The Long March (The Exiled Fleet Book 2)

by Richard Fox

  ****

  The limousine pulled up to a curb just outside the massive dome Gage had seen from the spaceport. A strong breeze blew trash across a muddled red carpet leading to revolving doors flanked by two muscular guards in loose-fitting suits.

  Derringer hopped out and a pair of doors on the passenger compartment opened. Thorvald got out first and quickly scanned the area before signaling for Gage and Bertram to follow.

  The smell of rotting garbage mixed with the vapors from a broken sewer pipe a block away assaulted Gage’s senses as pulsing music thumped through the walls of the domed coliseum amidst scattered cheers.

  “Sorry I couldn’t take you to the VIP entrance,” Derringer said with a shrug. “Boss thinks your pretty uniform might start a riot if the riffraff get a look at you. It is fight night. But he did set up a private party to welcome you. Enjoy.” The driver turned a palm up and rubbed his thumb against two fingertips.

  “We’ll see ourselves in,” Gage said, then turned and walked down the carpet, flanked by Thorvald.

  Bertram looked at Derringer’s hand, then patted his hips and chest. “Bugger, our pretty uniforms don’t have pockets to carry any cash,” the steward said.

  “Bertram,” Gage said over his shoulder.

  Bertram toddled over as fast as he could on his bowed legs. “The nerve,” Bertram mumbled.

  “Do not eat anything. Do not drink anything. Accept no offer,” Gage said. “They’ll let us leave under our own power and at the time of our choosing, but that’s not to say they’ll make it easy for us.”

  “And definitely don’t accept free tickets to the ichikiju show if they have it here,” Bertram said. Thorvald gave the man a quick look. “I mean, I heard about it after shore leave on La Joya. From a friend. I would never partake in such wild-space deviancy. My friend did and he said—”

  Gage raised a hand slightly and silenced his aide as one of the bouncers touched fingertips just above his eye. “Lord Moineau and the others will see you on the second floor,” he rumbled.

  The dark glass of the revolving doors shimmered as the trio stepped inside, and the smell changed to a mixture of burning tobacco and spice. Just before they stepped out of the doorway, the doors went semi-opaque.

  Inside, a party raged. Women in ostentatious wigs, stiff corsets, and long dresses stood on an upper level, fanning themselves as they watched the chaos of the ground-floor dancers who wore little more than body paint and writhed around a raised stage. Small drones flew drinks over the crowd of dancers clustered near a DJ, his head covered by a holo of a dragon as mirrored balls swirled around him.

  “Get you gentlemen a little something?” A topless waitress with a tray full of pills and cigarettes rolled in gaudy colors stopped next to the Albians. “Purest highs this side of the Veil, Lord Moineau’s promise.” She winked at Bertram, who kept his gaze firmly on her wares.

  “Problem,” Thorvald said. “Three men in Harlequin colors have taken an interest in us.”

  “I see them,” Gage said, “and they’re next to the stairs to the upper level. Surprise, surprise.”

  “Don’t like what you see here?” the waitress asked. “Any of the staff upstairs will see you get what you like.” She looked the steward up and down.

  “Would be rude to say no to—wait for me, sir,” Bertram said as he took another glance at the waitress and hurried after Gage.

  The crowd parted as Thorvald led the Commodore to a spiral stairwell. More than one of the pirates spat on the floor as Gage passed. He kept his pace steady and his focus on the stairwell, ignoring the insults that rose from the crowd.

  “The hell I will!” One of the Harlequin men pushed another back from the bar. The second man swung a drunken punch at the first and missed terribly. The shouter landed a blow on the other’s stomach and sent the pirate stumbling back toward Gage.

  Thorvald stepped in front of Gage so fast, Gage could barely react before the Genevan grabbed the off-balance man by the shoulders. Thorvald slapped the man’s hand down and across the outside of the pirate’s red-and-black checkered pants. There was a yelp of pain and Thorvald shoved him back to his companions.

  The man touched a long cut down his pants, where a sliver of bare flesh lay exposed. The pirate wobbled, then collapsed into the other Harlequin’s arms.

  Thorvald stepped onto the spiral staircase and led Gage higher, Bertram to their rear.

  “Gorjira tincture on a fingernail blade,” Thorvald said. “Not fatal, but mimics inebriation.”

  “That was meant for Master Gage,” Bertram said. “Why didn’t you snap that lout’s neck?”

  “I believe we have enough problems.” Thorvald hurried up the last of the steps and shooed away courtesans that cooed at him from doorways to open bedrooms. Down a hallway, a pair of Katar flanked a vault door covered with crests of pirate clans.

  Lines from laser scanners traced down their bodies as they walked to the vault. Gage could almost feel the eyes of Moineau’s security apparatus pick them apart detail by detail. One did not become the lord and commander of a wild-space planet by being trusting.

  A small portal opened in the floor and a round drone the size of a fist rose up and floated toward Thorvald, an aperture opening in the center as it flew closer. Thorvald smashed the drone to bits with a backhanded swipe.

  The two Katar traded guttural words laced with static. One slid a green sword blade out from beneath a wrist but kept it pointed at the plush carpet.

  “That toy was expensive,” came from a speaker on the sword-bearer’s chest, the words fluid and lilting.

  “Do you have another scramble drone I can break? EMP emitters and my armor don’t mix. But you know that,” Thorvald said.

  “Genevan protection at Genevan prices,” came from the speaker. “Your contract still valid with that, Albie? You could find easy employment out here.”

  “Open the door,” Thorvald said firmly.

  The sword retracted into the Katar’s arm with a snap, and there was a rumbling of gears in the walls around the vault door as an energy field flickered away with a snap of ozone. The door recessed slightly and slid into the walls. Inside, a single light shone onto an enormous round table.

  “Just you,” one of the Katar said to Gage.

  “Stay here,” the Commodore said. Thorvald’s hands balled into fists, but he didn’t object.

  Gage stepped into the room as a constant breeze cast off the lingering scent of the ballroom, and fresh, clean air surrounded him. He stopped in the shadows and waited as the door shut with a mechanical thump behind him.

  The light over the table rose, revealing an old man sitting at the far edge on a raised throne. A metal frame bolted to his shoulders, legs and arms ran through a powder-blue jacket lined with gold thread. Liver spots dotted his bald head, and light gleamed off round glasses as he leaned back. He pressed his fingertips into a steeple just below his chin.

  “Commodore Gage.” The voice came from a small speaker on his jacket disguised as a gaudy medal, the same voice the Albian heard in the hallway. “We’ve heard all about you. Come, take your place.” The old man waved to the far edge of the table, and the support frame bolted to his body whined with the motion.

  Gage stepped up to the edge of a table. Stone tiles radiated out of the center, each bearing a pirate clan’s crest. Some of the tiles looked fresh; others were worn and pitted with crude carvings of names. Gage’s tile was blank.

  Men and women stepped out of the darkness and up to the edge of the table. Gage recognized them all, warlords and pirate leaders who were wanted across civilized space for crimes committed over decades. In space, Gage would have gladly blown them and their ships to ashes if they did anything but surrender immediately. What these same men and women would do to him…

  Loussan was the last to the table, taking a spot to the throne’s right, his lip tugging into a snarl as he glared at Gage.

  “Let the table come to order,” the old man said. “I’m Moineau. Have
n’t been off world since before you were born, Albian. Somehow doubt I’ve ever been on your radar. Not like some of us here.”

  Chuckles came from some of the captains, but not Loussan or a bald woman with facial tattoos to his right.

  “You asked me down here to talk. Let’s talk,” Gage said.

  “We don’t want you here, jackboot,” said a man with a pulsing red mechanical eye, his words hissing through metal-tipped teeth.

  “We want you gone. Gone before whatever doom you called to Siam can follow you,” said Kruger, leader of the Totenkopf clan.

  Moineau tapped the side of his support frame against his armrest.

  “Never in all my years in the void has a banged-up fleet from a prison planet like Albion ever stumbled into free space like yours,” he said as he raised skeletal hands up to his shoulders. “Explain.”

  “They’re called the Daegon,” Gage said. “Survivors from Albion report they jumped in from beyond the Veil. They have control over slip space far beyond anyone. They came in right on top of our star forts—our fleets at anchor—over our cities. More ships than the Reich or Cathay have in their combined fleets. No demands. No warning. They broke our defenses within an hour.”

  Gage paused and looked across the pirates. All were silent, some paler than others.

  “They followed a refugee ship to Siam, where one of their commanders spoke to me— called me a thrall and demanded instant obedience…and that I turn over the Crown Prince. When I refused, they nuked Siam and gave chase. We destroyed the navy buoy before we entered slip space, which is likely why the Daegon haven’t reached you yet,” Gage said.

  “You think Siam is the only route to wild space, Commodore?” Moineau asked as he leaned forward, canting his head to one side. “You think Albion is the only world these Daegon have attacked?”

  A cone of cold spread through Gage’s chest. How far had the Daegon marched through the stars?

  “Where else?” Gage asked.

  Moineau lifted a finger and a star map of the galaxy formed over the table. The image zoomed in to great swaths of stars color-coded to the many states of humankind. Gage found the Kingdom of Albion and saw pulsing red rings around the four stars of her modest borders. More rings sprang up around Nicodemus, Shi Chau, Busan, and another dozen stars. The line of the Daegon advance traced from the Veil…straight toward Earth.

  Gage’s eyes lingered on one star at the edge of Indus space. Several of their worlds were already under assault by the Daegon. The path for his fleet from Sicani to friendlier territory would be neither short nor simple.

  “They spoke to you,” Moineau said. “They’re…human, at least?”

  “Genetically, yes. There have been some alterations to their genome—blue and green skin, adaptation to a high-radiation environment,” Gage said. “Their technology is far more advanced than ours, but is human in origin. There was an issue with infiltrators…”

  “That burn into husks when killed.” A woman in a naval uniform coat adorned with fleur-de-lis slapped a palm against the table. Genevieve Delacroix, leader of the Wyvern clan, had once been an ensign in the Francia navy. She’d risen through the ranks of the conquered star nation’s military after their home world surrendered to the Reich and most of the Frankish ships opted to become pirates instead of surrender.

  “I can tell you how we found more sleeper agents,” Gage said.

  “Well?” Moineau stomped a heel against his throne. “We’re waiting.”

  “That knowledge is all that’s keeping my ships and crew safe,” Gage said. “I will—”

  “The code!” Loussan slammed his palms against the table. “The code is the only reason I haven’t gutted you yet. Don’t think that just because you managed to run away from the Daegon that you’re special. You’re of interest to us. For now. And we can figure out on our own what it is you know. I move to strike this parley. I have a vendetta to answer.” Loussan took a medallion out from beneath his shirt and tossed it onto the table.

  “Anyone else?” Moineau asked. Two other clan leaders tossed medallions next to Loussan’s.

  “The nays have it,” the old man said, “though I’m tempted to invoke host’s rights and put an end to all this. Tell me, Gage, anything interesting stand out when you look at my star map?”

  “The Daegon haven’t moved into wild space,” Gage said.

  “Quite right. The free worlds have stood apart from the power plays in the core worlds—never got involved when one of the Kaiser Washingtons started the Reach War. Never did anything to save the Foster when they went under the waves.”

  “Casse-toi,” Delacroix said with a sniff.

  “We stand apart,” Moineau said, “unless it’s to our advantage to cross over and liberate goods for a higher purpose. As such, we’re left to our own devices.”

  “The only reason the civilized worlds never took a torch to wild space is because slip travel from star to star was always too risky,” Gage said. “Jump lanes come and go with no pattern, leaving worlds isolated for years at a time. No nation would risk sending a large-scale fleet to end your pillaging once and for all.”

  The Totenkopf leader let a chuckle. “We bring you into our holy of holies and you have the stones to talk to us like that,” Kruger said. “I like it. Given the chance, I’d kill you last.”

  “Settle down, everyone.” Moineau shifted in his seat. “Intervention and interference are not our bailiwick, Albian. The Daegon have left us alone. Why would they go through all the trouble you just mentioned?”

  “One of their assassins spoke to me, just after she murdered my Admiral,” Gage said. “‘Nobis regiray’…you will be ruled. We heard it several more times. The Daegon aren’t here for territory. They attacked to subjugate every human being. They will come for you. For now, they can afford to ignore you.” Gage pointed into the star map. “You see their axis of advance? The Daegon are moving on the Indus core worlds and the Cathay. Their supply lines run through Albion. My world is the linchpin to their offensive. You get me to Indus space and I’ll bring more star nations into the fight against the Daegon, cut off their assault before they can crush every free world. Do you really think these monsters will leave you alone if they do occupy every star from Earth to Fallon’s World?”

  Moineau sat back and drummed his fingers against an armrest. As the other pirates looked to him, he asked, “What do you want?”

  “Safe passage to New Madras. You’ve raided it before, and you either know a few slip lanes to get close or you spent months and years in cryo doing a hard bore through the void to get there,” Gage said. “I’ll share everything we know with you in return and then bring a fleet to Albion that will stop our enemy’s advance. Help me, and you’ll save yourselves.”

  Loussan snickered, then broke into full-bore laughter.

  “What’s so funny?” Gage asked.

  “Quite the bargain you’ve proposed,” Moineau said. “It’s just that what you want isn’t something all of us can trade.”

  Loussan’s laughter grew louder and he stepped away from the table.

  “There’s only one clan that knows the lanes to New Madras, Albian. And if the Harlequins don’t want to help you,” Moineau shrugged, “as we say in free space, you’re shit out of luck. I may run Sicani, but when the rest go their separate ways, I’ve got no pull with them.”

  “No one else can…” Gage’s face flushed as he looked over the map. Any other route to the core worlds was blocked by the Daegon.

  “Get back to the table, you dog,” Moineau said over his shoulder to Loussan. “We all love a taste of schadenfreude, but you’re taking it too far.”

  Loussan emerged from the darkness, a smile across his face as wide as the conference table.

  “Your clan’s secrets are yours,” the Wyvern said to Loussan, “but if you’d deign to help the jackboots and share what they tell you, my clan would appreciate it.”

  Shouts of agreement broke out around the table.

 
Loussan put his hands to his hips. “I’ll do it,” the pirate said.

  Gage remained motionless and waited for the other shoe to drop.

  “Take his fleet through the Kigeli Nebula to New Madras safely, share what he tells us. I’ll do it…but only after he’s dead,” the Harlequin said.

  “There’ll be no cold-blooded murder on my world,” Moineau said. “My standards may be low and ill-defined, but I have them.”

  Gage let the knuckles of one fist fall onto the table. He twisted his hand from side to side, grinding against the stone. There was a way…

  “Captain Loussan of the Harlequins,” Gage said. “Her name was Ensign Cara Foche. She died on Volera because of you. I demand satisfaction.”

  Loussan perked up. He set his hands onto the table and stared daggers at Gage.

  “You’re not a clan captain, jackboot,” the Totenkopf said. “Don’t think you have those rights out here.”

  “I’m here under parley,” Gage said. “Your code applies to me. Every word of it.”

  “I move to strike.” Krueger took a medallion out of a vest pocket and tossed it into the middle of the table. “Loussan has his rights. This one has none. Send the pig back to his ship and let the Harlequins deal with them. Should be fun to watch.”

  “Opposed.” Delacroix slid a medallion between the other captain and her. “Let Loussan try and answer his blood oath in an arena. Doesn’t matter which of them dies. The Harlequin has a lieutenant that can get these Albians out of our stars and the jackboot has a lackey that knows everything he knows.”

  “Throw,” Moineau said, waving at the table. Clan leaders tossed their votes onto the table. Within a few seconds, the pile in favor of the Totenkopf’s motion to end the parley and send Gage back to the Orion was larger.

  Loussan held his medallion tightly, then tossed it to Delacroix’s stack. Even with that last vote, the Totenkopf won.

  Moineau leaned forward, then lifted his spectacles up. He squinted hard, then tried looking with just one eye.

  “Delacroix’s motion carries. Send them to an arena,” the old man said.