Starship's Mage 2 Hand of Mars

by Glynn Stewart

  “It’s time to think about backup plans. We’ve got enough loyal Mages - we can load enough money and bullion on a fast ship to live our lives out comfortably a long way from here - beyond even Alexander’s reach.”

  Vaughn knew he was gaping at Montoya, his mouth opening and closing like a hungry goldfish. Finally, he swallowed and squared his shoulders.

  “No, James,” he said calmly. “Ardennes is my planet,” he continued. “If Alexander wants to demand my head, he will have to take this world by force. Cor and the ASDF will fight, and I doubt the Mage-King will be inclined to create a precedent of the violent removal of an elected planetary Governor.”

  His General - his friend - shook his head.

  “You don’t know that,” he pointed out. “And given that it’s more likely than not Alexander can prove we rigged the election - and if he seizes Cor’s ships, he can prove we destroyed Karlsberg… He can say we’ve crossed lines no-one else has - that we represent a unique case.”

  Vaughn shivered at the image of Karslberg after the strike. It had seemed such a logical decision, but looking at the aftermath had made logic a frail shield.

  “This is my world,” he repeated. “I will not run. Not before the Hands have arrived and laid out ultimatums - not while there is a chance of sustaining all that I’ve built. We stay, my friend.”

  “At least let me put in some insurance policies!” Montoya demanded. “A fast ship, and bargaining chips for if push comes to shove. I don’t want to hang, boss - but I also don’t want to watch you hang.”

  Neither of the two men was much for emotion. That was more of a declaration of friendship than Vaughn had ever heard from the other man, and it weakened his resolve - a little.

  “Fine,” he allowed. “Prepare your fast ship. Make your insurance policies. I don’t like it, but we may need them.”

  #

  Chapter 34

  Amiri wasn’t used to waking up with someone else in her bed, and it took her a moment to remember who was there with her. Once her initial urge to leap from the bed and look for a weapon had passed, however, she rolled over on her side and looked at Mikael.

  She was honest enough with herself to admit she’d mostly taken the man to bed out of sheer exultation at still being alive - the arrival of Marines at the Bastille had shaken her. She’d been more pleased with the experience than she’d have expected, but it still wasn’t more than a fling.

  Mikael shifted slightly in his sleep, his hand slipping up to lay gently on her hip and she caught herself smiling.

  Okay - it wasn’t much more than a fling. Yet. If they all lived…

  That was a dangerous path to walk down. She took his hand in hers and pressed a kiss to his fingers, and then slipped out of the bed. The rooms Leclair had assigned to the ‘important’ guests at her secret airbase to were surprisingly comfortable, and the rebel slipped easily back to sleep as Amiri rose and dressed.

  Somehow, the Secret Service Agent was unsurprised to find Montgomery sitting in the hallway outside, quietly reading on his personal computer.

  “You didn’t need to wait up for me,” she said softly. “I can find my own way around.”

  “We need to talk,” the Envoy said sharply. As she glanced back at the door behind her, he smiled and shook his head. “Not about that,” he told her, but the mirth quickly fled his face.

  She followed him, and he led the way into a side room - a storage room, from the looks of it. The room’s main appeal was that it was empty of people, and the stacks of crates - cannon ammunition for the gunships, from the looks of it - provided easy seats.

  “Did you get through to Mars?” she asked as the Envoy sat, facing her. “Is help coming?”

  “Help is coming,” Montgomery confirmed, his voice soft. “His Majesty promised warships sufficient to defeat both Cor and the ASDF. They’re due in sixty hours and counting, and will place themselves under my command when they arrive.”

  Under his command…

  “He confirmed you as Hand, didn’t he?” she asked.

  The younger man twitched, taken aback.

  “Yes,” he admitted. “An Envoy can’t command the Martian military. A Hand can.”

  “You were a Hand from the moment Alaura gave you the amulet, Damien,” she pointed out. “I knew that, even if you didn’t. No-one would ever argue with you so long as you held the Hand. Everything beyond was formality.”

  He nodded, slowly.

  “I… didn’t think of it that way,” he admitted. “Or if I did, it didn’t sink in until His Majesty informed me in no uncertain terms that I am his Hand on Ardennes.”

  “Doesn’t change my job,” she told him. “Though I think yesterday is the last time you’re getting me away from you, My Lord,” she continued. “My job until this mess is resolved is to keep you alive so you can resolve it - I can’t do that if I’m dozens of kilometers away when someone shoots at you!”

  “You’re right,” Montgomery agreed after a moment. “I don’t… think of myself as that important.”

  “Then start,” she said bluntly. “Right now, you speak for Mars on Ardennes. I know what those runes are, too, Damien. You are the most powerful Mage on this world. The most powerful man on this world. Whether they know it or not, you are these people’s only hope.”

  “That’s… basically what His Majesty said,” the Hand agreed. “I’m…” he swallowed words even he seemed to realize he couldn’t say anymore.

  “We’re meeting with the Freedom Wing’s cell leaders in an hour,” he said instead. “We’ll need them - if the Marines have to take Nouveau Versailles by assault, a lot of bystanders are going to die.”

  “Do you have a plan?” Amiri asked. So far, his plans had seemed to work out, even if they tended to be terrifying to the woman charged with keeping him alive.

  “Not… yet,” the Hand admitted. “Leverage the Wing’s knowledge of the planet to build one. Haven’t got past that point yet.”

  “You’d better,” she warned. “You’re the Hand.”

  “Let’s keep that between us for the moment,” he ordered. “There… will be a time. I don’t think this morning is it. Not yet.”

  “You’re the Hand,” she sighed in acceptance.

  #

  Walking into a conference room of people expecting him to save their planet was the scariest thing Damien had ever done. The amulet under his shirt felt like it was made of lead, an unsupportable weight dragging him forward to a responsibility he wasn’t sure he could meet.

  He and Amiri entered the room last. Several of the other cell leaders had arrived overnight, and six men and women were waiting for them at a long, round black table. A wallscreen on the far wall was lit up with a number of icons, each representing a cell leader that wasn’t physically present.

  Twenty men and women who, between them and others now dead, had built a planetwide rebellion from nothing, waited on Damien Montgomery, Envoy of the Mage-King of Mars. He knew Lori, Leclair and Riordan - Alpha, Sierra, and Lambda.

  The first of the other three was a white-haired black man he recognized from his briefings as Archbishop Eli Pelletier, head of the Quebec Reformation Catholic Church on Ardennes. The other pair, a pale-skinned woman with jet-black hair and a ruddy-complexioned bald man, he didn’t know.

  “That’s everyone, then,” Lori said quietly as the door slid shut behind them. “Envoy Montgomery, be known to the leadership of the Freedom Wing. You asked to speak to us, and after the rescue of our compatriots from the Bastille, we owed you that much.”

  “Et pas plus,” another voice objected, one of the images on the screen flashing as the cell leader behind it spoke. “His agent rescued our people,” the woman continued thickly accented English, “not him.”

  “And our people are saved regardless, November,” Lori told the speaker. “Without Montgomery, half our pilots would be in jail, along with two dozen others. Let’s hear him out.”

  “Mars has not helped us before!” November spat b
ack. “Why should they help us now?!”

  Damien held up a hand to forestall Lori and then leaned forward.

  “Two reasons, November,” he said quietly. The woman was quiet, perhaps surprised by his objection. “The first, more pragmatic reason is simple: Vaughn killed a Hand. We cannot let that stand - a Hand falls, another must rise, and the one responsible must pay.

  “But as to why we didn’t act, you must remember that even Hands are bound by law,” he told her. “It took time for us to gather the evidence to move against Vaughn - more time than it should,” he admitted, “because none of us realized that Mage-Commodore Cor had betrayed us. She arrived when we were first preparing to move against Vaughn, and reassured everyone that the situation was under control.

  “We failed you,” Damien said after a long moment of silence. “But we have every intention of fixing that failure. I did make contact with the Mage-King last night from the Transceiver Array, and at least the first steps have been taken.”

  He glanced at Lori.

  “If you’ll permit, Alpha,” he told her, “I will explain what is being done, and what still needs to be done.”

  “Carry on, My Lord,” she told him, sending a sharp glance at the wallscreen - presumably the cameras feeding back to the cell leaders were over there. “I think we can all be that patient.”

  Damien glanced at Amiri for support and she made a small nodding gesture - ‘get on with it’, he was pretty sure.

  “His Majesty is now aware of Mage-Commodore Cor and Mage-Governor Vaughn’s treason,” he said simply. “With Cor in orbit with enough firepower to destroy any ground attack, Vaughn cannot be removed.

  “Therefore, a Task Force is even now being assembled that will proceed here with the intent of neutralizing the Seventh Cruiser Squadron and either capturing or killing Mage-Commodore Cor,” he told them. “The Task Force is expected to arrive in approximately sixty hours.”

  The room was silent for a long moment. They’d been trying for years to overthrow Vaughn, and suddenly he’d handed them their trump card on a silver platter.

  “That’s that, then isn’t it?” Pelletier asked softly. “But it isn’t, is it?” he continued. “It’s never that simple, and if it were, you’d been telling us to go dark and bury our heads, wouldn’t you?”

  “It would be a lot safer for everyone, yes,” Damien agreed. “But it depends how many people you’re prepared to let die for you.”

  “And just what do you mean by that?” November demanded.

  “You all saw what happened when Commodore Cor’s Marines attacked the Bastille,” he reminded them. “The defenses layered around Nouveaux Versailles and the other major cities are at least as powerful. Any Marine assault to remove Vaughn would run straight into those defenses, and will take heavy losses.

  “To avoid those, the Navy will have to carry out significant orbital bombardment,” he continued. “You’ve seen the aftermath of Karlsberg. The strikes would be more precise - but also more powerful. Collateral damage would be unavoidable. More would die - Marines, Ardennes Army, and civilians, when the Marines hit the cities. Urban fighting is brutal.”

  November was silent, but Damien could see the slightly ill expression on Pelletier’s face. Oddly, the old priest didn’t seem surprised by his description - it was more the expression of old memories than that of shock.

  “But if we work together,” Damien continued into the shocked silence, “we can hit Vaughn while the Navy is dealing with Cor. Versailles’ defenses were stripped when we attacked the Bastille. The Governor is vulnerable.”

  “I… don’t think we can give you an immediate answer,” Lori said after a long moment of silence. She glanced around the table, taking a read of her people that Damien couldn’t match. “We’ll need time to discuss - in private.”

  “I understand,” Damien allowed, inclining his head slightly, somewhat relieved to be off the immediate hook. “Amiri and I will leave you to your deliberations. Let me know when you have a decision or if I can be of assistance.”

  “Thank you, Lord Montgomery.”

  With a nod and a small bow, Damien withdrew with a feeling akin to relief.

  #

  Two hours after the Envoy left, Lori was feeling anything but relief. After about six iterations of the same circle, all of the relief and excitement of realizing the Navy was finally going to help out had long been ground out.

  “Mars left us to rot,” November spat at the others. “I’ll be damned before I fight alongside them - let their Marines burn. We don’t owe them merde.”

  “But we owe our people something,” Pelletier said in his smooth voice. “It’s not merely the Marines who’ll die - it’ll be our Army. Our civilians. Our brothers and sisters - those we set out to save.”

  Lori glanced around the five others at the table. Leclair looked exhausted more than anything else, but no-one had expected the Legatan to step on board with working with Mars. Her homeworld had birthed the UnArcana movement barring Mages from planets after all.

  Most of the others were wavering. No-one seemed to be able to make up their minds. Lori wasn’t sure herself what the best course was - even if they could somehow capture Vaughn, they could only hold him and the city if the Navy arrived in time.

  “You can’t rely on Mars,” Leclair finally said, interrupting the beginning of another row. “They’ll stand shoulder to shoulder with us if they’re here - but they’re not, are they?”

  Silence answered the Legatan.

  “We’re going to count on the Navy to come riding to the rescue, on the word of one admittedly brave and honorable servant of the Mage-King?” she continued. “Do we really believe that the Mages will save us from their own? They’ve ignored Vaughn for years - if he hadn’t been a Mage, do you think that would have happened?”

  “Mars looks to their own first,” she said bluntly. “They’ll strike now because Vaughn killed one of their own. I call a pox on both their houses - let Mars choke on their own pet.”

  Lori saw Pelletier draw in a breath to speak, the old priest as tough and stubborn as old leather. She gestured him to silence and leaned forward.

  “We’re not getting anywhere,” she said aloud, admitting what everyone had to be thinking. “Let’s break for the moment - some of us I know need to make sure they’re properly covered,” she gestured towards the wallscreen.

  “We don’t need to decide this morning. Let’s all think about this and re-convene in five hours,” she instructed. “We have the time - and we’re sure as hell not getting anywhere right now.”

  Maybe in five hours she’d have some idea of what she’d say to convince her compatriots - or even of what she needed to convince them of!

  #

  Chapter 35

  Damien was reviewing the data he had on the anti-air and anti-space defenses of Nouveaux Versailles when Amiri walked into his room, the Secret Service Agent not even bothering to knock. He glanced up as she came in, and then watched the tall woman as she crossed the room, pulled a spare chair up next to the desk and took a seat, watching him.

  He returned her gaze for a long moment. Her silent regard was nerve-wracking, and he finally broke the quiet.

  “Did you want something, Julia, or are you just here to fuck with me?”

  “I’m trying to find the Hand inside the man hiding in his quarters,” she said bluntly. “I’m not Desmond Alexander. I don’t know what he sees in you. I don’t know your plan. And right now, the future of this planet hangs on what you’re going to do.

  “So I’m trying to see how hiding in here while the only force you might be able to commandeer runs in circles, serves your plan.”

  He glared at her. She was right, but it still burned to be called on it.

  “I don’t have a fucking plan,” he snapped. “Is that what you want to hear, Julia? I don’t have a gods-damned clue. The only plan that comes to mind is to mount up and attack Nouveaux Versailles on my own, and runes or no runes, that’s fucking suici
de.

  “I need the Wing - I need their brains, and I need their knowledge - and I need them to come on-side of their own free will. Ordering them around isn’t going to save anyone.”

  And he was terrified. He’d spent the last three years buried in the most secure fortress on the planet, learning everything he could about magic and law. He’d fought before that, and he’d fought now to survive, but it wasn’t his first choice.

  Even on the Blue Jay, he’d only been trying to save himself and his friends. Now, an entire world seemed to be expecting an answer.

  “They’re not going to ‘come on-side,’ Damien,” Amiri said flatly. “They ran in circles for two hours and are splitting up to ‘think it over’. Like you said, no-one can order them around - not even Lori. All our dear ‘Alpha’ can do is lead them, and right now, she’s leading them into indecision and fear.”

  Damien threw up his hands, the holographic screen from his PC fading out in the air.

  “And what do you want me to do?” he demanded.

  “I don’t know,” she admitted. “But what I do know? These people need a Hand. They need someone to show them a way. Otherwise, the Marines are going to arrive, and tens of thousands will die because they’ll have no choice but to bombard the city’s defenses.

  “That’s the kind of mess from which UnArcana worlds are born,” she reminded him. “And they look at you, and they see a kid playing at war. I know your past. I know the Mage-King gave you that Hand for a reason. But they don’t even know you’re a Hand, and they can’t see past your appearance.

  “Telling them you’re a Hand won’t help - you need to prove it. You need to make them believe you can save them.”

  “And what if I can’t?” Damien whispered, even as her words tugged at something in his mind.

  “If you can’t, no-one else will,” his bodyguard told him.

  He swallowed hard. She was right. That thought was what terrified him and had him hiding in his room. He’d seen what happened when Mars failed to intervene properly - he’d almost died on Chrysanthemum, a world where a lack of Protectorate intervention had led to the locals getting Legatan help and becoming an UnArcana world.