by Peter Nealen
Vrykolok had been the name the Valdekans had given the Unity’s clone troops. It was an Eastern Satevic word, meaning roughly, “living dead.” It had been coined in reaction to the way the clones had swarmed like ants, utterly heedless of their own safety.
“You clearly have another course of action in mind,” Maruks said. “And given that you are speaking to us, you hope that if you can sell it to the Caractacan Brotherhood, the others will fall in line quickly.”
What might have been a flash of irritation crossed Rehenek’s face, and he glanced at Scalas. He clearly didn’t like being so transparent. Scalas just watched him impassively, waiting.
He touched a key, and another star lit up as a bright red pinpoint in the plot, right on the edge of the Unity and just before the Carina Arm gave way to the Interarm Deeps between it and the Outer Arm. “The pegeth was desperate enough for leniency that she gave up every bit of information she had stolen on the station, including a great deal that had nothing whatsoever to do with the Unity. It took my own coders some time to sort through it all, but this particular bit stood out.”
He pointed to the ruby point. “That is a system called EV21534 on the charts,” he said. “It’s a pulsar, a supernova remnant. A ship out of Uhar-Prahet surveyed it some fifty Valdekan years ago.” A Valdekan year, Scalas vaguely remembered, was somewhere around ten thousand hours. “They came away with one notable feature in the system.” He touched another key, and a holographic representation of a pulsar orbited by two planets sprang up out of the galactic plot. “This world here, named Mzin’s World in the survey, appears to be the leftover metallic core of a gas giant that was stripped bare by the supernova that formed the pulsar.”
Scalas thought he was starting to see the picture. “Which would mean it is probably largely made up of heavy metals,” he said slowly.
Rehenek nodded. “According to the survey, it is,” he confirmed. “Almost entirely. And according to the pegeth’s information, the Unity knows about it and has set up a mining operation there. If they are building ships in the kinds of numbers they will need, they will also need immense amounts of heavy metals.”
“And you would rather raid this mining facility than continue on the mission to eliminate the Unity’s proxy war network?” Scalas asked skeptically. “That seems rather like glory-hounding at the expense of the task at hand to me.” He felt Maruks’ eyes on him; the Brother Legate knew full well what he was talking about, and why it might be a sore spot.
“Except that that’s not what it is at all!” Rehenek almost exploded. He fought to bring his flash of temper under control. “Listen to me, Erekan. You were there on Valdek. You saw what they did in the Sparat system. I thought you would see.” He pointed to the plot again. “If we continue as we have been, slow and careful, then the worlds of the galaxy will never be ready for the real onslaught when it comes. Like I said, they’ll be divided, distracted, and unprepared. You know what we’re up against. You’ve seen it.”
“I have,” Scalas replied, folding his arms across his breastplate. “You still haven’t explained why striking Mzin’s World, possibly disrupting the Unity’s war machine for a few months before they rebuild, is a better use of resources than shutting down the network that is going to wreak havoc both before and after the true offensive begins. Do you think that they will simply stop as soon as the Unity begins to move more quickly?”
“No, I don’t,” Rehenek snapped. “You want to know why we should go to Mzin’s World? Because we need a victory. Not like here at Ktatra. Something spectacular. Something daring and dramatic. We can warn the other worlds about the saboteurs and terrorists. I have people, along with the Dahuans and the Vukh-Rutiians, working up the information campaigns for that right now, and courier missiles en route to my planetary base to get more people working on it.”
He took a deep breath and held out his hands, almost pleading. “I told you, this task force is barely big enough to deal with one cell at a time. It would take tens of thousands of hours to finish this with only the ships and men I have. Even with the Brotherhood’s help.
“But let the warning go out—and it will be both a warning and a call to arms, make no mistake about that; it will be accompanied by the most impactful recordings we have from Valdek and the Sparat system—accompanied by the news that we have gone deep into what should be Unity territory and struck at their war machine itself? It won’t matter that they can rebuild in a few thousand hours. The message will be clear; while they dithered, we struck at the Unity at home and abroad. We took the war to them, before these fools even acknowledged that war was coming.” He lifted that clenched fist in front of him, as if to stir his followers or shake it defiantly in Geretesk Vakolo’s very face. “That will be the spark that ignites the fire. That inspires! We need that inspiration, if this Alliance is to hope to stand against the Unity’s hordes.”
Scalas frowned as he stared at the plot. He had to admit, Rehenek had a point. And the power of inspiration was not unknown among the Brotherhood. Kranjick himself had taught him that. It was why they wore armor and exuded confidence and competence whenever they were within sight of their beneficiaries. They must inspire their hosts’ hopes and confidence. They were more than soldiers; they were paladins. To be a paragon was as vital a part of being a Caractacan Brother as his weapon. It made the Brotherhood respected by its friends, benefactors, and beneficiaries, and feared by its enemies.
But this… Rehenek was persuasive, but Scalas was still unsure about abandoning the mission at hand for what could end up being an empty gesture. Another part of the Code was to always complete that which a Brother began. And the terror network sowing chaos and dissension among the Unity’s enemies was still very much at large.
“Have you spoken to the other commanders about this?” Maruks asked pensively. He was rubbing his chin, also staring at the holo.
“Only Major Zorek,” Rehenek replied. “I came to you first.”
Maruks nodded grimly. “I was right then, was I not?” he asked. “You hope to convince us because if the Caractacan Brotherhood goes along with this plan, then the others will more readily join in?”
Rehenek’s lips thinned. This was clearly not going according to plan. “Yes,” he said shortly. “Your Brotherhood is respected and feared. No one would question the idea if you were going.”
Maruks eyed him narrowly. The young man met his gaze, but there was a brittleness to his demeanor that belied his apparent impassivity.
“I fear that you are right in this case, General-Regent Rehenek,” Maruks said heavily. “Mzin’s World would make for a more…inspirational victory. A strategic strike at this time might both slow the Unity’s preparations for a larger war and convince some of the other major worlds of your fitness to lead the Alliance.” Whether or not it convinced Maruks he did not say, and with a flicker in his eyes, Scalas saw that Rehenek had noticed.
It wouldn’t matter. The Caractacan Brotherhood would no more subordinate itself to this newborn Alliance than it would to the Unity. It was not the Brotherhood’s way. Fight beside it, perhaps. Join its chain of command, never.
“You will join us, then?” Rehenek asked. He was almost pleading.
Maruks glanced at Scalas. “Thoughts, Centurion? Since you know from more personal experience than I what we are up against?”
Scalas looked at the plot, wondering how much of what he was about to say was purely to justify this course to himself.
“I think it may be a strategically sound choice,” he said slowly. “I question the honor in it; how much more damage will the Unity’s mercenaries do before we return? All the same, if enough warnings reach enough worlds…”
Maruks nodded. He looked Rehenek in the eye. Despite their differences in height, especially anchored to the deck, Maruks’s presence outweighed Rehenek’s. “The Caractacan Brotherhood committed to the downfall of the so-called Galactic Unity after Valdek fell, General-Regent,” he said. “To that end, we will see this war through
. While we must remain independent, I do believe that my ships and Centuries can commit to this operation.” He glanced at Scalas. “We will send messages to our other deployed ships and Centuries, directing them to begin to move against the other two cells in the Avar Sector, and more messages to the Central Keep. We will go to Mzin’s World, but the rest of the Brotherhood will pursue the campaign against the Unity’s terror network.”
He fixed Rehenek with a stare. “Remember though, General-Regent, that we are embarking on this for its potential strategic value to the war. Not to attach ourselves to your star, whether it is rising or not. We are the Brotherhood. We answer to God and the Code, and no other. Am I understood?”
Rehenek’s face might have been stiff, but he nodded. He glanced at Scalas, who met his gaze evenly. They might be friends, of a sort, and allies against a pernicious enemy, but Scalas would always be a Caractacan Brother first.
“I understand, Legate,” he said, extending his hand. “It is as much as I could have hoped for.”
Maruks and Rehenek shook hands. The next stage of the war had just begun, rather unexpectedly.
Chapter Fifteen
“Another nebula,” Mor muttered.
The supernova remnant listed on the charts as EV21534 glowed purple and red in the command deck holo tank. It was a bubble of still-violently expanding gas and dust, but from any angle it tended to look like a reddish ring surrounding a purplish cloud with red tendrils running through it. In the center hung a tiny, sullenly glowing pinpoint.
“Except this isn’t a stellar nursery, but a supernova remnant less than fifty million hours old,” Scalas pointed out over the intercom. “The radiation’s going to be a lot worse.”
“Thank you for that bright ray of light, Erekan,” Mor grumbled.
“I’m going to be the one on the ground, without a ship’s shielding around me,” Scalas observed dryly.
“True,” Mor replied. “I cede the point.”
The fleet had halted, making rendezvous in orbit around an unremarkable G-type star about fifty light-years from the edge of the nebula. There might have been life on the rocky planet orbiting the star at seven and a half light-minutes, but the sky was empty of radio sources or ship’s emissions. The only noise when they listened was the steady hiss of background radiation, already elevated this close to the supernova, and the low, crackling roar of the star and its two gas giant companions.
“Herald of Justice, this is the Dauntless,” Mor called. “We are ready to break off from the fleet and begin our reconnaissance run.”
“You may proceed, Captain,” Maruks said gravely. “Go with God.”
“Scalas, Rehenek,” the General-Regent called, linking into the comm channel. “Be safe, my friend, and leave some of the enemy for the rest of us.”
“If all goes according to plan, my Century will not even get off the ship,” Scalas pointed out. “Our fate is in Captain Mor’s capable hands now.”
Mor smiled tightly, but said nothing, his hands dancing over the controls instead, reengaging the ship’s Bergenholm and starting the drives, thrusting away from the rest of the fleet. His friend’s confidence was heartening, but when he thought back to Hwung-Tsi’s maneuver at Ktatra, his smile dimmed somewhat.
He knew that he shouldn’t let it bother him. Hwung-Tsi was a capable captain, and it was no shame to have been outmaneuvered by him. Never mind that it had been an incredibly risky maneuver that easily might not have worked. If anything, the realization that he didn’t think he could ever have done it, even had he thought of it, should have strengthened his own understanding of his skill and talents, and how best to utilize them. Humility, Kranjick had once told him, is honesty.
But his pride had been pricked, and the wound was still tender. He hadn’t had the opportunity to speak to Hwung-Tsi since then, but he honestly did not know how he would react when the time came. He knew that he should be gracious, but he couldn’t help but resent it a little.
He would have to find a way to even the score. Even as he thought it, the warning voice of his conscience murmured to him about getting reckless with the lives in his charge.
“We will return in no more than three hundred hours,” he called, his voice even and measured. “If we do not, assume we were lost.” He was confident that the flyby and return shouldn’t take more than about two hundred hours at the most.
He dialed up both the drives and the Bergenholm, and the Dauntless went tachyonic, outrunning sluggish light as it raced away from the fleet and the empty system where it waited.
The Dauntless plunged into the supernova remnant.
The ship’s hull temperature rose sharply as she flashed through the still-expanding shockwave that was all that remained of the dead star’s outer atmosphere. Even the ionization deflectors only attenuated some of it; even after millions of hours, there was still a great deal of energy in that still-expanding shockwave.
Trailing a long tail of coruscating ions and radiation, the Dauntless arrowed toward the pulsar. Mor was flying almost on instinct as he approached the center of the supernova remnant. The pulsar’s jet was clearly visible in the holo tank’s plot, a great, sweeping line of charged particles, moving at over seventy percent of the speed of light in cone-shaped arcs light-years across. There was so much energy in that stream that to fly into it, even with the ionization barriers at full, would mean the almost instant death of every man aboard.
But that jet was sweeping the nebula almost too rapidly to predict its path. The pulsar was rotating at twelve times a second, and the jet was swinging around with it.
It’s a good thing that it’s coming from the poles; we can come in roughly along the ecliptic. But the question was, where was Mzin’s World in relation to that ecliptic? If he miscalculated, they could overshoot their target, and have to go light-years out of their way to approach the pulsar from a different angle. Passing too close to the star’s corpse, even if they avoided the jet, would be lethal.
So we have to divert. It’s recon. We adjust to the circumstances. I really don’t want to face the Judgement with the deaths of my crew and Erekan’s Century on my conscience, just because I was too proud to admit that I’d guessed wrong.
The thought steadied him. I’ve been moping about not being up to Hwung-Tsi’s level after Ktatra, when I should have simply been focused on what I can do. This isn’t the time. I have to focus, or we’re all lost.
“Talk to me, Fry,” he called out, as he brought the Dauntless sweeping toward the pulsar’s equator. “What do you see? I need something solid in the outer system to try to hide behind.”
“There’s not a lot left that I can make out,” Fry replied. “I’m limited to visual and gravitational scanning, and both of those are messy. There’s so much hard radiation out there that anything else is hash.”
“Hopefully there was more than one gas giant in the system,” Thos put in. “If Mzin’s World was the only one…”
“Then we’ll have to chance a high-velocity pass and go tachyonic as quickly as possible,” Mor finished for him. “We don’t get to pick what the in-system terrain looks like, unfortunately. But according to the survey, there should be another planet orbiting the pulsar, a supergiant.”
In the holo tank’s enhanced image, the pulsar, visible as a dim, purple dot, with the jets visualized as faintly curving lines of luminescence, was getting bigger. The exact location of Mzin’s World or the pulsar’s second companion was still unknown, lost in the vastness of the red and purple streamers of gas and dust that were still billowing out from the pulsar, long after the explosion that had ejected them.
“Got something,” Fry announced. He rattled off the coordinates, but at the same time, he highlighted the point in the holo tank, making his recitation of the numbers nearly superfluous. “Judging by the gravimetric readings, it’s the supergiant.”
Mor studied the problem. The supergiant was almost straight ahead, orbiting the pulsar at seventy light-minutes. It was extremely serendipit
ous placement; he could quickly put the massive body between the Dauntless and the pulsar, shielding the starship from the worst of the dead star’s radiation. The problem that still remained was just where in relation to the supergiant was Mzin’s World? The survey data wasn’t extremely thorough when it came to specific orbits. Mor suspected the survey vessel had passed through the system as quickly as possible. It would have been only prudent.
He adjusted course, tapping the controls to slew the Dauntless’s nose toward the supergiant. They were still half a light-year out from the system, but had dropped to sublight speeds to conduct the initial survey. The holo plot was automatically adjusting its display of the supergiant’s position, based on the age of the data. The best information they had had already been in transit for over four thousand hours.
“This is going to be tricky, gentlemen,” he announced over the All Hands channel. “Right at the moment, our best bet is to match the supergiant’s orbit around the pulsar, which should allow us to stay within its umbra. Unfortunately, we’re going to have to figure out the vector on the way in, and make our synchronization burn once we’re over the dark side of the planet. It’s too hot out here to try anything else, and the survey data isn’t precise enough.”
“How many Gs, Brecan?” Scalas asked over the intercom.
“I don’t know for certain yet,” Mor replied. “But it’s going to have to be enough to make sure that we don’t drift out of the planet’s umbra before we’re done. There’s no getting around some exposure, but the less, the better. I hope everyone aboard has taken their rad pills.”
