by Chad Huskins
When DeStren answered, a screen came up in front of them, showing them a live feed of one of the probe that Ramlock had left behind in the outer system. “All appears as before, Captain. No activity. Just lingering out there in the middle of nowhere. Looks dead.”
Donovan looked over at Kalder. “Satisfied?”
“It’s not dead,” he said. “They always pick up their dead. If they left it behind, it must be alive. Watch it closely, Captain. They left it here for a reason.”
“They left it here more than a thousand years ago,” Donovan reminded him.
“And they did it for a reason.”
Donovan was about to ask him what reason he thought that would be, when a voice spoke from his console. “Conn, Comms One. Getting a response from UCP leadership. Looks authentic, on the same channel Ramlock used. It’s a little staticky with interference. Purging the signal now, washing it through the signal buffers.”
“Patch it through,” he said, and looked over at Kalder. “Your show, Senator.”
The old man shuffled forward three steps, his robes whispering against the cold metal floor, his bare feet barely making a sound. “Play message, Comms,” he said.
The message played, and as it did, they all heard two messages; one of them played in that same garbled version of English they had heard in Ramlock’s recordings, and another voice overlapping the first, translating as best as Diogenes could suss out syntax and phonemes: “This is truly a momentous day,” the speaker said. “I, Reuben Astriauff, Chief Presider of the United Congress of Pelgotham, am honored that I am here today to accept the great truth many of us have longed to hear. That not only are we not alone in the universe, but that our old myths of lost brothers and sisters were grounded in truth—”
“A lot of pomp and circumstance in this speech,” Kalder said. “We’re not likely to find anything of tactical importance in it. Skip to the end,” he told Comms.
After several seconds of high-squeaking fast-forwarding, the voice concluded, “—will be a day long remembered, and cherished, in the hearts of all mankind.”
Following a protracted silence around CIC, Captain Desh finally spoke up, “Tell them they’re all about to be annihilated by an alien menace.”
Donovan’s eyes widened, and he stared at the senator. “Excuse me?”
“Tell them that, then tell them that we wish to evacuate only UCP leadership,” Desh said, speaking as if this were all up to him. “Tell them to mobilize whatever military they have left, and prepare to fire all nukes into space. Ask them for detail specs of those nukes, so that our engineers will know how to use them.”
“You…you want us to take all their arsenal? Did we come here to steal their weapons? Do we not have enough of our own?”
“Once this war starts, we’re going to be doing a lot of firing. Pacifier cannot last forever. And we’re not going to be getting any resupply. No one even knows what we’re up against, or that we’re going into battle here. We’ll need all the nukes we can get.”
“So we just take theirs?”
“Yes.”
Donovan looked at Kalder. “And you’re okay with sending this message?”
“It’s Desh’s idea,” the senator said. “And I support his tactical decisions. What else do you suggest, Captain Desh?”
“That we send three fast-attack ships. Couple of Dagger-classes ought to do, say…Sikorskiy and Shatterstar? Send them deeper inside to collect the nukes by tractor beam, but make sure you tell the UCP to remove all safeties first, if they have those.”
“Remove the safeties?” said Donovan, incredulous.
Desh nodded. “We don’t want to have to set timers or perameters for destruction. We need them to detonate either on impact or by remote. If by remote, make sure they send us the codes to do that.”
Donovan gave one more look Kalder, then at his XO. Vosen looked wary. Finally, he said, “Do it, Comms One.”
“Aye, skipper.”
“How many warships do they have active throughout the entire system?” asked Desh.
Donovan pulled up that information. “So far, probes have detected thirty-seven UCP ships, mostly in orbit around the planet and the moon.”
“Then also make sure you ask for complete schematics of those ships. We’ll need to assimilate their system as best we can, get Diogenes to work out a way to fit them into COR, so that when they engaged with the Brood, we’ll at least be able to direct them from here.”
Donovan rose out of his chair, and spoke to Kalder sotto voce, “We didn’t discuss any of this.”
“This is something Desh has been working on,” Kalder said. “And I support him. This situation requires out-of-the-box thinking, and I can think of no one better suited.”
Donovan looked at Desh, who gave a thin smile.
“This could ruin our relationship with the UCP, cause a Romulus and Remus Problem with the whole damn planet.”
“Only if diplomatic relations break down,” Kalder said. “Which is my arena. So send the message, Captain, and I will ensure our motives are completely understood.”
Just then, DeStren reported, “Captain, probes are picking up a signal from that broodling. It’s not dead, skipper. It’s broadcasting.”
“To where.”
“Everywhere, skipper.”
LYOKH CLAPPED MEIKS on the shoulder as he walked past him, shouting, “You ready?”
Meiks tugged on the last glove of his Charon-III STACsuit, flexing the fingers experimentally. “Ready as I’ll ever be, doyen.”
“Let’s do it, then. Hoy up, Knights!”
They all gathered in Deck 3’s embarkation bay. Knights, pilots, and contrite brothers. Lyokh’s people glittered in their silver, black, and gunmetal-gray armor, the Sigil of the Republic emblazoned on their right breast, the starburst symbol of the Knights of Sol on the left. Many of them wore ribbons and medals made by the fab room, their armor adorned like the Knights of their namesake.
Knight Companion Tsuyoshi commanded the First Sol Cohort, a group of nine hundred soldiers, nine warhulks, six Ravagers, and three Mantises, all broken up into three major battalions. Meiks was commander of First Battalion, Takirovanen had Second, and Paupau had Third. Each battalion had three mechs, two Ravagers, and one Mantis. Lieutenant Ptolem was in First Battalion, but had control over all of Heeten’s Heroes, which were divvied up between all twenty-six cohorts. Within each battalion were ten wings, or platoons, named after the moons of the Sol System.
They all reported to muster on time and in lockstep. Nine hundred imposing soldiers with Fell rifles in hand, pulsers holstered at their side, and glimmering field swords strapped to their backs. Towering mechs that stood ominously over them. Space was tight on the deck. Behind them, Novas waited with engines humming on idle, waiting to take these men to their doom. Thrallyin and Rabastiik stood at the back, both breathing heavily and trembling with anticipation.
The same scene was happening on the other ships, where the rest of the cohorts were assembling, and all were tuning in to hear Lyokh’s final orders.
Even while Orphesian mechanics, vorta, and naval crew raced around to ready all stations, his people remained in the eye of the storm, calmly listening to their doyen’s words.
“Hoy up, and listen,” he told them. “All right, Knight Companions, check your latest updates. You should’ve received data packets by now, outlining how the system sits presently. We don’t yet know what fighting force we’ll be up against, so be prepared for rapid changes. And take heart: we may not know what we’re fighting, but the Brood don’t know what we’ve got, either. One of the largest and most diverse fleets ever assembled, with a lot of experience fighting these things, and the best damn fighting force ever brought together under one roof! We gave them hell on Kennit, but that was one of their worlds, with hive-cities to contend with. Here we have some home turf, with our fellow lost brothers lending us support.”
Lyokh looked at all of them, both patriotic pride and a sense of love
for these soldiers swelling in his chest. All his life flashed in front of him, from Timon to present, a quick-flitting slideshow of friendships and death, the last few months coming through brightest of all. Many of these people had helped shape him, make him the man, and the leader, he had become. Was still becoming.
Mixed in with his feelings was a reminder of the vastness of the cosmos, a new understanding granted him by his experience inside the Watchtower. Life was tough. Life was hardy. Life was difficult to eradicate. Humanity had spread, like spores, like a virus, like the Faedyans and the Isoshi and the Grennal, and they had all endured. It was possible that the universe’s crucible, evolution itself, had built them to become the masters of all. Maybe Kalder wasn’t so wrong about that part.
“We will dismantle them,” he said.
“A-HOO!” the Knights agreed, pumping fists and swords into the air.
“Wing captains, do all your last checks on your people now, make sure you have everything you need for clean dispersal and prolonged engagement—med bots, go-pills, ammo hoppers, everything. Whatever you need, inform your commanders right now. This is your last chance, don’t be caught mid-fight with your pants down.
“The mission is, destroy the main power source or reactor on whatever Brood ship we get deployed to, by any means necessary. Once we’re inserted, SIGINT will be searching for large energy signatures, anything to let us know where their main power plants might be. Be ready to move around a lot once we’re inside, and be prepared for anything.”
He looked over their faces, knowing this was the last time he would see the majority of them, and perhaps all of them.
“Let’s give them hell.”
They all stood looking at him. Slowly, one by one, they raised their swords in silence. Lyokh didn’t see who started it first, nor did he see who it was that knelt first. But slowly, and in concentric waves, all nine hundred of them bowed, including the mechs. The soldiers put their swords tip-down to the deck, and looked up at him.
“Doyen!” called Durzor.
Lyokh turned to see the Knight’s Hand wheeling up behind him. He was in full armor, his sword across his lap. He raised it, then placed it tip-down on the deck.
“Doyen,” the others intoned as one.
Lyokh looked at Durzor, realizing he had arranged this, even timed it to the second. He looked out over the Knights giving him an honor he didn’t feel worthy of. He unsheathed his sword from his back. Raised it high.
“The wall,” he said.
They all shot to their feet. “THE WALL!” they cried. “HEETEN!” others said. “EULEKK!”
The Knight Companions began shouting out orders for movement, and they all rushed to their assigned shuttles, moving in concert, their booted feet creating thunder. Close to Lyokh stood Paupau, slapping each man that ran past him up the ramp. “Come on, you twinkly fairies! Paupau!”
Lyokh turned and looked at Durzor. He extended his hand, and shook Durzor’s. “Knight’s Hand,” he said.
“Sir Captain,” said Durzor. “However many you plan to kill, kill twice as many for me.”
Lyokh smiled, and nodded. He gave one last look around at the assembly, then turned and headed off towards his Nova. He was halfway there when he caught something out of the corner of his eye. A flash of red hair, short and unmistakable, brilliant as flame. He saw Moira standing at the edge of the bay. She was alone, and her eyes were on him, not on any of the other soldiers thundering off to war.
Inspiration struck him.
He walked over to her, dodging around the immense leg of a Dagonite warhulk. As he approached, he saw her eyes glitter with some hidden burden. “The Crab Nebula,” he said to her.
Her lips, red as her hair, parted ever so slightly. “What?”
“I want you to use all your skills to check into the Crab Nebula, particularly around the pulsar that’s there.”
Moira blinked. “I…okay. It’s just that…”
“What?”
“I was looking into it anyway, in a completely unrelated matter. Strange.”
Lyokh didn’t know what to say to that. He held out his hand. She took it. He shook it once briefly, started to turn away, then looked back at her and said, “Are you married?”
Moira smiled. “No, why?”
“Get away from Kalder as soon as you can,” he said, and watched her smile fade. “Get away from all of this. Kalder’s heart is in the right place, he believes he alone can save us all, but I have this feeling…his ambition will kill anyone that’s too close to him for too long. Like…radiation. You shared information with me and he’s aware of it now, and somehow I don’t think he’ll like that. Get away from all of this and start a family, or set out for the stars and don’t come back. Ever.” He still hadn’t let go of her hand, and he kissed it now. “Farewell, Moira Holdengard.”
She opened her mouth to say something else, but he’d already turned and headed off towards what he assumed would be his last war.
MOIRA WATCHED THEM all disperse from a perch she’d found atop a maintenance catwalk between gantries, high above the embarkation bay. As she watched Lyokh go, she considered his last enigmatic words and how they made her feel.
She thought about sending him the final message she had prepared for him concerning Kalder. Moira hadn’t needed Lyokh’s warning, though she appreciated it. She had lain awake the last few nights with a growing suspicion about Kalder. She was now seriously entertaining the notion that he had somehow orchestrated the QEC comms failures in order to achieve an emergency appointment of a Crusade Visquain, one led by him.
Her paranoia about the man had increased since the meeting where they decided—he decided—they would go it alone in the Taka-Renault System.
She thought about informing Captain Lyokh right now, before he could leave, but then decided it would be an unnecessary distraction during deployment. Best save it for later, she thought, realizing fully that she did not, in her heart of hearts, believe there would be a later.
There was an old saying by a Harbinger concerning the Brood: I don’t remember where they came from, or even if there was a time before them. I do know this, though: after them, there is no more after.
Moira watched the last of them hustle into the Novas, and saw the shuttle ramps closing. She had been moved by the display of kneeling soldiers, all honoring their captain. Moira had seen clear as day what she had missed. Whereas before she had only seen Lyokh’s hard Germanic heritage and the stalwart soldier that Kalder’s propaganda machine wanted him to embody, she now saw that Lyokh was beloved. Plain as day. He had earned their amity, and in the process had come to mean something to all of them.
Kalder’s propaganda worked better than anybody could’ve guessed. Give him that much.
Moira turned away from the scene, and stopped dead in her tracks. The dark, imposing figure glaring at her with its one orange-glowing eye barred her path. Her blood ran cold. And, as her bladder emptied out of fear, Moira stared into the rusty, imperfect faceplate of the TRX bot, and saw her own terrified reflection staring back at her.
THANKFULLY, KALDER HAD gotten the Chief Presider of the UCP to forego all comments about what a monumental day this was, and they were now discussing, over two-minute time delays, politics. It was the language of change, and even though it might sound like mindless self-preservation to the others in the room, everyone knew no self-respecting leader could just jump into bed with a foreign power and trust them so quickly.
“How do we know our sovereignty will remain intact once this is over?” asked Reuben Astriauff.
Kalder sent his reply. “There are four criteria for statehood: Permanent population, a defined territory, a government, and the capacity to enter into relations with other states. You qualify on all accounts, Chief Presider, and therefore the sanctity of your sovereignty cannot be called into question. I’m sending you the data packets now, along with instructions on how to view them on your own computer systems, so that you can see the danger that you’re
in.”
Once that transmission was sent, Kalder looked over at Donovan. “How strong are those spacetime disturbances now?”
“Very large,” the captain said, pulling up the screen showing the blank patch of space where the Brood’s ships were predicted to emerge. Probes were stationed out there, reading massive upticks in all forms of radiation. The readings were akin to those observed around a black hole.
Then, all at once, and while they were watching, a worldship appeared onscreen, seemingly materializing out of nowhere. It was a giant cylinder, laid longways along the system’s ecliptic. Everyone in CIC gasped when they saw the thing, all except Kalder, who gazed at a familiar old enemy, and nodded. So, that’s how they’ll play it. Perhaps none besides him had ever seen one like this.
The ship was far larger than any worldship yet encountered, easily two thousand miles long, smooth on its belly, but heavily crenellated on its top. Hundreds of guns jutted out of every side of its hybrid chiton-metal hull, each one of them capable of ending a world. Thousands of tentacles extended from its front and rear.
Donovan did not hesitate to say, in a low whisper where only Kalder and Desh could hear, “We must retreat.”
Kalder shook his head. “No. We sit and we wait.”
“We can help a few of the UCP’s leadership evacuate, perhaps, but that’s all—”
“We wait.”
Donovan shot out of his chair, and stood an inch from Kalder’s face. “There. Can. Be. No. Winning.” He tapped his skull. “Get that in your head, Senator.”
Some were watching them, but most were mesmerized by the colossal ship.
“We wait,” Kalder repeated.
“For what?”
“Conn, sensor room!” the voice called over the intercom.
Donovan tore his gaze away from Kalder, and touched a button on his armrest. “Sensor room, conn.”
“Skipper, we’re getting another huge spike, coming up near one of the outer planets.”
“Near the worldship?”
