There are seven mesh cages, including his own, set on stout legs up off the deck, as well as six insulated body bags lined up to the right of the hatch. Since the bags are sealed up he can’t see if the corpses are part of his squad. He counts three other prisoners, all banner soldiers like him.
The closest one lies sprawled facedown, network gone dark. He wonders if the soldier is dead, if their family will ever get the body back or even know of their loved one’s fate, so he whispers a prayer for the lost dead who vanish into the heart of Lady Chaos.
The drip is coming from a soldier twisted in an awkward sideways contortion, face turned away from him. By the thunderbolt design of the cuff he can tell it’s not one of his squad. Blood pools at the edge of the cage. When enough pressure builds up, a drop separates and falls to splatter on the chrome-colored deck.
“Recruit.”
He meets the gaze of the third soldier, two cages away. She’s an experienced-looking officer, tough and capable, with a gleaming artificial jaw and rank markings glowing down her right arm. She wears the cuffs of the Thunderbolt Banner.
“Colonel.” His right hand comes up reflexively before he remembers he’s indoors and not required to salute.
Her smile is weary but real, like a glimpse of home. “This your first tour, Recruit?”
“Yes, Colonel.”
“Where were you taken prisoner?”
“I’m not allowed to give out that information, Colonel.”
“Very good, Recruit. That’s exactly what you’re supposed to say.”
He misses his family, and even the crass joking of his squad. So he risks a lighthearted comeback. “I never actually knew where we were. They just put me in the belly of the snake and gave me my orders.”
Her gaze flashes down to his cuff, a snake’s body twisted around itself with a fanged head at each end. “Typical of snakes,” she retorts. “All that wisdom but too reticent to share it.”
He grins. It’s like he’s opened a little door in the cage, given them room to breathe and be resolute.
“Blessed Lady,” the colonel murmurs under her breath, “must they send them out so young?”
She coughs with a wet, sticky sound. Blood slicks her hand. Suddenly he’s afraid that whoever injured and tortured her is going to do the same to him. She meets his gaze as if she can parse his thoughts. He stiffens his shoulders. He’ll be ready. He won’t shame his family. His destiny will unfold according to the fractals of Lady Chaos.
He speaks the ritual words known only to the banners. “I am bound by the ancient covenant and by the crown of light.”
“So are we all. Listen carefully, Recruit. We’re in a research facility on Chaonia Prime.”
“Chaonia Prime?” He struggles to orient himself. He grew up in a nomadic fleet that stayed in frontier territories and never, ever probed into the inner systems of any of the great confederacies. But like all children raised in the banners he learned about the many enemies lurking beyond the safety of the banner fleets, the people he would one day hire on with, or fight against. “The Republic of Chaonia is governed by a queen-marshal in cooperation with a citizens assembly. But my teachers all said it is just a tyrannical military dictatorship.”
The colonel scratches at an eyebrow, smiling wryly. “The universe is a complicated place. What matters to us is that fifty-three hours ago there was a hostile takeover at this facility. I was one of the people in charge of the work being done here, until I was shot and put in this cage.”
She touches a hand to her chest, which is encased in what looks like a sleek ceramic vest. The vest is tethered by an IV line that threads through the mesh into a small box fixed against the base of the cage.
There are a lot of questions to harvest from her words, so he starts with what seems most immediately puzzling.
“What work would banner soldiers be in charge of inside the Republic of Chaonia? The Chaonians are the treacherous enemies of our Phene allies. They fight us. They don’t work with us.”
“Didn’t you learn that Queen-Marshal Eirene married a Royal of the Gatoi as her second consort? About twenty years ago. Right around when you would have been born.”
He shakes his head. “I never learned that. Can it be true? The Gatoi have always been allies of the Phene Empire. The Phene have always had our backs. No Gatoi would ever go against such a venerable and honorable trust.”
The colonel sighs. “This isn’t the first time I’ve had this conversation with fresh young banner soldiers brought in from the front. What distorted garbage are they teaching you kids these days? Listen, Recruit. This project is being jointly run by a Royal working with sympathetic Chaonian scientists, under protection from very high up in the Chaonian command chain. Those body bags? Four of my banner soldiers and two Chaonian marines who were helping us defend the project.”
It seems insubordinate to openly doubt an officer, so he redirects his skepticism to another question. “Then who was the hostile doing the taking over?”
“I don’t know, not yet, because I was put out of commission early on and the assailants weren’t wearing identity badges. But I do know they are Chaonians.”
He whistles. “Factional infighting. I thought Chaonians were all united under the rule of their queen-marshal.”
“No government is all united.”
“Except the Phene.”
The colonel flinches, then makes the hand gesture to avert evil spirits. “Speak not of their power. Fortunately for us there aren’t any Phene here. For the moment, the question is who our captors are and if they intend to keep us alive.”
“Who are the other two soldiers?” He knows she won’t tell him their names, if she even knows them. Names are a private matter among the banners, reserved for family. Rank, a chosen battle name, and honorable service are the public face a soldier wears.
She indicates the unconscious bleeding one. “A sergeant under my command. He got wounded in the attack, like me. And this one”—she points to the one whose network has gone dark—“a private from Arsenal Banner. Sleeping off a drug the researchers have been using to slow his reflexes by shutting down the neural enhancers.”
“Why are you working with people trying to cripple us?”
“The only people who are hurting us are the Phene.”
He frowns, unable to hide his distaste for the words, but says nothing.
She sighs again. “If the work here can be brought to fruition it will benefit all banners. On my honor, it’s true. I wouldn’t be involved in this project otherwise.”
Gatoi do not swear lightly by their honor. He wants to trust her. But the situation lies so far outside of anything he’s ever been told or experienced that he’s not sure. “Are there more here? More prisoners like me, I mean?”
“There are, but where they are now I do not know. I’ve been confined in this compartment since the attack.”
“Was there anyone else with me when I was brought in?”
“Your arrow, do you mean? No. You were brought into this compartment alone, under heavy sedation.” She gives a glance to the right, reading information from her internals. “You arrived nine hours and twenty-eight minutes ago. I have an ally still moving freely within the area. So I’m certain you were placed here in this compartment, with me, on purpose. With you here we have a chance to retake the facility.”
“You and I aren’t children of the same banner,” he objects. “I’d need permission from my clan council to work with you.”
“Normally, yes. But there’s a Royal here.”
“How did they capture a Royal?”
“They didn’t. As I told you, the Royal was running this facility before the takeover.” His surprise must be evident on his face because she lifts a hand to forestall any questions. “I don’t have the time nor do you have the security clearance for me to explain more than that. He’s hidden for now. We need to get him out before they find him. Can we work together, Recruit?”
He’s never actually
seen a Royal and doesn’t have much interest in seeing one now. As his grandmother likes to say, “They bleed and eat and pee just like we do, no matter what the old stories say.” But every banner soldier is required by oath and honor to protect the Royals. So he signs obedience.
Satisfied, she goes on. “You’re mobile in a way I’m not. I have an idea that might work. The mesh works by a device called percussion echo. I will explain how to disrupt it, and then—”
A clank sounds from the hatch. As its wheel cranks around he rolls up into a crouch. To get to him the Chaonians will have to bring down the mesh. The moment it comes down he’ll spring. He’s faster and stronger, and his ability to change direction at speed is what won him his battle name. He’ll die fighting, as honor demands.
“I need you to stay alive for the sake of all the banners, Recruit,” the colonel says in a low voice as the hatch grinds open. “Do you understand me? There’s more at stake here than you know.”
Five Chaonian marines in helmeted battlesuits come through, weapons ready. They are followed by an individual wearing a white lab coat, eyes obscured by goggles, hands nervously clutching a tablet. The lab coat is accompanied by a woman wearing a calf-length gold tunic whose fabric shimmers.
The colonel hisses softly, seeing something in this woman that makes her angry. He has no idea what it is. He’s only a recruit, barely out of boot camp, vat-grown, as his squad-mates joked, which just means he was born and grew up on an Ouroboros-class wheelship surrounded by the many escort vessels of the Wrathful Snakes banner fleet. But the colonel is studying the woman in the gold tunic with cold intensity, so he studies her too.
The woman is of medium height, with pale skin that’s weathered in a way never seen in the fleet, where there is no damaging planet exposure. She keeps her black hair up in a bun and wears a distinctive emerald tree brooch.
“This is the prisoner who was just brought in?” the woman asks the lab coat, pointing at him while ignoring the colonel the way she would ignore a lamp.
“Yes. According to the report he was an unexpected capture at Hellion Terminus. He broke formation during a routine boarding mission and without provocation charged the captain of one of Chaonia’s undercover surveillance vessels.”
“Yes, I know which vessel and which captain. How do you think we figured out this place existed?”
The lab coat flashes a look toward the colonel, who gives an infinitesimal shake of the head. The prisoner can’t figure out who is fighting whom, and what tangled web is being woven, so he just observes.
“He’s perfect.” The woman looks him over in the obtrusive way non-clans-people do, half-admiring and half-repelled. “Young. Fit. The striking looks of a savage innocent. And a fortunate history of impulsive violence and lack of discipline. He’ll do very well to shock the audience and discredit the heir. Get him ready to travel.”
The colonel says, “Removing a prisoner of war from a safe prison facility is in violation of the rights of prisoners of war.”
“Tell that to your Phene masters,” says the woman. The colonel opens her mouth to reply but closes it abruptly as the lab coat gives her a swift negative dip of the chin. The woman doesn’t notice because she isn’t looking at the lab coat as she goes on in a tone oozing disgust and condescension. “You Gatoi had a chance to ally with us, but you chose to sell yourselves to the Phene instead.”
She goes out the hatch. The lab coat casts a frustrated glance toward the colonel before following the woman out.
Two of the marines come forward, unlock the wheels on his cage, and push it toward the hatch, leaving the mesh intact. This world is so far out of the frame of reference of a youth still wearing the socks his grandmother knitted for him that it’s dizzying. Whatever happens, he has to be courageous and dignified, to represent his banner and his people so no shame comes to them. Honor and service must guide him. There’s more at stake here than he knows.
The colonel switches back to the ritual speech used among the banners, which outsiders never learn. “Don’t forget what I said, Recruit. My battle name is Evans.”
“It is an honorable name among the people, endurance without flagging,” he replies in the proper way. “My battle name is Zizou—”
The mesh pulses with a fierce pressure that knocks him onto his back and leaves his bones and flesh numb. He lies there, too stunned to move, as they open the mesh and pull off his uniform jacket and his socks.
When they push him into a much larger chamber he can’t move to see anything except the thick mesh above his head and a catwalk above that, running along the ceiling. But he can hear the woman in gold and the lab coat speaking, their voices tinny as if heard through a tube.
“We must destroy this entire operation,” the woman is saying.
“The queen-marshal herself funded this project,” objects the lab coat in a desperate tone. “We’re not supposed to tell anyone. But she authorized it.”
“She funded it in total secrecy, hiding it from the Core Houses and the high command. That’s because she knows we would never approve it. She should know better than to listen to that barbarian and his cunning intrigue. He’s untrustworthy and likely a traitor too. It’s a pity he’s been too clever to leave incriminating evidence. You’re sure he’s not here? You know the consequences if you’re lying to me.”
“Governor, please listen. There’s nothing treacherous about this operation. It will benefit Chaonia.”
“The only good Gatoi is a dead Gatoi.”
“We are taking every precaution. Percussion echo keeps the subjects under control. Just give me another month, I beg you. We’re so close to a breakthrough.”
“You can’t change the essential nature of savages who believe their greatest destiny is to die fighting for their bloodthirsty goddess.”
“That’s not what’s going on. We have collected compelling evidence that the Phene are conditioning and controlling the Gatoi through their neurosystems.”
“The Phene did not implant those neurosystems in them. The Gatoi are born with those neurosystems. It’s who they are. What they are. It’s how they survive.”
“That’s not what I mean, Governor. What the Phene do is an encoding, if you will. When young soldiers are sent to become auxiliaries with the Phene imperial army, the Phene have figured out a way to engineer the already existing neurosystem to compel them to obey Phene commands.”
“This is a wild theory. Unproven. Ridiculous.”
“But what if it’s true? If it’s true, it means the auxiliaries have been fighting to the death against us only because the Phene force them to do it. If it’s true, if we can find a way to short-circuit the programming without the Phene finding out we’ve done so until it’s too late to alter their conditioning protocols, it will change the course of our conflict with the Phene.”
The lab coat breaks off and glances at the prisoner in alarm.
The woman says, “It doesn’t matter that he heard. He’ll be dead by tomorrow night.”
12
Their Laughter and Careless Smiles
The first outpost built on Molossia Prime was a temple named Dodona, sited amid scenic lakes as a foothold for a new colony. During the reign of Queen-Marshal Yǔ, when the Republic of Chaonia became a vassal state of the Phene Empire, the Phene had conscripted the temple and turned its grounds into a massive military base and administrative center. After the Phene retreat in the wake of their disastrous attempt to invade the Yele League, Queen-Marshal Metis, Yǔ’s daughter, had left the district under military control and with restricted access for civilians. So when they reached the mainland, Sun and the survivors in her party had the famous temple to themselves.
Octavian stood twelve paces behind her as she burned offerings of incense and spirit money in honor of the deceased. The sharp blend of scents helped her tears flow. Unlike Hetty she could not concentrate on prayers. Her mind kept cycling through the moments after the explosion.
They’d rushed up onto the deck to s
ee smoke and flames rising from the tender. Security ’birds had swept in within the hour. Investigators had proclaimed it a terrible accident. But she knew better. She just needed proof before she could act.
“Princess? We’re ready to go.” Octavian pinged a file into her network. “The queen-marshal’s office has sent its condolences and requests you take a ten-day mourning retreat at the Uncorrupted Land sanctuary on Merciful Island. They’ve attached a revised schedule that will allow you to finish out the last month of visits—”
“No.”
The others were waiting on the temple’s portico, having already made their offerings and said their prayers. James held his cap against his chest. Alika played a quiet dirge. Hetty touched Sun’s arm fleetingly, for comfort. Their cee-cees stood in the shadows, heads bowed.
“Let’s go.” She marched her group to the secondary comms center, an old Quonset hut left over from the weeks when Metis’s corps of engineers had had to bring the base back on line quickly. The new primary comms center built by one of her uncles was three klicks away, and Sun wasn’t about to make the trek.
The ensign on duty jumped to attention as Sun strode in. Her network access was still compromised by a deeper layer of suppression technology, doubtless controlled by the queen-marshal’s staff.
She said to the fresh-faced ensign, “Give me secure access into the manifest of the military shipyards.”
The ensign gulped but stayed stiff, chin up. “Your Highness. You’ll need clearance from Captain Mirza at primary comms.”
“The manifest,” repeated Sun, temper sliding toward its sharpest edge.
A stern-faced chief popped out of a cubicle, took one “oh shit” look at the princess, and hastily said, “Ensign, with respect, wartime regulations dictate that the queen-marshal, her Companions, and the heir supersede chain of command.”
Sun gave the chief a curt nod. As soon as the ensign linked her into the military node, she blinked straight into the manifest. The Boukephalas had two days earlier cleared inspection and was in orbit waiting to join up with the Eighth Fleet.
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