: anticipation.
After all, keeping the engine of Ardennes’ ticking had become routine. But out-gaming a Hand who had to be suspicious of him? Bringing her in on his side and unleashing the full force of the Protectorate on his enemies?
That was a challenge he would enjoy.
#
The shuttle was much more crowded than it had been when they’d visited MagnaCorp Interstellar. For this trip, Alaura was bringing a staff of six and a squad of Marine bodyguards. The Marine squad leader, a grizzled Sergeant who reminded Damien of an old shipmate now dead, rode with Damien as the co-pilot.
“You and the Hand are armed, right?” the Sergeant grumbled as Damien carefully tweaked his course to sweep near Karslberg.
He glanced over at the Sergeant.
“We’re not exactly helpless unarmed,” he pointed out. The Marine, one of Alaura’s regular bodyguards, had to know what was under Damien’s and Alaura’s elbow-length black gloves.
“I’ve seen Mages fight,” the other man grunted. “You get tired - guns don’t. You can shoot, right?”
Damien shook his head with an intentionally audible sigh, then flipped his suit jacket open while keeping one hand on the controls.
“Martian IronWorks Arms ST-7. Caseless rounds, ceramic chassis, defeats most weapon detection systems,” he told the Sergeant, then twitched his jacket closed again over the slim, deadly pistol.
The Marine chuckled humorlessly. “Well, at least one of you is intelligent about it,” he said. “Sergeant Cam Mitchell, Lord Envoy,” he introduced himself. “We met when we were shipping you to Mars, but I don’t expect you to remember one grunt of many.”
“That was a stressful trip,” Damien admitted. “Still, I think I do - you were the senior Corporal under Sergeant Ames, right?”
“That was me,” Mitchell confirmed with a sad sigh. “Still miss Ames. He caught a bullet for Stealey about two years back, I inherited the squad.”
There wasn’t much Damien could say to that. He kept an eye on his scanners as he swept over the horizon, the sensor package straining to pick up anything it could from Karlsberg as he made his way to Nouveau Versailles.
“What happened?” he finally asked. “To Ames, I mean.”
Mitchell grunted again.
“Was supposed to be a simple arbitration of a trade dispute,” he said finally. “Just Ames and I went with the Lady. Got to the meeting point, and one delegation was dead to the man, and the other had us surrounded.
“They got off one shot,” Mitchell said grimly. “Went clean through Ames’ eye, killed him before he hit the floor. ‘Course, by the time he hit the floor, most o’ them were dead too.”
The Sergeant glanced quickly at Damien’s gloved arms, then away. He’d seen the motion before, from men and women who’d seen Hands in action and knew that Damien also bore a Rune of Power.
“I don’t know what they thought they’d gain,” he finished. “Stealey tracked them down. It wasn’t even the trade company that had sent the delegation - it was some kind of death cult out of the UnArcana Worlds. Killed or got killed sixty men and women, just to get a shot at a Hand.”
“Even the UnArcana worlds will act on that,” Damien said softly. “Not much left of that cult now, huh?”
“Nothing,” Mitchell replied with grim satisfaction. “Stealey likes to negotiate. Would rather convince rebels to lay down arms, m
ake a compromise. But she is a Hand, Lord Montgomery. She knows when it’s time to draw the sword.”
Damien swallowed. As an Envoy, he didn’t have the authority to order executions or judgments. He did, however, have enough power to make sure that someone with said authority took a close look at affairs.
The city of Nouveau Versailles finally came into view, and Damien opened up a channel with the spaceport. He was glad for the distraction, pulling his mind away from thoughts of the harsher duties of those who spoke for Mars.
#
Chapter 8
By the time Damien had rejoined Alaura and her staff and watched the Marines shake themselves out into an honor guard under Sergeant Mitchell, the landing pad had cooled sufficiently for them to exit the Navy shuttle.
The Marines exited first, marching out in two neat files to link up with the Governor’s honor guard of Ardennes Special Security Service troopers in their black and red body armor. Alaura waited on the edge of the shuttle for a calm thirty seconds as the two sets of soldiers matched their lines and formed a corridor for Mars’ representatives to pass down.
With that complete, she released her gentle grip on Damien’s forearm and stepped forward. He waited another handful of seconds, then followed the Hand an appropriate meter or so behind her.
Mage-Governor Vaughn waited for them at the other end of the lines of soldiers, the heavyset blond man towering over both Damien and Alaura - by easily thirty centimeters in Damien’s case. He wore a red and black suit, clearly stylized to resemble the uniforms of the Security troopers around him.
“Welcome to Ardennes, My Lady Stealey, My Lord Montgomery,” Vaughn greeted them, taking Alaura’s hands in his and bowing over them. He gave Damien a firm nod, respectful but much more perfunctory than his greeting to Alaura.
“We came as soon as we learned of Karlsberg, Governor Vaughn,” Stealey told him. “A tragedy of this scale requires response. His Majesty sends his condolences.”
“A response is needed indeed,” the Governor replied. “Come, we have food and drink ready for you in the terminal. I find the shuttle trip from orbit the most draining part of any journey!”
“Envoy Montgomery will accompany us, of course,” Stealey said. “Do you have someone to take care of our things and my staff?”
“Of course!” Vaughn snapped his fingers and gestured. One of the security men approached, and Damien saw the uniform bore the icon of a scorpion embroidered onto the collar and shoulder.
“Lieutenant, please see that the Hand’s staff and things are taken to Government House. Master El-Hashem should have rooms prepared for them all.”
Mitchell materialized out of nowhere behind Damien. “Corporal Wu and I will accompany you and the Envoy, Lady Hand.”
It wasn’t a suggestion or a request, but Alaura accepted it with a smile and a calm gesture.
“Lead the way, Governor Vaughn,” she instructed.
#
Vaughn led them in to a luxury waiting lounge, likely usually reserved for wealthy travelers waiting for the shuttles to their liners or personal yachts. The pair of red and black uniformed security troopers guarding the entrance, however, made it clear the lounge was closed.
A server materialized as they entered and gently ushered the Marines to a set of seats near the door. Another young man quickly uncovered a small buffet table of still-warm food for the Governor’s guests and disappeared.
Damien followed Alaura’s lead carefully, taking a plate of food and then claiming one of the comfortable seats.
“We appreciate the welcome, My Lord Governor,” the Hand said after a few bites. “It’s warmer than a Hand often sees, let me assure you!”
“You are here to help find the people who murdered thousands of my citizens,” Vaughn said grimly. “Any aid I can provide, any resources or personnel, is yours for the asking. We must bring these murderers to justice.”
Either Damien’s suspicions of the man were misplaced, or Vaughn was one of the best liars he’d ever encountered. With everything he’d learned so far, he wasn’t prepared to take bets! The Envoy carefully tucked into the food, leaning back in his chair as he watched Alaura maneuver.
“We will need all of the information your defense force recorded about the attack,” she told the Governor. “I will need to inspect the site, both from the ground and the air.”
“All of our files are open to you, My Lady Hand,” Vaughn agreed instantly. “You may also want to contact Mage-Commodore Cor. Several of her cruisers were in orbit at the time, and their sensors are superior to the ADF’s destroyers.”
“Of course. And access to the site, Governor?”
“That may take some time,” the Governor said slowly. “The area was a uranium mine, Lady Hand. While the impactor itself appears to have been a purely kinetic weapon, the nature of the region has rendered the impact zone highly radioactive. Atmospheric heavy metal counts are dangerously high. I’ve ordered the entire area under a no-fly and no-entry zone until the dust settles.”
“The attack was enough of a tragedy,” he continued, “and since we’ve confirmed that all the survivors have been rescued, I hesitate to add more injury and death to the toll!”
“My people are well trained and equipped,” Alaura replied. “We will be perfectly safe.”
“I’m told that a storm is expected to sweep through the region for the next several days,” Vaughn countered. “The storm both makes it less safe to visit now, and safer to visit once it has passed. I beg you, Lady Hand, please wait until the storm clears the area - I could not bear to report any injury to yourself to the Mage-King.”
Damien eyed the Governor carefully, wondering. He didn’t think there was much that you could conceal at the impact site of a kinetic weapon, not with only a few days.
“Very well,” the Hand allowed slowly. “In that case, I will need to visit Nouveau Normandy tomorrow. If I must wait to see the latest atrocity, then I wish to review the files of those incidents and visit the aftermath.”
“The Normandy attacks were six months ago,” Vaughn objected. “We have all of those details in our files here.”
“I find context important, Governor,” Alaura replied. “Visiting the location of the attacks is important, as will be speaking to the people there. I do not doubt that all of these attacks are tied together - I will find the common link, Governor. And I will use it to drag Karlsberg’s murderers to justice.”
Vaughn’s impressive calm slipped a bit, his eyes dark for a moment that left Damien wondering if he’d imagined it.
“Of course,” he concluded softly. “As I said, all of our files, all of our resources, are at your disposal. I can have a plane ready to transport you to Normandy in the morning?”
“That will be sufficient. If you can make all of those files available to myself and Envoy Montgomery by the time we reach Government House, we can begin our background research.”
Michael Vaughn, Mage-Governor of an entire system of three billion souls, bowed as he rose to his feet.
“It shall be as you command, My Lady Hand.”
#
An entire floor of the eastern wing of Government House, the residence of Ardennes’ planetary Governor, had been turned over to Alaura Stealey and her party.
Mitchell and his men had already set up when Damien and Alaura arrived, and directed them into the rooms on the end of the wing, furthest away from the staircase up.
“Two guards on the staircase at all times,” he told them calmly. “Two more at this end,” he gestured toward the doors to their rooms. “None of the staff leave this section without an escort - neither of you leaves without at least two Marines.”
Damien smiled at the determined soldier and glanced over at Alaura.
“Who is in charge of this little party again?” he asked.
“I thought I was, but I see I have to reconsider this assumption,” she replied.
Mitchell had the grace to look somewhat abashed, but he didn’t waver.
“My job is to make sure you both survive, ma’am, sir,” he told them. “I won’t tell you how to do your jobs, but I will insist you do them escorted.”
“It’s fine, Sergeant,” Damien replied, still smiling. “You’ve swept for bugs?”
“The place was crawling,” Mitchell replied. “We’ve cleaned them out, but expect the terminals to be tapped. Keep anything confidential on your PCs.”
“Let’s not assume we’re clear yet,” the Envoy told him. “I’ll sweep for runic artifacts. The Governor would expect us to clear the technical bugs, but magical ones are rare and hard to find.”
“I’ve never heard of such a thing,” the Marine in charge of their bodyguards admitted. He didn’t sound like he disbelieved Damien; he sounded more frustrated that there was a threat he hadn’t been aware of.
“They’re still rare,” Damien replied. “We’ve tried to keep the matrix designs under wraps, but I tend to assume we fail at such things.”
He open the door to his room and glanced in. A king-sized canopy bed held pride of place amidst a cushioned display of luxury that made him uncomfortable just looking at it.
“I’ll sweep for them,” he concluded. “Then we can talk.”
#
Wandering through the plushly carpeted halls of the rooms they’d been provided, Damien kept his eyes open for the energy flow of magic. Finding something like this wasn’t something that Alaura could do - while the Hands had runes tattooed into their flesh to make them stronger than other Mages, they still lacked the ability to see the flow of magic that separated Rune Wrights from the rest of the Mage population.
There were a few technological ways to detect runic artifacts - usually looking for heat signatures - but a cleverly designed rune matrix could avoid those. No matrix Damien had yet encountered could hide from him or the Mage-King; nor had any of them proven impossible to understand.
Starship's Mage 2 Hand of Mars Page 5
