Books One to Three Omnibus (Armada Wars)

by R. Curtis Venture

  “Speaks a little of motive, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Well clearly he wanted revenge. But then take into account the information sent by Correctional Compound One: he has significant mental health problems, and is not receiving treatment because he went off the grid instead of contacting probation like he was supposed to.”

  “Yes, he’s a murdering psychopath,” said Caden. “I don’t really see where we disagree.”

  “Caden, the man is sick,” she said. “He’s not right in the head. You can’t take the anger you feel towards him for Ottomas and superimpose that on him now, as if that somehow justifies your view of him.”

  “Oh yes I can,” said Caden. “A conviction is spent when the prisoner is rehabilitated. Castigon is still the same monster he was a decade ago, if not worse.”

  “He’s suffering from psychotic episodes! And worlds only know what else.”

  “Which he knew he had to deal with medically, and opted not to. How is this any different from what you said about Throam?”

  At first Eilentes did not understand what he meant, but it slowly dawned on her.

  “Oh no, do not go down that path.”

  “It’s the same thing.”

  Eilentes’ eyes flashed, her nostrils flared. “It is not the same thing at all. You know it isn’t.”

  “Why not?”

  She steadied her breathing, let herself cool off, opened and closed her hands.

  “Sick people don’t necessarily know they are sick,” she said.

  “People don’t necessarily know what drugs will do to them either.”

  “You actively choose to use drugs. Nobody actively chooses psychosis.”

  “I’m not saying he did; I’m saying he actively chose to ignore his treatment.”

  “You can’t know that.”

  Caden stopped, and for a moment Eilentes thought she saw doubt in his eyes. She had, at the very least, given him pause for thought.

  When Caden started talking again, his voice was calm and measured.

  “The man is pure evil, Euryce. He is a terrible, terrible person, and the galaxy would be better off without him.”

  “I can’t deny the things he’s done,” she said. “But you’ve met people who have done much worse. You didn’t execute Bel-Askis when he told you about Aldava and Woe Tantalum.”

  “That was different.”

  “Yes, it was — in terms of scale for a start.”

  Caden had no answer to that one. She awarded a point to herself. He remained silent, so she put the question as plainly as she could.

  “Why do you hate him so much?”

  “Don’t start dragging up things you don’t—”

  “Were you sleeping with him?”

  Caden looked at her as if she were mad.

  “No… of course not,” she said. “Something worse than that. Something more hurtful.”

  She watched Caden very, very closely, waited for the movements of his eyes to betray his thoughts.

  “Oh my worlds,” she said. “You thought he loved you.”

  — 13 —

  Deaf and Blind

  March Bel-Askis walked slowly into the conference room, hurrying as much as his old bones would let him. Fort Herses was a big station, and with his reduced mobility it had taken him considerable effort to get from one place to the other.

  He had in fact been ready for some time now, ready for the others. But it had taken many of the invigilators even longer than usual to reach suitable facilities, thanks to the demands placed on them by the enemy’s constantly evolving movements. Now he had it on good authority that most of them were prepared for the emergency session.

  He sank into one of the chairs, close to the doors, and keyed in to the holo before him. The lights in the conference room dimmed, and the scanners in the ceiling flashed every seat simultaneously. With only him being present, the scanner facing his seat was the only one which remained powered.

  Ranks of holograms materialised around the enormous table; some appearing to sit in the chairs, others floating in the gaps between them, yet more arrayed behind them. This was one of the most subscribed meetings Bel-Askis had ever attended.

  The holographic emitters reached capacity.

  “I think many of you will have to resort to audio only,” Bel-Askis announced. “There are far too many of us trying to use the holo-system at the same time.”

  Murmurs of dissatisfaction came over the various channels, and when the hubbub died down Silane Creid was the first to speak.

  “This matter requires immediate, definitive action. We cannot afford to lose Laeara, but we must not give Bel-Ures to the enemy.”

  Bel-Askis nodded sagely. “Both options are unacceptable, that is true. Our first priority therefore must be an assessment of the likely outcomes of defying Voice.”

  “We know he probably has control over a large fleet of dreadships,” said Sashan Geneve. “If he wants to destroy Fort Laeara, I doubt we can stop him.”

  “It could take half the armada to repel his forces,” said Creid. “Fleet Command cannot spare those ships at this time. Between preparing for the expected enemy offensive in the Herses system, the MAGA troops they are tirelessly deploying across the restless worlds, and increased numbers of hit-and-run engagements in the outer systems, the fleets are spread dangerously thin as it is.”

  “What exactly is the risk we would run by handing over Doctor Bel-Ures?”

  Bel-Askis looked at Quisten Leksis’ hologram with surprise. He would not have expected her of all people to ask such a question.

  “Other than the fact that she is one of our foremost remaining experts on the weapons they stole?” Asked Creid.

  “They already have the weapons,” said Leksis. “Everything else they can learn; it’s just a question of how much time they devote to it.”

  “It cannot bode well for us if they want her this much,” said Bel-Askis. “If they believe they need her so badly, then there is a good reason for it. I really don’t think we want to help them by just handing her over.”

  “But this is my whole point,” Leksis said. “What is it they think they can learn from her? Why is she so essential? We might not know everything she learned from her research, but we do know what she was working on. We ought to be able to work it out.”

  “As I understand it,” said Bel-Askis, “she was heavily invested in adaptation of the transport substrate used by the warheads. For the purposes of novel, non-viral payloads, as I recall.”

  “But we think the whole strategy of the Shaeld Hratha relies on viral warfare,” said Geneve. “What would they want with non-viral warheads?”

  “Perhaps it is not so much about gaining it for themselves, as it is about denying that facility to us.”

  The invigilators paused to consider Creid’s proposal.

  “What advantage would we gain from it?” Said Geneve.

  “An artificial vaccine, perhaps?” Said Leksis. “Some kind of inhibitor? Really, without Bel-Ures’ input, this conversation could go on for weeks.”

  “Then we will include her,” said Bel-Askis.

  He tapped away at his holo, sending a priority message to Bel-Ures. He silently cursed himself for not anticipating this necessity prior to the meeting.

  “I have flagged the message as the highest priority,” he said. “Hopefully it will not take long…”

  He trailed off as his attention returned to the gathering. Across the desk, to his right, one of the holograms flickered and sputtered for a second, then vanished. The last image to be imprinted on his retina was that of a screaming face.

  “What in the worlds just happened…?”

  Another three, simultaneously, this time with a jangling chaos of noise.

  “What’s happening? Anyone!”

  Two more holograms blinked and stuttered out of existence. Bel-Askis looked around at the shocked faces in those which remained, and saw they were none the wiser. A seventh hologram vanished across the table f
rom him, then another on his right. The link channels to the room overlapped the last segments of audio they picked up at their sources: terrifyingly loud cacophonies of booming, crashing, tearing, and screaming.

  “We’re under attack,” Geneve shouted.

  “Every fortress at once?” Creid replied.

  “No,” Geneve said. “Eyes and Ears!”

  Bel-Askis heard a pop, distinctly audible above the rest of the din, followed by a whine with rising pitch. Slowly, painfully, he crouched to the floor.

  On the underside of the desk, he saw a device.

  The whine reached its climax and ended with a crunch. Then nothing.

  Oh, thank the many worlds for the unreliability of technology.

  “Get out,” Bel-Askis snapped at the remaining holograms. “Scatter. Don’t go anywhere you would be expected to go, don’t use routes you would be expected to use, don’t under any circumstances convene. Get on random ships and keep moving. GO!”

  Silane Creid’s hologram burst into a fading cloud of fragments as he opened his mouth to reply, and the last thing Bel-Askis heard from him was a truncated scream, drowned out by the sound of an explosion.

  Bel-Askis moved like he had not moved for decades. His joints ached immediately with the unaccustomed strain, and he knew that he would later have a serious inflammation problem. Neither of those concerns were quite as important to him as the motivational call of self-preservation.

  He hurried stiffly out into the corridor, began to navigate towards the nearest set of docking rings.

  Everywhere he looked, the people he passed now seemed like potential threats. The corridors of Fort Herses had always been a maze to him, but now they were a maze fraught with the possibility of a fatal ambush. Someone had placed that device there. Someone had disabled the safeguards. Someone with access. That someone could be anywhere.

  As he hobbled his way to presumed safety, he linked in to the control deck and informed them of the device in the conference chamber. The operations controller queried his location; Bel-Askis closed the channel and dropped his link to the floor.

  Miraculously, he made it to the departure ring without being assassinated. He stole into one of the observation galleries and looked over the top of Arrivals, out into the black.

  Ships were coming and going, as per usual. It was just another day in the life of a station.

  There, close to this section’s inner docking stanchion: a small cargo hauler, without doubt a civilian vessel. That one would probably have a very small crew, a crew who would likely notice if one of their own were not themselves.

  He turned on his tail and hurried to the disembarkation area, afraid that the little ship would dock and expel its inhabitants before he could get there.

  At the gate he waved his holo impatiently at the guard, then pointed to his face. The woman sighed.

  “I do know who you are, Sir. Please, go ahead.”

  He smiled briefly, and passed through the gate.

  “No luggage?” He heard her ask behind him.

  He waited for the umbilicus to connect to the lock on the little ship, waited for the air to cycle, waited oh so long for the pressure hatches to open.

  He was almost at the ship when its inner hatch popped and swung inwards with a pained creak.

  “Back, back!” He shouted. He waved his arms at the surprised-looking trio who had climbed out of the hauler.

  “Back?” Said one of them. “But we only just got here.”

  “You’re not staying, you’re leaving with me.”

  “But we need to use the technical—”

  “No time, serious risk of immediate death. Give me your holo, I’ll transfer you a million right now. Call it a downpayment.”

  “Oh, well that’s different.” The man handed Bel-Askis a holo. “In that case, Sir, welcome aboard the Leo Fortune.”

  • • •

  Bruiser accompanied Caden on his way back to the fortress’s medical centre. He was usually quite adept at judging the various moods of humans — and had even developed a knack for spotting those emotional states they sometimes adopted which Rodori did not share — but right now the Shard’s condition was baffling.

  If he would be working more closely with Caden in the future, then he had to understand.

  “What is wrong, Caden?”

  “Nothing, Bruiser, I just… I had a conversation I’d rather not have had.”

  Conflict then. Bruiser had learned fairly early on in his dealings with humans that it was often some kind of inner conflict which made them act so oddly.

  “Did you argue with someone?”

  “Sort of,” Caden murmured. He gave Bruiser the distinct impression he was not happy discussing it. “Lieutenant Eilentes has been incredibly vocal, and annoyingly incisive.”

  “Ah. That is unfortunate. I thought it might have been because of Dyne.”

  “Dyne can go fuck himself,” said Caden. “Probably the only person he hasn’t fucked yet.”

  “He is no longer your counterpart?”

  “Nope. From now on that’s all you. If you want the job, that is.”

  “I will accept that role,” said Bruiser. “But I should still seek permission from Captain Volkas.”

  “Acting Captain Volkas is no longer aboard,” said Caden. “He’s accompanied his nephew and those other two people we found. They’re on their way to rendezvous with the Vavilov.”

  “Then who do I…?”

  “It’s all been taken care of, Bruiser. It’s basically your choice now.”

  “Then I am your counterpart.”

  “Excellent.” Caden stopped walking, opposite the entrance to the medical centre. “Your first job is to stop me from trying to kill Maber Castigon.”

  “Castigon is here?”

  Caden tilted his head at the frosted glass doors. “Right through there.”

  “And you do not want this man dead?”

  “Against my better judgement, no. Eilentes made quite the case that we ought to keep him alive for now.”

  “I do not understand that.”

  “There’s a chance he’s linked to Voice. We might be able to exploit it somehow.”

  “He is a dangerous man.”

  “I know, Bruiser. That’s where you come in.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Like I said, stop me killing him. But more importantly than that, stop him from killing me.”

  Bruiser considered the notion. In some ways, it would not be so very different from what he used to do back at home on Naiaeg, in his civic security days. Except that even ragingly murderous humans were far easier to separate than quarrelling Rodori. Far, far easier.

  “What are you planning to do with him?”

  “Well, I’m sort of making it up as I go along,” said Caden. “Nobody really planned for this scenario. As long as he is medically fit to leave here, I’m thinking he ought to go to High Cerin. That’s where the most appropriate resources are for dealing with his… situation.”

  “I will take your word for that.”

  “Hmm. I hope you would tell me if you thought I was wrong.”

  “Yes, I would.”

  “Good,” said Caden. “Because that’s now your job too.”

  “This role is going to take some getting used to.”

  “It certainly is.”

  Caden started walking again, towards the doors of the medical centre, and Bruiser followed after him. They entered the reception area, where Caden spoke briefly with the man staffing the desk. Bruiser gathered that the man had been less than impressed with the Shard on his previous visit.

  “This way,” said Caden.

  They walked through white and green corridors, the scent of antiseptic and other more curious odours assaulting Bruiser’s senses. He did not know how the humans could bear it.

  A ward of some sort, glass-fronted cubicles with patients tended by polybots.

  “These people were recovered during the Meccrace Prime m
ission,” Caden said. He waved his hand at the cubicles. “All of them were infected by whatever virus is creating the Rasas.”

  “These people will all become Rasas?”

  “Maybe. They’ve been treated with anti-viral drugs. We won’t know for a while yet whether or not that makes any difference.”

  “How does such a virus work?”

  Caden looked up at Bruiser, and frowned. The Rodori knew exactly what was going on inside the human’s little head: how to explain this in a way the link will be able to translate?

  “It’s a fairly old technology, but very effective if you get it right,” said Caden. “You use a virus to introduce new DNA into a host. If you control what is in that DNA, then you control what it does inside the host.”

  “What is in the DNA?”

  “We don’t know,” Caden said. Bruiser recognised the tone as being one of dismay. Dismay was a condition he was very familiar with. “Unless someone on Vavilov has had some luck recently, I don’t think the virus has been isolated yet.”

  “We could have sampled that virus on Guathelia,” said Bruiser. “In the mist.”

  “I don’t know if your memory of that differs from mine, Bruiser, but what I mostly remember about Guathelia was that there was lots of running around trying not to die.”

  “Not when we left that splinter.”

  “Yes, okay. That’s true. It was a major slip-up. You made your point.”

  That tone was one they called ‘sharp’.

  “Sorry, Caden.”

  “No… really, it’s fine. Like I said, you should tell me when you think I’m wrong.”

  “You were wrong.”

  Caden smirked. “We’re here.”

  The Shard opened the door into the anteroom, and Bruiser ducked down to enter after him. Inside, two MAGA soldiers guarded a second door.

  “Back again?” One of them asked Caden.

  “The prisoner is being moved off-station.”

  “Still thinking of snuffing him out, Sir?”

  Bruiser looked from the guard to Caden.

  “Not just yet,” Caden said.

  “Shame,” said the guard. “With him being a brother-killer and all. He should get what he—”