Only five Dons from his team had survived, but the trolls were all dead. He gritted his teeth and swore in Polish. If the Scarlet Prince had time to throw another boarding party in here, they would not withstand them. They had managed to seriously thin out the trolls with their plasma rifles before the hand-to-hand melee. He pressed a button and called the commander of the second group. A hoarse unknown voice replied.
“Our commander is already with God, looking down at us and laughing. There are only three of us left, and we are all injured. Two are still moving, but soon I'll be with our commander.”
By his wheezing breath Don Anselm realized that his lungs had been pierced. Then the corvette shook again, and the captain's voice shouted, “there is a boat on the third deck on the starboard side!”
Don Anselm rose heavily, waved his arms wearily, and ran to the place of attack, breathing heavily, and muttering a prayer for the dead to himself. He knew it was his last hour.
They fell right on top the trolls as they jumped out of the assault craft. Don Kior shook his head, searching for the second boat, and smiled with pleasure. The second, was slowly spinning, and hanging in space almost six miles from the corvette. It looked like the explosion on its thrusters had thrown it off course, and the pilot, trying to stop, whirled it around in circles. The gravity hooks quietly clicked, securing Don Kior to the hull. He rushed to the nearest hole, without wasting time issuing unnecessary commands—his veterans knew themselves what they must do. When he found himself in the corridor, the trolls had already gone on ahead. He caught up with them as they were almost at the gun deck. Four of his team were fighting in the far corner, blocking the passage to the door of the command and control room. Don Kior quickly looked around, saw four more of his team and raised his plasma rifle. A few seconds later it was all over.
“Captain, we have got twenty seconds left!” He shouted over the intercom, and he rushed to Fat Anselm, who fell on his back, holding his hand against a wound on his left side.
A voice on the open coms channel sounded loudly, “Countdown starts in five seconds. Acceleration to three g.”
Beer Keg grabbed a first aid kit and put it into the gaping hole on the side of the admiral’s suit, muttering, “Why in hell did you come with us? We asked you to stay with the cardinal…”
Suddenly, he felt under a heavy pressure. The ship began to accelerate. After a few moments the corvette shuddered, then again, and again. Don Kior gritted his teeth, but then he realized that it was the corvette’s guns that were firing, and he whispered through dry lips, “Come on, Lucky, turn the heat up on that cocky red-assed creature!”
Then, barely turning his head, he looked at the indicators on the first-aid kit, clenched his fists and turned away. All the indicators showed red. Fat Anselm had left this world, and was on his way to meet God. Beer Keg mentally prayed and thought, "A good death, the Eternal One would be proud."
5
The heavily damaged ship hurtled through space. Somewhere far behind was the Scorpion ship. Lucky had hit him full on. When the corvette began to pick up speed, the charges they had set on the antenna of the accelerator boosters exploded. The Scorpion ship was shaken and spun sideways. If the Scarlet Prince in command of this ship had given the order to open fire, it is likely that this would have ended their attempt to escape. But he hesitated, and after a moment, Lucky did not give him the chance. The Scarlet Prince was probably totally surprised to find that the broken corvette was blasting at him from four laser cannons. The starboard gun batteries on the Scorpion ship were instantly suppressed, and when it finally took refuge behind its protection shields, and tried to turn around, the remains from the left side antenna accelerator booster twirled it around in circles. Thirty minutes later, it managed to get its port side to face the corvette, but it was too late. Lucky switched to full power, and the Scorpion ship’s guns only made the corvette shake slightly. By the time he had to reduce power due to overheating, they were already beyond the reach of the Scorpion ship’s weapons. In the moment, when it became clear that they had escaped, everyone felt a wave of sophisticated, perfect hatred from top to toe, but it was the last thing that reached them from the Scorpion ship.
***
Don Kior cleaned his sword. His stomach ached with hunger. When they knew they were all going to die, they left all the supplies behind with the cardinal and his companions. It was stupid to fill your belly, knowing that you have at best no more than a day to live, so the last time they ate was three days ago. Beer Keg sighed, took a cleaning cloth, and began to polish the blade. Pip was sitting next to him, plastering Lucky’s ceremonial boots with shoe polish, watching Don Kior’s actions with eager curiosity.
“Noble Don, can I ask you something?”
“What?”
“Is it not possible that you can create a sword that does not need sharpening?”
“I don’t sharpen it.”
“So, what are you doing with?”
“Cleaning it.” Don Kior turned and raised his sword blade to Pips face. “Take a look. No need to sharpen it. You see a black strip on the blade? That is kelimit.”
“Saint Dagmar!” exclaimed the astonished young man. “This sword is worth more than our entire farm!”
Beer Keg grinned. “That’s right, young man. I used to know of one Don by the name of Mustachioed Boar. I swear by Saint John, he had an axe with kelimit plating covering the whole blade! For the price of this axe, he could buy your whole shitty little planet, if he had such a whim.” Don Kior shivered. “You have such very cold winters, just like in New City …” His eyes blinked with pleasure, remembering something pleasant. “It wasn’t too bad a world, only the vodka was a bit strong. As you can see, the kelimit is only on the edge of the blade, just a small amount, one molecule thick. But this sword can be stopped only by the same type of sword or a by a layer of kelimit. Such armor, my dear boy, would cost as much as an entire fleet of ships,” he ran his fingers along the blade and finished, “and the rest of it is pure steel, and that is what I am cleaning.”
“Why?”
“As you can see it’s a little rusted. This is from trolls’ blood. I swear by Saint Michel, its poisonous stuff!”
“So why steel and not something else? Would it not be clever to use titanium or, at worst, aluminum? Then nothing would rust, and it doesn’t matter what the kelimit is sprayed onto?”
Don Kior graciously shook his head.
“Steel is fatally toxic to the Enemy. It can even kill the Scarlet Prince … if only you could get at him!” he added with an evil grimace.
“Why?” Pip would not let the subject drop.
Beer Keg shrugged his shoulders, and Grey Mustache, who had been listening to the conversation in silence up to now, interrupted.
“They have a different metabolism, my young friend.”
“What are you saying?” The young man asked in surprise.
Don Charleman laughed.
“Nothing, the word just means that they are different to us.”
“Tell me about it” Pip nodded and winced, remembering the corpses of the trolls that they had to carry to an empty airlock.
In the battle they lost thirty-seven people, twenty-nine of whom were Dons. They also counted ninety-seven dead trolls. It was an unprecedented figure. Usually people perished more than trolls, and if the battle involved fighters from the upper layer of the lower castes, the loss in the hand-to-hand combat could be of a much greater magnitude. Trolls are fearsome fighters, but somewhat slow witted. So, this time it worked against them.
At first, they didn’t realize that the corvette’s engines had been turned off and the protection field disconnected, so the plasma rifles came as a complete surprise to them. Also, the Scarlet Prince, apparently, was still an inexperienced captain. In short, what happened in the fight could rightly be seen as a miracle. Beer Keg grinned—when he got back he would have plenty of tales to tell in the port taverns. If he got back.
Pip interrupted agai
n. “Why are you still fighting with swords? Look how you crushed them with your rifles. You should have thrashed them with those.”
“They are not rifles, they are plasma rifles. A kinetic rifle will not penetrate battle armor, and even with plasma rifles you can’t kill them immediately. So, before the troll kicks its heels into the air, it will get the chance to stab you five times with its scimitar. Also, it was an unusual fight. You saw for yourself that the engines were not working, and the captain had disabled the protection shields, so we had nothing but swords. When the ship is in operation or even any protection field is still on, except, of course, for the reflection field, all energy weapons would be turned on you. You will explode, or you will be a smear on the walls.” He raised his sword and shook it. “Only a sword will never let you down.”
Pip nodded without understanding. Grey Mustache and Beer Keg looked at each other and burst out laughing. “All right lad, when Lucky wakes up, ask him everything. Let him educate his own servant.”
The combat warning alarm rang. The voice of the captain was overlapping them. “Unidentified ships on the port side. Raise the alarm. Everybody take up your agreed positions.”
A disheveled Lucky fell out of his cabin and raced down the hall, buttoning up his pants on the move, and carrying a jerkin under his arm. Don Kior looked around at the nine warriors remaining from the boarding party, stood up wearily from his seat, and stamped heavily over to a locker to put on his battle armor. It was looking like his tavern tales would not have a happy ending.
When Yv burst into the command and control room, everyone was already in position. Stubborn Bull threw him an irritated look, but refrained from barbed comments. Yv squeezed himself into the console and plopped down on the seat, at the same time switching on the detector system so that he now had control of the protection shields. While the numbers were being outputted on screen, he buttoned up his jerkin, and brushed his fingers through his hair. The numbers running on the screen formed a single column, and Lucky whistled involuntarily. The ships were incredibly close. He again carefully scanned the column of numbers. The ships were unusual, slightly smaller in size than the corvette, narrower and, apparently, faster. But this didn’t did not explain why the alarm sounded so late. They were already within thirty minutes of approach. He clicked on a button. Oh, that’s why! The reflection field was tremendously concentrated, and it allowed their detection field to project on its surface, as if on a giant screen, so they appeared as part of the background radiation. Lucky turned to the captain. “Who are they?”
“Ushkuyniks from New Town,” Stubborn Bull said through gritted teeth. “They are crazy guys. It would be nice to know what they have in mind.”
“Could they attack?”
“They could do anything. If they decide to attack, we have no chance. Seven Ushkuyniks! If they are in the mood, they could easily rout a couple of Monasteries ships. In our case, they could just grab hold of us and hang on to the back of our neck like greyhounds. They don’t respect any rules.” He nodded toward the silhouettes on the screen. These ones may be on the way to a raid on the Scarlet Prince. Or, if God is good to us, they may be coming back. If the raid was successful they may not bother with us.”
“But what about the Truce?”
“They don’t respect any laws. They didn’t conclude any agreements with anyone, and they live for themselves.”
“So, no one else concluded any agreement either. As far as I remember, the Enemy simply stopped sending ships of the squadron, and returned to the old boundaries. But after the Feral Rabbit, everybody pretended to believe in the Truce …”
“But they don’t!” Stubborn Bull paused. “By the way, that’s not all of them. If that were so, the ships would not have disappeared. Some time ago, I myself…” He broke off and threw Lucky a wary glance, who was quietly staring at the screen. The captain sighed with relief and continued. “They say no one knows more about the Enemy than the Ushkuyniks.”
Yv shook his head.
“How has nobody just cleaned them out?”
The captain chuckled.
“That has been tried, and more than once. When they separated from the Russian Empire, there were many volunteers, but they regretted it. Many were surprised at first that the Emperor let them go so easily, then they all realized why. Now no one even tries. They already have seven planets in their system: New City, New Pskov, New Ladoga, Ilmen, Lovat, Volkhov, and Valdai. There is an oxygen atmosphere on three of them, but all are populated. On Ilmen, Lovat, Volkhov, and Valdai, oxygen is provided on orbital fortresses, and more people are on New Ladoga, New Pskov, and New Town where there is an oxygen atmosphere. Also, there is a massive amount of space debris in the system. No navigation system will help there, but they dodge around in it like a fish in water, so that the Ushkuyniks can totally destroy any fleet. At the beginning of the Conquest, the Enemy took a poke at them…” Don Diaz hesitated. “Rumor has it that seventeen Scarlet Princes perished there.”
Someone gasped in amazement. During the Conquest there were credible reports of the death of just twenty-two Scarlet princes in total. The captain shook his head.
“Although I do not really believe this figure, the fact is that some Scarlet Princes really did die there—that's for sure. This Enemy named this system to be a memorial world.”
For a few moments there was silence in command and control room, then suddenly the liaison officer shouted. “Incoming call!’
The captain shivered, remembering, Scarlet Prince, like everybody else but he nodded. “Come on then.”
A broad face appeared on the screen, framed in light brown hair and a thick beard. The man looked around at them, and his lips stretched into a smile.
“Hello, Papal children, I am Ataman Putyata.”
“A Noble Boyar is always welcome,” the captain replied politely.
The ataman kindly nodded and casually asked, “Where have you come from and where are you headed my guests?”
Then the door opened, and Don Kior stumbled into the room wearing battle armor. Seeing the face on the screen, he paused for a moment, then threw back his visor and roared, “I swear by Saint Feoktist, it's Putyata!”
The ataman peered at him warily then his face was wreathed in smiles.
“Beer Keg”!
The old Don laughed loudly. “Who was the last person I expected to meet in the middle of this dump. That would be you, bad boy!”
The ataman laughed. “You can only meet us backwaters these days!” He patted his neck. “So, you are still alive then! You never made it to New City, even though you swore that you would.”
Grey Mustache peered from behind Don Kior.
“He used to swear in every tavern that he would drop everything and go straight to New City.”
“Aha, Grey Mustache is here as well!”
Don Charleman smiled and nodded. “I am very glad to see you, Putyata.”
The boyar turned to Don Kior again. “Well, what prevented that?”
Beer Keg threw up his hands. “Well, you know how it is, always some urgent business to attend to.”
The ataman laughed again, then calmed down, and looked around the command and control room. “OK, Papal children, do you need any help?”
The captain looked at Don Kior. He nodded towards the screen reassuringly.
“Brother.”
The captain sighed with relief and smiled. “Thank you for the offer, Noble Boyar.” He paused and said softly, “To tell the truth, we really need help.”
Putyata grinned. “Understood. Now we will be stuck here for a while. OK, papal children, what can we do for you? Start moaning.”
***
Two months later they entered New City’s system. Two days before they had been caught up by two Ushkuynik ships which had been sent for the cardinal's craft. When the blue planet of New City, wrapped in white clouds, began to grow on the screen, on the bridge of the Ushkuynik flagship, apart from Boyar Putyata and his companions, stood the
cardinal. His face was twisted with rage. His treasures lay in the boyar’s safe. After his angry monologue that everything found is the property of the Curia, and if the boyar laid a hand on the cardinal’s baggage, he would have to deal with the Pope himself, Putyata simply replied: "So what?" And he took all the baggage without a care.
***
The Ushkuynik landed on the field of the capital’s spaceport. When the hatches opened, and the guests stepped through the airlock onto the landing pad, everyone gasped, and the boyar said gently, “Here it is, our city, Rurik.”
The City shone with golden onion-domed churches and tall bell towers. The melodic sound of church bells floated above the steep green roofs of the buildings, drowning in thick gardens. Don Kior clicked his tongue in admiration.
“I've never seen such a beautiful city.”
The chime of the bells gained in strength on the road leading to the town. A few dozen horsemen appeared, whipping their horses, and dozens of flyers soared up above the gardens, like a flock of scared birds.
Putyata grinned. “Well, now the crowds will roll up! Well, dear guests, you will need to be patient.”
The next morning, Yv lifted his head from the pillow, and with some difficulty and pushing himself with his hands, he sat up on a huge bed. His head ached. His mouth was dry and unpleasant. He glanced cautiously, looking at his stomach which was still bloated from the massive amount of food and drink he had consumed, then he groaned. The door to the bright, spacious room opened quietly, and Pip appeared on the threshold. With a pained expression on his face, he stepped forward and stopped, holding the wall.
Yv took a deep breath, and trying not to move his head, swung his feet to the floor. “How long have I been sleeping?”
Pip tried to shrug, but gasped and clutched his head.
Yv sighed. “I understand. What time is it now?”
Pip gently lifted his wrist to his eyes and rubbed his eyes in surprise. “It is already noon.”
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