Black Legion: 04 - Last Stand

by Michael G. Thomas

  The tactical officer seemed surprised and had to be nudged along by the Kybernetes.

  “Keep on the job. The Kentarchos knows what he’s doing.”

  The tactical officer had to double as the fighter controller, due to the reduced crew and facilities aboard the light cruiser. Normally, a vessel such as this one would carry a single fighter for reconnaissance work, but its design had been much improved. It was capable of carrying four craft, as well as four dromons in armoured pods on each side of the ship. The pods had been installed for later models so they could carry additional craft and troops, but right now they all wished they had access to greater firepower.

  “Seafires are loaded and waiting for the signal, Kentarchos.”

  The Seafires were single-engine fighters that had been modified from their normal use as space station defence craft to work on board small ships and carriers. They were fast, agile, and heavily armed for their size. With two sets of quadruple pulse cannons, they were powerful enough to deal with any fighter, Terran, or Medes. Unlike the heavy fighters used in the rest of the fleet, however, they were poorly equipped to deal with capital ships, and their range was poor. They would be critical in a battle if it was against other fighters or a missile armed opponent and perfect for attacking decoys, missiles, and drones.

  “Good, keep them ready. They may well be needed.”

  The Kentarchos looked back at the largest display that mimicked a front view of the ship. The electronic interference and jamming made it impossible to identify anything about it, but the long-range cameras had finally found something and locked on it.

  “Focus in, now,” he said.

  The excitement in his voice was clear, and all the officers remained silent as they waited for the cameras to lock down on the target. The image moved into focus and then out again before finally fixing on the shape. It filled the screen and showed considerable detail even though it was poorly lit.

  “I know it, a Medes light cruiser.”

  “I concur,” said the tactical officer.

  A couple of seconds was all it took to cross-reference the information with what they already had on file. The computer compared the key features and came up with an almost perfect match. Even so, the officer checked the specification manually before passing on the analysis. It wouldn’t be the first time the computer had got it wrong.

  “My files show it is a Khanda class light cruiser, a standard class of warship in the Imperial Navy. We have records of over three hundred variations of the design. This one is the smallest.”

  The Kentarchos examined the imagery carefully.

  “Specification?”

  “Estimated crew of seventy automatons, and a handful of Median officers if it is the scout model. Some assault models are equipped for station attack with internal bays for Taochi boarding parties.”

  Ezekiel Manus didn’t like the sound of the latter design at all. He was sparsely crewed himself, and he’d heard accounts of the Taochi in battle on Cunaxa. Apart from looking like something from Terran myth, he knew full well they were strong, tough, and brutes in close combat. He wiped his jaw and looked to the flanks of the ship.

  “So, no fighters and light weaponry.”

  “Affirmative, Kentarchos.”

  Manus nodded to himself as he assimilated all the information. There was a chance, only a faint one that this vessel was an assault vessel, but he quickly discounted it. Why would such a vessel be out alone? The more he thought about it, the more he was convinced that this was a heavy scout ship.

  “They are no match for us, not on their own.”

  The tactical officer brought up a number of options with each highlighting potential weaknesses on the ship.

  “If we were to jam their communications, we could move in quickly, disable her engines, and then...”

  “What exactly?”

  “Either board her, destroy her, or use the opportunity to escape.”

  Manus’ lip twitched at this information. The opportunity to take on a single light cruiser was something not to be taken lightly, but he did rather like the idea of taking one as a prize. He scratched at his cheek and then nodded to him.

  “Very well. I want her jammed before we’re detected. Use all the power we have left and keep her locked down. Under no circumstances can we let this ship relay information back to its masters.”

  He then looked to the tactical officer.

  “I don’t want her captured. I don’t even want her damaged. It does us no good to leave her out there to send information back or even to follow us.”

  He moved his attention back to the ship on the screen.

  “I want nothing but her complete and utter destruction. Do you understand me?”

  The man nodded in agreement and moved back to his consoles. Kybernetes Maxentius moved in to take his place alongside the commander.

  “Kentarchos, we will be in range in less than nine minutes.”

  “Good,” he replied, “this needs to be done quickly. Are they jammed?”

  The Kybernetes nodded quickly.

  “Aye, Sir, they are on their own, for now.”

  Drakonis travelled at her fastest speed towards the vessel. The engines burned white hot, yet it would still take nearly nine minutes to get close enough to fire the powerful plasma guns at her at a distance where they couldn’t be avoided. Ezekiel Manus gave himself a moment’s respite as he looked at the black shape of the scout. It was completely different to that of the Terran vessel, small, sleek, and nearly impossible to see in space. In many ways, he preferred the configuration to that of his new ship.

  It’s still a Median ship though, and filled with their slaves. They are worthy of nothing but our contempt.

  He imagined the look on the automatons’ faces when the Terran ship appeared out of nowhere and unleashed all her weapons against the unsuspecting ship. He could visualise the impact of the beams and cannons, and the more he imagined it, the more he wanted to see it. That was the moment he sensed something was wrong. His heart felt as though it pulsed with adrenalin, and he swallowed uncomfortably, instantly dreading to know what was happening.

  “What is it?”

  The colour in the tactical officer’s face seemed to drain away.

  “Uh, Sir, I’ve got something.”

  The young man shook his head nervously as he spoke. There was no need for him to say anything more, as the tactical board lit up like some kind of high-intensity decoration. First there were indicators to the left, and then it filled with a hundred shapes in all directions.

  “Gods, it’s a fleet!”

  The mood transformed inside the ship as the officers rushed to ensure all their stations were responding, but it was too late, and a long continuous tone howled through the vessel, warning an imminent threat.

  “Everything to shields!” snapped the Kybernetes.

  A dull vibration announced the massive increase in power being sent to the shield generators. Even with the engines pumping power to the defensive systems, it wasn’t enough. The ship shuddered violently, and then all hell broke loose inside. Sirens blared loudly, and two screens vanished in a flash of broken glass. Another explosion rippled along the right-hand side of the command deck, and one of the junior officers staggered and fell to floor, leaving a growing pool of blood around his head. Ezekiel Manus grabbed at the straps at his seat while surveying the scene.

  “Tactical, report!”

  The tactical display showed scores of new vessels in the area around the light cruiser. The status display showed where impacts had been sustained through the ship, and each red mark left a lump in his throat. He knew his ship was taking a beating and paying for it in the lives of his crew.

  “Thirteen breaches in the outer armour. Shields are gone, and our port thrusters are out of action.”

  Another great volley of gunfire hammered along the port side of the ship that ripped out one of the hangar sections and two of the smaller weapon turrets.

  “Armour ha
s gone. One more hit, and they’ll be through to our reactors!”

  Ezekiel Manus could hear the fear in his tactical officer’s face and twisted about to look at his Kybernetes.

  “Manus, we can’t stay here any longer. We’ve done our job, and we’re seconds from destruction. What are your orders?”

  It was true. They had done their job, and done it well and without incident. After hours waiting in this barren, forsaken space sector, they’d ensured the fleet could move on for another two jumps in safety. All that mattered to him now was that his crew and his ship could expect the same. He didn’t even have to consider his next words.

  “Jump!”

  * * *

  Imperial Palace, Babylon Prime, Core Worlds

  Tissaphernes had visited Babylon Prime a dozen times before, but nothing could prevent him from standing still in astonishment at the wealth all around him. He had only just dressed following a deep sleep in his guest accommodation, yet the fragrant air and sweet perfumes almost encouraged him to return to the soft fabrics and comfort of the bed. He adjusted his clothing and signalled for the dozen female automatons waiting alongside his bed to approach. Each carried part of his regalia, though not one of them carried an object more offensive than a piece of armour. All weapons were forbidden in the Imperial Capital, and even the elite Anusiyan warriors that formed the bodyguard of the Emperor himself had screened him.

  Ten thousand warriors, I don’t think so, he mused angrily.

  His arrival at the Palace had infuriated him when the legions of warriors had ceremoniously blocked his path to let four of their number approach and search him. It had been part of a ritual designed to remind all that none was above, or even equal to the Emperor himself. In theory, the Anusiya were ten thousand strong, but he had seen at least that number stationed on other worlds and half as many serving aboard the Elamites in Royal service. The more he thought about it, the more he realised the unit wanted to give the impression there were ten thousand wherever they happened to be.

  So how many does he actually have?

  He looked back into his spacious apartment complex and looked at the bed. There were fine silks drawn across the surface, each pulled taut by one of the many serving girls he had been supplied with. A small group of three female pleasure girls sent to him on the previous night waited for him in silence. He was tempted to return to them, but he had important work to do, and seeing this wealth reminded him of what he wanted for himself. The entire planet of Babylon Prime was the first planet of the Empire and the heart of the early Median Empire. Over time, the surrounding races and empires had been absorbed and classed as Satrapies, but none would ever doubt the power and importance of the Imperial Capital. He looked at the females once more and then shook his head, saying nothing to them.

  Forget them, win the victory and glory will be all yours.

  He walked to the nearest balcony on the middle floor of the obelisk shaped structure and looked out to the planet. Most outsiders assumed the world would be barren and ravaged from the scores of wars that had been fought on its surface over the millennia. Few knew how many millions of slaves had worked and died to create this unique paradise, a place built and dedicated to the power and memory of a single individual, the Emperor himself. Tissaphernes could see the city walls from where he stood, and its spires lifted up high into the sky. Unlike Cunaxa Secundus though, this was no military world. The barracks and shipyards of the Empire were all based on the adjacent worlds. There were only the Anusiya here. He looked up but could see nothing but the blue sky, plus a hundred orbital defence platforms and six star fortresses.

  He almost laughed at himself at taking such pleasure in the myth of impregnability of the planet. If the world were so untouchable, there would have been no need for defences in space, but he wouldn’t be the one to tell this to the Emperor. Babylon Prime had been dedicated to wealth and beauty in ways he could never have dreamt. The sky was clear blue, kept clear by the heavy use of meteorological control satellites. Half of the planet was covered in rich oceans teaming with diverse life, and the many landmasses were only partially urbanised with cities built of cleaning metal, glass, stone, and crystal.

  What’s that?

  A noise caught his attention, and he twisted about to find a Taochi warrior and six Anusiyans had entered his chamber. All of them were fully armoured in their ceremonial purple plate and carried ancient weapons that looked as if carved from solid gold. The Taochi was massively built compared to the Medes warriors and looked as though he was in charge, an odd change that surprised Tissaphernes.

  “What do you want?” he said.

  The bitterness in his tone was angry enough to be obvious even to the indifferent Taochi, but not too irreverent that it may be noted and brought to the ear of Artaxerxes. He might be one of the Satraps, but there were two dozen more, and he knew too well that his value was only so high. One wrong word, and the God King would see his head removed and placed on the end of a pike. The Taochi looked directly at his face and spoke with a guttural, almost animalistic voice.

  “The Emperor has summoned his servants.”

  He then beckoned towards his six escorts.

  “You will come with us.”

  Tissaphernes hissed with irritation but dared not deny their authority. He hadn’t even noticed the insignia on the chest of the Taochi. It was simple carving but marked out the Taochi warrior as one of his race’s elite warlords. Their race had been chased from a hundred captured worlds by Cyrus the Great, the Empire’s greatest Emperor, and now served as shock troops.

  “Who are you?”

  The Taochi growled and said something completely unintelligible.

  “What?”

  He cleared his throat and then after a great struggle managed to pronounce the word in a tone that was easier for the Satrap to understand.

  “Arteshban...Rostam.”

  He seemed to have trouble with the last word.

  “Leader of the Imperial bodyguard.”

  Tissaphernes was genuinely shocked at this. The title of Arteshban was the highest position in the Imperial Army, effectively a general that was able to command a force of millions into battle. It was an honour only awarded to the Satraps and a handful of the most trusted nobles in the Empire. The Taochi were a broken, weakened race, and the idea of having them as commanders sent his mind reeling.

  “Rostam. Who named you after our great champion?”

  The Taochi warrior grinned.

  “The God King let me choose any name I wished for my serving name.”

  Tissaphernes adjusted the clasp on his cloak as he continued.

  “Why Rostam?”

  Again the warrior maintained his smile.

  “I asked who the greatest champion in all of the Empire’s history was. He said it was Rostam, the slayer of mighty beasts and a warrior of no equal.”

  Tissaphernes was beginning to get bored. Although he was intrigued by the story of Arteshban Rostam, he was finding it difficult to spend time in front of such an uneducated and uncivilised brute as the Taochi. He looked away and sighed before cutting off the warrior in mid-sentence.

  “Very well, let us go.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Imperial Palace, Babylon Prime, Core Worlds

  Tissaphernes marched quickly through the outer limits of the Palace along with his unusual entourage. As expected, his escort said nothing, other than Arteshban Rostam. The Taochi warlord was proving unsettling for him as they moved block by block. It was quite clear to him that the Emperor had specifically placed him in the outlying apartments, both to remind him of the opulence and wealth of Babylon Prime, and also to put him in his place. Proximity to the Emperor was one of the clearest measures of your position in the cursus honorum, and that was beginning to frustrate him.

  I am a Satrap, one of the thirty-four, and yet the Emperor places me in the same area as the planetary governors.

  The anger began to well up inside him as they continued on the rout
e through the Palace. It took almost an hour before they finally reached the inner curtain wall, the first marker that indicated they had reached the so-called Crimson Keep, the most lavish part of an already excessive world. At the gatehouse, itself an anachronism to a time thousands of years earlier when such fortifications were necessary, they met their first obstacle, a force of a hundred Taochi, each armed and armoured in the same fashion of Arteshban Rostam.

  “What is this?” demanded Tissaphernes.

  He would normally have expected to stand tall over subjects and soldiers alike in the Empire, but these Taochi were bigger than the Medes in every way. With their armour and weapons, they could have defended the entrance against even a Terran assault force. That brought a smile to his face.

  The God King is frightened. He thinks the Terrans might come here, and at the same time wants to remind me of his power. The fool.

  Arteshban Rostam called out to them in his own tongue. They quickly separated into two wide blocks, leaving a narrow corridor for the entourage to enter. As they passed through the first of three gates, the Satrap heard something above him. He looked up and spotted the dozen murder holes fitted in the arched ceiling above them. There were Median soldiers up there, but it was hard to make out their armour and weapons through such small holes.

  Murder holes, here?

  The very idea of fitting them into the Imperial Palace shocked him. The last person to enter Babylon Prime with an invading army had been the Medes themselves, when they created their first empire in this very star system. Murder holes were an ancient and barbaric device where weapons and deadly liquids could be poured down upon attackers. It was the ultimate in low-tech defences, and he doubted it would be even partially useful against warriors such as the Terrans. Arteshban Rostam watched him as they passed the second of the inner gates that had been pulled up into the ceiling.

  “The God King demanded that all defences were upgraded to match the standard set by his illustrious ancestors.”