Gates of Cilicia
( Black Legion saga - 1 )
Michael G. Thomas
Michael G. Thomas
Gates of Cilicia
PROLOGUE
The two young men moved quickly to avoid the weapons of the training automatons. Though artificially created, the creatures looked like a man and moved with the skill and grace of a dancer. Even so, the two young men were just as fast. Wearing nothing more than their training tunics, they were completely exposed to the curved blades and spear points of their opponents. Gryllus and Eustathios were almost indistinguishable from each other. Both of the brothers were dark haired and fit from months of training. The only discernible distance was their height; Eustathios was a fraction shorter and slightly broader at the shoulders.
“Now!” cried Gryllus.
They jumped forward and ducked passed the machines. The four automatons stabbed with their spears, but the boys were too fast. The first was cut down, three slashes that removed a leg, arm and finally a head. The final three stepped back and aimed their weapons at the boys, keeping them at a distance. Two stabbed at Gryllus, and he managed to sidestep them, but only just. One of the tips grazed his cheek, but he was able to cut down to remove the arms of the machine. It slumped down to its knees and deactivated.
“Move back!” shouted Eustathios.
He didn’t even wait, knowing full well his brother would do as asked. His blade swung and cut into the fallen automaton and removed its head. The two remaining automatons dropped their spears and drew a pair of blunt training swords to match the boys. Both were curved and about a metre long. One hacked away while the second stayed close, waiting for a mistake by either boy. Gryllus parried attack after attack, but the machines were too quick for either of them to counterattack in time.
Eustathios stumbled and fell to the floor, and one of the automatons broke ranks to chase him. It was a simple trick and easily spotted by a human. These automatons were nothing like the artificial life used by the Empire as workers. These were stripped of all but the most basic routines to make them useful for combat training. Anything more would encourage the possibility of revolt, and something the Laconians had learnt long ago, much to their cost.
Eustathios rolled to his side and then slashed out at the automaton. From his low position, he easily cut through the ankle. The strike sent the machine to the floor only to be followed up by Gryllus. Eustathios jumped up and joined his brother for the final blow.
“Nice work,” exclaimed Gryllus with a cheeky grin.
“Enough!” called out the old man that watched from the safety of the balcony.
The automaton instantly shutdown and gave the impression of a lifelike statue in the gymnasium. The two boys looked up to their father, disappointment in their eyes. He looked down and smiled.
“You have both done well. These automatons are expensive, and I have no doubt you would have eliminated the last as quickly as the first. You will practice against a new trainer tomorrow, a live Terran trainer from old Laconia. He will hone the two of you into formidable warriors. For now, rest yourselves, you have a big day ahead of you.”
Two servants helped Xenophon to his chair at the side of the gymnasium. His body was old, yet his muscles were firm and his face bright with life. At one hundred and seventeen years old, he was no longer a young man. Yet in an age where a man’s life could be extended to nearly double that, he could still feel the aches from him numerous old wounds. As he sat down, he rubbed his right hand, the numbness in the knuckles still bringing a little pain. Bizarrely, he smiled at the feeling.
“What is it, Father?” asked Gryllus, his youngest son. He was confused at his mixture of pain and enjoyment. Xenophon looked back, unsure as to what he was referring to.
“What do you mean?”
“What are you smiling at?” he asked again.
“Ah, you boys remind me of my youth. Glaucon and I used to train very much like you two, before the war with Laconia.”
The young boy looked confused, scratching his chin. There was something about his tone when he mentioned Laconia that sounded sarcastic. His father said nothing more though, so he picked up his training sabre. It was a basic design with a simple hilt and long curved blade. He used it often during his training and had performed routine maintenance on it over a number of years. He held it out in front of Xenophon.
“Why did you train with weapons like these then?”
“Ah, I see,” replied Xenophon. “You don’t understand why we trained to use close quarter combat weapons when we had access to much more powerful weapons. That is a good question.”
He adjusted his position, making himself more comfortable.
“Back when the Alliance still existed, some of us trained for all kinds of combat. There are times you might be forced to fight when you’re unarmed, and other times you might have to fight with a knife or blade. Our first real battle at the Cilician Gates involved a great deal of bladework.”
Eustathios wandered over and sat down next to the two of them.
“Only some of you trained? Not all soldiers?” he asked, now interested in their conversation.
“No, very few did outside of Laconia. It proved useful in our dealings with Clearchus and the Ten Thousand though,” he said, smiling to himself.
“The expedition against the Medes?” asked Gryllus.
Xenophon nodded slowly at them both. He moved his hand in a gesture that brought up a map of the star systems nearby. He was about to speak but turned back to them, noticing their confused expression.
“Of course, that was well before you two were born.”
He looked back to the starmap.
“Not many talk about it now, except for those that are still alive that took part. We were the first to discover the rot at the heart of the old Median Empire.”
He brought up an image of a battle filled out with dozens of warriors engaged in a violent firefight. Both sides were armoured, but one group was very different to the Terrans. Whereas the humans wore armour that shared much in common with archaic human armour used back on Old Earth, the Medes were very different. Taller, more slender and wearing close fitting body armour, they looked both alien and elegant. One had his helmet removed, and it showed off his long hair and almost elfin facial features.
“Recognise the artwork?”
Gryllus spoke first.
“The Battle of Plataea, where the Terrans allied for the first time to fight back the Medes.”
“Father, of course we know the image. It’s one of the most famous pieces of art still left from the wars.”
Xenophon smiled at them both, pleased with their knowledge and interest in the subject.
“Our old rivals and most bitter enemies. None of that would have mattered without one particular decision. In this case, the last one ever made by the Terran Alliance and its much vaunted democracy.”
CHAPTER ONE
Attica, Capital of the Terran Alliance
“Today we choose to go to war then?” asked Xenophon, with more than a hint or sarcasm to his voice. His old friend Glaucon tried to respond but was drowned out by the roar of six Thunderbolt fighters. The heavy fighters flew over the city, leaving a trail of vapour and smoke behind them. It was a show of force by the Alliance military, and more than likely a reminder as to which way the public were expected to vote. Xenophon smiled inwardly, lowering his gaze to the people and the exquisite buildings.
“Come on, we have work to do.”
Glaucon glanced at his friend, recognising the keenness to vote. They shared much, but a view on politics wasn’t one of them. He followed Xenophon to the entrance of the main buildings and stopped when they reached the guards. The Prefect of th
e Inner Ward stood nearby with his symbol of authority, a centuries old glaive. The old-fashioned polearm weapon was a relic from a long bygone era, and one of just a handful remaining. It consisted of a single-edged blade on the end of a pole and was encrusted with precious stones and metals. Two guards stood by in full Alliance military uniforms and cradling standard issue pulse carbines across their chests.
“A bit over the top, isn’t that?” asked Glaucon, not in the slightest concerned at addressing one of the highest official in the city. The Prefect looked at him but said nothing. Glaucon looked back to Xenophon who just smiled and nudged him forward.
“Don’t dawdle, we have business to attend to!” he laughed.
The Ecclesia was packed with citizens of every age and background from across the planet. Some were regular attendants of the assembly, for others it was their very first visit. Either way, it was quite possibly the single most important meeting of the Ecclesia since its founding hundreds of years before. It often reminded Xenophon of an unruly mob with its long arguments and snap decisions. The debate had already finished, and across Attica similar gatherings were taking place. The decisions made today by the citizen body would determine the future of not just the homeworld but also the entire Alliance. Any citizen was allowed to speak or vote, but only those with military service were allowed to participate in the elite and prestigious body known as the Boule. Five hundred citizens were chosen by lot each year to run this important department. The Boule’s primary role was to administer and run day-to-day affairs, but it also presented business to the assembly of the citizens to be voted upon.
Xenophon watched with interest as a number of young men and women he knew well approached the stand. They had all served their required year in the military to receive the honour, an honour that he so far had managed to avoid. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to serve in the military. It was just that he felt no particular calling to serve when the only real threat was from pirates or slavers. The cold war between the two old Terran rivals was always on but had spilled out into open warfare for decades. He liked to think that when the time came, and his people were in peril, he would step up and volunteer. They waited a short moment before an older man, slightly shorter and in his official robes, approached. He took place in the centre of the group and looked down to the crowds of citizens. This was something that happened only on the free worlds of the Alliance. No other empire or organisation could claim this level of democracy or involvement by its citizens in the day-to-day running of the state.
Not that a democracy is the best form of government. This place is more like a cattle market than a place of political discourse, Xenophon considered with great disdain.
Most of the Alliance worlds had adopted various forms of democratic government, but Attica was unique. This was the only world where every single citizen could, and was expected to, play a part. They held public office and voted on everything from tax and spending to foreign affairs and deployment of the armed forces. Unlike most worlds, it was possible to work for a year as a magistrate or official in some capacity, based purely by lot, not merit. It was a system loved by most, but not Xenophon.
A silence spread through the great open building as the old man raised his arms. It was the signal for all those present to take their seats. It took a few seconds. Especially, as many of those present were a good deal older than Xenophon.
“Citizens, the debate before the members of the Boule is over. This has been a long and difficult topic to discuss, and we have sought information, intelligence and expertise at every stage. We cannot deny the public interest in this struggle and have therefore decided it is time for you to vote on the proposed call-up and military action. As citizens of Attica and the Alliance, your votes must now be considered. As is tradition, we have a fifteen-minute recess to give you the opportunity to place your ballots and to double-check the official records and statements. Before you vote, I would like to reiterate the importance of this vote. A decision for war will mean sending your own sons and daughters, even yourselves, into harm’s way. Do not enter into such a decision lightly.”
The first sensible thing I have heard all day, thought Xenophon.
The man sat down, and no sooner did he touch the stonework, the entire place erupted into action. A great chorus of shouting, chattering and general noise echoed through the Ecclesia. The acoustics did nothing but help the spread of sound to every corner of the ancient structure. Xenophon and Glaucon moved away to the side where it was a little quieter. The Assembly building itself was circular in shape and equipped with beautifully detailed columns around the perimeter. The stonework was lavishly carved with great events from the Terrans’ past. Stories, such as the first colonies founded by humanity, took up most of the space. In the centre of the building was a much thicker, larger column that had been erected almost a century before. The two men moved past the column as they made their way to one of the many alcoves that dotted the stone structure. Vertical display panels were placed at discrete points so that citizens could vote in private. Glaucon stopped and gazed at the lighter stonework of the large column. He was of a more bulky shape than Xenophon, a mixture of genetics and a lot of time in the gymnasium. Where Xenophon was the intelligent, calculating and agile young man, Glaucon was the rich liberal, yet ham-fisted and easy to anger.
“Still looks too new, don’t you think?”
“Yes, I think interest in the victory will fade well before the stonework does.”
Glaucon shook his head in disbelief. It was yet another field of history or politics for them to argue about.
“Really? You don’t think the Terran victory against the two invasions by the Median Empire is the seminal moment in our shared histories?”
“Of course it is, but probably not for the reasons you think it is.”
Glaucon sighed, preparing himself for another of his friend’s lectures.
“You see, it is also one of the events that shows us why the Laconian and Alliance colonies have more in common than you might think. Don’t forget, it was the manpower of the Laconian automaton slaves that gave us the edge in heavy infantry. Only their state, one based around war, was able to decisively delay the Empire’s advance and then finish them off at the Plataea. The Alliance could never have stood without help.”
“What? You forget our breaking of the siege? It was the single most important space battle in the history of humanity. It was our ships that smashed imperial warships even though we were outnumbered ten to one. The Laconians are animals. They create nothing, are poorly educated…”
“And yet they could crush us in any equal engagement?” added a defiant Xenophon.
Glaucon shook his head and sighed.
“Watch your tongue in this place. You know what the mood is here, and that kind of talk could get you ostracised.”
Xenophon nodded in agreement.
“In that you are correct. You just have to love the mob.”
They both looked at the numbers around them. Some looked as though they were taking it all very seriously, but a large number of the younger citizens stood out. They wore symbols and logos with a variety of causes, of which one of the most common concerned spreading democracy to those still ruled by dictators.
“Look at them, go on, look. This is the problem with mob rule. They believe their causes are important even though those they will affect may feel otherwise. You’ll remember the last argument we had with them. We were accused of all kinds of crimes unless we agreed with their liberal agenda. These are the people that will determine our fate!”
He lifted his hands and turned on the spot as if pointing out the great horde of people in the Assembly. He did a complete revolution before turning back to Glaucon.
“It is too easy to let them decide to fight or not to fight. Their decisions are based upon short-term thinking and emotion. Logic, history and reason mean nothing to them, just their own selfish agenda. These decisions should be made by those with wisdom and experienc
e that will take all of us into account.”
“I take it you’re voting against the Armada, then?” asked Glaucon, sounding irritated. Xenophon had a look that told him precisely what he thought about it.
“This entire vote is nonsense. We’ve been at war for nearly three decades now, and apart from our allies doing most of the work, what have we achieved? The League is too powerful to allow any successful assault on their worlds, and the Alliance Fleet is too large to allow them to attack us. It’s a stalemate, and that’s why we let our allies fight the war for us, by proxy. If we escalate the war, we change it to one where one side has to win and the other has to lose.”
Glaucon nodded but not quite appreciating the point Xenophon was making against a decision to go to war.
“Exactly, it’s a cowards way of fighting. A yes vote will mobilise all eligible citizens to the Armada. If we take the fight to the Laconians, we can end this war once and for all. A democratic Laconia would be to the benefit of all Terrans.”
“If you think so. We could, of course, lose the fleet and the war in one move. This is nothing more than mob rule dictating state policy. The vote should never have been given to those unable to understand its importance.”
Glaucon shook his head.
“Sometimes I just don’t understand you. You are from a family with long service to the Alliance. Your father fought the Laconians, did he not?”
“And died fighting them, for what? They speak the same language, share most of the same customs. It’s not like we even want their barren homeworld. It is a dull and lifeless place that breeds only the hard and strong. He was forced to fight against friends, even family. Don’t forget that borders and boundaries are just lines on maps. You have family in their territory as well, don’t forget.”
“I wonder why you don’t live there sometimes. You seem to have a greater love for their customs and laws than we have in the Alliance,” muttered Glaucon.
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