Judgment of Mars (Starship's Mage Book 5)

by Glynn Stewart

  The Runes were unique to a person. Adding cybernetic limbs would change enough about him to require them to be redone…and an incorrect Rune of Power could easily be fatal.

  “The risk is too high,” he continued. “This is…unpleasant, but I am all too aware of the alternatives.”

  Alexander laid his hands on the cheap desk and looked straight at Damien.

  “There are prices to be paid for what I have asked you to do, asked you to become,” he stated. “You have paid them again and again. Three times now in less than as many months, you have lived only because a Mage-Surgeon was to hand, and that is a skillset only barely less rare than our own.”

  Alexander paused, seeming to marshal his thoughts and words.

  “You have given enough,” he finally continued. “Bled enough. If you want to go on medical leave, even retire…you’ve earned it.”

  Damien was surprised. His understanding was that he was currently unemployed, with his Warrant passed on to Samara to complete his task. Medical leave would have been a best-case scenario, but…

  “You wouldn’t be saying that if you didn’t have a job for me,” he pointed out.

  “Over one hundred systems look to Mars to shield them from evil,” the Mage-King replied. “Almost one hundred billion souls.” He shook his head.

  “I can turn aside few tools in the struggle to keep them safe, but I cannot help but feel that you have given enough.”

  “But you need me.”

  “But I need you.”

  Damien held up his ruined hands.

  “Even as a cripple?” he asked bluntly.

  “A cripple.” Alexander snorted. “A cripple who remains one of only four adult Rune Wrights in the Protectorate. A cripple who, even weakened and injured, is the fourth most powerful Mage alive.

  “I need you,” he repeated with a nod. “I need your power, your Sight. I can send others in your place, yes, but there are few I trust as much and fewer who can do as much.”

  “Last I checked, I was unemployed,” Damien pointed out.

  “Medical retirement is hardly unemployment,” Alexander told him. “I would see you given a generous pension.”

  Damien laughed.

  “You realize it works better if you offer me the money to stay, right?”

  “My conscience says I should let you go,” the Mage-King of Mars admitted. “But that ironclad sense of duty says I should draft you.”

  “Duty,” Damien echoed. “I didn’t learn that set of shackles from you, my King. Crippled or not, so long as you serve the people of the Protectorate, I am your man.”

  “I’m sorry,” Alexander said with a sigh.

  “I’m not,” the younger man told him. “I believe we have a meeting to get to?”

  #

  Romanov and two Royal Guardsmen, all clad in combat exosuit armor, were waiting for the two Rune Wrights when they left the office. The three armored men fell in behind Damien as he followed the Mage-King through the corridors of Council Station.

  The two with them weren’t the only Royal Guardsmen around. They passed at least a dozen of the powerful exosuit-clad Mages as they made their way towards the Council Chamber as well as Marines and Secret Service Agents.

  All of them were helping, assisting with repairs, coordinating search and rescue, providing security…but it was also very obvious who was in charge. And it wasn’t the Council of the Protectorate.

  When they reached the doors to the Chamber, there were six armed Lictors barring the way. Damien doubted it was unintentional that they were all obviously carrying the overpowered carbines the Secret Service had developed to fight exosuits.

  Nonetheless, at the approach of the Mage-King of Mars, they stood aside and allowed all of them to enter, including the bodyguards that had always been barred when Damien alone appeared before the Council.

  Desmond Michael Alexander the Third led the way into the room, age and weariness seeming to fall away as the gaunt old man in the plain gray suit strode to the center of the room, standing straight with his hands behind his back as he surveyed his Council.

  “Much has happened since this Council requested that We appear before them,” he told them. “But here We are.”

  The silence stretched out.

  “Speak,” Alexander ordered. “Enough blood has been shed for Us to stand here that We demand it.”

  It was still a good ten, fifteen seconds before Councilor Paul Newton rose.

  “We requested Your presence to demand the resignation of Hand Damien Montgomery,” he admitted. “A request that now seems…shortsighted. I am certain that You knew why we asked You here, so I believe it is necessary for us to state this:

  “We have voted and this Council no longer desires Hand Montgomery’s resignation,” Newton stated. “We understand that Hand Montgomery has already resigned and I and my fellows”—he gestured around at the other Councilors—“also wish to make it clear that we have no objections to the restoration of Damien Montgomery to the responsibilities and privileges of his prior role.”

  The white-haired Councilor for Alpha Centauri met Damien’s gaze levelly.

  “For myself, Lord Montgomery, I owe you my life—and far more importantly, the life of my wife and daughter,” he said softly. “I am in your debt beyond words.”

  From the uncomfortable shifting at many of the desks, few of the turnabouts had been as complete as Councilor Newton’s. But they had been complete enough for them to change their minds.

  “We are pleased by this news,” Alexander said softly into the silence. “But We cannot ignore where We were.

  “For Our entire reign, We have sought to compromise and cooperate with this Council,” he reminded them. “We have argued, We conflicted, but We believed We had found a balance that worked for Us—and, more importantly, worked for the Protectorate.

  “And yet.”

  The words sank into the quiet of the Council Chamber like a stone.

  “And yet,” he repeated, “you strike at a loyal servant and friend to strike at Us. You undermine Our Hands to weaken Our power and expand your own. We are prepared to compromise, Councilors, but We will not be attacked.”

  “We did not—” Newton tried to object.

  “You did,” the Mage-King of Mars replied coldly. “You used this man”—he gestured at Damien—“as a vector to undermine the very structure of Our Protectorate.”

  Newton wilted. The Council Chamber returned to silence, and Alexander smiled. It was a thin, pale thing.

  “We are not blind to the needs of the Protectorate nor the desire for compromise,” he finally said. “So, here We are. We have asked much of this Council in recent years. We will ask more of it in the days and years to come.

  “We have long regarded this Council as a necessary advisor. We have long leaned on this Council to study and review the laws that We seek to lay on the Protectorate.

  “So, let it be said and let it be done,” Alexander said, his voice rising in volume. “We declare before this body, this Council of the Protectorate, that We shall pass no law binding the worlds of Our Protectorate that has not been approved by this Council.

  “We reserve to Ourselves the ancient right of veto and command of Our armies and navies, but We have long turned to this Council to draft Our legislation and law. We declare what has been tradition…to be law.”

  It was odd, Damien realized, how even silence could have different tones. One moment terrified, the next stunned.

  “Compromise, Our Councilors, is a question of give-and-take,” the Mage-King noted. “We have given what you desire, and now you will learn what We require.

  “A shadow has fallen across Our Protectorate. A shadow cast at the highest levels, a conspiracy of Hands and worlds and lies and darkness. Worlds have been torn apart in war, outposts seared clean of life.

  “Even in the darkest hours, We cannot leave the Sol system,” Alexander concluded. “So, We have always had Our Hands, to reach out where We cannot. But eve
n Our Hands have limits, have been subject to this Council’s oversight.

  “An oversight that you have abused,” he said flatly, “but one the Protectorate cannot afford for Us to take from you. But We have always had one more tool in Our arsenal. Those men and women We have charged for investigations of the highest of treasons, to lead the Inquests of entire worlds.

  “Damien Montgomery,” Alexander continued, “kneel before me.”

  Damien was mostly lost at this point, feeling like he’d wandered into the middle of a stampede—and he suspected most of the Council didn’t feel any more certain of what was going on.

  “We had to have this cast anew,” the King said conversationally as he pulled something from inside his suit. “Only two of these have ever been given. One was vaporized with the man who wore it. The other’s was buried with her.”

  It was a Hand on a chain, the same icon that Damien had given back to his King a few days before, but…

  The Hand Damien had returned with his resignation was cast in gold. This was cast in platinum and Damien wasn’t even sure what a platinum Hand meant.

  “Damien Montgomery, We declare you Our First Hand,” Alexander said softly as he draped the chain around Damien’s neck, allowing the platinum icon to drop onto his chest. “We charge you to stand at Our right hand, above all others. We once made you a Hand, a Judge of men and nations.

  “We now declare you a Judge of kings and stars.”

  Damien exhaled, meeting Alexander’s gaze and nodding. He thought he understood now.

  “And We charge you, as We did before, to root out Our secret enemy and end this shadow war.”

  #

  Damien rose carefully, the new Hand on his chest heavier than the one he was used to and his limbs still feeling weak. Alexander kept his hands on the younger man’s shoulders after draping the chain around his neck, subtly helping him to rise.

  He traded a nod with his King and began to marshal his thoughts. He’d drafted an entire report to allow someone else to do what had to come next, but if it fell to him, he knew the whole mess better than anyone at this point.

  “This is ridiculous!” a voice snapped.

  Damien wasn’t surprised that when he turned to face the Council, Councilor McClintlock had risen to his feet.

  “This man and our King have run roughshod over the authority and protection of this Council,” McClintlock snarled. “There are warships at our door, Marines and Royal Guardsmen throughout our station, and you expect us to applaud you raising this man, whose hands are drenched in blood, above even the limited oversight we have over your Hands?”

  “Raul, Montgomery just saved our lives,” Ayodele told him sharply. “The vote against him was a kangaroo court and we all bloody knew it.”

  “The King gives us one carrot and we’re expected to just roll over like happy dogs?” the Legatan Councilor replied. “I refuse. We were at risk because his people failed to identify a clear threat in advance. I, for one, find it suspicious that the Front was allowed to—”

  “Sit. Down,” Damien ordered, magic augmenting his voice to cut over McClintlock’s rant.

  “I will not be—”

  “I said sit down, Councilor McClintlock,” Damien snapped. “I don’t think we’re done speaking just yet, and I suspect you should stop digging.”

  He was trying to project threat in his voice and managed it, apparently, well enough that the Councilor sat. Damien glanced over at Alexander, who gave him a small “go ahead” gesture, then inhaled.

  “For five years now, we have seen a shadow war waged across our worlds,” Damien told the Councilors. “You’ve all been aware of it, at least peripherally. So many of you…so much more than peripherally. Ardennes. Sherwood. Míngliàng. Panterra. Oberon. New California.

  “A litany of names,” he said softly. “Each of those Councilors knows of what I speak.”

  Each of those Councilors had visibly reacted when he’d spoken.

  “There are a dozen others among you I could name,” he noted. “Fire and bloodshed have been brought to our worlds, and again, and again, the Hands and the Navy have arrived to turn the tide.”

  McClintlock was staring at him and Damien could see the sinking realization behind the Councilor’s eyes.

  “We have seen the wreckage of these conflicts, and we have seen the common threads, the common paths,” Damien continued. “We long ago realized there was one actor behind so many of these. And a powerful actor it had to be, to send ships and spies and weapons to so many worlds.

  “And now that actor has struck on Mars itself, with assassinations and bombings and even the very attack on this station itself,” he told them.

  Damien waited, letting the silence linger as the Councilors stared at him, waiting for the only thing he could say next.

  “But in that overreach,” he finally resumed, “they have revealed themselves. So, I stand before you today and I tell you that the Protectorate finally knows our enemy.

  “Based on the arms used in Ardennes, Panterran, Oberonian and New Californian armed revolutions, the ships used to attack Antonius and burn the Greenwood colony to the ground, the Augment agents present on Ardennes and other worlds”—he heard the shocked inhalation of breath as he gave them enough to guess—“and the testimony of Major Adrian Kody of the Legatan Military Intelligence Directorate, I accuse the Legatan government of Grand Treason.

  “I accuse your world, Councilor McClintlock, of waging war against the other worlds of the Protectorate in the shadows, of espionage and mass murder.”

  He couldn’t really point, not with his fingers refusing to move, but he did his best and watched the Councilor turn white.

  “I formally declare an Inquest and will proceed to the Legatan system with a team of investigators backed by a Navy task force to investigate your government’s files and prove, before all the galaxy, their guilt or innocence.”

  The Council Chamber was silent and every eye was on Raul McClintlock, waiting to see how the man would respond.

  They’d all guessed, at least in quiet conversations out of the light, that Legatus had been behind the attacks. They’d all known Legatus had the resources and the will—but also that Mars would have to wait until they had unquestionable evidence to lay any charges.

  The UnArcana world’s relationship with the Protectorate was fraught. Trapped and exposed as traitors and murders…what would Councilor McClintlock do?

  As it turned out, he would laugh.

  He rose to his feet, laughing and shaking his head.

  “This is what we come to, is it?” he demanded. “This kind of sick joke? Kangaroo courts and false charges to smear the name of my world? Legatus not merely required to kneel but to grovel on our bellies and beg?

  “We will not simply roll over and submit,” McClintlock told them all. “You say there is proof! I do not believe you!”

  “Then you are a fool,” Damien told him. “Recordings of my interview with Major Kody will be distributed to the Council within the hour, along with the details of the investigations on nineteen worlds, showing that Legatan arms and Legatan agents were involved in the conflicts and terrorist movements.

  “We will gladly share the proof of Legatus’s crimes with the Council,” he continued. “And when the Inquest is concluded, if your world is truly innocent, then your assistance would be critical in finding the truly guilty parties.”

  “No,” the Legatan Councilor said, shaking his head. “No, Hand Montgomery, I think we will not be party to your witch hunt or subject to your inquisition.”

  He reached inside his suit, pulled out a small package neatly wrapped in parchment, and laid it on the desk in front of him. In front of the confused gaze of the Council, he unwrapped it to reveal a single black datachip marked with the seal of the Legatan Legislature.

  “We knew, on Legatus, that one day Mars would come for us,” McClintlock said, his voice strained but level. “We knew that one day there would be false charges leveled and
a Hand would be sent to bring us to heel, to teach us that we should serve the Mages instead of turning them away.

  “We knew that one day Mars would attempt to complete the Eugenicists’ work,” he spat.

  “This”—he tapped the chip—“is our formal notification that we are withdrawing from the Charter, the Compact, and the Protectorate. No, Lord Montgomery, you will not be investigating my world to find your imaginary enemy.

  “Legatus will no longer bow to your authority.”

  Damien would have expected Legatus seceding to surprise him less. It had been discussed again and again as a threat, a possibility, yet to see Raul McClintlock stand in the Council Chamber and declare that his world would break with Mars and the Mage-King was a shock to the system.

  “Very well.” Alexander spoke for the first time since laying the Hand on Damien, his voice calm and even as he stepped up to face McClintlock.

  “If Legatus would walk alone, then Legatus will walk alone,” he told the Councilor. “You and your staff have twenty-four hours to pack your things. We will then provide a Navy vessel to transport all of your personnel back to Legatus, where the ship will pick up all Royal personal in that system.

  “No Royal ships will visit your system after that,” he continued. “Once you have arranged some deal for transportation with the Mage Guilds, you may send a representative here to discuss a trade treaty with Us and Our Council.

  “We will have no slaves, no conquests, in Our Protectorate,” Alexander told them all. “If you wish to leave, leave. But know that We will not force the Mage Guilds to deal with you. You may find yourselves more isolated than you expect.”

  The Council Chamber was silent again.

  “Go,” the Mage-King told McClintlock. “If Legatus is no longer part of the Protectorate, then you are no longer part of this Council.”

  The ex-Councilor nodded sharply, rising slowly and striding from the room.

  Damien wasn’t surprised, this time, to see several other Councilors from the other UnArcana worlds follow him.

  “And so it ends,” he heard his King murmur.