Books One to Three Omnibus (Armada Wars)

by R. Curtis Venture

  “It makes me think that perhaps things might have worked out differently at Woe Tantalum. If the ship had been more advanced, I mean.”

  “Come on,” said Klade. “You know that’s not true. It would have made no difference whatsoever.”

  “I suppose not. Have you been following the war?”

  “There hasn’t been much else for me to do, laid up in bed for hours on end. I’ve probably seen more coverage than you have.”

  “From the civilian networks, I take it?”

  “Mostly, yes. From what I can gather it’s not exactly being reported accurately.”

  “Of course not. The panic started almost immediately.”

  “Well, that might not be a bad thing. The more people who flee to the core systems the better. There are rumours that Command will order a Six-K retreat.”

  She hesitated. “Where did you hear that?”

  “You overhear all sorts of things on a hospital ship,” he said.

  Santani pursed her lips. It looked as though Betombe’s rumours were being confirmed, but she had neither the certainty nor the authority to say as much to Klade.

  “Is something wrong, Captain?”

  “No…”

  “You were doing your ‘something is wrong’ face.”

  “It’s just the thought of a retreat, so early in the war.”

  “Yes, it does carry a somewhat bitter taste.”

  “I’m not really happy to scuttle back to the inner systems and leave billions of people to fend for themselves. Not happy at all.”

  “It’s not exactly what we signed up for, I know,” said Klade. “Will you do it? If they order you to?”

  “What else can I do?” She said.

  “Tell them to go stick it?”

  “I don’t think that would be a good idea,” said Santani. “They would probably tell me to do as I pleased. What chance would a single ship have, out here on her own?”

  “What makes you think Hammer would be on her own?”

  Santani stared at Klade, trying to read his expression. She had the feeling he was trying to lead her somewhere specific, but exactly how he had arrived there before her was a mystery.

  “What exactly are you trying to say, Commander?”

  “Like I mentioned before, you hear all sorts of things on a hospital ship. Lots of crew pass through, from lots of commands. Lots of soldiers, lots of officers. You hear all sorts of things.”

  “Get to the point.”

  “What I’m trying to say, Captain, is that if Hammer did refuse to fall back within the six-thousand light year radius, she would almost certainly not be alone.”

  “You mean…?”

  “There are plenty of captains who feel the same way as you. And — believe it or not — quite a few admirals.”

  “I think I might know one of them,” she said quietly.

  “I can hardly believe it myself,” he said, “but it would appear that the armada is ready to split if that order is actually issued.”

  Santani’s emotional reaction was baffling, even to her. On the one hand she felt vindicated in the knowledge that there were other captains out there who would stand in defence of the outer systems. But on the other hand… a fracture in the fleet was unprecedented. How would it work? How could there possibly be enough ships? What would happen if the dissenting commanders ended up disagreeing with each other? And — perhaps most importantly — what would be their fate when it was all over? Assuming, of course, that the Shaeld Hratha did not win.

  “Captain? Any thoughts?”

  Santani turned her full attention back to Klade, and inhaled deeply. She emptied her lungs slowly and steadily.

  “I think,” she said, “that I would like to know absolutely everything you have overheard. Don’t miss out a thing.”

  “Of course, Captain.”

  • • •

  Caden stood in front of the wall of glass which separated him from the medical suite, and clenched his fists.

  You should have been ready for this.

  He ignored the Emptiness. It is not an ally, he reminded himself. It is not an advisor. It is an expression of my own negative emotions, nothing more, and it only wants to see me fail. To see me defeated.

  It was so very close to getting its wish.

  He thumped once on the thick glass partition, striking it with the bottom of his fist, and squeezed his eyes shut. Even for him it was difficult, after such a shocking experience, not to shed a few tears.

  Inside the medical suite a polybot whirred casually, linking a tube to a catheter in the less damaged of the patient’s arms. It turned a valve to start a fresh drip running, administered an injection to the left thigh, began to replace bandages methodically.

  It was obvious to Caden that the medics — whether in transit aboard ship, or still on the surface of Meccrace Prime — had done their best to tend to the more critical injuries while keeping themselves safe from infection. The sheets were stained with blood where field dressings had all but given up, and even from outside the quarantine wall he could see that staples had been used to close some of the larger gashes.

  He did not care about these particular injuries, though. He cared only what they suggested might also have happened to Rendir Throam.

  While Ren was still unaccounted for, Maber Castigon was safely tucked up in bed on Fort Shalleon, receiving superior medical care in one of the Empire’s best facilities. The scandal of it all was too much to take.

  “You should have died down there,” Caden shouted. His breath misted on the glass, his mouth was so close to it. “FUCK!”

  He thumped the glass again, this time with both fists.

  Caden rested his forehead on the glass, his fists still pressed against it, and stared at Castigon’s body through a seething haze of contempt and hatred. He turned his body around, slid down the glass, and landed at the foot of the quarantine wall. He placed his head in his hands.

  Only the vile survive.

  He was not in the mood to argue, or even to reply. In fact the Emptiness had a point; in all his travels, Caden had indeed seen that all too often it was the callous, the vicious, and those devoid of remorse who consistently popped up time and time again, after the rubble had settled and the smoke had cleared. It was something of a universal truth. Good people, decent people… well, they were the ones who threw themselves on top of grenades or uttered such fateful phrases as ‘I can’t leave them to die, I’m going back’.

  But why did that have to include Ren?

  The best will always die first.

  “Not today,” he spat.

  He climbed to his feet, leaning against the partition, and glanced around the medical suite beyond. There had to be a door in there somewhere. Even if he had to squeeze through whatever hatch the ’bot used to access its patient, he would get inside that chamber if it killed him.

  Just so long as Castigon died first.

  The order was not rescinded, he told himself. She still wishes him dead. This is one assassin of Shards who must not live to kill another day.

  There was, so far as he could see, no obvious way in. The ’bot must have been a permanent resident of the chamber. He presumed the patient was delivered through a quarantine chute which admitted the entire bed, and which was most likely occupied by mechanisms that would make it inaccessible to him.

  He stepped back from the partition, as far as he could, and drew his pistol.

  It took just three shots before he gave up. Three shots which did nothing but cause white, crackly depressions in the outer layer of the glass. The chamber was designed to prevent accidental breaches.

  What a shame.

  The door slid open, and the two MAGA guards stole cautiously into the room. They watched Caden with uncertainty.

  “Sir?”

  “It’s fine,” he said. “This man should not be here. He is an enemy of the Throne.”

  They looked at each other.

  “Really,” Caden said. “His summary exe
cution was explicitly ordered by Her Radiant Majesty.”

  “Not sure that a medical centre is the appropriate venue, Sir. There are some very sick people out there. You aren’t helping.”

  Caden stared at the guard, and his incredulity gave way to empathy.

  “You’re right. He can wait.”

  “What did he do?”

  “Murdered a number of Shards. And counterparts too, from your own ranks.”

  “Let him get well enough to appreciate being killed,” said the guard. He and his companion left the room.

  Well now… there’s an interesting thought.

  Caden stared at Castigon’s body once more. He deserved to know why he was dying, and to see who it was doing the deed. It did not seem right that he should be allowed to slip quietly away, blissfully unaware of his punishment. But Caden knew that every minute this stone-cold killer was allowed to live was another minute in which he could serve untempered woe to anyone unfortunate enough to be near him.

  One way or the other Castigon had to die, and whilst he was awake was preferable. It would just have to be quick and faultless.

  But how?

  The question was still ricocheting around Caden’s mind when Castigon’s eyes fluttered open.

  The ex-counterpart yelled incoherently, the sound harsh and inhuman through the quarantine chamber’s intercom system. He jerked his arms up to pull the oxygen mask from his face. The catheter in his left arm was pulled free, but he did not seem to notice. He sat bolt upright, eyes wide, and the ’bot backed off from the bed. It whirred, uncertain how best to proceed.

  Castigon and Caden stared at each other through the glass.

  Caden watched the patient, with murder in his heart, hoping that Castigon would somehow find his own way out of the chamber.

  “I… can hear Him…” said Castigon.

  “What have you done, Maber? What have you done?”

  Castigon did not seem to hear.

  “I can hear Him, and… see all of them. Waves of faces. White, spiral waves. He wants me to sing.”

  “Give up the act. Do you know where you are?”

  “He told me to fill the silence.”

  Caden’s blood froze in his veins. It was that same phrase he had heard before; from Amarist Naeb, and from the people on Aldava. Whatever it meant, he doubted that Castigon might have picked it up somewhere on his travels, that he would have realised it had some kind of special significance and then planned to use it to fool Caden.

  No, that was very unlikely. The more likely explanation was that Castigon had been infected.

  “Who?” Caden asked. “Who is ‘He’?”

  Castigon stared back for a moment, then laughed. “I was going to kill you. How crazy is that?”

  “I know,” said Caden, through clenched teeth. “Tell me who you were talking about just then.”

  “I’m not supposed to,” said Castigon. “It hurts.”

  “I don’t really care about that, Maber. Tell me what you know.”

  “I want to return to the communion,” said Castigon. He laid back on the bed again. “But I can’t.”

  “Communion?”

  The doors behind Caden slid open, and he turned his back on Castigon. A very annoyed-looking corpsman had entered the room behind him.

  “What in the worlds has been going on in here?” He looked past Caden. “Have you shot my wall?”

  “Yes. Sorry about that.” Caden smiled apologetically. “That will be fixed.”

  “Who are you? You shouldn’t be in here.”

  “I’m a Shard, Doc, and I am pretty much able to go where I please.”

  “Hmm, I see. Well nobody told me you were coming.”

  “Nobody knew.”

  “What exactly did you want?”

  “Well,” said Caden. He decided it would probably not be wise to tell the doc that he intended to kill Castigon. “This patient of yours has some important information about the war, and I very much need to know how and where he was found.”

  “As I understand it, he was located in what was left of the Eyes and Ears facility on Meccrace Prime. By another Shard, in fact. I assume you would be able to access her report?”

  “Quite probably. What about his condition?”

  “Ah, now that is interesting. He’s been infected with a virus we haven’t seen before, as have those others out there. But him… he does not seem to be quite so sick as the rest of them. They have all been given anti-virals, but he is the only one who seems to be responding well. He has moments of lucidity.”

  “Has he been scanned yet?”

  “Scanned?”

  “Yes, scanned. His brain. They will all have unusual structures in their brains.”

  “Why in the worlds would they—?”

  “Don’t take my word for it; get in touch with the Vavilov. They’re examining a number of patients in a more advanced stage. They need a sample of the source just as desperately as you need to know anything that would guide your treatment plan.”

  “I’m afraid the source is probably destroyed in all of them by now,” said the corpsman. “They were administered anti-viral drugs immediately when they were lifted from Meccrace.”

  “No matter.” It was inconvenient, but Caden was beginning to suspect there would be plenty of other opportunities coming up. “If there is anything in their blood which might aid the development of an antibody test, take plenty of samples and send as much data as you can to the Vavilov.”

  “This Vavilov, I take it that’s a science vessel?”

  “Exactly. They are working on the problem of… what these people become.”

  “Become?”

  “You’re going to need to increase security in here, Doc. And keep those people locked in quarantine, no matter what they tell you. Don’t trust a word of it.”

  “Even him?”

  Caden looked at Castigon, now unconscious again. The ’bot had resumed its work, and the medical suite had returned to a tranquil, orderly environment.

  “Especially him.”

  • • •

  “You can’t kill him,” said Eilentes. “It’s not right.”

  “Okay, whatever,” Caden snapped. “He’s not an active threat right now, so he can go back and stand trial. Again. I’m pretty sure he has had enough chances, and he will be executed anyway.”

  “But if he’s one of those Rasas, he’s a different person. He’s not the one who killed all those people; not any more.”

  “He bloody well is.”

  “Caden, you’re the one who’s been saying the Rasas have all been changed. Changed from who they were before into something else.”

  “Even if that’s literally true, it just means he’s an enemy agent. Doesn’t make much of a case for letting him live.”

  “There is that, but—”

  “But you know what? I think he’s still in there. I think the old Castigon will know exactly why he is being executed.”

  Eilentes bit her lip. She watched Caden carefully, watched him pacing up and down, grinding one fist into the palm of his other hand.

  “I understand you want to avenge all those other Shards, but you really need to stop and think about this.”

  “What is there to think about?”

  “Based on what he said, I see two scenarios: either he is a man becoming a fully-fledged Rasa, or he is stuck somewhere in between—”

  “Or just faking it.”

  “—in either case, he could be an invaluable source of information.”

  Caden stopped pacing and faced Eilentes. For the first time since he had come to find her, she felt as though he were actually listening.

  “Think about it,” she said. “He told you he could ‘hear him’. We have to assume Castigon is talking about Voice.”

  “What are you suggesting?”

  “What if he’s like… an open channel?”

  “What exactly do you mean?”

  “This reminds me of a command and control system.
We use them, the Viskr use them… just suppose for a moment that whatever happens to turn people into Rasas was happening to Castigon,” said Eilentes. “And then it just stopped—”

  “Why?”

  “Doesn’t matter, just suppose.”

  “Go on,” said Caden.

  “What if the mechanism by which Voice occupies bodies could not operate under those conditions, but some kind of communication was still possible?”

  Caden angled his head, and his eyes darted from side to side as he considered the possibilities. Eilentes waited patiently, not wanting to disturb his train of thought. Whole minutes passed before he seemed to register her presence again.

  “That’s actually not that insane.”

  “Well I’m glad you think so,” she said.

  “We already know that Voice must have some kind of ability to communicate between himself and the Rasas. As you so rightly propose, there is also an explicit need for some kind of mechanism which lets him control them. It’s at least possible that you could have one without the other. The only question now is whether or not Castigon will continue to develop into a full Rasa.”

  “Will you give him that time at least?”

  “Well,” said Caden. “Now that you’ve got me curious about it, I suppose I will have to.”

  “Good.”

  “I’m not really sure why you’re that concerned for him,” said Caden. “You do realise what sort of a person he is, yes? What he has done?”

  “Of course I do,” she said.

  Caden did not look as though he believed her. It had only been a couple of weeks, and she was already learning the slightest and most subtle changes to his habitual mask of a facial expression.

  Fine, she thought. Let me show you.

  “Maber Castigon,” she said, “also known as the Butcher of Ottomas, was single-handedly responsible for the wholesale slaughter of civilian lives. He tried to pin the blame for that on you, and ended up in prison when the truth came out. He served a ten Solar sentence, and his conviction is now spent. Draw a line under the above.”

  Caden opened his mouth to reply, the disapproval clear in his eyes.

  “Draw a line under it!” She snapped. “Next, after leaving prison, he set about murdering Shards, all of them witnesses for the prosecution at his trial.”