The Galaxy commander was obviously in a hurry. It would have taken Clan scientists only three months to rejuvenate replacement limbs for her. Another few months for conditioning. A lesser warrior might not have recovered fully, even then. Here, barely five weeks later, she was racing back toward top form. Whatever her impetus, rage or revenge, it spoke of great need.
Or great hunger.
With a battle shriek very much like a hawk’s cry, Malvina charged her opponent. She moved with very little grace, hobbled by the dead weight of her prosthetics, but made up for it in savage fury. Her sidearm chop was hard enough to break the man’s arm—Noritomo heard the wet snap. She leaped forward, grabbed two fistfuls of his hair, and while still in the air drove a knee into his nose, breaking that as well.
Malvina landed, staggering onto her good leg, crouching into a ready posture.
Her opponent landed hard on his back and lay there, dazed.
“You do not ever go easy on me!” she shouted down at him. “I want your best. Always!”
The doctor moved to the injured man, letting him get up on his own and then guiding him aside. Malvina glared after them both with contempt. “Next time bring me an Elemental.”
“Easy, Galaxy Commander.” Bec Malthus crossed his arms over a thick chest. “You will leave us no able warriors to take Skye.”
She scoffed. “What does that matter? We have Star Colonel Helmer. Finally.”
Her glare skewered Noritomo as she limped toward them. Her scar burned red and angry. This did not look like the champion being whispered about in reverent tones. Their Chinggis Khan—the title that in itself bordered on a betrayal of Khan Pryde, the Jade Falcons’ supreme leader.
Then again, with Beckett Malthus backing her, Malvina Hazen could afford a few setbacks and indulge in her dramatics. Malthus was a power in his own right. Some had called him the Shadow-Khan after he assisted in Jana Pryde’s ascension. If he had decided to play kingmaker again, Noritomo knew better than to stand in his way. Warriors who tried had a tendency to end up ruined, cast down, and with their genetic material excluded from the Clan’s breeding program.
All Malvina Hazen was likely to do to Noritomo Helmer was kill him. She still might.
“All our planning,” she said, grabbing a towel from a nearby shelf and blotting the sweat from her face. “All our previous victories. Worthless,” she spat. “I gave you Kimball II. And you may have cost me Skye.”
“The assault did not go as expected,” he agreed carefully. “I sent word to you, but my courier was intercepted at Ryde by the Steel Wolves. It was an unforeseeable tragedy.”
Malvina wrapped the towel around the back of her neck, held the ends with one white hand, one black. “Losing my brother was an unforeseeable tragedy, Star Colonel. And you do not even have his excuse of martyring yourself for our cause.”
“I am sorry for the Clan’s loss of Aleksandr Hazen,” Noritomo told her. Personal condolences would be improper, no matter how close the brother and sister had been. Everyone served the Clan. “His vision will be missed.”
“And I will make the universe pay dearly for depriving us of him,” she said in a spate of cold fury.
Malthus shifted carefully toward her, as if cautioning her, and she relented. Slightly.
“Still . . .” Her eyes narrowed into blue slits. She nodded. “We take this one step at a time. Our forces are battered, but not beaten. We control six key worlds in this region of space. We might still accomplish everything we desire, and more. The question becomes, how do we proceed?” She looked at him carefully. “Would you say it is time to call for Khan Pryde and the entire Jade Falcon Touman?”
It was a trap, laid out neatly in front of him and no way to step around it. The two commanders certainly knew of the talk openly spoken among warriors of Clan Jade Falcon’s desant. The death of Aleksandr Hazen and even their failure to take Skye was ultimately being laid at the feet of Khan Jana Pryde, who had refused to support the long-ranging strike with greater strength from the Falcon military.
When making her decision, Pryde had cited the Clan tradition of bidding the least amount of force necessary to claim victory and therefore the greater honor. But such blind adherence to the old ways had also been a point of contention between Aleksandr and Malvina. Aleksandr followed Clan traditions of bidding for a goal and attempting to take it with the least amount of force—and destruction visited on the target—as possible. Malvina championed a more severe approach. Rip out the spine of all potential resistance up front, and rule through the threat of holocaust.
“I believe that it would be premature to involve Khan Pryde at this time,” Noritomo offered diplomatically, searching for a way to slip the noose being drawn around his neck.
Beckett Malthus nodded. “So you agree that we should strike first.” It was not a question. It could also be read on many different levels. The Galaxy commander gave nothing away. His eyes were unreadable.
“At Skye?” Noritomo asked, deliberately reading into the question its most obvious meaning. “Of course. Knowing what we now do with regard to its defenders and their tactics, our bid will be that much stronger.”
“Our bid,” Malvina said, her lips skinned back from strong teeth, “will be all or nothing. We will no longer court failure just to give our enemies a fighting chance. This was Aleksandr’s mistake.”
Noritomo nodded slowly, but not necessarily in agreement. “Your brother’s methods, they worked on Summer and Alkaid.” The two worlds taken in Prefecture VIII. “Reports I have seen indicate that their local governments have settled down under our occupation.”
“To be lost just as quickly should we show any sign of weakness.” Malvina brushed aside his argument with an impatient wave. “Your failure on Kimball II should have opened your eyes to this, Noritomo Helmer. My brother was a great warrior and leader of men, but he believed too blindly in our traditions. He would not recognize that the old ways must give way to the new. And you, Star Colonel. I am beginning to worry about you as well.”
“I am Jade Falcon,” he offered stiffly. “I serve the Clan.”
“Truly?” Malvina sent a glance toward Bec Malthus. “The simplest way for that to be true would be to lay the blame for Aleksandr’s death and Skye’s resistant stand on your shoulders.”
Noritomo had been meant to see that glance. To know that a new alliance had indeed been forged in his absence. A prickling sensation crawled along the back of his neck. He chose his words very carefully, accepting the need for a tactical retreat.
“That would be the simplest solution,” he agreed. “But regardless of bidding, it is the challenging battles that still bring the greatest honor.”
The implication: such a move would be beneath Malvina Hazen. And though it might very well be in keeping with Malthus’ typical behind-the-scenes manipulations, Noritomo suddenly recognized, it would also shift attention back away from Khan Pryde. Would Malvina see it that way?
It was enough that Beckett Malthus did. He raised his chin slightly, acknowledging the move. “In this case,” he said slowly, “the challenging battle still looks to be the taking of Skye. Nothing should get in the way of that. You will receive a chance to redeem yourself, Noritomo Helmer. A new assignment.” His green eyes looked through the star colonel as the senior warrior smiled.
“You will take over the garrison force on Chaffee, holding open our lines back to the occupation zone.”
A hollow sensation bloomed inside Noritomo.
Chaffee. The Lyran Commonwealth world just outside The Republic that the Jade Falcons had taken and used as their initial staging grounds. It was also the world where Malvina Hazen had tested her terror techniques, using a blistering agent and then sending waves of wounded refugees into The Republic ahead of the invasion as a way to sap local morale.
“At the Galaxy Commanders’ will, of course,” Noritomo said with due humility, bowing directly between the two senior warriors. They were of equal rank, technically. If he was to ha
ve a chance, he would need to keep them both mollified.
For now.
“Then go, Star Colonel.” Malvina Hazen had already all but forgotten him. She limped toward the door, turning her back on Noritomo and the entire situation, which she likely considered dealt with. Almost.
At the door, she turned back. “We will review your rosters, and leave you with more than enough force strength.”
Beckett Malthus followed Malvina out of the room, leaving the weakened star colonel alone. The dojo smelled of sweat and the plastic mats, but the taste in Noritomo’s mouth was cold and bitter. He gave the two military leaders enough time to disappear down the corridor before he allowed his feelings to twist his face with rage.
Chaffee, of course, was hardly important now with Glengarry and so many other Republic worlds in hand. This was their answer, to shuffle Noritomo Helmer aside while stealing away his best troops for a renewed offensive against Skye. He could not stand for that.
But he also knew not to challenge without thought, and careful planning.
“Not even Aleksandr Hazen was able to challenge his sister and make it stick,” he reminded himself, smoothing his face back into a neutral mask. If Noritomo hoped to survive, and still prosper as a warrior, he would have to exercise the one trait for which Malvina Hazen had shown no proclivity.
Patience.
10
New London
Skye
4 October 3134
New London’s DropPort hid inside a curtain of gray fog. A silvery drizzle made sporadic promises to clear the air, but rarely did more than spatter the large concourse windows. The DropShips that currently sat in their ferrocrete nests of blast deflectors and reinforced pads were little more than great, spheroidal ghosts at the very edge of Tara Campbell’s vision. At any moment they might fade from sight.
She didn’t want that. Not until her Highlanders were safe, at least.
Desultory droplets speckled the blue glass, chased each other in long trails down to the bottom sill. Tara stood at one of the concourse windows, looking past her ghostly reflection and the rain, out onto the tarmac. The Himmelstor was one of those DropShips, grounded as close to the main buildings as safety allowed. A large, hulking outline. An Excalibur-class.
She watched as a two-story shuttle bus finally departed the DropShip ramp and made its way slowly across the wide, gray expanse to the lower gate door. Intent on the arriving personnel—wondering who had made it off Zebebelgenubi, who was lost to the Highlander rolls forever—Tara did not notice at first the security agents taking up silent posts around her. She did wonder briefly at the unnatural calm of the DropPort concourse, but was too busy counting familiar faces by then as they climbed the covered stairs toward the nearby door.
“How many?” Duke Gregory Kelswa-Steiner asked, his deep baritone startling her.
The lord governor waited behind her, half a head taller than she was and staring over her spiked, platinum blond hair. Tara saw that he wore a conservative suit—the kind he habitually wore for a day of closed meetings, rather than the stylish wardrobe he kept for ceremonies and public appearances. Shoulders back, chest out, his bearing wasn’t bad for a man who had never subjected himself to military discipline.
He also seemed rather calm, considering.
“Looks like twenty-three men and women,” she answered, completing her count.
The first of her Highlanders came through the door. Some limped in, but most seemed fit for duty. A few DropPort staff and some junior liaisons applauded their arrival, welcoming the Highlanders to Skye. The warriors milled around uncertainly, seeing their commander penned in by local security.
“I really should see to them,” Tara said, anxious for a formal report. The numbers were better than she’d feared, but not so good as she’d hoped. She started to move past Duke Gregory, who caught her arm.
“This is good news, Countess. Good fortune for Skye.” His eyes were alight with fresh resolve. “Please tell your men that we will hold a banquet in their honor.” He hushed her with an upraised hand. “I know, it is hardly adequate, but it is a prime media opportunity and we don’t get many of those. My coming down to meet them alone should be worth a few percentage points in public approval, which will translate into support for our continuing defense.”
The lord governor was far out in front of himself, looking at the political opportunity. Which meant he had not received a full briefing. The loss of Augustus Solvaig reared its head again. “Sir,” Tara said carefully, “I think that might not be an appropriate response.”
“Why not? Are many of your men hurt?” he asked.
“The ones who made it off Zebebelgenubi seem fine,” she said, looking past him at her assembled Highlanders . . . and now also at the man responsible for their rescue. Even though he was clean-shaved and had dark skin, the family resemblance was obvious. As was the warrior’s spirit that shone brightly in his dark eyes. “We lost two DropShips and a JumpShip, which hurts, but we’ll salvage most of our ground-based equipment.”
The duke waved off her concerns. “Transportation is hardly as important as good troops to defend Skye. I’ll take all we can get, at this stage.”
“Glad to hear some sense out of you, Father,” Jasek said, butting into the conversation. Security had flanked him with two agents, but had not held back the duke’s son. Rank still owned its privileges. Jasek glanced at the agents, then smiled at his father’s flabbergasted stare.
“For a change,” he said, adding the caveat like a contract killer might put one extra bullet into the back of his victim’s head.
Landgrave Jasek Kelswa-Steiner had inherited his father’s strong chin and angular face. His skin was too dark to be just a healthy tan, and Tara had to believe he’d inherited the bronze color from his mother, along with his dark, piercing eyes and the easy warrior’s grace with which he carried himself.
Certainly his father showed no casual aplomb, the duke’s spine stiffening like it had suddenly turned into titanium.
“You . . . you come back here, now?”
Jasek shrugged as if his father’s reaction was expected. “Good to see you too,” he said. “We’re fine. Oh, and your gratitude for our rescue of the Highlanders is overwhelming.”
“I didn’t know you had done so,” Duke Gregory told him. His face flushed dark, from his pronounced widow’s peak to his beard. He shot Tara an accusing glare.
“I found out thirty minutes ago,” Tara told him. “They kept it quiet coming in.” Now she could see why. Jasek had obviously wanted to arrive in his own way, without a lot of fanfare—or a firing squad, depending on his father’s mood. Safer.
“And now that you know?” Jasek asked.
If he was expecting a warm embrace—and Tara doubted that he was—the lord governor disappointed him. His face clouded up like a brewing storm piling thunderheads on the horizon. “I suppose it was the least you could do for The Republic,” Duke Gregory reluctantly offered. If Tara had not been standing there, she imagined, he would have had a lot more to say.
Jasek bit off a laugh. “I’m not here for The Republic.”
“Then why are you here?”
“To settle our wager. Something about the kind of leadership Skye needed. You seemed fairly certain, once, that it would be found right here.” His glance found Tara hanging on every word. “It appears that you had to go looking, regardless.”
Tara decided to interrupt the reunion before one of these men went a step too far past the line the other was willing to bear in public. Having Jasek Kelswa-Steiner carted away by security would not help Skye. Neither would the lord governor running his son off again, and with him the Stormhammers’ strong military presence.
“We’ve all had to look for new strengths, Landgrave. Everyone,” she said. “The entire Republic.”
“Yes,” he agreed, never backing down an inch. “And I found mine with the Lyran Commonwealth.”
He threw it at her as both a challenge and an entreaty. Ta
ra found herself drawn in by Jasek’s strong will, wanting to understand his position, and that surprised her. She had expected to despise this man when she met him. Especially after learning how badly he hurt The Republic’s local military by gutting it to form his Stormhammers. Of course, most of the information she possessed she had from Duke Gregory, so it was going to be slanted somewhat off center, but she’d assumed not too far.
Certainly she had not expected to empathize.
“Wherever you found it, you are standing on Skye. Which means we may have at least one thing in common in wanting to keep these people free.” And she realized she did want to find common ground.
“Whatever else there is,” she said, looking around at the audience of Highlanders, militia, civilians, “might be better served with a less public discussion.”
Jasek hesitated, then bowed to her in a gesture of respect he had not shown his father. His eyes never left hers as she accepted a warm hand and shook it in agreement. “Whatever else might come between us, Countess,” he said sotto voce, keeping it private between the two of them and his father, “I owe you this much, for standing up for Skye when I was not here.”
There was something hard in his gaze when he said it. Something that said Jasek was not altogether pleased with her intervention. Neither was he upset, though, and the contradiction intrigued her. As did Jasek’s raw magnetism. No wonder so many soldiers had flocked to his banner. This was not something that could be inherited or learned. It could only be something that was.
Blood of the Isle Page 8
