by Richard Fox
“We can send salvos until the batteries are empty, Admiral,” said his gunnery officer from a workstation adjacent to the holo tank. “Sensor data’s fouled. At these distances and the speed she’s moving…scoring a direct hit would be like trying to punt a football in Phoenix and have it go through the uprights in San Diego. While blindfolded. At night.”
“I understand,” Lettow said.
“We’re liable to lose them in…aaand they’re gone,” the gunnery officer said.
The Warsaw’s last plot in the tank blinked, then the projected course turned into a dashed line.
“The Vishrakath contingent is asking for you,” Paxton said.
“Stall,” Lettow said, leaning against the holo controls with a hard look on his face. He sighed and ran a fingertip down a panel.
Horva popped up in the holo tank. “Admiral, why haven’t you opened fire on the Ibarran vessel?”
“Because I don’t waste ammo. If we bring the rail cannons into this now, the EM signature of them firing will be a nice big beacon for the other Ibarran ship in this system. Plus, we’re in a dangerously low orbit. If the Ibarrans fire on us, they’ll hit Nunavik if they miss. Low gravity. Lava. If they hit the surface with full-power rail shots, it’ll kick up spall that could damage my ship. We’ll wait until they’re in orbit, try and engage them then.”
“Ruhaald, has this coward been in contact with the Ibarrans?” Horva asked.
“What did you call him?” Paxton asked.
“He has not,” Jarilla said. “A long-range radio signal would be lost in the nebula as would infrared. I thought the Vishrakath would send observers who know their head from their gaster.”
“I find this difficult to believe. I will arrive on the bridge in—”
Lettow cut the channel. “Gaster?” the admiral asked.
“The orifice that secrets fecal matter,” the Ruhaald said. “The human term is—”
“I got it.” Lettow brought the holo tank back to the Qa’Resh city. “XO. We need to move away from the city, give the Ibarrans a clean shot at getting close. They know we’re here—else they wouldn’t have sent reinforcements—but they don’t know where we are.”
“Aye aye,” Paxton said. “We’ll almost be in knife-fighting range when we do find them. Risk a scout mission with fighters?”
“No. That’s a death sentence. Alert Task Force Iconoclast of the development. Tell them we’ll be out of IR range until we return to find and destroy this ship,” Lettow said.
Always another wrinkle, he thought. The Ibarrans never make things easy.
****
Roland felt almost at home as his armor rattled inside a drop pod. He opened a channel to the other two armor in the pod with him.
“Morrigan, the Ibarrans—I mean us—there’s no tactical insertion missiles for armor?”
“On strike carriers,” she said. “Wouldn’t use them here anyway. Guidance systems wouldn’t work in this soup. Which is why I’m piloting this by eye so stop flapping your gums at me.” She left the channel.
“How’s your sync rating?” Colonel Martel asked.
“Eighty-five percent and rising, sir. Still some psychosomatic pain in my arm…nothing that can stop me from fighting,” Roland said.
“You are Templar. Only death can keep you from a just battle. I will miss fighting beside Tongea. Now he stands beside the Saint,” Martel said.
“How many did we lose, sir?”
“Too many. Another dozen are in critical condition. I asked for volunteers to this mission. Do you know how many asked to wear one of the six suits the Ibarrans had?”
Roland didn’t hesitate. “All of them.”
“All of them. You were the youngest Morrigan and I chose. You fight well enough, and the Ibarrans trust you to save their Lady far more than they trust me. The other drop pod has a lance that’s fought together for years,” Martel said.
“Who do think’s down there hunting Ibarra?” Roland asked.
“No one I wish to cross blades with. Days ago we were brothers and sisters…now—”
“Ready for emergency evac!” Morrigan shouted. “Pack-assisted drop in three…go hlfreann leis.”
Roland’s drop-pod bay opened and he went tumbling through black smoke. His HUD blared heat and radiation warnings but he was more focused on trying to activate the jump pack bolted to his back. He wasn’t sure of his altitude or how long until he came to a very sudden stop once he fell through this smoke.
He fired small maneuver thrusters attached to his legs and stopped his tumbling.
“Morrigan? Colonel?” he sent over IR, but it was lost in the smoke.
His instrumentation flashed error messages as he tried to gauge his altitude. Activating his pack too soon and burning it out too high could leave him without any means to slow down. He was armor, but terminal velocity and gravity were likely stronger than him.
A thunderclap sounded through the smoke and a pressure wave slapped him sideways. He came out of the volcano’s plume suddenly and saw the Qa’Resh city rolling over and over as he fell.
He activated a range-finding laser and got a V-shaped curve of readings as the laser swept across the city and around Nunavik. He made the educated guess that the lowest reading was how far he had to go before he crashed, and he activated his jump pack.
Wings of fire shot past his legs and he bumped against the inside of his womb.
“—ower! Lo—” Morrigan came over the IR.
Roland cut the power in his pack and went into free fall. There was a shockwave of expanding air in the city below, and what looked like a laser beam shot past him.
Rail cannons. Armor in the city were firing their rail cannons at the Ibarran rescue force.
Roland rolled head down and reactivated his jet pack. He was no longer concerned about how fast he’d land. Now he desperately wanted to get out of the line of fire.
He banked hard and cycled the power levels in the jet pack. He knew how to throw off a rail cannon shot. The hypervelocity slugs were best at long range against steady targets and the capacitors had a recharge time of several minutes.
Roland swooped over the city and pulled up between rows of buildings. Ahead, a suit of Union armor was braced against the ground, rail vanes angled over the shoulder and aimed toward the sky. Roland flew slightly higher over the road and kicked his feet forward as he ejected the jet pack.
His feet took the Union armor in the side with a crunch of metal. The Union armor’s left leg tore free of the body, the anchored leg still standing in place.
Roland landed on top of the other armor and they slid forward in a shower of sparks. Roland slapped away the rail cannon vanes and a blue arc of electricity connected from the weapon’s capacitor to his shoulder.
His true arm went numb as the electricity played hell with his systems. They slid into the side of a building and Roland went helm-first into the wall and fell next to the Union armor.
The one-legged armor swung his cannon arm toward Roland, but Roland punched the side of the cannon and knocked the aim off. Two gauss shells blew a chunk out of the ground next to Roland.
The Union armor rolled onto Roland and pinned his own cannon arm to the ground. Roland used his other hand to grasp the sword hilt locked to his leg. He jammed the guard under the Union armor’s chin and activated the blade. It burst through the back of the helm with a snap as the graphenium lattice within the blade formed, locking the razor-sharp weapon into place.
The Union armor faltered as Roland popped his helm off with a twist of his sword. He drew the weapon back and bashed the pommel into the breastplate, hard enough to puncture the outer armor layer and dent the pod within, likely stunning the soldier inside it.
Roland pulled the armor off him and looked at the unit crest: Black Watch. Roland lifted his sword and chopped it down, severing the armor’s waist. He cut off both arms with two more strokes, leaving the armor helpless…but alive.
The snap of gauss fire broke through t
he air and Roland went running toward it.
He turned a corner and almost ran into Morrigan as she came around. He held out a hand and she grabbed him by the forearm, using him to slow down. She activated her shield and took a knee, facing back the way she came. Roland followed suit.
The building corner broke apart under gauss fire and two more Black Watch ran into view. Roland and Morrigan fired. She hit one in the chest, Roland the other in the left knee, knocking the leg out from under the Union armor.
Roland charged forward, thrust the shield into the standing Black Watch’s chest—lifting the armor off its feet—and slammed it into a building, cracking the damaged wall further.
“No one has to die here,” Roland said.
“You do!” the woman inside the pinned armor shouted back. She hooked a blow against Roland’s side, sending a ring through his womb. Two blows hammered his shield as she fired her gauss cannons into it at point-blank range.
Roland staggered back and the bottom half of his shield broke free and landed at his feet.
The Black Watch swapped a fist for a punch spike and thrust it at Roland’s chest, a killing blow. Roland swiped his sword across his body and severed the spike from the Black Watch’s arm.
Rounds cycled into the Union armor’s cannons, readying for a second shot that wouldn’t miss. Roland stabbed his blade tip into the other armor’s chest, just barely piercing the breastplate.
“Don’t,” Roland said.
He heard the gauss capacitors’ whine grow higher and lunged forward, running his blade through the Black Watch, embedding the hilt against her chest. She beat at Roland’s shoulder for a moment, then the armor froze in place.
He stepped away and let the Black Watch slide off his weapon and onto the ground. Blood and amniosis fluid steamed off his sword.
Roland stared down at his weapon and the armor he’d just killed.
“It’s not the same as with Kesaht,” Morrigan said from behind. She stood over the other Black Watch, her sword pinning it to the ground. “Killing them feels good…this tastes like ashes.”
Flaming debris streaked through the air overhead, tracing slow paths across the sky.
“The other drop pod,” Morrigan said. “Bastards hit it before they could unload.” She yanked her sword free and pointed it at the disabled Black Watch.
“You’re too kind to them,” she said.
“I thought…hoped…”
“Get that out of your skull. They’re here to kill us and the Lady. Act accordingly,” she said.
“Where’s the colonel?”
“Dealt with the last Black Watch. He’ll be here directly.”
Roland looked from building to building and then to the iris behind him.
“Three of us,” he said. “Giant Qa’Resh city and we don’t know where Lady Ibarra is or how to find them.”
The iris flared with light and Roland brought his sword up to strike.
Stacey Ibarra stepped through the gateway and caught herself as she saw Roland.
“My Lady?” Morrigan asked.
“My Black Knight’s in sooty armor,” Stacey said. “I saw you through the portals. How many ships did you bring? More armor? Wait…is that Morrigan in there?”
“Aye. We’ve one ship, one more armor,” Morrigan said.
“Then we best leave before the odds get worse. Who is this?” she looked up at Roland. “If that’s Morrigan, who was in Union custody until now…then you must be…”
“Roland Shaw, My Lady.” He raised the guard of his sword up to his helm in salute.
“Ah…then I have another mission for you, Roland. Nicodemus is in danger. Bring him back to me.” She touched the iris frame and it lit up. “I can get you close to him. Hurry.”
“Ferrum corde,” Roland said and ran through the doorway.
“What?” Morrigan asked. “Nicodemus is my lance mate, Lady Ibarra, let me—”
“You’re a better fighter, but Roland stands a better chance in that fight than you. His enemy’s hate will make him sloppy. You…you he’s used to wanting to kill.”
“Gideon is here,” Morrigan said flatly.
“Correct. I’m not entirely sure how many other Union armor are still lurking about, which is why I couldn’t let you go with Roland. Now, there’s our third coming around the corner. Let’s bring in our ride home, shall we?”
Chapter 26
Gideon stepped through an iris and tapped his sword against the low tunnel’s wall, but there was no trace of Stacey or her armor. He lowered the weapon to his side and stopped.
“These doors are connected somehow. Either I’m stepping across light-years or I haven’t left the city yet.” He reached up and touched the ceiling, then pulled a fist back and punched up. The ceiling sent out a wave of color from the impact. He hit it again and cracks spread from the impact, ruining the colors’ symmetry like a broken slate screen.
White chalky material fell over his arm as he beat away at the ceiling. He rammed the blade into the damage and it broke through, revealing the overcast sky of the nebula over Nunavik. After clearing out an opening wide enough for his shoulders, he climbed out and found himself on a golden roof halfway between the central dome and the edge of the city.
Gideon jumped to the street below and took off running toward the center, his feet pounding against the ground, his armor never tiring. Through the corner of his vision, he saw a pair of armor legs jutting around a building. Terran armor.
He changed course and came around the corner, sword held high. The Black Watch lance lay strewn across the ground, their armor hacked apart, amniosis steaming from the torsos. All four dead were near an iris, and he could guess what had happened.
Ibarran armor had come out of the gateway and taken them by surprise.
Gideon stifled his rage, unsnapped a shield housing from a severed arm and attached it to his own. He was going for a gauss cannon on a dead suit when his acoustics picked up a thump in the air. Gideon stopped.
Thump. Even with the acoustics he could tell it was close.
He went around a building and there was Nicodemus, limping toward the Ibarran drop pod, a hip servo badly damaged.
Gideon brought his rotary cannon up and spun the barrels to life. Nicodemus whirled around, but not before a flurry of bullets tore across his armor, all bouncing off the plates but still severing the ammo belt feeding into his gauss cannons.
Nicodemus still had rounds in his chambers, and he fired them both at Gideon, who took the hits on his shield, cracking it down the center. He tossed it aside and advanced on his old friend.
“Nowhere to run,” Gideon said.
“My duty here isn’t to kill you.” Nicodemus raised his sword over his head with both hands. “You never could see past yourself, could you?”
“If I am the last thing you ever see, it will be enough.” Gideon reached for his sword behind him and charged forward, swinging a vicious strike across Nicodemus’ breastplate.
The Ibarran braced the flat of his blade against an arm and absorbed Gideon’s strike, then whacked the pommel of his sword into Gideon’s optics, shattering a lens.
Gideon let go of his sword and grabbed Nicodemus by the shoulder and hip. He thrust the side of his waist into Nicodemus and used it as a fulcrum, slamming Nicodemus’ shoulder into the ground. He kicked the Ibarran in the chest, sending him rolling away, his sword still in his grip.
Gideon picked his sword up by the blade, reached back and hurled it like a spear. The tip cut through Nicodemus’ chest just inside the shoulder.
Nicodemus cried out and fell to his side.
“Synaptic feedback is a liability, isn’t it? You taught me that.” Gideon kicked Nicodemus onto his back and planted a foot on the Ibarran’s chest. He grabbed the impaled blade by the hilt and twisted it. There was a screech of metal and fluid bubbled out.
“I never bothered to learn your proper swordplay. Guess that caught you a little off guard, eh? The master must fear the amateur mo
st of all—you can’t predict those who don’t know the rules. You didn’t redline, did you? You should be stronger than that.” Gideon wrenched his sword out.
“Gideon…my…my sons…” Nicodemus reached up with his other arm and Gideon slapped it away.
“Don’t matter. You will die a traitor. Everything you were in life will be forgotten. Your name blotted out from the honor rolls. Your saint will be erased and only the Union, my Union will remain…and I’ll tell Morrigan how I killed you.” Gideon raised his foot off Nicodemus and his diamond-tipped anchor spike snapped from the housing in his heel.
Gideon lifted his leg up and the spike spun to life. He stomped down.
There was an electric snap and Gideon’s leg was slapped to one side. The broken spike hit the ground and groaned to a stop.
Gideon looked up.
Roland, gauss cannon barrels smoking, advanced toward them.
“I’ll make you a deal,” Roland said. “Out of respect for you, for the Iron Dragoons…a life for a life. Back off and you’ll live.”
“Impossible.” Gideon retracted the damaged spike and stepped between Roland and Nicodemus. “You should be in a cell, waiting for the noose.”
“Yet here I am.” Roland cycled fresh shells into his barrels.
“He’s a traitor.” Gideon waved the tip of his sword back at Nicodemus. “Why are you fighting for them? Them…against me?”
Roland touched the Templar cross on his black armor.
“I know who I am…and I don’t need to be told what’s right. It is us—all of us, Gideon—Union and Ibarran, against the galaxy. Earth was ready to murder innocents for no reason other than our enemies demanded it. If we let our enemies dictate what’s right and wrong, what does that make us?”
“It makes you a traitor!” Gideon lunged forward, his sword aimed at the center of Roland’s chest.
Roland snapped the hilt off his leg and activated the blade. It shot out and the tip struck Gideon’s weapon, pushing it to the side. Roland sidestepped Gideon and leveled his blade toward him at shoulder height.
“Last chance,” Roland said.
