by Richard Fox
Krohe handed a sword to Martel. The colonel examined it, running a thumb around the seal within the round pommel, and then Martel drove the sword into the ground in front of Roland. Martel grabbed Roland’s arm, not touching the ceremonial sword the armor held and pressed his hand to the new sword’s hilt.
The colonel backed up, raised one hand, and struck it against the armor’s blade, which cut into Roland’s palm. Roland did not flinch, continuing his chant as blood dripped down the sword. Once the first drop reached the earth, Martel removed Roland’s bleeding hand and pressed it to the hilt of his new sword.
“Roland Shaw,” the colonel said, “find those worthy to carry your name here. The Templar know you.”
Martel nodded to Roland and moved away.
Roland ignored the throbbing pain in his hand. His voice trailed away as he felt someone else approach. He looked up, but there was no one there. The sun’s early light broke around the statues, and his gaze went to the Iron Heart, Elias.
A touch went down the side of his face and Roland’s eyes welled with tears.
I’m Templar, he thought. He looked down at the red cross on his tunic and felt the press of his Iron Dragoons patch beneath.
I am Templar.
Chapter 34
Marc Ibarra paced back and forth in his cell, twisted light from the privacy screen reflecting off his metal body.
“We’ve been in worse spots, Jimmy,” he said, wagging a finger at the drawer where he kept the dead Qa’Resh probe. “Remember all those years under my tower while the Xaros picked the planet clean? I don’t. You made me sleep through all that. Something about me going insane after so long. Well, that’s not going to happen here!”
He raised his finger higher, then froze. He tucked the hand behind his back.
“I’m talking to you again. That’s not what a sane person does. We talk to ourselves. Wait—no we don’t.”
The privacy screen snapped off and Marc found himself looking at the closed vault door. He whirled around to Roland’s cell…and found Stacey sitting on the cot, the door open. She held Bassani’s primer in her lap and was gently flipping through the pages.
“Hello, Grandfather,” she said.
“Stacey…I-I-you’re here! Because you want to be, I assume. To talk. Not because there’s been another coup and we get to stare at each other and think about our life choices,” Marc said.
She set the primer aside and looked up at him, any emotions she might be feeling hidden behind her doll-like face.
“You never gave me the chance to explain,” Marc said. “I kept the back channel open to Earth to feed them misinformation! That’s how it works. If you’d known then, maybe something would’ve slipped up and then the whole situation would—”
“Stop.” Stacey stood up and took a step toward the bars between them. “Lies. All lies with you. Forever and always. You built your empire on a lie that you were this amazing inventor. You raised me on a lie, that I was born just a little different by accident.” She ran the tips of her silver fingers down the length of her other hand. “You built the fleet that would survive the Xaros invasion on a lie. We lied to them all to win the war…and that lie brought us the Toth.
“Our debts are called due. Old sins require absolution. Yours and mine.”
Marc went to the bars and reached out to her. She stood firm.
“We created Navarre to save humanity,” she said, “then you betrayed it all.”
“I was only trying to help—”
“Lies!”
“What do you want from me, Stacey? An apology? To beg for my freedom? I know what I’ve done through the years. If my soul went to the great beyond after my body died, I’m confident it’s in hell. But you know why I did it—for all of humanity, to ensure a future…not extinction.”
“You thought we couldn’t create that future?” She lifted her arms to her sides. “We have the procedural technology. A clean slate. Whatever future we chose to design.”
“The galaxy would never let us have that,” he said. “I thought it might, but for once in my life, I was naive. The procedurals are too dangerous because they’re a clean slate. What have you done since you cast me out?”
“You lacked conviction. You lacked faith in me. Having you down here has given me breathing room…so to speak. The great plan continues…but I have built my empire on the truth. The nation knows the threat. They know what they are and why we fight. You should see them, Grandfather. The truth has set us all free.”
She stepped out of the cell and ran her fingers along the bars as she walked toward the vault door.
“What did you do to Roland? Did you kill him?” Marc asked.
Stacey stopped and wrapped her fingers around a bar.
“Ah, my little poisoned seed,” she said. “I let him go home, armed with the deadliest weapon I could give him. Something you could never harness.” She looked him in the eye, and Marc felt a sorrow well up inside him. The Stacey he had known was so far gone. Was there anything left of her?
“The truth.” Marc’s shoulders slumped.
“Wrong!” She said the word like it was a triumph. “The truth was the method, but not the weapon. I showed him who we are. Showed him a path that would take him back to Earth and his Templar with the weapon—and he went willingly. Roland is back on Earth and he’s already spread the weapon…doubt. The Terrans know that we’re not so different from them, that we have the same heroes. Our children cry the same as theirs. Widows weep for slain soldiers. The Ibarra Nation is more like Earth than any ally from Bastion.”
“If our armor realize what you’ve done—”
“The armor are not loyal to me or to you,” she said. “I’ve known this for years. They are loyal to their creed, to humanity’s continued future. So long as I embody that future, they will follow me. Roland is doubt on Earth, but on Navarre, he was certainty—certainty that the Terran Union can be shown the light and brought over.”
“You don’t know Garret like I do,” Marc said. “He put that careerist Laran in charge of their Armor Corps after we…oh no…”
“Oh yes, Grandfather. You taught me well. Divide and conquer. The longer Roland is allowed to walk around, the more doubt will spread. Eventually, Earth will be forced to act and then…”
“Rebellion,” Marc said. “You’re using him as a pawn. This game won’t go the way you think it will, Stacey. Don’t do this to him—he’s a good kid.”
“Now you care. You didn’t care about me when you first sent me to Bastion. I didn’t learn the truth until I realized that this—” She struck the bars hard enough to send them ringing. “—this is what I was.”
Marc backed away.
“That’s why you put him down here—to get just the right information for him to feed back to Earth. Well played, Stacey. I’m impressed. Did you come down here just to gloat?”
“No…” She picked up a data slate from the floor. “I need your help. The political situation between Earth and Bastion is proving difficult to manage. I need your help with another project while I deal with the bigger picture.” She slipped the corner of the data slate through the bars and asked, “Interested? Or do you want to keep reading the classics?”
Marc looked at the slate and the promise of new information, news from beyond his miserable little cell. If he still had a mouth, it would water.
“I’m…you have my attention.” He reached for the slate, but Stacey yanked it away.
“I need an old friend and his ship,” Stacey said. “Admiral Valdar and the Breitenfeld. You’ll help me, won’t you?” She tapped the slate against the bars.
Marc hesitated, then took it from her.
Epilogue
Tomenakai and the rest of the Kesaht Grand Council waited as Bale watched several video screens of footage from the battle on Balmaseda. Ruhaald text lined the edge of each screen, shifting with new data as the fighting continued.
The Ixion and Sanheel risen of the Grand Council stood uneasily
as the ends of Bale’s nervous system twitched. The Savior was difficult to read, as he’d ascended from his body many years before.
“Survivors?” Bale asked.
“The Kesaht held true to the cause and died fighting. Any that were trapped in disabled ships killed themselves before they could be taken by the humans, Master,” Tomenakai said. That the Grand Council had chosen him, a disgraced Ixion whose immortalis implants had been deactivated for failure. Senior Kesaht leaders all had the implants, which kept their minds alive for centuries, jumping from body to body.
“Though, the risen commander of our colossus unit was lost when Gor’thig’s flagship was destroyed,” Tomenakai added.
“Gor’thig was a fool,” Bale said. “He should not have damaged the Crucible so quickly. Then he allowed himself to be drawn in to the human’s trap. He will not be missed.”
“The human’s use of the macro cannons was a new tactic,” Tomenakai said. “Why our Vishrakath allies did not share that the cursed ones had this technology is of question to the Grand Council.”
“The Vishrakath are spineless! Weak!” Bale raised one of the mechanical limbs beneath his tank and crushed a holo projector. “They want others to bleed for their schemes while they grow in power. This will not be their galaxy! Do you all understand that? Every race will join our great unity then we will have true peace.”
“The Vishrakath have asked as to the investigation of their missing envoys,” Tomenakai lowered his gaze.
“The explosion on their vessel was most unfortunate. Send off our findings and whatever organic matter remains,” the ends of Bale’s nerves twitched slightly.
“The losses we suffered on Balmaseda are…significant,” Tomenakai said.
“And replaceable,” Bale said. “We will continue the war against the cursed humans until the Vishrakath finally deliver the rest of the galaxy into the fight against Earth and the Ibarras, just as they promised. Then we will sweep across their worlds and wipe them out. All of them.”
THE END
The story continues in A House Divided! Coming Spring 2018
FROM THE AUTHOR
Hello Dear and Gentle Reader,
Thank you for reading The True Measure. I hope you enjoyed your time with Roland and the armor, much more on the way!
Please leave a review on Amazon and let me know how I’m doing as a storyteller.
I’ve been a fan of science fiction since I saw Star Wars in the theater when I was a wee lad. My love for all things space ship and giant robot has only grown over time, I’m fortunate that I can add a few new stories to the genre.
Drop me a line at [email protected].
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Also By Richard Fox:
The Ember War Saga:
1. The Ember War
2. The Ruins of Anthalas
3. Blood of Heroes
4. Earth Defiant
5. The Gardens of Nibiru
6. The Battle of the Void
7. The Siege of Earth
8. The Crucible
9. The Xaros Reckoning
Terran Armor Corps:
1. Iron Dragoons
2. The Ibarra Sanction
3. The True Measure
4. A House Divided (Coming Spring 2018!)
The Exiled Fleet Series:
1. Albion Lost
2. The Long March
3. Their Finest Hour (Coming Fall 2017!)
Read THE EMBER WAR for Free
The Earth is doomed. Humanity has a chance. Read where the saga began!
In the near future, an alien probe arrives on Earth with a pivotal mission—determine if humanity has what it takes to survive the impending invasion by a merciless armada.
The probe discovers Marc Ibarra, a young inventor, who holds the key to a daring gambit that could save a fraction of Earth's population. Humanity's only chance lies with Ibarra's ability to keep a terrible secret and engineer the planet down the narrow path to survival.
Earth will need a fleet. One with a hidden purpose. One strong enough to fight a battle against annihilation.
The Ember War is the first installment in an epic military sci-fi series. If you like A Hymn Before Battle by John Ringo and The Last Starship by Vaughn Heppner, then you'll love this explosive adventure with constant thrills and high stakes from cover to cover.
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Here’s a sample for you:
CHAPTER 1
THE NEAR FUTURE
Humanity’s only hope of survival entered the solar system at nearly the speed of light. The probe slowed as the sun’s heliosphere disrupted the graviton wave it rode in on from the abyss of deep space. Awakened by the sudden deceleration, the probe absorbed the electromagnetic spectrum utilized by its target species and assessed the technological sophistication of the sole sentient species on Earth.
The probe adjusted its course to take it into the system’s star. If the humans couldn’t survive—with its help—what was to come, then the probe would annihilate itself. There would be no trace of it for the enemy, and no chance of humanity’s existence beyond the time it had until the enemy arrived. The probe analyzed filed patents, military expenditures, birth rates, mathematical advancement and space exploration.
The first assessment fell within the margin of error of survival and extinction for humanity. The probe’s programming allowed for limited autonomous decision making (choice being a rare luxury for the probe’s class of artificial intelligence). The probe found itself in a position to choose between ending its mission in the sun’s fire and a mathematically improbable defense of humanity—and the potential compromise of its much larger mission.
Given the rare opportunity to make its own decision, the probe opted to dither. In the week it took to pass into Jupiter’s orbit, the probe took in more data. It scoured the Internet for factors to add to the assessment, but the assessment remained the same: unlikely, but possible. By the time it shot past Mars, the probe still hadn’t made a decision.
As the time to adjust course for Earth or continue into the sun approached, the probe conducted a final scan of cloud storage servers for any new information…and found something interesting.
While the new information made only a negligible impact on the assessment, the probe adjusted course to Earth. It hadn’t traveled all this way for nothing.
In the desert south of Phoenix, Arizona, it landed with no more fanfare than a slight thump and a few startled cows. Then it broke into the local cell network and made a call.
****
Marc Ibarra awoke to his phone ringing at max volume, playing a pop ditty that he hated with vehemence. He rolled off the mattress that lay on the floor and crawled on his hands and knees to where his cell was recharging. His roommate, who paid the majority of their rent and got to sleep on an actual bed, grumbled and let off a slew of slurred insults.
Marc reached his cell and slapped at it until the offending music ended. He blinked sleep from his eyes and tried to focus on the caller’s name on the screen. The only people who’d call at this ungodly hour were his family in Basque country…or maybe Jessica in his applied robotics course wanted a late-night study break.
The name on the screen was “ANSWER ME”.
He closed an eye and reread the name. It was way too early—or too late, depending on one’s point of view—for this nonsense. He turned the ringer off and went back to bed. Sleep was about to claim him when the phone rang again, just as loudly as last time but now with a disco anthem.
“Seriously?” his roommate slurred.
Marc declined the call and powered the phone off. He flopped back on his bed and curled into his blanket. To hell with my first class, he thought. Arizona State
University had a lax attendance policy, one which he’d abuse for nights like this.
The cell erupted with big-band music. Marc took his head out from beneath the covers and looked at his phone like it was a thing possessed. The phone vibrated so hard that it practically danced a jig on the floor and the screen flashed “ANSWER ME” over and over again as music blared.
“Dude?” said his roommate, now sitting up in his bed.
Marc swiped the phone off the charging cord and the music stopped. The caller’s name undulated with a rainbow of colors and an arrow appeared on the screen pointing to the button he had to press to answer the call. When did I get this app? he thought.
Marc sighed and left the bedroom, meandering into the hallway bathroom with the grace of a zombie. The battered mattress he slept on played hell with his back and left him stiff every morning. Dropping his boxers, he took a seat on the toilet and answered the call, determined to return this caller’s civility with some interesting background noise.
“What?” he murmured.
“Marc Ibarra. I need to see you.” The voice was mechanical, asexual in its monotone.
“Do you have any frigging idea what time it is? Wait, who the hell is this?”
“You must come to me immediately. We must discuss the mathematical proof you have stored in document title ‘thiscantberight.doc.’”
Marc shot to his feet. The boxers around his ankles tripped him up and he stumbled out of the bathroom and fell against the wall. His elbow punched a hole in the drywall and the cell clattered to the floor.
He scooped the phone back up and struggled to breathe as a sudden asthma attack came over him.
