by Richard Fox
Gideon whirled around, bent slightly at the waist, then yelled and struck a wild blow at Roland. Their blades crossed, and Roland jabbed his sword forward, destroying an optic cluster on the side of Gideon’s helm.
Pressing off his back foot, Roland bashed his shoulder into Gideon’s chest, rattling the soldier inside, then twisted and ducked beneath Gideon’s return swing. He sliced his blade into Gideon’s knee servo, embedding halfway through it. There was a high-pitched whine as Roland tried to twist it free.
Gideon smashed his arms against Roland’s weapon and it shattered.
Roland grabbed Gideon by the wrist and stabbed what remained of his weapon into Gideon’s chest. The jagged edge tore up the front of the armor, leaving a gash along its path.
As Gideon stumbled forward, his damaged knee gave out and he made a blind swipe at Roland. The blow knocked the broken sword out of Roland’s grip and Gideon landed a punch that rattled Roland inside his womb.
Gideon thrust the side of the blade against Roland’s helm and ripped it down, cutting through the armor and destroying sensors.
“I am armor!” Gideon raised the sword high over his head. “I am fury!”
He chopped down, meaning to split Roland from helm to the base of his pod.
Roland crossed his arms over his head and the blade hacked into his armor. He twisted to one side, the blade came free, and he punched Gideon in the damaged knee. The leg collapsed. Roland grappled with his old lance commander and they went down in a roll.
Roland waited until he had the blade pinned between him and the ground, then pushed Gideon off him. Gideon rolled to a sudden stop, his hand still on the hilt.
Roland stomped a foot against Gideon’s sword arm, then tore the hand and sword free from Gideon’s body.
Gideon withdrew his other hand into the forearm and stabbed at Roland with the internal spike. Roland swiped his blade through Gideon’s elbow and the spike clattered to the ground. Roland held the sword at his hip, the blade pointed away from Gideon.
“Do it,” Gideon said, propping himself up on his remaining elbow. “No matter what happens from this moment, you will always be a traitor…and you will die a coward.”
“You are fury,” Roland said, his helm nodding. “Use it. Fight for Earth. Fight the real enemy.”
“Do it. This will only ever end with one of us dead,” Gideon said.
“Not today.” Roland swiped the sword across Gideon’s helm, slicing off the last functioning sensors.
Gideon’s armor froze and a view port on the breastplate popped open.
“Stay here,” Roland said. “Send for evac. You still have two armor in the dome. They’ll find their way out…Lady Ibarra will see to it. Fight well, Gideon.”
He turned his back on the armor and went to Nicodemus as Gideon’s armor collapsed to the ground, his damaged limbs working hard to gain traction and stand up.
“Nicodemus?” Roland asked.
“I’m in bad shape,” the Ibarran said. “Can’t evac my pod without breaking the emergency seals keeping my fluid in place. Can you drag all of me?”
“I will.” Roland locked the sword hilt to his thigh. In the distance, a corvette flew through a volcano plume toward the Qa’Resh city.
Chapter 27
Stacey Ibarra walked down the ramp of the Ebaki, her two bodyguards following behind her. The corvette fit with a few yards to spare on either side of the Warsaw’s flight deck. Demolished Destriers took up the back of the hangar. Admiral Makarov bowed slightly as Stacey stepped onto the deck.
Stacey looked back to the hangar opening as the front doors slid shut. Nunavik swept past them and the ship bore down on the Crucible.
“My Lady,” Makarov said.
“I got what we came for,” Stacey said. “Went down with three armor…came back with four. Well done.”
“We have a number of Terran Armor Corps Templar aboard…as well as the crew of the Narvik and our sleeper agents,” she said. “I wish there were more, but casualties were sustained. We’ll be through the Crucible in minutes. The Ardennes is preoccupied with rescuing their armor from the city.”
“We’re not safe yet,” Stacey said. “They’re tracking us through the jump gates, and if we don’t figure out how, we’re in for a long trip home.”
“My Lady,” Tyrel said, stepping forward, “we have the answer. I am what they’re tracking.”
Stacey looked him over, her face a mask.
“The green blood cells we acquired from the Vishrakath,” he said. “I received an immune-system booster shot before we searched the ruins in Renarra II.”
“I remember,” Stacey said.
“Gravitons from the jump gates activate the tracker.” He touched his chest. “We detected it when the Union arrived. There is no way to remove it. It is…in my blood.” He looked at Makarov. “Admiral. Open the hangar doors. I’ll throw myself out. I cannot put this ship or our Lady at risk.”
Makarov took a half step back. “There has to be another way. Send the Ebaki with him to another star after this jump—”
Stacey held up a hand. She motioned to the floor and Tyrel went to one knee, genuflecting.
“You are the best of us.” She touched her guard’s cheek. He didn’t flinch as her icy touch froze his flesh. “What do you know of me?”
“You are the Lady, and you love us.”
“I do.” She kissed him on the forehead and took her hand away. “Makarov. Load him into an escape pod and jettison him before we enter a high-radiation zone.”
“He’s a procedural, my Lady. If the Union find him, they’ll—”
“Some chance is better than none at all.”
“As you will,” Makarov said. “Tyrel, life pods.” She pointed a hand to an exit.
Tyrel handed his rifle to his fellow body guard and took off at a run.
“See to your ship. Get us home.” Stacey drew the data crystal out and rolled it between her fingers. She looked to the wrecked Union transports, then up into the corvette where armor technicians rushed up the ramp to tend to her damaged saviors.
“This is worth it,” she said.
“You found the device?” Makarov asked.
“I found how to get to it…and once we have it, the galaxy will be ours forever.”
****
“Make way!” a sailor called out as Admiral Lettow pushed through a scrum of sailors on the Ardennes flight deck. A path opened and he hurried to a pair of armsmen pinning Tyrel to the deck. The Ibarran’s open life pod was off to one side. Three armsmen lay on the ground, groaning and clutching broken arms.
“Someone want to explain this?” Lettow asked.
“Standard procedure with Ibarran prisoners, sir,” said one of the armsmen with a knee to the back of Tyrel’s neck. “Blood test. Check telomere levels to figure out if he’s in violation of the Hale Treaty. He’s been combative since we cracked his pod.”
“Izorra zaitez!” Tyrel yelled.
“And we don’t know what he’s saying.” A corpsman came over and swiped a reader against the armsman’s bloody knuckles.
A hush fell over the crowd as the Vishrakath and Ruhaald delegation walked up to the admiral, Kutcher right behind them.
“This is all?” Horva asked. “All this effort and you recovered a single rebel?”
“You’re here to observe,” Lettow said, “not antagonize me into stuffing you into that pod and letting your bug buddies come find you.”
Tyrel lifted his head, blood sputtering from his nose and mouth as he looked at the aliens and the admiral with undisguised hatred.
Kutcher went to the corpsman and read from her medical gauntlet.
“Well?” Horva asked. “Is this one illegal or not?”
The intelligence officer pushed the corpsman’s gauntlet down and looked at the Ibarran.
“I do not understand human body language,” Horva said. “Use your words to communicate with me. My superiors will know every detail as I experience it. Do you want my interpretation to
be in the final report?”
“Let me up,” Tyrel said. “Let me die on my feet like a man.”
“He is in violation of the treaty,” Kutcher said.
“Immediate destruction,” Horva said. “Those are your orders, correct?”
Lettow drew his gauss pistol and a murmur rose through the sailors. Chief petty officers shouted down the dissent.
“Let go,” the admiral said to the two armsmen holding Tyrel. They scrambled away and Tyrel used the side of his escape pod to right himself. He spat on the ground and wiped a sleeve across his bloody face.
Lettow kept the muzzle pointed to the deck.
“By general order ninety-eight, as signed by President Garret and ratified by our Congress,” Lettow said as he half raised the pistol, “I hereby carry out my duties to…”
He lowered the gun to his side.
“No. No. I will kill Ibarrans in combat but I am not a—”
A single shot rang out.
Tyrel’s head snapped back and blood splattered against the life pod. He fell back and slid to the ground.
Kutcher, a smoking pistol in hand, had his gaze locked on the man he just killed.
“Acceptable,” Horva said. “We will return to our chamber.”
Lettow stalked toward Kutcher and grabbed him by the front of his void suit. “Explain yourself,” Lettow hissed.
“Orders,” Kutcher said, “are orders. Especially in front of aliens looking to see if we follow those orders. You’re welcome.”
Lettow pulled a fist back to punch the intelligence officer, but Paxton caught him by the elbow.
“Admiral,” she said, “you’re no use to the fleet if you’re in the brig. This fight’s over. They won.”
Lettow pushed the spy away. “Ready a void burial,” Lettow said, looking at the dead Ibarran. “Full military honors. I will officiate.”
Paxton was silent for a moment.
“Aye aye.”
Chapter 28
Aignar walked down the barracks hallway, his left leg raw and sore from the repairs to his socket. He limped slightly, still not used to the new prosthetic.
The sound of slamming drawers came from a room at the far end. The closer Aignar got, the more certain he was that the noise came from his room.
He opened his door and Gideon was there, his uniform jacket off and Toth claw necklace swinging loose around his neck. Plastic boxes were strewn across Roland’s bunk and the floor. Roland’s dresser, desk and overhead space were all open. Personal items and clothing had been thrown into the boxes with little care.
“Sir,” Aignar said.
Gideon nodded at him. Aignar watched as Gideon went back to packing away Roland’s gear.
“Is he dead?” Aignar asked.
“Not yet,” Gideon snapped.
“He’s dead to me,” Aignar said. “He’s another Ibarran traitor now.”
“Good,” Gideon said. “Good. We’ll catch up to him. End it.”
“When?”
“Not soon enough.”
****
Roland knelt in prayer, a Templar sword braced in both hands and the tip set in a small, purpose-built groove in the floor. The pure-white tabard was the same, but the black and red Ibarran uniform was different from the last time he put on his ceremonial attire.
“Rise,” Martel commanded from the front of the auditorium.
Roland knew this room. He’d seen new Templar initiated into the order from the observation deck back…what felt like a lifetime ago. This was different. Only the Templar that survived the escape from Tholis were there.
General Hurson, the Ibarran armor commander, came out onto the wooden stage.
“My brothers and sisters,” he began, “the Templar Order is whole. Lady Ibarra does not demand our fealty. Lady Ibarra stands beside Saint Kallen as the protector of humanity, and we will fight beside Ibarra and her armies so long as she is true to that purpose. If the Ibarra Nation ever asks us to abandon the Saint, they will abandon us. No new oaths are required. You are all Templar. We are removed from Saint Kallen’s tomb, but one day we will share her presence again.”
“Amen,” the Templar intoned.
“Report to your armor for lance assignment and training,” Hurson said. “Dismissed.”
Roland stood up, still feeling the aches and pains of the fight in the guard post. He felt so alone as the other Templar left the auditorium; most still had their old lance mates with them.
“Look at you,” Morrigan said. “What an improvement.” She wore the same uniform, her red hair in a tight bun.
“Bet you never thought you’d see me like this,” Roland said, brushing a palm down a black sleeve.
“I thought you might come over after Balmaseda. You fight with the best, it’s hard to go back to the rest. We both had to come home, but you took the low road and I took the high road and we both made it to Navarre at the same time. Fancy that.” She smiled.
“I wonder which lance I’ll be assigned to,” Roland said.
“Why wonder? I know,” she said.
“Well? You going to tell me?”
“Ask the lance commander that petitioned for ye—he’s right there.” Morrigan raised her chin.
Roland turned and faced Colonel Martel and Nicodemus.
“Roland,” Martel said, “it’s tradition that when a lance takes in two or more new members, it chooses a new name or one from the honor roll. As I carried Carius’ legacy as the head of the Templar order, our…once-estranged brothers have allowed me to keep the name. The lance Templar lives on. Myself, Nicodemus, Morrigan…and you.”
“I’m honored to serve under a more senior commander,” Nicodemus said, “and one that’s better in a fight than I.”
Martel held out a hand to Roland, and the younger man gripped Martel’s forearm. Nicodemus and Morrigan put their hands over the hold.
“For the Saint,” Martel said. “Ferrum Corde.”
“Ferrum corde,” Roland said.
Iron heart.
****
Overlord Bale squirmed inside his holding tank as the Vishrakath fleet rounded a green and blue planet. The tendrils of the Toth’s nervous system rubbed against the glass as the desire to feed gripped him. The temptation to summon a Sanheel officer or an Ixio was great, but eating the help had such a negative effect on command and control.
Besides, he had a snack waiting in his laboratory.
He waited in an immense cargo bay with Kesaht crescent fighters locked into launch claws around him. The setting for the meeting was a bit humble for his tastes, but the guests had been specific in their requests.
The alien fleet took up a battle formation against the lone Kesaht dreadnought hanging motionless in the void.
“They think they can beat us,” Bale said to Tomenakai.
“Posturing nonsense,” the Ixio said, gently waving fingers next to his large black eyes. “When will we bring them into the Kesaht fold, my lord?”
“When the time is right. They’re more useful to us in other ways for now.”
Soon, a Vishrakath shuttle landed in the bay and a trio of the aliens made their way to the Toth overlord. The Vishrakath had thick collars around their necks, an accessory Bale had never seen before.
“Ambassador Wexil,” Bale said, “it’s been quite some time since we’ve seen each other.”
“After what happened to the last envoy, you’re fortunate to have this audience,” Wexil said.
“A misunderstanding,” Bale said.
“You ate them.”
“They had information I needed to kill humans. Information they withheld. The nature of our agreement is quite clear on this.” Bale’s forelimb half reached toward Wexil, but he drew it back.
“That’s why I have this.” Wexil ran a claw against the collar. “If there are any further misunderstandings, the explosives within will make sure you never have another one.”
“I’m hurt…and a little impressed. Enough of the pleasantries…what do yo
u have to report?”
“New Bastion will not declare war against the humans, but they have expelled Earth from the mutual-defense treaty,” Wexil said. “The humans’ operation to capture Ibarra failed, but they showed enough adherence to the treaty to convince enough ambassadors to stop out-and-out sanctions. Unfortunate.”
“You promised all-out war, Wexil! Not half measures.”
“The Vishrakath Imperium declared full-scale war against Earth and the Ibarrans this morning. We will launch a coordinated attack on their colonies in the coming days. The Naroosha are with us, as are Kroar mercenary armies. It should be enough.”
“This is…acceptable,” Bale said. “Earth is the ultimate prize. When can you attack?”
“Earth is a fortress,” Wexil said. “The Vishrakath and our allies do not have the power to do that without massive casualties. I am here to coordinate the assault with the Kesaht.”
“I want the humans,” Bale said, his hunger growing stronger. “I want them all.”
“That is our agreement. We want the Ibarrans’ technology.”
“Trinkets! You want toys when you could have worlds…but we don’t know where to find the Ibarrans just yet.”
“If we threaten Earth, the Ibarrans will come to their aid. You’ll have enough prisoners to…examine,” Wexil said.
“Tomenakai, summon the holy council,” Bale said. “It is time the humans learned defeat…and sorrow.”
Chapter 29
Stacey stood in front of a privacy screen, looking at her distorted reflection. She moved her fingers to signal the guards and the privacy screen fell.
Inside a cell, Marc Ibarra, his metal body a match for her own, looked up from a stack of data slates.
“Oh,” he said, “I thought you’d forgot about me. Thanks for the reading material, sure beats practicing my show tunes.”
“I found the ark,” she said.
Marc set a slate aside. “And?”
“You were right. It isn’t located anywhere within range of a Crucible gate…but I have a solution for that. Just waiting for the chance to…borrow it,” she said.
