by Eric Thomson
Salmin cut through on the battalion net. “Bravo Niner, this is Niner Alpha. D Squadron is away. Blow the remaining demolitions and take your positions.”
DeCarde smiled with barely suppressed glee as she switched to the command push. “No Countess, the 6th of the 21st hasn’t gone over to the rebellion. We’ve merely gone. Gone from Coraline and once our rides break out of orbit, gone from what’s left of this rotten fucking empire. I hope you and the Guards enjoy a long, lingering death for everything you’ve done to this planet. And I most sincerely hope that depraved sociopath you call an empress gets her just desserts for how she so cavalierly destroyed something that lasted a thousand years.”
“Niner, this is Niner Alpha, B Squadron and the LZ team are away, I repeat, B Squadron and the LZ team are away. All of Pegasus Six is airborne.”
A subdued cheer erupted around DeCarde, and her smile became almost manic.
“You’ve obviously gone mad, Colonel.”
“No, Countess. For the first time since we landed on this godforsaken world, I feel sane again. Oh, and if you’re wondering what happened to Dagon Verkur, I shot him. He was becoming insufferable, just like you. Farewell, Countess. I hope the manner of your death will at least in part make up for the havoc you caused.”
DeCarde cut the link and settled back. With any luck, her battalion wasn’t merely jumping out of one deadly trap to land in another. But as her most celebrated ancestor apparently enjoyed saying, at least according to family lore, where there’s life, there’s hope.
**
“Vanquish this is Mercy Flight. We have them. All of them.”
Pleased grins appeared, and more than one arm shot up in a celebratory fist pump.
“Weapons, cease targeting Tymak’s positions. Signals, see if you can get me a link with Commodore Kischak.”
A few minutes passed before the latter’s icy features materialized on the CIC’s primary display. “What is it, Morane?”
“I wanted to let you know my shuttles lifted off with the Pathfinders. Once we’ve recovered them, the 197th will break out of orbit and head for one of Coraline’s wormholes. Not Coraline Two, of course, where you’ve no doubt left your rearguard. With us gone, you’re free to do as you wish with the remaining imperial forces on the planet. They’re no longer our concern. But I would ask that you don’t pursue us. We’re no threat to anyone and will only fight to defend ourselves.”
“And you still won’t say where you’re headed?”
Morane shook his head. “No, sir. We’re leaving the empire, or what was once an empire, I suppose, to strike out for ourselves. I fear humanity is on an irrevocable path to self-destruction, and by the time it’s over, I doubt there will be much left. We, my crews and the Pathfinders, don’t want to be around when the final curtain falls and darkness cloaks this part of our galaxy.”
Kischak stared at him in silence for a long time. Then, she nodded.
“Very well, Captain. In that case, good luck, though I would be remiss in my duties if I didn’t ask you to reconsider and join us, now that you’ve turned against the Crown.”
“Sorry, Commodore. I see no future that isn’t filled with strife and no end that isn’t bleak. We need to find our own way out of this mess and perhaps set the foundations for a brighter future.”
A wry smile twisted Kischak’s lips. “That was a sibylline statement if I ever heard one.”
“It’s better if nobody knows our heading and destination.”
“In that case, Godspeed. I won’t come after you if only because I’m not allowed to leave the sector unless in hot pursuit of units still loyal to Dendera.”
“Which we are not.”
“Indeed. Was there anything else?”
“No, sir.”
“Farewell, Captain. Kischak, out.”
Morane stared at the blank display, lost in thought, parsing his plans one last time before he committed everyone in his depleted formation to an uncertain future. A future based solely on his conviction humanity was staring into the abyss. But try as he might, Morane still saw no other choice.
He finally shook himself and called the bridge.
“Once the shuttles have been recovered and offloaded, we’ll break the 197th out of orbit and head for the hyperlimit at best speed, followed by a coordinated jump for Wormhole Coraline Four. If the Marines want to shift personnel around between ships, we’ll do that after we’ve left the Coraline system. Commodore Kischak might not want to pursue us now, but nothing says she won’t change her mind in the next few hours.”
“I assume we’ll want to let Myrtale recover her shuttles after they deliver their load of Marines to Vanquish?” Mikkel asked.
“Yes, of course. There is no point in overcrowding our hangar deck for the sake of saving a few minutes. Speaking of which, I’ll head there momentarily and welcome Colonel DeCarde aboard.”
“That’s what I figured. I’ll ensure everything is set for us to leave.”
“If I’m busy with DeCarde and the other ships report ready, execute without waiting for my order.”
— 16 —
Morane watched from the hangar control room as Myrtale’s shuttles disgorged their portion of the Imperial Marine Corps’ elite, then launched back into space. Then his own craft crossed the force barrier one by one and landed on their designated spots before releasing the Pathfinders aboard. As Morane expected, they formed up in orderly ranks, powered suits shut in case the hangar deck decompressed and waited until the space doors closed.
With the deck’s atmospheric integrity now assured, the inner doors opened, and Morane stepped through, eyes searching for Colonel DeCarde, but in vain. The Pathfinders’ chameleon armor blended so well with their surroundings that his eyes immediately felt the strain. Behind him, a stream of petty officers came through another door, lined up with Vanquish’s bosun and waited for the Marines’ senior non-commissioned officer to make him or herself known.
A tall Pathfinder eventually spotted Morane and came over. When the armored figure removed her helmet, he saw it was DeCarde, her features creased by fatigue though her eyes seemed to sparkle with barely suppressed glee. She stomped to attention and raised her right hand to her brow in salute.
“Lieutenant Colonel Brigid DeCarde, commanding the 6th Battalion, 21st Pathfinder Regiment, sir. Permission to come aboard?”
“Granted, Colonel, and welcome. To you and every single Marine in your unit.” Morane returned the salute, then made to hold out his hand before remembering she wore powered armor and might inadvertently crush his bones. He nodded toward the line of petty officers. “Our bosun, Chief Petty Officer Second Class Rossello, and his mates will guide your people to our Marine barracks and see that they take your wounded to our sickbay for medical treatment.”
DeCarde nodded. “One moment, sir.” She switched to the battalion push. “Squadron first sergeants, report to the chief petty officer standing on my left for barracks assignments.” Turning back to Morane, DeCarde said, “HQ, B and D Squadrons, and my wounded are here with me. A, C and Combat Support Squadrons are supposed to be aboard Narwhal.”
“They are. I received confirmation moments ago. Once Myrtale secures her shuttles, we’re breaking out of orbit.”
“And heading for this mysterious sanctuary.”
A faint smile appeared on Morane’s lips. “Indeed. You and I have much to discuss, Colonel, but first I shall let you settle in, get out of your armor and enjoy what little amenities we can offer. The senior Marine officer is entitled to private quarters, but I’m afraid it’s shared cabins for your officers and command noncoms, and squad bays for your enlisted ranks. We turned a few of the adjacent compartments into makeshift squad bays to take care of the overflow. As I said earlier, it’ll be cramped quarters, but at least you’re alive.”
“Anything is better than Klim Castle, Captain. For instance, here we won’t worry about treacherous Guards knifing us in the back. Or insurgents itching for revenge. Or one of Admiral L
oren’s strike groups appearing above us, ready to turn our hundred thousand year-old final redoubt into rubble.”
“No, but we’ll have other matters to worry about.”
“Such as the rebel battle group approaching Coraline?”
“Yes, but I think I’ve convinced its commanding officer to let us leave unmolested. In any case, they’re still several hours out, so by the time they reach the planet we’ll be almost at the hyperlimit. From there, it’s an eleven hour FTL jump, followed by a drop into our target wormhole, which will, in turn, take us out of the Shield Sector altogether. After that, we face several weeks, if not months traveling through the wormhole network’s lesser used nodes, the ones connecting uninhabited and sterile systems, before reaching Arietis in the Coalsack Sector. From there, we will transit through three more wormholes before finally arriving at our destination.”
DeCarde cocked an eyebrow. “Which is?”
“Did you ever hear of the Lyonesse system?”
The Marine searched her memory, then shook her head. “The name doesn’t ring a bell.”
Morane’s smile returned. “That’s actually quite comforting, Colonel. If an elite Marine hasn’t heard of this particular, and somewhat peculiar wormhole cul-de-sac, I daresay my choice was correct.”
“A cul-de-sac?”
“Yes. One single mapped wormhole, which leads to a sterile system with two mapped wormholes, which leads to another one with two termini and thence to Arietis. I’m pinning my hopes on the coming civil war and collapse to bypass the system entirely, so some kernel of advanced technology survives.”
“Cutting the long night down to centuries instead of it lasting for millennia.”
“Just so.”
**
Centurion Haller poked her head into DeCarde’s cabin. Already stripped of her armor and gear, she wore Marine rifle green battledress with the regiment’s winged dagger insignia on one side of the collar and a centurion’s three silver diamonds on the other. Haller looked around the compartment, barely big enough for a bunk, desk, and chair, but with a tiny private heads and nodded.
“Nice.”
“It sure beats Klim Castle.”
“By a parsec, Colonel. Even squad bays full up with troopers seem luxurious. I’m sharing a six-bunk with the first sergeants and squadron centurions. It’ll do us fine. I’m here for the command post gear. We found an empty broom closet at the end of the hallway, so there’s no point in it cluttering up what little space you have. Klim’s treasure chest is already there.”
DeCarde, who was halfway through the process of dismantling her power suit for easy storage, nodded at the bunk.
“Help yourself.”
Haller picked up the operations AI, a featureless cube, and stared at its shock-proof case.
“I wonder whether we will ever wake Archie from his sleep again. He served us loyally.”
“Should I worry that you’re anthropomorphizing an incredibly complex machine again?”
“No.” She picked up the remaining gear. “At least not until I take Archie to the officers’ mess for a beer.”
“I think the Navy calls it a wardroom, Eve.”
“They can call it what they want, sir, just as long as they don’t call me late for chow.”
“Do you think I need to post orders restricting the troops to barracks, so they don’t wander all over the ship and scare our Navy friends?”
Haller shook her head. “No. The first sergeants already passed the word. Besides, after the excitement of the last few weeks and today’s freedom flight, they’ll be happy to sleep in a clean bunk or hang around the barracks mess and shoot the shit.”
“In that case, I’ll make a stab at relaxing as well.”
The centurion snorted. “That’ll be the day, Colonel. But try to enjoy the showers. They’re a luxury unheard of since the day Countess Klim decided to scorch Coraline.”
“And may the devil take her for it, along with the entire 14th Guards Regiment.”
“From your lips to the Almighty’s ear.”
“I don’t think the Almighty has a say when it comes to the devil’s social calendar. But if you want to do something nice, find out where I can snag a cup of coffee. My guts processed enough tea to last a lifetime.”
— 17 —
“Kudos to your housekeeping droids,” DeCarde said the moment she entered Morane’s day cabin. “Finding my way here from the barracks was easy with their help.”
Vanquish’s captain waved her toward a chair. “Please sit. With a small crew, the more automation, the better. Your two squadrons and battalion HQ double the number of souls aboard my cruiser. In fact, your battalion as a whole has increased the size of our contingent by over half, that’s how automated our ships are nowadays. In the words of an old joke perpetuated by Fleet engineers, given enough automation, two lesser primates and one Academy cadet should suffice to sail Vanquish.” He nodded at the silver samovar sitting on a sideboard. “Can I offer you tea?”
DeCarde pulled a face. “I’ve imbibed enough tea in the last few weeks to tan my insides, sir. I’ll pass, thanks.”
Morane chuckled. “Coffee drinker, eh? My apologies. I have none on hand, but I’m sure the wardroom could organize a cup. We’re more partial to tea aboard Vanquish and like most in the Navy, consider coffee a ground pounder’s brew.”
“It doesn’t matter, sir.” She shrugged. “As a caffeine vector, tea will serve the purpose.” DeCarde tried to fight back an unexpected yawn and lost. “I accept your offer.”
He made a wry face. “Not to put a negative spin on things, Colonel, but tea travels better than coffee, and adapts more easily to other worlds. We may see coffee become one of those things that turn into legend and then myth.”
DeCarde considered his words for a few seconds before grimacing as she sat. “I sincerely hope you’re wrong, sir, but fear you might be right.”
“Unfortunately. And when we’re in private, please call me Jonas. At the end of this journey, I think we will find ourselves working as equals for the common good.”
“And I’m Brigid. Though I didn’t know Navy officers could break protocol, even if they wanted to.” She gave him a friendly smile. “We Marines always figured you lot for a bunch of stuck-up prigs. No doubt you consider us uncouth peasants in return.”
Morane smiled back. “If not worse things, Brigid, but meant in jest. We, just like you no doubt, save our real venom for the Imperial Guards.”
“Which we’ll hopefully never see again. You know, if Stichus hadn’t replaced the Army with his Guards, things might not be as bad. At least not on Coraline, for example.”
“Perhaps, but without Guards Regiments loyal to the sovereign’s person rather than the constitution, there could not be a Ruggero dynasty, so it’s a bit of a chicken and egg thing.”
“And without a Ruggero dynasty, I might not be losing access to coffee. Next, you’ll tell me distilling will also become a thing of the past, and I won’t ever drink decent whiskey again.”
“It won’t be that dire. Wherever humanity can grow something that produces sugar, we’ll find the basis for booze. Remember, distilled spirits predate the industrial revolution by centuries. We may live long enough to find out whether it will be decent. Coffee on the other hand needs specific conditions to grow. Otherwise it might taste like something that passed through the digestive tract of a Parthian werecat.”
DeCarde made a face. “Speaking of places I won’t miss.”
“You’ve been to Parth?”
She nodded. “Once, to help the Correctional Service in quelling a revolt by political prisoners. That particular population grew exponentially under Dendera’s rule without commensurate growth by the penal system. It was ugly, and probably one of those harbingers of today’s situation, except nobody cared to notice. Calling Parth the empire’s largest open-air prison doesn’t do the place justice. Open-air sewer is a more apt description.”
“Wasn’t there a Marine regim
ent stationed on Parth?”
“You mean the Marine Light Infantry? Yes, at one time. Stichus ordered the Corps to disband it when he formed the Imperial Guards. He thought a regiment composed of convicts was unbecoming to the Imperial Armed Services.”
“Really? And the Corps accepted that?”
A sly grin appeared on DeCarde’s face. “It merely paid lip service to the order. They withdrew the MLI from Parth and renamed it though the regiment was officially struck from the order of battle. Would you like to know what it became?” Mischief twinkled in her eyes. When Morane nodded, she said, “The 21st Imperial Pathfinder Regiment.”
A bark of laughter escaped Morane’s throat. “Priceless. Is your regiment still composed of convicts?”
“No. Only the original draft graduated from that program. Ever since, we’ve filled our ranks in the normal way.”
“How about the rehabilitation through retraining idea?”
“It never really vanished. After the Fleet moved the military prisons from Parth to Caledonia, the Corps stood up an Imperial Marine Rifle Regiment to fill the MLI’s role. Officially its job was providing field commanders with battalion-sized light infantry units for specialized combat duties. We just never told Stichus and his successors where the rifle battalions recruited their troops. The only difference is we no longer recruit among the civilian convict population, which is a shame. Many of the political prisoners we fought on Parth had the makings of good Marines. Unfortunately, most didn’t survive.”
“I didn’t hear of that particular revolt.”
“Not surprising. After ordering us to suppress it, the government made sure knowledge of what happened was also suppressed. Thousands died, and the government never told their families how or why. A number of my troopers quit or took early retirement in disgust at what Dendera forced us to do.”
“But not you?”