“What the hell are those things doing?” he asked.
“Victory roll,” answered Avanti. “The beautiful mudsuckers have only gone and done it. They’ve cyber-boarded and taken control.”
While the comm channel filled with Avanti and Cragger’s whoops and cheers, Remus needed to reassess the situation before he could join their celebrations. The planet killers were all turning back from the planet. The Wing Commander’s X-Boat squadrons, supported by swarms of AI-drones, were tearing through the fleeing Hardit survivors of their other attacks, and he was still receiving tactical updates from the ground, which meant at least someone down there was still alive. But Beowulf…
Ice gripped his heart. He re-checked the tactical grid, but it made no difference. Beowulf had been lost. He froze, his mind unable to grasp the enormity of that simple fact. He was trying to locate Romulus when he received an incoming transmission from Khallini-Control.
“Reamer this is K-CON. We need you planetside to pilot Storks. Leave your X-Boats at the OP2 platform and get your asses down the elevator pronto. There’s work to be done. This isn’t over by a long shot.”
“Say again, K-CON. This isn’t over?”
The operator working the Khallini Control call sign sighed. “Oh, what the hell, Reamer? The Chief Strategic Analyst has confirmed what I had thought were panicked rumors. And that freak’s suspicions are firmer than most normal folks’ facts.”
Remus’s mind brought up an image of the Chief Strategic Analyst, a strange little man inside a deep-sea bubble. He’d tried to murder General McEwan and Colonel Lee’s children. Rom always said he’d gotten off too lightly.
“This attack was not an isolated incident. Every fleet, every Legion-controlled system has been attacked simultaneously. No invasions. This was a coordinated pre-emptive strike designed to inflict maximum damage. I’ve lost contact with four planetary systems altogether, meaning their Hummers acting as comm nodes are dead. ‘K’ Fleet was hit hardest. I’m hearing 25% casualties.”
“Chodding hell.”
“Damned right. Whoever they are got the drop on us all right. They wanted to punish the Legion and the bastards got what they wanted.”
“I’ve got a good idea who they are.”
“Yes, Flight-Sergeant Remus,” came a new voice – a computer translation. “We all do. This is K-CON Actual. Now cut your small talk and get your flight’s buttocks down here like you’ve been told. I need you flying Storks up to those dead planet killers to make sure they stay safe, and to start getting some hard intelligence.”
K-CON Actual… that was Major-General Siniseen, the senior officer in the system and the most ferocious Littorane he’d ever seen. “Wilco, K-CON Actual. We’re on our way.”
Remus edged his Swordfish into the edge of the danger zone of his momentum dump system. It would only shave a few seconds off his journey time but fear and duty urged him onward. Hardits or not, a new force operating alone or in alliance with an Imperial faction, whoever this new enemy was their aim had been to degrade the Legion’s fighting strength.
Which could only mean one thing.
They were coming back.
Most importantly to Remus, moving forward kept him looking backward; back to the debris field that had been the Beowulf and the combat space patrol that had protected her.
Romulus was supposed to be assigned to that patrol unit, but the data on his brother was confusing. One thing was clear.
Romulus was missing.
— CHAPTER 07 —
Such was the chaos and destruction in the wake of the Hardit sneak attack that it took nearly two days before Remus picked up any clue as to the fate of his brother. The trail led to a hospital ward overflowing with wounded, and a sleeping Wolf-woman diagnosed with suffering the effects of prolonged oxygen starvation.
Brain damage. The thought sickened him.
He sat by Janna’s bed for hours until the light of consciousness returned to Janna’s eyes and strengthened this time, rather than flickering out as it had so many times before. Remus bent over and kissed her scaly forehead. The green hexagonal plates of the ginquin parasite felt like warm polished leather.
The kiss ended, but he was unwilling to relinquish the touch of his lips and kept his lips pressed against her. Janna was all he had left. If he let go, she might leave him too.
Remus was cut off from his mother. Worse. He had received occasional word over the years, but she was stranded on Tranquility with only intermittent and often corrupted lightspeed comms. It took thirty years to pass a message there and back. It was like receiving word from a ghost. And although he had no memory of her, the death of his birth mother when he was a baby still left a gaping wound in his heart. If Romulus was truly gone then his girlfriend, Janna, would be the only family he had left. She was so desperately precious to him.
He sat back upright and turned his head away, unable to look Janna in the eye and see there that his brother was dead.
Janna reached out and squeezed his hand. “He was still alive when we ejected,” she said. “Don’t give up hope yet.”
“What happened?” Remus turned back and peered into Janna’s face, as if hoping to find answers in that scaly face. “It’s a blessing you survived, Janna. But I don’t understand. You were cut off and surrounded. How is it that I see you here alive?”
She glanced away, searching her memories for an answer. When she looked back at him, her eyes were filled with sadness. “It’s no use. I can’t remember anything between ejecting and waking up in hospital.” She added halfheartedly, “They say my memories might return.”
Her words propped up Remus, but only for a few seconds. Then the hope drained out of him and he knew in his heart that his brother had left him forever. He drew the wounded Wolf to him in as tight an embrace as he dared. Only the thought that it would embarrass her kept him from sobbing. His eyes streamed with silent tears.
“Hey, little brother.”
Remus froze. Was this grief overwhelming his mind?
“Hands off my girlfriend!”
“Rom!” screamed Janna.
It really was him.
Romulus clapped Remus on the shoulder, a smile plastered all over his silly face. “Don’t look so surprised, bro. I always make it back. It’s you lot I have to worry about.”
As Romulus moved on to Janna’s bedside, the joy froze over Remus’s face. Then it shattered.
He studied Janna’s expression as she pulled Romulus toward her and eased into his embrace before they started to kiss. No, she hadn’t seen what he had.
Remus had seen right through the smile on Romulus’s face to the terrible burden he carried on the inside.
Something was wrong with his brother.
Very wrong.
—— PART II ——
A MEMORY
OF
THE FUTURE
HUMAN LEGION
— INFOPEDIA —
HISTORY OF THE LEGION
– Civil Administration and Politics Part I
The Human Legion grew to become something much larger and more significant than its originators ever conceived, but its origins lay in the Human Marine Corps and its depot planet of Tranquility. The humans were slaves, and their Jotun officers were also slaves, albeit more elevated ones. This was a standard part of the White Knight strategy for regional dominance: vulnerable worlds, and those conquered by other factions, would beg for the White Knights’ protection against an extremely dangerous galaxy.
White Knight Vassal worlds were allowed a semblance of autonomy to run their own affairs so long as their economic, military, and scientific endeavors were bent to the will of their overlords. Indeed, in comparison with invasion, occupation, or destruction at the hands of other strong species, the legally binding terms dictated by the White Knights in return for their protection appeared extremely lenient.
The term ‘White Knight’ is a human one, and comes from humanity’s own introduction to the brutal realities of not bein
g alone in the galaxy. In the series of treaties known as the Vancouver Accords, the human race signed away many cherished freedoms – and a million of its children – in return for patronage from these powerful protectors who had chased away the rivals who had enslaved, occupied, and destroyed as they saw fit across the face of the Earth. Despite some harsh terms, the Vancouver Accords were popular at the time, and the White Knights were given their name because they appeared to be shining paladins who had ridden to humanity’s rescue.
Many other species use similar terms as their name for the White Knights. And in their own tales of a traumatic introduction to the Trans-Species Union, the White Knights often appear at just the right moment to make an offer that the humans or other supplicant civilizations can’t afford to turn down. Speculation persists as to whether the White Knights knew when to appear because they could peer into the future, or because the first waves of aliens to brutalize a new species into looking for protectors had secretly been working for the White Knights all along.
Either way, civil administration was always heavily constrained by the need to fulfil the terms of agreement with the White Knights, and as for the slave soldiers of military organizations, such as the Human Marine Corps, the White Knights made no pretense of caring about the liberties, rights, or welfare of those who fought in their name.
Civilian worlds could provide the luxuries of civilization, such as healthcare when you are sick, and provisions to care for those too old to look after themselves. There was none of that in the Human Marine Corps. You were useful, or you were dead. Marines did not retire. There were no old or frail slaves. If you were unable to perform your function, the resources you consumed – accommodation, food, air – were reassigned to someone who could. And with the genetic modifications, and social conditioning that encouraged rapid breeding, combined with mass-produced cryogenic facilities, there was always a ready supply of replacements ready to be thawed.
All of which created a serious challenge for the Human Legion. For the citizens of planets the Legion had liberated, who lived their lives one day at a time without cryogenic suspension, the Civil War seemed endless: a conflict that had endured for many generations, and was fought far away. These people expected rights and welfare, and a say in their own government, and they demanded it of a Human Legion led by escaped slaves who had no personal experience of any of this.
Arun McEwan referred to this as the Second Front: the struggle to produce stable and peaceful worlds in the wake of military liberation, while all the time contributing to the Legion’s war effort, and paying lip-service allegiance to the White Knight Emperor.
In many ways, this Second Front was fought as hard if not harder than the war of lasers and bombs and warships. And the consequences of that other war were felt long after the Civil War had ended.
— CHAPTER 08 —
“You procrastinate.”
“No, Your Elevance.”
“Wretched creature, forever grubbing around for allies and advantages before you dare to stand in my presence.”
“With respect, Your Elevance, this is far more than a rescue mission. I am directing a war to reclaim an empire in your name.”
“You do not! You grub and delay. The siege I face is not a static picture, McEwan. It is hard fought and my besiegers deploy every resource at their disposal with but one ambition: to see me dead.”
“I assure you, Your Elevance, that your liberation remains our highest priority.”
“So you keep saying. And yet you waste time yet again in this pointless battle you are about to fight, for a planet so unimportant I was unaware that it even formed part of my empire. Does this planet even have a name?”
Arun rolled his eyes at the Emperor’s petulant exaggeration. It seemed the embattled ruler of the White Knight Empire was feeling as humiliated as ever at being forced to talk directly with one of his human subjects. Arun did his best to keep his face impassive and eyes forward. Frustratingly, no image accompanied the Emperor’s communications, so Arun still had no idea what the White Knights looked like, but he wouldn’t have put it past the ruler of known space to have tiny robotic eyes in the cabin to see any disrespect. Now that the Hardits had allied with the New Empire, the outcome of the war was once more in the balance, and Arun no longer felt as confident in the Emperor’s presence.
“The planet is named Tallerman-3, Your Elevance. And its conquest is a vital prelude to your liberation. We must first secure our flanks.”
“You are a liar, General McEwan. There are no flanks in interstellar war, no legitimate reason why you should not turn your warfleet away from this foolish Tallerman endeavor and proceed immediately to my location.”
“The conduct of this war is my decision, Your Elevance. That was our agreement.”
“Ah, yes. The agreement. The expectations each of us placed on the other that you never seem to quite fulfill. The exchange of commitments was witnessed and recorded, human. It is legally binding. You are required to submit to all the terms that we agreed.”
“Yes, Your Elevance.”
“All of them.”
“I understand.”
“Good. I shall be magnanimous. You may have your foolish battle for this Tallerman, but then you must liberate my capital without so much as a single day’s procrastination. I have other means to break this siege, human. You are merely the most expedient. Your delay reduces the value of our alliance. Disappoint me again and I shall declare our agreement to be void and your species oath breakers. Should that happen, humanity will be exterminated throughout the galaxy, and you shall know yourself to be the cause of your race’s extinction. You shall be the last to die.”
“I shall not disappoint you, Your Elevance.”
“Spare your worthless words, General. Speak instead with your deeds.”
The Emperor of the White Knights shut down the FTL comm link and Arun heaved a huge sigh of relief. Del-Marie was so much better at this, but he would be in hiding by now or more likely a slave laborer somewhere in the enemy-occupied Tallerman System… Assuming he still lived.
Del had always claimed that it was a good thing the link to the Emperor was voice-only. He encouraged Arun to picture the Emperor as a bland-looking human being, neither too large to be intimidating, nor too weak to underestimate. But whenever Arun shut his eyes and tried to follow Del’s advice, he always pictured the Emperor as a swirling mass of angry red vapor, almost a demonic version of a Night Hummer. For all he knew, that was exactly how the veck looked.
His gaze was drawn to the trio of framed smart screens on one bulkhead of his cabin, above his little wooden cabinet. The screens cycled through images of Legion planets and leaders of the many allied species. They inspired him.
Oh, frakk!
He had forgotten the visitor he’d kept waiting outside while the Emperor had made his unscheduled rant.
Arun gestured for his hatch to open.
Romulus stood in the passageway, flanked by the four Marine guards in their battlesuits.
He looked pissed at being kept waiting, the scowl on his face just south of insubordinate.
“Good for you, Flight-Sergeant. Come in. I can give you ten minutes, and then I really do need to see Deputy Ambassador Tremayne. The coming battle depends utterly on our new cyber assault team understanding what the hell we need them to do.”
To his credit, Romulus managed not to show his impatience. “Thank you for seeing me, sir.” He followed Arun into his cabin and to the sofa chair in the tiny snug in one corner where Arun hosted guests informally. Halfway there he hesitated. “What did you mean, good for you?”
Arun took a seat and waited for Romulus to join him. “I meant there’s fight in you. Indignation whenever the universe doesn’t go your way, and that leads to an impulse to change things until they’re right. A drive to act. I was like that at your age.” He laughed bitterly. “I guess we wouldn’t be here otherwise.”
“You don’t strike me as worn out, General McEwan. You
still have your uses.”
Arun smiled. “Don’t push it, boy. I never said I was worn out. I’m more like…” Arun was tempted to answer with a joke, but avoiding thinking about himself had become a firm habit over the years, why he had surrounded himself with distractions and escapes. He studied Romulus while drumming fingers on the arm of his chair. He knew the young man’s history well, had cradled him in his arms many times when a baby. Romulus looked like his adopted mother, which didn’t make genetic sense, especially now that his skin was host to an alien parasite, but the way Romulus held himself even in a sofa chair reminded Arun of Colonel Nhlappo’s confidence in her own abilities. Tirunesh Nhlappo had made Arun’s life hell when he was a cadet. He almost missed the old war horse.
The set of this strange man’s face made it clear he expected an answer, exactly as Nhlappo’s had done so often when she was Arun’s senior drill instructor.
“I’m like a stone axe,” Arun explained. “Still sharp and effective, but my shape and purpose has been revealed out of the flint, carved by the hands of others. My fate is to be the supreme commander of the Human Legion. That’s all I am. I try but… everything else that I once was has been knapped away.”
His visitor wasn’t here to listen to Arun’s musings, but instead of irritation on Romulus’s face, he saw determination layered over something darker. Who could tell though, on a man with a trilobite face?
“My apologies,” said Arun. “I expect you’re here to talk about your mother.”
“No, sir. My half-brother.”
“Remus? Last I heard he’d put in for a transfer to rejoin the Wolves, but his service leading a fighter squadron is so exemplary he was refused. I’m not sure he would thank me if I intervened, but—”
“No, General. My other half-brother.”
“Oh.” Guilt rippled through Arun. Nhlappo’s natural son, Zug, had been Arun’s best friend and he hadn’t thought of that friend for years. Zug had only been nineteen when he died in the Fall of Detroit. Arun had been a different person then. “Tell me what you want to know.”
War Against the White Knights Page 5
