by Andy Hoare
Droon turned to Korvane. ‘Come, Korvane, and meet the tau.’
Korvane stood in the centre of the apartment given over to his use, donning his formal attire, for he was expected at the Imperial Commander’s court in mere minutes. There he would be introduced to the aliens that Droon referred to as mercenaries.
Could they really be mercenaries? Korvane had come into contact with all manner of hired guns and sell-swords in his career, and they had ranged from highly professional outfits to near-brigands, but they had never, in his experience at least, taken a form such as these aliens.
It was not the fact that the mercenaries were aliens that bothered him, for he had spoken the truth when he had told Droon that it did not concern him. It was more that this particular race appeared possessed of a high level of technology, and combined with the fact that Droon appeared ignorant of their origin, Korvane was far from sure that they would be as cooperative or as trustworthy as Droon had stated.
Although nervous, he resolved to hold off judging them, but to remain cautious and on his guard nonetheless. These aliens were, he judged, well organised and possessed of highly advanced technology. They might prove a threat to more than the Timbra Subsector, he thought. They might prove a threat to the Imperium.
As he buttoned the gold brocade across the armoured breast of his formal jacket, Korvane’s thoughts turned to what course of action his father might take in such circumstances. No doubt, he would brazen his way through, Korvane thought, keeping his cards characteristically close to his chest throughout, before somehow coming out on top. Having been brought up in the rarefied atmosphere of high court, Korvane found such an approach deeply irksome, despite the fact that it was more often than not successful.
Successful in the short term, Korvane thought, but not in the longer term; the future of the Arcadius Dynasty, now, more than ever, looked grim. Granted, his father commanded a flotilla of cruisers and owned other, sizable interests on a string of worlds between the Eastern Rim and Terra, but for how long? If the dynasty could not be maintained those interests would be sold off one by one, until, at the end, just the three of them remained, commanding a flotilla of crewless vessels, their holds empty and their reactors cold.
This expedition had been intended to secure the dynasty’s future, until the point, no doubt still many years off, when Korvane would come into the inheritance guaranteed as part of the terms of marriage between his mother and his father. But his mother, Emperor bless her shrivelled soul, had, thanks to countless rejuve courses, lived two centuries already, and appeared likely to live for another two at least. Korvane had already reached the conclusion that only he could ultimately save the Arcadius, and here and now, he knew that to be truer than ever.
As he fastened his belt, hefting the sanctified falchion gifted him by his great uncle, the Hierarch of Terrabellum Nine, Korvane determined that whatever came of this encounter with the aliens, he would ensure that, by his actions the fortunes of the Arcadius would be revived, for all time.
A knock sounded at the apartment door, and Korvane knew it was time to pay court. This, he thought, smiling to himself, was what he was born and raised to do.
The door to Droon’s audience chamber swung open, and Korvane stepped through into the cavernous space carved into the mountainside. The chamber thronged with courtiers and the setting sun, visible through the open cave mouth, cast the scene in a deep, jade light.
‘Ah! Korvane, step forward and meet our new associates!’
The head of every courtier in the chamber turned towards Korvane. Droon addressed him from his throne at the cave mouth, and beside him stood the tall alien who had led the procession from the xenos vessels. The alien took a step forwards, and paused before Korvane.
The figure was slightly taller than an average man, his spindly arms and legs engulfed in the flowing robes of shimmering, silver fabric. His face was visible beneath a wide, flat hat, and that face was without a nose and dominated by black, almond shaped eyes. The skin was a pale, bluish grey, and the mouth wide, flat and expressionless. Korvane noted a vertical slit in the centre of the forehead, only barely discernible beneath the wide hat – an olfactory organ perhaps, or something more exotic, thought Korvane.
The figure stood before Korvane and made a slight bow. Korvane’s courtly upbringing told him instantly that here was a being skilled in the political arts. This was no commander of mercenaries, thought Korvane, but some manner of ambassador or diplomat. This might be an alien, but some things varied little between races.
‘I present,’ Droon announced, ‘Korvane Gerrit of the Arcadius, trader and master of the Arcadius fleet.’
Korvane remained silent, aware of his part in the unfolding ceremony. Droon had introduced Korvane to the alien, in all likelihood indicating that the Imperial Commander at least considered the alien of higher rank than Korvane. He would let that slide, for now at least.
Then, his voice booming with evident pride, Droon introduced the alien, ‘Por’o’Sar, envoy of the tau.’
Korvane dipped his head in greeting, waiting to see whether the alien would address him directly, or whether Droon would speak on his behalf.
‘Master Gerrit,’ the alien said in flawless, smooth High Gothic, surprising Korvane with the clarity of his speech. ‘I am honoured to meet you. Lord Droon tells me you are a trader of some means. I hope we can make our relationship profitable to all.’
With practiced ease, Korvane covered his surprise that the alien spoke the High Gothic tongue so perfectly, replying, ‘That is so, and I share your hope.’
‘Good!’ Droon clapped his hands once and stood from his throne, descending the steps to stand beside Korvane and the alien. ‘I believe then, we can all go into this venture boldly, with common purpose.’
‘Indeed,’ replied the alien. ‘The forces of the tau stand beside you, ready to aid you in casting off the shackles of oppression. You agree to the price for our aid?’
Korvane felt a sudden dread at the alien’s tone, and looked to Droon as the Imperial Commander gave his answer. ‘I agree to your price, Por’o’Sar.’
Korvane felt the urge to interrupt, to demand to know what Droon had agreed to pay in return for the services of these aliens. His courtly training asserted itself however, and he maintained his outward calm, despite the rising doubts he felt within.
‘Good,’ the alien said. ‘Then I, Por’o’Sar, Envoy of the Council of the Highest, Nexus of the Third Sun, Voice of Kari’La, pledge to you, Droon, of Arris Epsilon, called Epsil’ye’Kal, the friendship and alliance of the tau, in this time of adversity.’ The alien produced from his voluminous robes a pendant, a round icon of a substance unfamiliar to Korvane. Droon lowered his head as the envoy lifted the pendant over it.
‘And by your words and your deeds, do you pledge your world and your people, for now and for all time, to the service of the tau empire?’
The court filled with a deafening silence. Korvane fought to remain outwardly unmoved, despite the fact that grand treason was unfolding before him, the likes of which he had never before witnessed. He realised that he too was right at the heart of it, his immediate future, as well as that of the Arcadius, entirely reliant on what occurred here, today.
‘I do so pledge,’ replied Droon, the alien lowering the pendant over his head. The former Imperial Commander raised his head once more and looked around him, the expression in his eyes suggesting that he was viewing his court and his subjects with entirely new eyes.
He looked directly at Korvane. ‘Today, history is written. No longer will Arris Epsilon – Epsil’ye’Kal,’ the alien nodded slowly, ‘live as some long-forgotten orphan, at the mercy of a hostile universe and an uncaring Imperium. No. This day, we take our place alongside our friends the tau, with whose aid we shall settle our debt of honour with Mundus Chasmata, for all time.’
Mercenaries indeed, thought Korvane, the pric
e for whose service was the casting off of ten thousand-year old vows. Droon had bought the service of the tau at a terrible, unthinkable price: secession from the Imperium of Man. The Imperium would hear of this, Korvane knew, no matter that it might take years for retribution to come. Come it would, of that he was sure, for the wages of such treachery could only ever be death.
However, that might not occur for some time, Korvane realised, so what of the here and the now? His agreement with Droon still stood, despite the fact that Droon himself had changed loyalties. Can I really aid this man and his xenos allies… masters… in his attack on Mundus Chasmata? he wondered. Can I afford not to?
The brief ceremony complete, Droon and the alien envoy now turned towards him as one, the Imperial Commander addressing him. ‘Korvane, you will join us, and pledge the service of the Arcadius to the,’ he looked to the alien, and then back at Korvane, ‘to the greater good?’
Damn them, thought Korvane. They don’t just want my help in the attack on Chasmata. They want me to revoke my loyalty to the Imperium.
Chapter Twelve
‘All stop!’ Lucian ordered, his bridge a hive of activity as servitors responded to orders and human bridge crew relayed them to the other decks.
‘All stop, aye,’ called back Helmsman Raldi, ‘holding station at one, one ten.’
‘Well enough, helm,’ responded Lucian, leaning forwards in his command throne. ‘I want total surprise, or so help me I’ll void every last one of you out of the sub-space crapper. Clear?’
Those of the deck crew capable of comprehending Lucian’s threat nodded, Lucian heartened to see the terror writ across their faces. Good, he thought. I mean it, too.
Lucian studied the holograph, a green glow against the red of general quarters. The Oceanid had shadowed the alien vessels as they closed on Arris Epsilon, Lucian ordering the distance kept to a maximum lest their prey detect their presence. He now watched as they disgorged a number of landers to the surface. He had been faced with a stark choice, although there was only a single possible course of action. While Brielle was evidently yet to arrive in system, Korvane was down there now, he knew, stuck in the middle of an alien invasion. Well, he wasn’t prepared to let these alien swine take an Imperial world from under his nose, not while one of his own was down there at least.
‘One hundred kilometres,’ called the helmsman.
Lucian leaned forwards still more, intent upon the formation of the alien vessels. He looked for any sign that they might have detected the Oceanid’s presence, any sign at all that he might have revealed his hand too soon.
Still, the alien vessels wallowed in orbit, more interested, Lucian guessed, in what was going on down below than what was coming at them from behind. He’d never fall for such a trick, Lucian thought, not since that privateer attack at Krysla VII, at least.
‘Comms, is everything set?’ Lucian addressed the servitor at station three, receiving a garbled burst of machine noise, accompanied by a stiff nod. ‘Good, stand by.’
‘Seventy-five,’ called the helmsman, a note of tension creeping into his voice.
‘Hold steady.’ Lucian replied, referring as much to the vessel’s course as the helmsman’s nerves.
The range counter on the holograph counted down, and there was still no response from the alien fleet.
‘Fifty kilometres.’
‘Good.’ Lucian stood, adjusting the holster at his belt. ‘Full power to secondary arrays.’
The red lighting dimmed for a moment as the secondary communications array bled off the power it needed to go from cold to fully ready in mere seconds. Lucian kept his eyes on the holograph, knowing that the aliens would pick up the power surge at any moment.
‘Station three, open a–’ the green holographic icons representing the alien vessels suddenly shifted, breaking formation as Lucian had known they would.
‘Twenty-five,’ called the helmsman.
‘Station three, open it now!’
The bridge filled with howling static as the servitor at the communications station opened a broadcast on all channels on which the secondary array was capable of transmitting. This had better work, thought Lucian.
‘Alien fleet,’ he said, knowing that his words would be flooding the ether across every conceivable frequency. ‘Alien fleet, this is the Oceanid, flagship of the Arcadius Grand Fleet. Please respond immediately.’
The bridge address system howled with feedback as the communications servitor adjusted the gain, sweeping the channels for any sign of a response. Lucian had hoped to get as close as possible to Arris Epsilon before announcing his presence, looking to gain any advantage possible over the aliens. He strained to filter out the random noise flooding the bridge, looking for any sign of an intelligible response. Of course, even if the aliens could, and did respond, there was no guarantee they would be able to communicate with one another. No matter, he thought, for that was why he had been so careful to gain the upper hand. If they could not or would not talk, he would settle things the old-fashioned way.
A high-pitched wail burst forth, modulated by an arrhythmic pulse. The communications servitor opened its mouth and gave out a squeal, turning its head and looking straight at Lucian, almost accusingly, as it did so. The pulse continued for ten seconds or so, before the channel went completely silent, and a clear voice cut through.
‘Oceanid,’ the voice said in perfectly enunciated High Gothic. ‘This is the Water Caste starship Vior’la’Gal’Leath’Shas’el. Please state your intentions.’
Lucian stepped from his command throne, towards the forward viewing port. The distance between the Oceanid and the alien vessels was too great to afford visual recognition, but Lucian looked towards the area of space where he knew the aliens’ position lay as he replied.
‘Alien vessel, my intentions depend entirely upon your own. Please stand down and allow me to approach.’
As he awaited an answer, Lucian looked sidelong at Raldi. The helmsman mouthed ‘twenty-five’ back at him.
At their current speed, Lucian would expect the alien vessels to be visible in the next few minutes. Then, and only then, he would be able to gauge the relative odds.
‘Oceanid, it is not in our nature to seek meaningless confrontation. You may approach, but be warned, our vessels are heavily armed, and will fire if threatened.’
Lucian chuckled to himself before replying, ‘Understood. Stand by.’
Indicating to the communications station with a finger drawn across his throat that the channel should be closed, Lucian turned back to the holograph. As the range shortened, the seven vessels took on more detail, the Oceanid’s cogitation banks providing details of size, mass and approximate power levels. The minutes passed, Lucian absorbing the data presented in the readouts. He looked to make an estimate of the alien vessels’ capabilities relative to the Oceanid’s, but the cogitators simply could not discern enough data, never having encountered this race, or their vessels, before.
‘Coming up on ten kilometres, sir,’ called Helmsman Raldi, Lucian looking to the viewing port once more.
The yellow-green globe of Arris Epsilon dominated the view, but Lucian could just make out the glittering constellation of lights that he knew to be the alien fleet. The seven vessels had dispersed their formation, entering a pattern from which they could afford one another mutual support were things to get ugly. It was no surprise to Lucian when he saw that the vessel that had answered his transmission, the ‘Vior’la something-or-other’, had taken position at the centre of the formation.
I would have done the same thing in their place, thought Lucian, his suspicions that he was not facing idiots confirmed.
Drawing closer to the alien fleet, the Oceanid passed the first of the alien vessels. He studied it as it slid silently by to starboard, its long, blocky form filling the smaller portholes as it passed. It was large, Lucian saw, of greater le
ngth than his own vessel, that much was immediately evident. It took the form of a long, central spine with a large drive section at the rear. Part way along the spine were mounted large, square structures, looking to Lucian like some form of modular cargo space, and at the fore a large prow featured what appeared to be a command tower bristling with antennae. Of most interest to Lucian were the long, rectangular barrelled weapons protruding from mountings just below the curved prow. These he had seen before.
Although few, Lucian judged these weapons capable of inflicting severe damage upon his vessel. In his judgement, the Oceanid could certainly take on several of these alien ships at once, and provided she got a good broadside on them could, in all likelihood, put them out of the fight. What Lucian took for cargo bays appeared to have been fitted at the expense of heavier or more numerous weapons batteries, and he guessed that other, up-gunned configurations existed.
Although larger than a manmade cruiser, Lucian judged these vessels of equivalent capability. Well, he thought, he’d taken on plenty of cruiser-sized enemies, and left blazing hulks dead in space behind him. If it came to it now, he’d do so again.
‘Ordnance,’ Lucian called to the servitor at station two. ‘I want all batteries made ready, but keep the ports closed until I give the order.’ The servitor gave a mechanical buzz in acknowledgement, its multiple, implanted appendages moving across the fire control console as it relayed Lucian’s orders to the waiting weapons crews.
Another of the alien vessels was now by on the port side and Lucian noted that this one was configured in the same manner as the first. Emperor willing, he thought, all seven vessels would be of a similar, or even identical class.