Battle Cruiser

by B. V. Larson

  “Well, if this isn’t a surprise!” she said. “I’d heard you’d joined the Guard, but I’d never expected to see you—well, never mind. It’s good to see you, William.”

  “You as well, Lady Grantholm,” I said.

  “You do look dashing,” she said, running her eyes over my person. “All gold braids and epaulets. Are those weapons real? The pistol and the saber both?”

  “Certainly madam. How else might I serve my duties?”

  She appeared mildly concerned. In modern times, each House maintained personal security forces. Confronting an actual military man who she was personally acquainted with, even circumstantially, was a novelty to her.

  We no longer had a separate navy or army on Earth; there remained only Star Guard. My organization served both functions as best we could.

  “Well, in any regard,” Lady Grantholm said, “give my congratulations to your father on his reaffirmation as the party leader.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “He’ll be here tonight, you know,” she said, eyeing me closely.

  I attempted to contain any form of reaction, but perhaps my cheek jumped, or my eye twitched. Whatever it was, it was an unavoidable reflex which she observed and misinterpreted.

  “You claim you didn’t know?” she gasped.

  “Not at all, milady.”

  “Hmm,” she said. She stepped closer and lowered her voice. Politely, I leaned forward to catch her words.

  “You didn’t set this up, did you?” she asked. “Dressing up as a guardsman to embarrass him?”

  I frowned. “No madam. I’d never do such a thing. Moreover, I fail to see how either of us would be embarrassed by an honorable meeting tonight—be it a surprise or not.”

  She stiffened and withdrew. She clasped her hands in front of her body.

  “Of course not,” she said, generating a false smile.

  As her entire demeanor indicated she didn’t believe me, it was all I could do to not snap a retort back her.

  Sensing my mood, Lady Grantholm excused herself quickly. She scuttled away to a group of her cronies. There, I pretended not to notice as she whispered and waved vaguely in my direction. I could feel their curious, scandal-seeking gazes, but I never returned them.

  “Can it be true, sir?” Rumbold asked as we continued to walk the crowd. “I’ve heard from several people the Guard isn’t welcome at the Equality Party. I knew you father’s followers aren’t made up of our most ardent supporters, but they invited you all the same. Couldn’t they forgive and forget this one night?

  “Singh’s joke wouldn’t be as keen-edged if they did, would it, Rumbold?” I asked with a bitter note I couldn’t hide. “Remember, we’re not here as guests. We’re like the hired security you see at the doorways. Someone among my father’s staffers screwed up, I bet. They’d hoped for good political optics, but now they’re horrified to see me working the floor.”

  “But that’s your job!”

  “Indeed it is, and we should get back to it.”

  We continued to perform a slow patrol, but I was now in a sour mood. All I could think about was my father. We hadn’t spoken for nearly a year, not since I’d been promoted to Lieutenant Commander.

  To my father, my commission was a vast embarrassment. He was a high official, a Servant of the people, and I was his sole declared heir. I’d been fully registered, and he was legally committed to the relationship. If he died, I’d take his place at the head of a powerful political party. The trouble was his party saw every credit spent on the military as a credit wasted.

  I could see Father’s point of view, of course. I’d been expected to serve as his aide. To operate quietly in his shadow over the next several decades until such a time as chance or retirement removed him from office.

  Instead of following this expected path, I’d signed on with the Guard. To make matters worse, father’s political affiliates didn’t even like the Guard, much less respect a guardsman. Never had a general session gone by without one of them proposing a further slashing of our budget, or the disbanding of Earth’s last military organization entirely.

  For the most people, Star Guard was known as the “Old Guard.” The name wasn’t entirely inaccurate, as the service consisted largely of people of great age. Since the organization was forced to provide low wages, few young people of quality bothered to volunteer, despite the opportunities for rapid advancement. Young vibrant people rarely joined our ranks.

  Many of those who did continue to serve did so out of loyalty and sheer stubbornness. Like Rumbold, they were a fossilized group from one or even two centuries past. They were steeped in tradition and fixed in their ways. Those that left the Guard often did so feet-first, dead at their posts due to some complication created by their longevity drugs.

  But for all that, I loved Star Guard, and I’d joined up despite the protests of my peers and my parents. Had there been a hint of rebellion in the act? Perhaps, but I enjoyed my uniform and my duties. Joining the Guard had been a dream since I was young, but it was a dream that had never been shared by my family.

  -4-

  A tinkling sound began, announcing the coming of a speech. All around the vast ballroom, others took up the call, tapping on their cocktail glasses.

  Quiet fell gently over the group. A man entered the party and stepped forward to a lectern that had been hastily set up on a marble dais. The man was my father.

  “Uh oh,” Rumbold said at my side.

  Instead of echoing his concern, I lifted my chin. It was my impression that there were as many eyes upon me now as there were upon my father.

  Lady Grantholm had done her work well, circulating around the chamber and pointing me out to all who would listen.

  I stood steadfast and put a hand on the hilt of my saber. I would not cower and hide, no matter what was being said by those around me. My eyes were locked upon my father, as he smiled at everyone and raised his hands to salute us.

  He took in a breath, as if he were about to speak—and that’s when his eyes met mine. A shock of recognition froze him there.

  But he was too much of a professional to be rattled for long. Still smiling, he turned to an aide and whispered a terse message. Then he turned back toward the crowd and began his speech.

  My father was nothing if not long-winded. He began with a preamble of gracious thanks to everyone present, and a dozen who weren’t. Before he’d moved on to the meat of his talk, the aide he’d dispatched a minute or two earlier finally reached me.

  A hand laid itself over the gold braids on my dark blue sleeve.

  “Commander Sparhawk?”

  I looked at the man. He was Miles Tannish, a simpering fellow who I thought of as one of my father’s most dedicated lapdogs.

  “Yes, Miles?” I asked.

  “Could you step this way, please?”

  Slowly, I shook my head and turned my attention back to scanning the crowd.

  “Sorry Miles,” I said. “I’m on duty. Surely, whatever it is can wait until after the event has concluded.”

  Miles tugged at me slightly, hinting physically that I should go with him. My years of hard training had transformed me, however. I wasn’t a boy any longer. I was not budged.

  Miles made a sound of frustration. “Really, William, your father appreciates your dedication, but—”

  “Does he?” I asked in disbelief.

  “Yes, of course he does. But he’d rather have you attend to his security from another post. Surely, you could trade positions with one of the guardsmen outside, or—”

  “No, Miles. That’s not happening. Good evening.”

  “Very well,” he said, withdrawing his hand reluctantly. He slid away into the crowd and vanished.

  “I wanted to remove that hand myself,” Rumbold said quietly. “With my saber, if need be.”

  “Now, now, Rumbold,” I said, maintaining a mild expression through force of will. “That’s not our mission here.”

  My father moved on, annou
ncing formally that he had been reaffirmed as the head of the party by unanimous vote. I wasn’t fooled by this. Like everyone present, I knew the Servants gathered in private and wrangled until it was clear one person had the votes to win. After that, they all pretended to have supported the victor from the start of the process. The party thus always appeared to be united.

  As the speech continued, I became increasingly annoyed with the situation. The tensions between my chosen profession and my father’s wishes had never been resolved. I’d hoped that several years apart had healed wounds. It now appeared nothing had changed.

  My father and I were much alike. Neither one of us took well to insults and slights. We could be bad-tempered, a thing we generally hid from others, but which came out in moments of stress.

  This was one such moment. I felt I couldn’t just stand in the shadows while others whispered and plotted to remove me from the chamber. I had as much right to listen to my father’s words as any of these political hacks.

  “Rumbold,” I said, “let’s move closer to the speaker.”

  His mouth hung open. His bulging, bloodshot eyes, a sure sign of longevity-treatment overdoses, flapped wide.

  “Are you sure that’s a good idea, sir? There are camera spheres everywhere.”

  He was right. A half dozen drones, none of them more than two centimeters in diameter, floated around my father, capturing him from many angles at once.

  I smiled tightly. “That just means he plans on making an important announcement. I wish to hear it clearly.”

  “Ahem, sir…”

  But Rumbold was already talking to the cape on my back. I marched smartly through the crowd, which melted at my official approach.

  If my father saw me coming toward him, he never let on. He just kept talking as if everything was going exactly as he’d planned. His speech moved on from the mundane, and he now shifted to speaking eloquently about the future. He discussed the challenges that lie ahead. He lamented past failures and promised that future policy changes would be of critical import to the people.

  I soon managed to wend my way through the thickening crowd at the foot of the marble steps. Rumbold reluctantly joined me, looking out of place and uncomfortable. Seeking to strike a confident pose, I placed one boot on the polished bottom step of the dais and threw back my cape to reveal my saber.

  The crowd looked from my father to me and back again. The audience whispered among themselves in confusion and mild alarm. Word of my unexpected appearance had spread everywhere among the hundreds present, it seemed.

  This suited me just fine. I was no longer in the mood for hiding in shadows. I watched as my father pressed doggedly onward, chewing through his speech without glancing at me more than once or twice.

  Truthfully, I was impressed. I doubted I could have maintain such a determined performance if the roles had been reversed. My urge to embarrass him faded as my admiration for him grew—he was, after all, my father.

  I almost withdrew when he came to the crux of his message. I thought about retreating, certainly, and I would have done so if I could think of a way to withdraw gracefully—but I couldn’t. I’d walked up here, bold as brass and presented myself to the crowd. I couldn’t very well retreat now.

  Instead of slinking away, I decided to play a different part. When my father paused for a polite round of applause, I clapped my gloved hands together harder than anyone present. I grinned broadly, rather than giving him a wintery smile.

  It was at the point of this transition in my demeanor that I noticed another individual in the crowd near at hand. A flash of unmistakable sea-foam green captured my eye. Even more riveting were the rhythmic flashes of bare flesh the dress revealed as the girl approached.

  She was Lady Chloe of House Astra. Up close, her beauty was even more dramatic than it had appeared at a distance. I was mesmerized. She walked with such perfect steps. Each pace was exact, and she appeared to glide forward through the crowd in my direction.

  Staring, I watched as she passed me by and mounted the steps. Where was she going?

  My father had reached the climax of his speech at that moment. Most were hanging on his words by this time, but I barely heard them.

  “…and so it is with certainty of purpose that I will acquiesce to the call,” he said. “My duties are clear and immutable. I will accept the greatest of possible sacrifices, and enter my name humbly in the running for the high office of President. I want to thank you all personally for your relentless support!”

  The crowd began cheering then. Up until that point they’d applauded, but none had actually lowered themselves to the act of uttering a cry. Emotion finally overwhelmed them—as did their instincts. They were political animals, and they knew their fates were now tied to their leader. If he failed now that he’d announced his official intentions, they failed as well.

  Throughout this surprising twist of events, I have to admit, I was still paying more than half my attention to the woman who’d mounted the steps. She’d all but brushed by me in the process. She was a captivating creature, but somehow, I felt a certain otherness about her when she was close at hand. She was distracted at the very least. Could she be drugged, or worse…?

  It wasn’t until she reached the top of the dais where my father was standing with hands raised over his head that it dawned at me Lady Astra wasn’t going to stop. Father was too busy accepting the cheers of his party members to notice.

  Almost without thinking, I mounted the steps, taking two strides after the woman in green.

  “Lady Astra,” I called, “there will be time for personal congratulations after—”

  That was as far as I got. The words died in my throat as she reached for my father, who was at last gazing at her in puzzlement.

  Two blades—that’s the only way I could describe them—emerged from her hands. They were gray polymer, from the look of them.

  Those lithe, lovely hands had split apart, peeling away with a wet slap of blood and flesh. It was as if the bones of her hands had fused and transformed into stained gray blades, cutting their way out of the thin meat covering her slight body.

  Shocked, my father took a half-step back, but the thing that Lady Astra had transformed into advanced with wicked speed. It thrust its gory twin weapons at his midsection. Each blade came to a triangular point, and the two moved with unerring aim.

  For my own part, I knew my father was dead. He was to be butchered in front of my eyes. That was a foregone conclusion. Revenge already simmered in my mind.

  Cursing myself for reacting so slowly, my hands flew to my sides. I drew my pistol and my saber.

  Regulations hampered me. My gun came up, but it would not fire. The power pack inside was charged and ready to release a bolt, but the safety system wasn’t so easily activated. One of the many precautions my government had seen fit to install included an elaborate safety system in my sidearm. Ostensibly, this “smart” system was to prevent accidents, or to stop someone from stealing my weapon and discharging it without authorization. When first drawn, the pistol had to recognize the operator and confirm my identity through remote transponders.

  That process should only have taken a fraction of a second—but it wasn’t working. I fumbled with the override, but I realized I didn’t have a second to spare.

  I dropped the pistol and charged up the steps with only my saber. The blade was likewise neutered, as it could not be powered without an elaborate safety procedure—that said the edge was still razor-sharp steel.

  Off to my sides, I saw other security people swarming in. They’d been kept outside, naturally, as the mere sight of them had been deemed inappropriate by the party. None of them could possibly get through the backpedalling crowd and beat me to the assassin, not even Rumbold who stood cursing at his pistol at the bottom of the steps.

  The woman’s twin triangular blades stabbed into my father again. They withdrew and thrust repeatedly like pistons with hammering force. My father went down, howling in pain. But he
was still alive, still writhing.

  The woman in the sea-foam gown stalked him. She crouched like an animal and moved with unnatural bird-like jerks and twists.

  Her gray blades stop plunging into Father’s abdomen. Retargeting, they lifted upward, aiming now for his face.

  She never managed to stab out his eyes or cut his throat, if that was her plan, because I managed to ram my saber into her back first. She stiffened, and straightened her spine. She whirled, and almost took my saber out of my hands.

  Two bloody points came up into a defensive pose as she faced me. Shocked, I retreated a step, and I made a cut at her head. She blocked with one blade, and then thrust with the other. I dodged away, but felt the point catch and draw a line, cutting apart my shirt over my ribs.

  The look on her face was inhuman. There was no emotion there in those lovely eyes. No hint of stress or anger.

  Touching the clasp of my cloak, I activated my personal shielding. Not all guardsmen had such things, they were so expensive even the officers couldn’t afford them.

  The cape flickered into life, surrounding me with a glimmering band of force. The creature that was battling me struck twice more, but shed only sparks rather than blood.

  Lifting my saber high, I brought it down with both hands wrapped around the hilt. I attempted to hack away her arms. When the blow landed, it stung my hands, but didn’t cut all the way through her upraised blocking limb. I’d damaged it enough to make it hang limp, but that was all.

  A wild slash caught the flat of my sword and sent it clattering away from my numbed fingers. She advanced, slashing.

  Then a pistol sizzled behind me. A bolt caught her in the chest and spun her around. She heaved herself up—but two more bolts put her back down. She didn’t attempt to stand again.

  “Thanks, Rumbold,” I said, panting and staring at the creature that had all but slain me. “I see you managed to get the safety off.”

  Rumbold puffed and stared with me.

  “I should never have turned it on,” he said, flashing me a look of relief. “Let’s see to your father.”