by David Bishop
"But how can I pay for them when I don't have any money?"
Dante's new wife smiled like a barracuda. "You can pay in other ways."
I have a bad feeling about this.
Sang Gen gave a sharp whistle and the door opened to reveal a mountainous man waiting outside. Balding, bearded and barrel-chested, he was wearing nothing but a black leather throng and a crooked smile of lust. "This is Genghis. He like it when boys scream," Sang Gen explained sweetly.
Genghis had to duck his head to step into the bedroom, his massive bulk blocking the exit once he was inside.
I imagine that hangover must seem the least of your worries now.
Dante was already on his feet, careful to keep the bed between himself and Genghis. "I'm open to any brilliant suggestions, Crest."
You could try playing hard to get.
"I don't think that's going to be enough!"
Perhaps not. But use your cyborganic weapons and they'll soon realise your true identity. You need to find another way out of this.
"So you be my husband," Sang Gen asked, "or you be Genghis's wife?"
Dante shook his head. "Decisions, decisions..."
The sleek, silver flyer skimmed, only a few feet above ocean's surface. Keeping close to the water enabled the aircraft to escape all but the most sophisticated defence systems, slipping unnoticed past Pacifica. In the cockpit the navigator located their quarry. "The Okiya is dead ahead. We should be above it in three minutes."
In the flyer's cargo hold the overhead lighting switched from red to amber, a signal that the drop-zone was close. A dozen figures clad head-to-toe in black rose in unison from their seats, checking weapons and making adjustments to equipment. Only their eyes were visible through a slit in the black cloth wrappings that shrouded their heads. A single command from the smallest of the twelve brought the others to attention. The leader inspected them briefly before giving a curt nod to the one standing nearest the cargo door. He pulled it open, wind and light flooding into the confined space from outside.
The leader leaned out to look at their fast approaching target. From this distance the Geisha House of the Rising Sun resembled the love child of an aircraft carrier and a jade pagoda. It hovered close to the water's surface, sunlight glinting on the raised corners of its elaborate exterior. A dozen smaller vessels were moored around the Okiya, but they did not matter. Few witnesses would be left alive, and those that did survive would not be able to identify their attackers. Get in quick, find and neutralise the target, then get out.
Satisfied, the leader withdrew into the cargo hold and examined the display on a tiny computer strapped to his wrist. All was as expected. "Our target is still on board the Okiya," the leader announced, shouting over the roaring wind. "We have a lock on the signal from his Weapons Crest. Remember, the corpse of Nikolai Dante is worth fifty million roubles, but the Tsar will pay considerably more than that if he is captured alive and presented at the Imperial Palace. Make sure we take him alive. Is that understood?"
The men nodded their assent.
"Good. Anybody who gets in the way is collateral damage, nothing more, nothing less. Shoot to kill if necessary. Once we have Dante, the Okiya will be destroyed. If you are wounded, we will leave you behind to die. Stand by."
The hold's interior lighting switched from amber to green. "Green signal! Go, go, go!"
TWO
"The Tsar's wrath is death's emissary."
- Russian proverb
"The aftermath of the war proved more savage and more brutal than many of the atrocities committed during the conflict. The Tsar celebrated his victory over the Romanovs by sending Purge Squads to mercilessly take revenge against those whom he felt had betrayed him. Noble houses guilty of switching loyalties to the Romanovs, when it seemed the Makarov regime was doomed, felt the full force of the Tsar's wrath. Most were destroyed and new ones created from the ashes, their future loyalty assured by the Tsar's limitless tyranny.
Nikolai Dante, the so-called Hero of Rudinshtein, somehow escaped capture and execution by the Imperials. The corpse of Count Pyre was discovered after Rudinshtein fell, apparently murdered by his nemesis. The name of Nikolai Dante became accursed across the Empire, with the Tsar putting a massive bounty on the Romanov renegade's head. But what of the people left behind in Rudinshtein by their former leader?
Despite Dante's apparent desertion, the civilians who survived the war still believed in their hero and hoped he would return to save them. Rudinshtein may have been the poorest city in the Empire, yet its people proved most resistant to the reinstatement of the Tsar's rule. The job of crushing their rebellion was given to the most feared regiment of all, the Imperial Black, led by General Ivanov. It was during the next three years he earned the name Ivanov the Terrible, a reference to the oppressive regime of Russia's first Tsar, Ivan the Terrible.
Given an entire province as his plaything, Ivanov set to work with relish. He appeared to revel in the pain and suffering of others, personally supervising interrogations, torture sessions and punishment beatings. He authorised his men to use rape and murder as weapons of terror, herding innocent citizens into camps for the most brutal of subjugations. The general announced anyone who dared to say Dante's name out loud was signing their own death warrant, and offered massive rewards to those collaborators who would inform against their family or neighbours. After enjoying one of the most enlightened leaderships before the war, Rudinshtein now suffered beneath the most savage."
- Extract from After the Tsar Wars,
by Georgi Lucassovich
Jena Makarov hated having to play hostess for butchers like Ivanov. She had willingly fought and killed for her father during his war against the Romanovs, but that didn't give her any liking for the military or its leaders. The generals were men - and they were all men - who made a living from institutionalised murder, yet wished to dress it up as somehow respectable by adopting the notions of duty and honour. Honour be damned, Jena thought to herself before grimacing. Sounds like the sort of thing Nikolai used to... No, I'm not going to think about him today. Just once I'd like to get through a day without wondering where he is or what he's doing.
Three years had passed since the end of the war, when she had let him escape the ruins of Rudinshtein. Since then, Dante had led his would-be captors a merry dance, eluding all attempts to claim the bounty on his head. Despite herself Jena kept tabs on her former lover's latest escapades. He was an itch she couldn't scratch.
A few months earlier she had rejoiced in using Dante as a pawn to thwart a scheme hatched by one of her father's allies. Now she found herself waiting to welcome a man sworn to destroy Dante.
Jena had encountered Ivanov twice during the final days of the war in Rudinshtein. The bloodlust in his eyes and the sour milk stench of his breath were equally repulsive. She had no wish to ever encounter the general again, but disobeying a direct order from her father was tantamount to treason. So she waited at the Imperial Palace's aerial docking bay, cold arctic air from outside ruffling her auburn curls. In one ear a tiny comms device informed her that Ivanov's flyer was making its final approach from the south-east. "Very well," she replied. "Once the access code is confirmed, lower the energy screen and let him in."
Vassily Ivanov had been waiting for this moment all his life. The personal message from the Tsar, the invitation to step inside the hallowed halls of the Imperial Palace, the fact his contribution to the war and all his efforts since were to be acknowledged and praised by the Tsar himself... These were the moments that made all the sacrifices of the past three years worthwhile.
I must savour every second, the general told himself as he watched his flyer's final approach from behind the pilot's shoulder. I must remember every detail, every element of the experience. I shall want to relive this day many times in years to come.
The flyer sped towards the Imperial Palace, already well under the mighty shadow that the grand structure cast. The Tsar's home resembled a huge, ornate egg hovering about the city
of St Petersburg. Fashioned in the style of a Fabergé jewel, the palace was a hundred metres high. Set into one side was a vast entry port, its surface buzzing with luminous energy. As the flyer drew closer the energy faded, a clear window opening to allow access. Ivanov's aircraft swept inside the docking area and automatic systems guided the vessel to its berth.
Satisfied with the nature of his arrival, Ivanov made his way back into the main cabin, surrounded by a phalanx of Imperial Black troops and a single figure that sported the insignia of a major. "Stand easy," Ivanov commanded and his men obeyed in a heartbeat. "Sadly, I must ask you to remain here - the Tsar allows only his personal bodyguard to roam the hallways of the Imperial Palace. It seems our reputation has preceded us." The soldiers, except the major who kept his own counsel, responded with an appreciative laugh. "But whatever honour I receive from our leader, I will share it equally with you. We are all brothers under our uniform, bathed in the blood of our enemies, forged in the heat of battle. Where one of us goes, all of us walk. For the glory of the Imperial Black!"
"For the glory of the Imperial Black!" the soldiers responded fervently.
Ivanov smiled at them benevolently. "Very good. Major, if you'd accompany me outside, I believe the Tsarina is waiting for us."
"Yes, sir." Like the other soldiers, the major was clad in the black uniform of his regiment, but his helmet included a full facemask, tinted to hide the features behind its surface. Only the bottom of his jaw line was visible, and that was a horrific mass of scar tissue. The major strode to the flyer's main doorway and activated the ramp. Once that had extended out to the docking bar walkway, the flyer's outer door slid sideways.
Waiting on the walkway was a beautiful woman in a trouser suit of emerald green. Her face was pale and unlined, with perceptive green eyes framed by her auburn hair. A pert, slightly upturned nose gave her an aristocratic look, as did the way she stood.
Ivanov smiled at seeing her again. He strolled along the ramp towards Jena, his right hand reaching forward to grasp hers. "Tsarina. A pleasure, as always, to see you."
"General Ivanov," she replied curtly. There was no warmth in her face.
Ivanov stepped aside to introduce his second-in-command. The major was more than a foot taller than Jena, his imposing physical bulk and ominously blank facemask created an oppressive presence. "And this is my strong right hand, a man known simply as the Enforcer." The major nodded to Jena, who appeared grateful at not having to shake his hand as well.
"My father bids you welcome to the Imperial Palace and says he will see you shortly. I am to escort you to the Map Room."
"So be it," Ivanov replied smoothly, quickly falling into step beside Jena as she strode away. The Enforcer followed, three paces behind. "If I may ask, what occupies the Tsar this morning?"
"You may ask," Jena said icily, "but you should not expect an answer."
The general arched an eyebrow, keeping his rage hidden beneath an otherwise serene face. You snotty-nosed little bitch, he thought. What I wouldn't give for the chance to make you cry. I imagine your face would be almost beautiful when bathed in tears, christened by sorrow, chastened by fear. I could make you fear me, Tsarina. How would that suit you?
Jena led the two men down numerous corridors and through many doors within the palace. Along the way she nodded her head towards the glowering form of the Enforcer. "Is he the strong, silent type, or does he speak for himself?"
Ivanov smiled warmly. "The major only talks when he has something important to say. For most of the time, he lets his actions speak for themselves."
"I've read about your actions in Rudinshtein," Jena said. "I'm not sure they are anything of which to be proud, general."
"We have broken the rebellious spirit of the natives, as your father ordered. To a soldier, there is no greater honour than following orders," Ivanov growled, struggling to keep his temper under control. "I would have thought you of all people should understand that, Tsarina."
She did not reply, but the look of anger and disgust that crossed her face spoke volumes. Yes, I would very much like to make you weep, Ivanov decided.
Jena stopped outside a pair of double doors, their surface covered by an ornate design in gold leaf. She gestured and the doors opened to reveal a vast chamber, the height of three normal rooms. The walls were lined with leather-bound volumes, while a large holographic globe hung above a priceless antique rug on the floor. Reading tables and armchairs were scattered about the chamber, while a musty odour characteristic of libraries hung in the air. "This is the Map Room. It contains a copy of every atlas or cartographic document published in the past thousand years. The globe shows the current status of the Empire's terrestrial endeavours. You are welcome to study any of these items until my father arrives."
Ivanov and the Enforcer watched her leave, before accepting the invitation to enter the Map Room. Its double doors glided shut behind them.
Minutes later, the doors re-opened to admit the Tsar, flanked by four heavily armed guards from the Raven Corps. Ivanov and the major instantly dropped to one knee and bowed their heads, prostrating themselves before their commander-in-chief. The Tsar dismissed his bodyguards, telling them to stand outside and ensure he was not disturbed. Two metres tall, the Tsar was powerfully built with broad shoulders, a formidable face and fierce, flinty eyes. The Ruler of all the Russias was swathed in his crimson and gold Imperial robes. "Forgive my clothes," he said, after beckoning the two soldiers to stand upright. "Normally I wear a military uniform to meet members of my armed forces, but didn't have time to change after sitting in the Chamber of Judgement."
"There is nothing to forgive, sir," Ivanov said.
"Indeed. Well, general, I have much to thank you for. Rudinshtein's people were a rebellious rabble when I placed you in charge of them three years ago. From all reports they are now a shattered remnant, their spirit crushed beneath the boots of the Imperial Black, their former bravado broken."
"These reports speak true, sir," the general replied, unable to keep the glee from his face. "I have taken much pleasure in enforcing your will. There is not one among the survivors who challenges your rule."
"If all parts of the Empire were that compliant."
"Indeed, sir. If I may be so bold, I believe that in Rudinshtein we have developed methods of torture equal to any you have at your disposal here. I have tried to emulate your own flair for the creative and the cruel."
"Hmm." The Tsar approached Ivanov's second-in-command. "Major, it is a severe breach of palace protocol for visitors to wear facemasks in my presence without express permission. You would be wise to remove it immediately." The Enforcer leaned forward, slipping the helmet from his head. When he straightened up again, the Tsar blanched at the horrors that had been hidden behind the facemask. "Now I understand," the Tsar eventually said. "What creature did that to you, major?"
"I did," Ivanov interjected. He got a glare of disapproval from the Tsar, but still continued his explanation. "The major once challenged my orders. I was forced to discipline him. Ever since he had been the most loyal of all my men."
"Very well." The Tsar gestured for the Enforcer to put his helmet back on. "Now, I have a new mission for you and the men of the Imperial-"
"Forgive me, sir, but I understood you had summoned us here to reward our efforts in Rudinshtein. I had hoped you might consider appointing me as your second-in-command, bearing in mind-"
A mighty fist smashed against Ivanov's face, cracking his head to one side. The general staggered and coughed blood, but did not lose his footing. The Enforcer took a step forward to intervene, but was waved back by Ivanov. The Tsar moved to within inches of the general's face, his own features red with fury. "You dare interrupt me, your commanding officer? You presume to suggest how I should reward those who fulfil what little I expect of them?"
"Forgive me, sir. I... forgot myself."
The Tsar seethed, sucking in breath between clenched teeth, his chest rising and falling. "Forget yoursel
f again and you shall learn exactly how creative and cruel I can be. The acid enema may not be a new innovation in the world of torture, but I think you would find being on the receiving end of such a treatment must instructive in the difference between pleasure and pain!"
Ivanov did not dare meet the Tsar's eyes, keeping his own gaze fixed upon his dazzling black leather boots. "Yes, sir!"
The Tsar turned away after a pause that felt like a lifetime to the general. Vladimir the Conqueror gestured toward the holographic globe floating in the centre of the Map Room. The topographic illusion slowly rotated on its axis. As the raised mountains of Tibet and surrounding areas came into view, the Tsar pointed at that section of the globe. "As I was saying, I have a new mission for you and the men of the Imperial Black, a task of utmost importance. Consider it your reward for the good work done in Rudinshtein. I wish you to find and secure the fortress known as the Forbidden Citadel."
The general almost spluttered in disbelief, but quickly bit back his words of derision. "Yes, sir. And why do we seek this... goal?"
The Tsar smiled, apparently amused at the care with which Ivanov was choosing his words. "For the past three years Imperial interrogators have questioned the Romanov family retainers that were captured during the war. They proved resistant at first, many willing to die rather than betray the confidences they kept, but recently two of them began to weaken. One revealed the Romanovs had a special link with the Forbidden Citadel, and the other confirmed the fact when placed under sufficient... duress. Analysis of flight manifests and pilots' logs captured from the Winter Palace proved the Romanov patriarch Dmitri made several journeys to the Himalayas during the war, one of them at a time when his presence was urgently required elsewhere." The Tsar swivelled round from the globe to glare at Ivanov once more. "I want to know why he went there and you will discover that for me. Use any and all means necessary. My daughter will brief you further. That is all." He abruptly turned away and strode to the double doors. They opened automatically and the Tsar swept out, four of his bodyguards falling into step behind him.
