by Damon Alan
Salla’s hand slipped into his. “You’re harder than you need be. The men do not expect those of us here to suffer.”
“If you suffer, I remind you that I asked you to stay home. You carry our child.”
“Eislen,” Elvanik said. “She is your wife.” The bandit turned soldier pointed toward the forests in the south. “Those men, they are your enemy.”
A cloud lifted from Eislen, and he turned to Salla. “Of course. I’m sorry. Elvanik, please build a fire for my wife over there.” He pointed to a spot twenty steps distant. “I would be cold with my men, but she is above all that. She should and will be comfortable as long as I breath.”
Elvanik looked at Eislen sternly, disapproval on his face.
Eislen knew why the look was there.
Over the late fall and winter, Eislen had lost his sense of humor regarding outsiders. First the regional magistrate in Torgard, the largest town in East Zeffult, had sent a merchant diplomat to relay his will on the immigrants pouring into Kampana, and demand that a large number of them settle elsewhere.
Eislen had, of course, refused. And the merchant, impressed by the purity of Eislen’s purpose, had changed sides. The man went back to Torgard to tell the magistrate Eislen’s answer, planning to return to Kampana once that task was done.
The man was executed.
Eislen and the eight adepts who’d rallied to him by that time went to Torgard and burned the magistrate in the street, along with his four assigned adept bodyguards. The Zeffulti soldier contingent in the city, a hundred and twenty men, had stood down and let it happen.
Word of Eislen’s power was getting out.
By the end of fall, another six adepts and a third of those soldiers had come to Eislen’s cause.
They stood with him today, after having destroyed Himalland’s first excursionary force without losses to themselves.
Eislen looked down the ridge and across the fields. Two hundred of his men stood with various weapons as Himalland’s forces assembled in lines ready to engage. There were no more than seventy in that mix that had any training as combatants. Eight adepts mixed into the soldiers below, dressed identical to the men they fought beside.
Judging by their clothing, the Himalland forces had four adepts. It was nice of them to reveal themselves, and Eislen would use their arrogance against them. Of slightly greater concern were the four hundred plus professional soldiers lining up on the field. Not that they were a threat, but Eislen didn’t want any of them to escape what was to come, and with that number, anything was possible.
He knew what the enemy commander was thinking, that with their four adepts, the peasant uprising before him would be easy to suppress or destroy.
Eislen reached out to another one of his adepts, one that traveled alone through the snow, flanking the unfolding battle.
Segart, did the enemy send a messenger home?
I am tracking his prints in the snow, now, Prophet. I will have him shortly.
End him painlessly. Then return to the trees, ready to set them ablaze and block the retreat of the intruders, Eislen directed.
I will report when I am ready.
That report came quickly. The messenger to Himalland’s Master Adept was dead. Eislen’s assassin set the forest behind the enemy troops ablaze, and Eislen helped from a distance.
There would be no retreat in that direction.
He sensed the eagerness of the adepts among his men below as he assigned them targets and told them to wait for his sign.
Eislen concentrated on the first of the four enemy adepts, the one he sensed to be most powerful. Even two fields away the screaming was heard as the man’s body baked internally. The two soldiers next to him fell aside, frozen through into icicles.
Chaos broke out in the enemy ranks. Surely there was no sign more obvious than that.
Himalland’s soldiers began exploding as Eislen’s adepts turned their bodies to steam and cooked meat. The four enemy adepts died first, of course, in a grizzly display of brutality that could only mean the gift was being brought to bear on Himalland’s forces. That is why none could escape.
He released his adepts to kill the rest of Himalland’s men as they wished, the only firm directive was to be as fast and destructive as possible.
Eislen’s fists clenched as he watched the enemy forces die.
He wondered what Alarin would think of him now. Alarin, who spoke of peace while cloaking himself with the deaths of thousands. Alarin. Master Adept of Zeffult.
Then Eislen realized it didn’t matter. Alarin had no control here, and it had been some time before he’d even sensed his former Master.
Elvanik walked up to Eislen as he wrapped one of the newcomer firearms in a cloth to keep it dry. “I really don’t think we needed these.”
Eislen grinned. “I still have no idea really how they work.”
“Been a while since I saw that,” Elvanik added, pointing at Eislen’s face.
It was true. Even he realized that leadership was weighing heavy on him. His grin was the first in some time. He should probably change that.
He clapped Elvanik on the arm. “Let’s camp here tonight, then go home. Our warm hearths and some goat stew will make us all feel better about what just happened.”
“Why would I feel in any way bad?” Elvanik asked. “These men stood up to bend us to their will. We did not bend.”
“Because those men were people,” Eislen replied. “People like ourselves. The gods love them as they love us. And because of that, I love them too.”
“I might never understand you,” his friend said as the men on the ridge assembled to travel down and join the soldiers below. “But if you loved those men, I’d hate to see how you treat those you hate.”
“The dead over there, I can count on one hand how many wished to subjugate us. The commander and the adepts. The rest were only mindless followers of a broken path.”
“I’m still glad I’m in your circle of friends.”
“Remember that I hate no one,” Eislen said to Elvanik’s previous statement. “And neither should you. I simply do what must be done to return us to how things were.”
Elvanik nodded.
Eislen sighed, his grin long gone. Tomorrow they’d return home, and maybe the gods would give him the rest of winter in peace.
Chapter 5 - Arrival
21 Gusta 15329
Two ships dropped out of highspace together. Orson worried the cooling vanes on the Gaia might be too old to work, but they performed flawlessly. Heinrich had informed him that a squadron of maintenance ‘bots appeared from an unknown location and swarmed the ship whenever there was a technical issue, and not to worry about it.
The colony ship was in better condition than any ship in the Seventh Fleet.
Gaia was in perfect order… with one minor exception.
Heinrich had a prisoner held in one of the crew quarters. He, under torture, confessed that there was another person loose on the colony ship.
One dead, one captured, and one unaccounted for.
Apparently they were a research team examining the ship and the ancient technology it held.
There was also an AI on board, but it spoke in a language nobody else knew. And neither the Schein or the storage chambers onboard the Gaia had coughed up a translator AI. A desperate search for the AI core had turned up nothing, so they were stuck with it for now.
Still, Heinrich had figured out the controls, and she said the ship was easy enough to fly that even Orson might be able to do it. Which was an insult, but Heinrich was still Heinrich even if she was enslaved to him by a drug.
He’d learned to tolerate it.
“Scan the system,” Orson ordered Jace Sedwick, acting XO of the Schein.
“Sensors at full.”
Over the next several hours, data appeared on the main screen.
One gas giant with no moons.
A fairly thick asteroid field that spanned the star’s habitable zone.
; And radio signals?
“What is that?” Orson demanded.
“It’s radio. Chatter from several different sources.”
“Put it on speaker.”
Static burst onto the bridge, followed by intermittent words in some language Orson didn’t understand. It was frequently interrupted as the red star in the system let loose with a radio frequency outburst.
“— fi diẹ ninu awọn kofi lori awọn nigbamii ti akero.”
“— awọn oniho ti wa ni aotoju, o yoo ni lati —”
“Turn it off,” Orson ordered.
“What do you make of that?” Jace asked. “The same people that colonized the brainer moon colonized this place?”
“That’s got to be it. That language is like nothing I’ve ever heard. It sounds different than what the ship speaks.”
“Languages change,” Jace pointed out. “After ten thousand years maybe this one is a descendant of the one the ship keeps blabbing out.”
Orson shrugged. “Yeah… I already don’t care anymore.”
They’d not be able to build an outpost in a system that already had inhabitants… but maybe they could get supplies.
“Jace, do you detect any warships?”
“No ships at all. A few objects that might be cargo shuttles.”
Thinking about it, that didn’t seem likely. No ships? But maybe all you’d need in a civilization inhabiting an asteroid field was a shuttle system to transport goods and people. Nobody had that far to go.
“Okay, Jace. We need to get Heinrich in on this. Call the Gaia and get her on the screen.”
Nodding to acknowledge the command, Jace had her on frequency with them quickly.
“Hello, love,” Orson said as her image appeared. “I’m sure you’ve noticed that this system isn’t uninhabited. I’m going to go see if the locals have any stuff I like.”
Her expression told him what she thought of that.
It didn’t matter. He was in charge.
Chapter 6 - Flytrap
21 Gusta 15329
“Inclusion sphere, two-six-three mark three-one-nine!” Harmeen shouted. “Gravity wave confirmed.”
Simultaneously Emille and the three other adepts in the briefing room behind her grunted in pain. Sarah wondered if all the adepts on Refuge had clutched their heads when the Stennis had first arrived there for the first time, not so long ago.
“We’re going to take him down,” Corriea said, with a lunatic smile on his face.
Sarah was every bit as excited, although maybe less bloodthirsty about it.
There was only one ship that should be jumping in system, but it was best to verify. She would take no chances this time. Then, once the target was confirmed and unaware of her presence, she’d pounce.
“That is the correct vector for an incoming ship from Oasis?”
“Yes, ma’am, it sure is,” Harmeen affirmed. His voice was still elevated. Apparently everyone was excited to bring this outlaw to justice.
“Good. How long is their deceleration cycle?”
“If they burn at one G, just over eleven hours,” Corriea said. “That is assuming they make for one of our ‘bases’ as expected.” He used air quotations when he said bases, which made Sarah quickly stifle a chuckle.
Everyone else on board could enjoy taking Orson down, but for her, it at least had to appear that she was the consummate professional.
That didn’t change the fact that she dearly wanted this rematch. But she couldn’t show that. Her calm was what kept the crew in the same state. “If they burn at all, it’s because they’ve taken the bait. Otherwise they’ll do a quick system survey and move on. There isn’t anything here worth a second glance except our fake settlements,” Sarah studied the tactical map for the hundredth time. “Mr. Harmeen, you have the decoy in place on the surface of the capital asteroid?”
“Yes, ready to go.”
“Then let’s hope our plan actually works this time,” she said, shaking her head. “Launch when you’re ready.”
Harmeen toggled some switches on his display, a frown on his face. Maybe he was a bit annoyed at her insinuation the shuttle might not fool the enemy. “It will work. It would have last time if it hadn’t been incinerated by nukes right after launch.”
Halani Seto chimed in. “She’s not blaming you, chuda. Stop being sensitive.”
Sarah, as master of the Seventh Fleet, had joined Seto and Harmeen in a lifetime contract floating on a dead ship only three months ago. Since then she’d learned a lot of things about Seto’s home world. Like that a chuda is a small bipedal animal that falls down a lot.
“We are on the bridge, Mister Seto. Chuda may not be the proper reference for one of my best officers,” Sarah reminded her.
Seto’s face blushed red. “Of course, Admiral. Sorry.”
“What?” Harmeen asked. “She told me it meant—”
Sarah interrupted him to change the subject. “Can you get a visual on the enemy, Mr. Harmeen?”
“They’re two hundred and forty three million kilometers out. No visual yet. But once they start their burn we’ll see them.”
“Hail them from the base nearest us. Be friendly. Lure them in using the language the AIs used for the chatter. It would be suspicious if the locals remained silent, after all, an inclusion sphere just rang every gravity wave detector in the system.”
“What do we do when they answer?” Seto asked.
“I don’t know, but if they do, talk to them. Through the AI, and I repeat, always in the local language.”
Corriea added the targets to the strategic map displayed on the largest view screen. This system was small. The enemy would decel hard due to the lack of space available, and probably finish right as they reached the first station. Hopefully they’d come to the nearest fake base. Otherwise Sarah would have to ask Emille to jump them to the enemy, toward the singularity that hampered her abilities. Maybe it would be easier if the enemy approached instead, giving the adepts more time to adapt to the spatial distortion that involved.
“This should reel them in,” Seto said, grinning.
Corriea nodded. Everyone was eager for this fight. Of course Peter had more reason than most. And as long as he did his job, she honestly didn’t care about his anger or his eagerness. What she wanted was for him to be reunited with his loved one.
“Great. Let me know immediately when they light the torches,” Sarah ordered.
“Aye, Admiral,” Harmeen said.
“Mister Corriea, keep an eye on our decoy. I’d like to make sure it follows the autopilot path and gets under cover before it’s too late.” The auto-piloted shuttle would return a radar signature that matched a larger ore hauler. But visually it was still a shuttle. They had to have it land at a destination prior to the enemy entering visual range and discovering the ruse.
“XO, you have the bridge. I’m going to get dinner.” She waved a hand at the main screen. “It will be hours before any of this turns into battle. All of you should relax, let some steam off. Two of you on the bridge at all times,” Sarah ordered.
“I have the bridge,” Corriea responded.
As she made her way through the gangway to the officer’s mess she used to share with Franklin, she studied the faces of her people as he’d encouraged her to do. What she saw lifted her spirits. Everyone was eager for what was about to happen. She’d seen it before. When she’d taken men and women into battle against the Hive.
Win or lose, they always went into the battle confident, if not overly so.
It was probably impossible to fight effectively otherwise.
Sarah ate alone. She picked half-heartedly at her food due to the twisting in her stomach. This plan had to work. Either she died today, or Orson would be captured or killed. She didn’t plan on dying.
She had one chance to trick him and pounce.
Orson wouldn’t be fooled again if they didn’t get him now.
Chapter 7 - Admiral’s Personal Log<
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AI Lucy82A recording, Admiral's personal log, personal archive: Galactic Standard Date 17:12:49 21 GUSTA 15329
Personal log entry #1204, Admiral Sarah Dayson, origin Korvand, Pallus Sector.
Current Location: An unknown asteroid belt, orbiting an uncatalogued star outside of the galactic plane.
Apparently I’m quite the actress. The faith I see in my crew is gratifying, and in a sense comforting. It can only be there because I’ve earned it in the past. So I will have to, today, earn it again.
[Fourteen seconds of silence]
That sounds dramatic enough. But this man, this defiler from within, I will have him today. I will see him captured or dead, and I have to be honest, I hope it’s death.
Petty, I know. But he hurt those in my care in ways no person has ever done. I’ve never known human against human on that scale. I’ve learned a lesson I won’t forget soon, rest assured.
And I still need to find the traitor back in Oasis.
Alarin is helping. Despite his reluctance to violate the privacy of my people, he’s promised to touch the minds of the Seventh Fleet as he meets them. He’ll determine their loyalty and if they’re the person who betrayed us to Orson.
Someone gave us away. And eventually I will have that person too, as I will have Orson today.
[A sound AI estimates 97% probability to be a fist striking furniture]
We have a sound trap. There is no way Orson can know we’re here, he can’t possibly know about our new mode of moving FTL. Orson had already jumped away when we left system, before that only a few trusted people knew we had Emille’s ability to teleport. No, any warning sent to Orson is rapidly falling behind, and won’t reach this star system for another five centuries.
We will have complete surprise. The only question is, since I plan on taking the Schein back from him, is that enough? Can I neutralize his war making potential fast enough to protect my people on the Stennis?
I hope so. But the answer, I suppose, doesn’t matter. At least not in regard to whether we’ll attack or not. People are lost in war. That bothers me, but it’s a fact. What annoys me most, however, is that Orson cost this fleet lives after I’d promised my people that the fight was over.