A House Divided

by Richard Fox

  “I doubt it…they’re all from the Ardennes joint squadron. They’ve tangled with Ibarrans before.”

  “Then ready the launch. Makarov’s going to stick her head right into our noose,” Laran said with a smile.

  Chapter 20

  “Medic!” Adams shouted as she limped out of the lift and into guard post Alpha.

  Roland looked over as Labaqui carried Turcotte in and set him down against a wall. Blood stained the Pathfinder’s front and dribbled down the legionnaire’s back.

  “What the hell are you people doing?” Aignar asked Roland from where they stood at the opening of the tunnel leading to post Bravo. The Templar lined the tunnel walls behind them.

  Roland watched as Adams checked Turcotte’s pulse, then began chest compressions with one arm.

  “Stop this,” Aignar said. “They’ll listen to you, Roland. Put a stop to all of this.”

  “How?” Roland asked no one. “Adams is a Strike Marine, dedicated to Earth. Why are she and all the other prisoners suddenly—”

  “The Ibarrans did this,” Aignar said. “Another one of their tricks. They’ve done it to you, to them…am I the only one here that realizes how insane you all are?”

  “Wounded to the Mule!” Medvedev shouted from command center. “All wounded to the fore, now! Labaqui will fly you out!” The big legionnaire went to Adams and pulled her away from Turcotte then handed her off to a group of Narvik crewmen. He knelt beside the Pathfinder and closed the dead man’s eyes.

  Adams wiped blood from her mouth and swiped her hand against the wall, leaving an arc of red. She went to the hangar, cradling her broken arm.

  Medvedev hurried over to the Templar’s tunnel and banged a fist to his chest, saluting Colonel Martel.

  Roland tensed up. Seeing Ibarran legionnaires in their combat armor up close brought out combat instincts—instincts confused as he questioned where his loyalties lie.

  “We have a way off world,” Medvedev said to Martel. “Three more Destrier transports en route. The crew of the Narvik leaves first. Then the rest of our people.”

  “Our people,” Roland thought.

  “You think Mars Command is going to let four transports full of escaped prisoners and—” Martel swallowed hard “—and the rest of us just leave?”

  “The Warsaw will carry us home,” Medvedev said.

  “How can—”

  “That one.” Medvedev leveled a knife hand at Aignar. “Why isn’t he in a cell?”

  “I’m not a prisoner, bucket-head,” Aignar said. “I mean, I’m your prisoner. Not a prisoner of this prison so that makes—”

  “Secure him with the others.” Medvedev tossed a set of cuffs to a prisoner with a carbine then thrust his hand toward a group of guards cuffed to handrails at the far end of the guard post.

  “Get your filthy hands off me,” Aignar said, swatting away the prisoner’s grasp.

  “Aignar…” Roland gripped his friend by the elbow and stepped between him and Medvedev. “This is hard enough.”

  “Is it?” Aignar pulled his arm free and walked toward the bound guards, his boots clomping against the deck plating.

  The guard with the cuffs looked between Roland and Aignar and shrugged.

  Roland caught up with Aignar and the rest of the liberated prisoners watched as the two armor made their way across the post.

  “You can put a stop to this madness,” Aignar said.

  “If I could, what would that accomplish?” Roland asked. “We know what’s going to happen to the Narvik’s crew. Omega Provision. And the…others? They’re not with the Terran Union anymore. What will Earth do to them?”

  “Deprogram them. Undo what the Ibarrans have done.” Aignar’s gaze stuck on a group of former prisoners clustered around a doorway leading to the prison grounds. All had weapons trained on post Charlie.

  “I don’t know if that’s even possible,” Roland said. “During the Ember War something similar happened. Naroosha changed proccies in their tubes…Marc Ibarra had them all killed.”

  “You’re running into the arms of monsters guilty of the exact thing you’re afraid Earth will do,” Aignar said. “What did they do to you, Roland? If they changed something deep in your head, I can forgive you being an out-and-out traitor. Don’t tell me this is what you want.”

  “Marc Ibarra is not Stacey Ibarra. The Lady—I mean—”

  “Rolly Polly?” Jerry looked up from the outer edge of the mass of guards. Both of his hands were cuffed to a railing and he struggled to raise his head in his unpowered armor. Roland left Aignar’s side and went to his old roommate from his childhood orphanage as the former prisoner with the restraints urged Aignar forward.

  “Jerry? You OK? Anything hurt?” Roland asked.

  “My pride,” Jerry said, shifting uncomfortably, “and my balls. Mostly my balls right now. What was that other armor guy talking about? Where’s Valencia? Why aren’t you…”

  “She’s safe.” Roland looked out over the prison to where they’d left the other guard. “She’s locked up in the Templar cell block. Listen, Jerry…things are all screwed up right now.”

  “You saved my life on Thesius,” Jerry said, his face contorting with emotion, “and now you’re with them? These bunch of traitors?”

  “They’re not…” Roland knelt next to Jerry and crossed his arms over his bent knee. “I am armor. I am Templar. The Union—the Union turned its back on what I swore to defend.”

  “The Union is the Union, Roland,” Jerry said. “We fight for all mankind.” He shrugged a shoulder with the Ranger unit crest painted on the pauldron. “You’re going with a bunch of tube babies and the Ibarrans? What happened to you?”

  Roland’s hands balled into fists and he looked back to the hangar entrance just as the air-lock doors closed. Medvedev had one hand to the side of his helmet, his head bowed slightly as he listened to someone. The last of the Narvik’s crew and the former prisoners around him looked resolute, sure of their purpose.

  “You haven’t seen what I’ve seen, Jerry,” Roland said. “They’re not what you think.”

  Jerry looked at his bound wrists then back to Roland. “There are bodies in the hangar,” Jerry said. “Dead Rangers, all my brothers, out in the yard. I think they’re my enemies and they haven’t disappointed me yet.”

  “The Kesaht—”

  “Hate us anyway,” Jerry said. “The Vishrakath are looking for an excuse. So are the Naroosha. The Haesh. Just because I’m a grunt doesn’t mean I don’t know what’s going on out there. They get away and what happens? We lived through the Ember War when we were kids, Roland. You remember the bunkers? How scared we were? That’s what’s coming again.”

  “So I should leave them all here to die? That’s not what I’ve sworn my life to.”

  “To hell—” Jerry lowered his voice. “To hell with you. You think a higher loyalty to some…damn it. I prayed, you know that? I prayed for the first time in years when the damn Rakka were about to rip us to pieces. I prayed to Saint Kallen and then you showed up. Now you’re telling me you being all Templar and stuff means you have to be a traitor? Help me figure this out, man, because I don’t know if it was what the tubies used to knock me out or what, but I can’t put the pieces together on this.”

  “It shouldn’t be this way,” Roland said. “We should be side by side against the galaxy, but here we are, killing each other. This is what Earth’s enemies want—division, a civil war in the hope some damn piece of paper protects the future.”

  “Just go, bud.” Jerry looked away. “I should never have let you fill up Hale’s drinks that night back at Deco’s. That put all sorts of stupid ideas in your head…now look where we are.”

  “You should’ve parked yourself in some macro cannon out beyond Pluto,” Roland said. “Would’ve been a lot safer for you.”

  “Second group!” Medvedev shouted as warning lights spun to life around the air lock. “Second group, prepare to embark!”

  “That you?�
� Jerry asked.

  “No.” Roland stood and looked over the guards bound to the railings. Those that had their heads turned up regarded Roland with scorn. Aignar was at the far end, his back to Roland. He fought the urge to go and explain himself to his lance mate. The conversation with Jerry made him realize just how futile that task would be with Aignar.

  “What’re your buddies going to do with us?” Jerry asked.

  “They don’t—we don’t want you.” Roland stood up. “Stay safe.”

  “Not really an option right now,” Jerry smirked.

  Roland went back to the Templar tunnel. He leaned a shoulder against the rough rock and crossed his arms over his chest.

  “There is an answer,” Tongea said as the older man stepped up next to him, his hands clasped behind his back.

  “I…don’t know it yet. I have a feeling…” Roland said, touching his heart. “But this,” he paused and touched his head, “hasn’t caught up to it.”

  “When you were the Ibarras’ prisoner and you learned of the Kesaht attack on one of their colonies, did you hesitate to volunteer?” Tongea asked.

  “No…easy decision.”

  “You gave no thought to how it might end for you if the Terran Union learned what you did?”

  “It didn’t matter.”

  “If Aignar or your old friend were there with you, would you have chosen any differently?”

  “No.” Roland took a deep breath and emotions came loose from his heart.

  “What is your choice now?”

  “There is no choice. I am Templar. We fight for the future. One we won’t live to see.”

  “Nicodemus and Morrigan were right to lend their names to you for the vigil,” Tongea huffed. “If they hadn’t, Martel and I would have.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “There is no thanks for what is earned.”

  ****

  Masha banked her Destrier over the prison and watched as the dome over post Charlie rolled into the ground, revealing a Mule. The Mule rose a few yards off the ground and then blasted away into the sky.

  “Where the hell are they going?” Walker asked. “Olympus is that way.” She pointed to the northeast, almost opposite the direction the Mule had flown.

  “First transport with wounded is away,” Makarov said through her dental implant.

  “Bento,” Masha said to the pilot of one of the other two Destriers, “this is Gezur. Land and board as many evacuees as you can.”

  “Gezur, what’s the status of the prison?” Bento asked over the IR. “The guard force isn’t broadcasting a distress.”

  “You see those cracks in the dome? Whatever did that damage must have slagged their comms,” Masha said. “I’m in tight-beam contact with the warden. You’re secure to land.”

  “You are?” Walker flipped through channels and gave Masha a confused look.

  “Roger,” Bento said. “Setting down now.”

  The other craft landed and Masha bit her lip as the dome slid up from the housing and just barely cleared the large transport’s hull.

  “Rickets, you’re up next,” Masha sent to the second transport.

  “This is the weirdest day,” Walker said. “We haven’t had a single demand for a sitrep from Hard-Ass since we took off. There should’ve been some spittle and screaming after you blew off the request to delay for a security element.”

  “Small favors, eh?” Masha’s heart pounded as she glanced at the mission clock. The pickup window to the Warsaw was getting smaller every second.

  Walker frowned and clicked a switch several times. “We don’t…we don’t have any contact with Olympus. I just sent an IFF ping and got nothing back, but the channel reads green.”

  The dome opened and the Destrier inside lurched into the air slowly.

  “Bento,” Walker said into the flight’s channel, “give us a passenger count. Standard reporting, let’s go.”

  “Rickets, get in there,” Masha ordered and cut the flight channel.

  “This is all wrong,” Walker said. “Why can’t I hear—”

  Masha drew a pistol off her chest in a flash and pressed the muzzle to Walker’s faceplate. The other woman froze, her eyes wide with shock.

  “Everything is going just fine,” Masha said. “Now…I don’t really need a copilot right now. So you can either deactivate your station and cuff yourself to your chair with the handy-dandy bracelets I tucked under your seat or you will never have another problem again. Pick. Flying this bucket and holding this gun are a bit much for me right now.”

  “You’re…you’re one of them,” Walker said.

  Masha tapped the muzzle against Walker’s visor.

  Walker raised her hands slowly. Then snapped a hand toward her commo panel.

  Masha’s pistol cracked and blood splattered against the cockpit windows. Walker slumped against her restraints, her head lolling over a shoulder.

  “I hate heroes.” Masha holstered her pistol and shut down the copilot’s controls.

  ****

  Aignar rolled his metal wrists from side to side in his cuffs and glanced over at the former prisoner holding a carbine. The man had his attention on the door to the air lock where Medvedev was taking a head count as prisoners filed past him. Prisoners led aircrew into the guard post at gunpoint and locked them up with the rest of the guards.

  A pilot was forced down next to Aignar and shackled to the handrail.

  “What the hell is going on?” Rickets asked. “We touch down and some monster in black armor’s in the cockpit seconds later with a gun in our face.”

  “The Ibarrans are checking out early,” Aignar said. “Anyone know what’s happening out there?”

  “We got a life-support alert,” Rickets said. “Holy crap, are those the Templar over there? Why aren’t they hog-tied like us?”

  “Explain later. Fight now.” Aignar kicked a helmetless Ranger’s leg, the blow of his boot against the armor startling the man awake.

  “Soldier, I’m less than useful with a rifle.” Aignar wiggled his metal fingers slowly. “If I get you a battery pack and a weapon, you need to take control of this situation.”

  “That plug in your skull mess your brain up?” the Ranger asked. “Even if I was loose, I—”

  “The regiments get soft since I was in?” Aignar leaned over to the Ranger. “You’ve got one real threat—the legionnaire. Take him out then you’re dealing with pogues that aren’t in armor. How many more you want to get away?”

  “You got your cart before the horse.” The Ranger rolled his eyes, then pulled the chain between his cuffs against the handrail.

  “I saw where they dumped all the gear they stripped off the guard force.” Aignar nodded to an open office door a few yards away. “Suit batteries. Pistols.”

  “Lot of good that does us,” the Ranger said.

  Aignar craned his neck around and saw two armed prisoners talking with each other, both pointing at the Templar and the last of the Ibarran turncoats walking into the hangar. Neither were watching the guards.

  He grabbed a wrist with one hand, then unsnapped his prosthetic from the socket below his elbow.

  “That’s kind of gross,” Rickets said quietly.

  Aignar tilted his detached arm down, and it slid out of the cuffs and onto his lap, leaving one hole empty. He brought his other arm down, quickly re-snapping his arm back into place, then rolled onto his elbows and knees and crawled into the open office, moving on his elbows and knees—which were flesh instead of metal—to soften the sound.

  He looked toward the prisoners that were supposed to be watching him and saw they were still distracted. If his mouth could move, he would have smiled. He looked back into the office as he crossed over the threshold and almost bumped into the back of a prisoner’s legs.

  “I’m taking one of these Ranger P9s,” the man said. “They always got the best gear. You think we’ll get something better once we get home?”

  He turned around and looked through an
empty doorway, a pistol held in one hand.

  “Carl?”

  Aignar brought a foot around and planted it on the floor. The prisoner looked down just in time to see Aignar’s metal fist rise in an uppercut. His head snapped back and he crumbled into Aignar’s arms as the pistol clattered against the floor.

  “Damn it!” Aignar looked through the doorway and one of the guards flashed him an OK sign. He let the unconscious man slide out of his grip and his head bounced off the floor. Aignar shrugged. On the desk were piles of pistols, magazines, power packs and a single carbine.

  Aignar picked up the pistol from the floor, then clamped a hand onto a magazine and worked it into the weapon. He struck the loose magazine against his thigh and the weapon cycled a bullet into the chamber. He popped a trigger finger open then tried to pull it toward his palm. The finger jittered.

  “If I was in my armor…” He tucked the pistol into the back of his waistband and picked up a power armor battery.

  The Ranger shook his head quickly and Aignar waited, the cuffs swishing against one wrist.

  Chapter 21

  Admiral Lettow suffered through the habitual wave of vertigo that came with a wormhole passage. Considering that, to make the journey, he and his ship were crossing a quantum bridge between two points thousands of light-years across without being smeared into electrons or passing through a nightmare dimension full of demons, he considered himself lucky.

  He looked out the Ardennes’ bridge windows and froze. Space, the void, was white, an infinite expanse of blazing white.

  “Radiation alert!” Paxton announced. “Shields holding but we’ve got maybe ten minutes before we start taking rads.”

  “Admiral…” Behind the admiral at the command and control holo tank, Jarilla unlocked the mag plates on his exo-armor and grasped at the air with overly long fingers. “Ruhaald do not have the same radiation tolerance as humans. The effects on us will be—”

  “You have ten minutes before you’re allowed to panic.” Lettow pulled up his ship’s sensor suite and got a mountain of scrambled data. Swearing, he got out of his command chair and noticed striations in the great white around the ship and bright pinpricks of light in the distance. They were inside a nebula, one that could stretch out for light-years.