War of the Exiles

by Michael G. Thomas

  Tahkeome sighed.

  "And yet for all the victories you have experienced, Karnak remains at war, while Tarak and our forces have been defeated in space. The entire strategic fleet has been smashed. How did this happen?"

  Nakoma began to shake her head. Tahkeome had been gone for some time, and she had no idea what he had been doing for the last two months. Even so, the space battle was nothing to do with her, and she had no intention of claiming responsibility for anything Tarak or the ship captains had done.

  "No, my Lord. That is nothing but Byotai propaganda. I take my position very seriously on Karnak, but what happens up there, well, that is out of my hands."

  She licked her lips and immediately regretted sounding so defensive and weak.

  You fool, command the conversation, or fall forever.

  "My clan has brought everything here to claim Karnak in our name, my Lord. What happens out there in the void; it means little."

  Tahkeome turned his attention momentarily away from Nakoma and to the other four. After examining each of them, he concentrated on Nakoma's senior commander, noting the marking on his armour and sand cloak.

  "Senior Centurion Siwili, your reputation precedes you."

  The warrior bowed a little in acknowledgement.

  "Thank you, Lord Tahkeome."

  He then looked out to the assembled mass of warriors and smiled.

  "You have created a fine army for the League, one filled with experienced warriors. It will be my honour to lead it against my enemies."

  Siwili said nothing, but Ogimà Nakoma couldn't control herself.

  "You are staying here to lead the war effort?"

  Tahkeome smiled, an alluring expression that would have melted the heart of any before him, but not the stone-cold heart of Nakoma.

  "No, my great war chief."

  The name should have been a great honour, but at this moment it felt like a slap to her face. She'd spent months building up forces and relocating her entire clan here.

  "The Council is gone, destroyed in a celestial event that has consumed three star systems. The Ogimà have seized the chance and turned on each other, just as they always have. With the Byotai snapping at our flanks, we face disaster and ruin from both outside and within."

  "I...I had not heard this," said Nakoma.

  Tahkeome continued to speak, as though he had not even heard her.

  "I am taking responsibility for the safety of our people. I am therefore calling upon the ancient tithe from every border clan. It is time for us in the Marche to show the rest of our people what strength and resilience truly is."

  His lip lifted a little at the corner.

  "I will bring order from chaos, once and for all for every Anicinàbe. No longer will we be pushed around by the Byotai, the Khreenk, and the others."

  Tahkeome lifted both of his hands high above his head.

  "When I am successful, I will remove the Council and the League, and in its place an Imperium will be created. As it was foretold millennia ago by our ancestors."

  Ogimà Nakoma was stunned. The ancient tithe required handing over twenty-five percent of her warriors. Doing so would cripple her plans to assist the other clans in the North and South of the planet.

  "Ogimà, you will command here and continue your fine work during my absence. The Byotai are strong, and their resources are ample to prolong this war. They will not be defeated by naked force of arms."

  He ground one fist into the open palm of the other as he composed himself. Ogimà Nakoma glanced over to his personal guard, but not one of them moved, not even when he showed signs of emotion or passion.

  "Their will to fight must first be broken, and from that will come fear. A fear so strong and deep-rooted even their bravest fighters will tremble for the sake of their homes and families. Then, and only then, will come their ultimate defeat."

  Ogimà Nakoma began to smile as she listened to these words. Since arriving on Karnak, the clans had been given simple directions. To avoid giving the Byotai casus belli; it was important to keep the fighting low key. Attacks were fast, targeted, and followed up by raids. For months she'd wanted to take off the gloves and take the fight to the Byotai, and now it seemed she might get her wish.

  "What is it you ask of me?"

  Tahkeome moved closer and extended out his arms to her shoulders.

  "The reputation of Ogimà Nakoma, the Angel of Death, is known throughout our territory. I want the Byotai to learn first hand what the terror of Ogimà Nakoma truly is. You will take the remainder of your forces and change tactics to that of terror. Break their will, burn their homes, and bomb their cities."

  Nakoma almost choked at hearing this. To another warrior this might have bordered on offensive, but not to her. She had not heard that nickname in a long time, and even then only from her own people. In her early days, she had raided border colonies and transports, taking prisoners and torturing them until ransomed, or simply for sport.

  A Terror War, that is exactly what Karnak needs.

  Tahkeome turned back and spoke quietly to one of his personal guards, and then looked back to her. He seemed very happy with what they had discussed, much to Nakoma's surprise.

  "Nakoma. I cannot stay. Much that I would like to participate in this operation, I must repair the damage done by our people."

  He looked back at the ship he had so recently arrived on.

  "The Anicinàbe have failed for centuries. This disruption is the opportunity we need to finally bring unity and order. I will return, be it a month or even a year, and we will unleash an age of unity."

  Nakoma tried to speak, but her mouth was dry and parched.

  "Ogimà Nakoma, you must bring me a war and introduce a reign of terror like the Byotai have never experienced before. In exchange for your sacrifice, when I return, I will bring back ten warriors for every one you give me today. When they see our legions, they will flee like the cold-bloods they are."

  The leader of the Spires Clan bowed.

  "It will be done, my Lord. And when that day comes, we will stand shoulder-to-shoulder against all enemies of the Anicinàbe."

  Tahkeome gave her a polite smile.

  "Of course, Ogimà. You will be among my most trusted generals. It will be a holy war like no other, and all will be welcome to live in our domain, once they yield."

  He turned back to his craft and walked between the two lines of personal guards. Ogimà Nakoma lifted herself up tall as she watched him leave. At first her rage was almost impossible to contain. Losing a number of her warriors was far from ideal, but being among the leading generals of Tahkeome would be a height she had never once expected to reach. Even better was having the restrictions removed from her activities.

  The Byotai will beg for my forgiveness when this is over. And I will offer it, before gutting them like cattle.

  Then she noticed that Tahkeome had stopped and was looking at her. For a fraction of a second she sensed betrayal, and her right hand began to move low against her thigh, reaching for a weapon. Even on such a ceremonial occasion she would carry weapons. Blades were normal in her clan, but Nakoma also carried a short-barrelled pistol. This ceremonial weapon contained a pair of octagonal barrels, one above the other. As her fingers moved to the grip, she spotted Tahkeome open his mouth to speak.

  Wait, but be ready.

  "Ogimà, give the order. I require your troops and transports to carry them within the hour. When you are done, you will join me aboard my vessel. We can finalise arrangements for your campaign, and more important, we will follow the old way in the sealing of our union."

  "Old way, my Lord?"

  Tahkeome lowered his head in a conciliatory fashion.

  "All that live within our glorious new Imperium will unite. Anicinàbe, Byotai, Khreenk, even Human. All will have a place in our new world, but only if they succumb to our ways. This is not a union of words, or coin, or territory. We will bind our Imperium with the union of flesh."

  Ogimà Nakom
a swallowed uncomfortably. The thought of Tahkeome taking her might have thrilled her imagination in the past, but having seen him, and knowing he was of impure origin, sent a shudder through her body. The division of her race had begun centuries earlier, and even after all this time, it was still the greatest crime to be classed as a half-blood.

  "Me, my Lord?"

  Tahkeome had now reached the top of the ramp and still faced away from her.

  "Bring a friend, or bring ten, if that is your desire. It matters not, providing the ritual of flesh is observed. There is no number you can think of that will satiate me. When the union is complete, we will be joined until the end."

  He then vanished, leaving Nakoma speechless, yet wondrous of what this glorious future might entail.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The myths of the Trusskan people have always been something of an enigma. Until the bloodbath in T'Kari space, few in the Alliance gave the stories much thought. In the months and years after, rumours spread of advanced technology, and of the enlightenment that such knowledge could bring. It did not take long for movements on different worlds to begin, all founded on the idea of creating explorer fleets to search the far reaches of space. The Carthago Trade Consortium took advantage of this interest to help fund the charitable institution known as The Guild of Explorers, and though it would take considerable time, the eventual rewards would prove beyond measure.

  Gods from the Machine

  Byotai Armoured Troop Transport 'Kraken',

  Karnak, Tenth Quadrant, 5 Days Later

  The alarm sounded as the transport deactivated one of its primary engines and engaged the next in line. This gave a subtle shift in gravity as the levels of propulsion shifted, even for a moment. The old ship groaned as the bulkheads were put under new pressures from the power system. It was certainly more advanced than the old Confederate ships, but changes in power did affect the levels of gravity field that could be off putting to those inexperienced in the war of ancient Byotai ships. From what Spartan had read, the change in power could affect gravity by up to fifteen percent.

  Not enough to cause a major upset, but enough to spill my damned drink.

  He leaned back in the metal seat as the gravity returned to normal and lifted the glass of whiskey to his lips. He'd come across the odd shifts in gravity more than a dozen times on this trip, and used the opportunity to try something different. As the shift occurred, he threw back his drink. The shift in weight pulled the drink into his mouth slightly faster, and it ran down his throat to leave a burning sensation in his chest. The taste was unusual, but with so much on his mind he gave it little thought.

  The room was previously used as a storage area for engine parts, and though they had cleared it out as best as possible, it still had little in common with a recreation room. There were a dozen people inside, and all were speaking quietly, talking about the mission or their families. At the far end was a very different group, one of four Byotai half-blood Exiles, and they were busily engaging in a loud and rather boisterous conversation. Kanjana was also there and to Spartan's surprise, they all seemed to be getting on.

  "Well?" asked Syala, "Maybe your eyes would like to wander somewhere else?"

  Spartan put down the drink and shook his head. He and Syala were sitting opposite each other with a pair of glasses on the table. Spartan was wearing his off-duty uniform that looked little different to the fatigues he always seemed to wear. Syala had kept things simple with a tightly fitted, white coloured blouse that had a pair of pockets on the chest and military style epaulettes on the shoulders. At her waist were the dark combat trousers that she frequently wore. They were pushed down into black combat boots.

  "This is something you really want to do?"

  Syala leaned in close across the small round table and reached out to hold his arms.

  "Oh, yes. We did what you wanted last time, and now it's my turn."

  She released his hands and sat back in her chair.

  "I really want to do it, you don't know how much."

  Spartan shook his head and leaned towards her, placing his bare elbow on the table. Syala immediately noticed the marks on his flesh that betrayed so many stories of his past adventures. Some were the scars of blades and gunshot wounds, many others the signs of torture or medical procedures. Syala shook her head as she did the same with her right arm, after pulling up her sleeve. Unlike Spartan's flesh, her skin was smooth and seemed completely unmarked. Spartan chuckled.

  "Very smooth, almost untouched..."

  "Funny. And for your information, my arm has been touched more than you can imagine. Just unlike you, I managed to avoid getting cut in the process. Now...are we doing this, or are you going to talk me to death?"

  They joined hands in a tight grip, and Syala adjusted her seating position. Spartan remained exactly as he had been. People in the background continued to speak, but at least three had spotted the contest and moved a little closer to watch. One came out from the shadows with a glass of blue fluid in one hand.

  "I see you two are busy?"

  Spartan looked to his right and up at Arana. Unlike her sister, she'd elected for a more conservative look, and still wore armour on her legs. Her chest was layered with the under armour padding only worn under her plating. Arana's head was bare, and she carried no weapons other than her usual mixture of sidearms. The three of them had little time to socialise since leaving Taxxu, and short breaks such as this one were perfect to break up the monotony of training, organising, and preparing for what was to come. Spartan lifted one eyebrow and smiled.

  "Of course."

  He nodded at her thigh.

  "The ship is safe. You can relax for now."

  Syala sighed from across the table.

  "Arana never relaxes. My sister could be inside a fortress, surrounded by friends, and she would still expect trouble."

  Spartan noticed her expression change from troublesome to playful, something he was more than familiar with. As she spoke, she moved her eyes to Spartan, lifting her eyebrows.

  "I tell you what she needs..."

  "Oh?"

  Syala then laughed.

  "Arana needs a man to unwind her for a little while. She's wound up like a spring."

  With little more than a mutter she walked away, leaving the two at the table. One of the Byotai half-bloods cut across her path, raised a drink to her, and then began speaking. To Spartan's surprise, Arana continued to talk to the individual for more than a few seconds. He looked back to Syala.

  "Subtle," said Spartan, "Very subtle."

  He then focused his eyes on hers and tightened his grip. She was taller than Teresa had been and her upper body much heavier built, no doubt a consequence of the continued body improvement programmes. Of all her traits, the single thing they truly shared was temperament. Teresa was never one to take orders, and Syala was cut from the same cloth, and more likely to disagree with him on principle than for any other reason.

  "Okay, then, shall we do this?"

  Syala grinned as she brought up her left hand and rested it against her chest. For a moment Spartan thought she was going to try and use the hand to assist the right, but it stayed there, at least for now.

  "You should ask her. I bet she would say yes."

  Spartan grinned, knowing full well that Syala was toying with him, and more than likely just trying to put him in yet another embarrassing situation.

  "Ready?"

  Both of them tensed, taking up the slack in their limbs. Syala was strong, but Spartan was on an entirely different level. His muscles were toned and well developed from years of use and the many improvements offered at Taxxu that he had been more than willing to try. It was rare for a man in his position to be quite so forthcoming when it came to experimentation, but with his family gone, he'd found himself more than comfortable with the discomfort. Even before his many surgical procedures, he doubted he could ever lose an arm wrestling match to anybody short of Khan or one of his kin. And even then he would g
ive them a good run for their money.

  "...Go!"

  Syala snapped open her blouse with her left arm as he finished the word and then both pushed hard. One of the buttons popped off and landed on the table. As the fabric moved aside, Spartan could see the black undergarments and bare flesh beneath. Spartan's arm was stationary, but only for a fraction of a second. He kept his eyes locked onto hers and then loosened his grip for a fraction. As his arm pushed back a few centimetres, Syala began to push harder, straining her muscles. He let her push a fraction further and then used the motion to push back. In one smooth action he forced Syala's arm to the table with a dull thump.

  "Ouch...that hurt," she said coyly.

  Spartan lifted an eyebrow and looked at her partially exposed chest.

  "Nice try, but you forget something."

  Syala buttoned up her blouse, feigning disappointment that her distraction ploy had failed. A couple of the mercenaries from one of the other units watched, and one seemed especially amused with what he had seen. Syala removed her hand from the open fabric and picked the last remaining button.

  "And what's that?"

  Spartan laughed.

  "I've seen them before."

  Syala rose from her chair and walked around directly behind Spartan. She moved in close until her head was against his right ear and spoke quietly, but not so much that the few nearby could still hear.

  "Want to see them again?"

  * * *

  Spartan's mind continued to drift as he moved through the ship. He'd now visited four separate detachments, including the Black Widows, and explained what he expected from each of them. The Exiles had been the strangest, with not one of them understanding a word he'd said. Even so, each warrior he'd spoken to was keen to reach Karnak and to get on with their job; all that remained was the Blood Pack, who had now taken Khan and Olik on as effectively one of their own.

  The fools.

  Spartan was well aware that the Blood Pack was home to the roughest and most violent of the Jötnar. Since the end of the Biomech War, many had hired themselves out to the hundreds of small units and associations in the Alliance. Lacking the structure and discipline of the regular military, they were becoming something of a nuisance, and gaining quite a reputation. With every operation their skill increased, and so did their lust for carnage and the spoils that came with them. More troubling was they had heard the news of the ambush on Karnak and the massacre of men, women, Byotai, and Jötnar alike. The defeat of their brothers was one that demanded justice in the way only they could provide, and he knew they would want more than just the perpetrators.