Constant

by Lexi Ander

  “She is the most beautiful female I have ever seen,” Kryp whispered.

  “That is Empress Ashari Vondorian, my Meme,” Mestor replied, unable to hide his possessiveness.

  “How fortunate you are to be born to such a ferocious parent. One of these days, I will find a mate like her and have my own brood of terrors.” Kryp turned his attention back to the other screens and the trouble the Terrens were causing, but every time he glanced at Ashari, his expression took on a wistfulness that made Mestor want to smack him on the back of the head.

  Meme and her three warships had ceded command to Azaes, remaining in a defensive position and drawing the Terrens’ attention away from Oethra 7’s dash to Valespia. But dozens of smaller, cloaked Terren vessels suddenly revealed themselves. Everyone watched with bated breath as the Oethra 7 raced to Valespia, hoping to outrun the enemy before they reached the planetary shield. Despite all their planning, four vessels caught up to the Oethra 7 as it crossed the barrier.

  Mestor could barely breathe. The Fal’Amoric were important to the galaxy and the struggle against the V’Saar, but Zeus’s kits were on the verge of being born, and Mestor had ordered his most beloved to go with them. Why had he thought being separated was the best course of action? If the Terrens blew the Oethra 7 out of the sky… Mestor would wreak vengeance on both the Terrens and V’Saar until his dying breath.

  Two vessels were destroyed but the last two followed the Oethra 7 through the shields. He wanted to be relieved, knowing that Sohm’lan, Zeus, and those sent with them were some of the best warriors that Atlainticia had to offer. Between them, they would see their mission through to the end, safeguarding their charges. Zeus and Sohm’lan would watch out for each other, but he still worried. Mestor had to ignore his concerns and concentrate on his and Azaes’ mission to vanquish these foolish Terrens who thought invading Valespian space with V’Saar would bring them power and wealth.

  “Prince Azaes, we are being fired upon by two Terren battlecruisers.”

  “Deploy countermeasures and return fire.” Azaes took the captain’s chair.

  Mestor ceded the comms to the appropriate officer and crossed to perch on the seat next to his brother. He envied his twin’s calm demeanor as The Gorgon engaged the foreign battleships. Their meme, commanding the Medusa, engaged the other two battlecruisers. The Atlaintician starships Stheno and Euryale had accompanied the Medusa and Azaes instructed them to intercept the dozens of smaller incoming Terren vessels. Atlainticia’s fleet was outnumbered, not that it would make a difference. The Terren vessels would eventually fall before them. Zeus’s upgrades to The Gorgon’s shielding worked splendidly to deflect the archaic electromagnetic weapons’ fire.

  The Gorgon met the Terren vessel, Dynasty, head on, expertly maneuvering out of the way when the battlecruiser launched missiles the Terrens called warheads. Mestor pulled up the control panel on his seat’s armrest.

  “Mestor, can you?” Azaes barked.

  “Yes, I can. Deflectors on,” Mestor replied.

  “Trackers—”

  “Have been deployed.” After the battle, the warheads would be traced, collected, and disposed of.

  The Dynasty deployed several inferior EM devices, and Mestor snorted in concert with Azaes. The defenses Zeus refined would easily rebuff this small threat. “They really think—”

  “That it will work?” Azaes finished for him. “They lost the Twenty Years’ War not that long ago.”

  “Yes, and those battles seemed to have taught them nothing. One would assume they would have learned from their previous experiences—”

  “And upgraded their equipment. The war bankrupted them and their—”

  “Stupidity has obviously not abated,” Mestor replied, then hissed. Dozens of bay doors on the Dynasty opened, releasing small two-man fighters.

  “Fire EM countermeasures!” Azaes barked, the snarl of disgust curling his upper lip. Mestor unconsciously mimicked his twin’s expression. “Launch the warbirds to counter the Terren fighters.”

  The warbirds ejected from the underbelly of The Gorgon in a thick swarm of bullet-shaped vessels that moved in concert like a flock of birds. The Dynasty banked and began to pull away as the EM pulses wreaked havoc on the battlecruiser’s electrical systems.

  “Target their engines!” Azaes snarled. “That tailless skink claiming to be their commander is attempting to flee. What kind of honorless leader is he to abandon his fighters?”

  “Once we find Commander Ji Huang-fu, he will give the Terrens’ surrender,” Mestor soothed.

  He recalled the files on Commander Ji Huang-fu from the Twenty Years’ War. After Canry had warned there were Terrens in Valespian space, he and Azaes had pored over the galactic reports while in transit, wanting to be familiar with Terren tactics and protocols. Commander Ji Huang-fu’s strategy was for his fleet to initiate confrontation, while his battlecruiser slipped away from the fight, returning later to claim the victory if the Terrens won or place blame for a defeat on those he abandoned. In his fleet logs, he had regaled his company with tales of how his battleship overcame the odds and made it to safety. The evidence provided by the Andromedan Galactic Legion proved otherwise.

  “Prince Azaes.” The Feteine, Zian Helia, moved from where he had been standing near the bridge’s entrance. Mestor had spent some time with the self-aware robots. As far as he could tell, no two were alike. Zian was obviously military grade; his dull steel-gray plating bore marks from previous battles. ‘War Dogs’ was painted in red across the humanoid-shaped chest. The plates of his lupine face moved into an expression of excitement. “The Feteine fleet will be dropping out of hyperspace at the edge of the star system in two minutes. Their estimated time of arrival to our location is ten minutes.”

  “We will welcome their assistance,” Azaes replied. “Mestor, prepare the boarding teams. Once we disable the commander’s battlecruiser, I want the away teams, Deimos and Phobos, to find and bring Ji Huang-fu to me.”

  “If I may,” Zian interjected, his amber eyes with their red pupils glinted with an odd light when he looked from Azaes to Mestor. “I would be honored if I could accompany one of your boarding teams.”

  Mestor was intrigued by the request.

  “You would be required to take your orders from Prince Mestor,” Azaes warned.

  “Of course.” Zian bowed to Mestor.

  “Come with me, then.” After Mestor saluted his brother and put his second-in-command in charge, he left the bridge, not glancing back to ensure that Zian followed.

  Upon entering The Gorgon’s Ares Command Center, he consulted with the warlord overseeing the troops. From the bridge, Azaes commanded The Gorgon and its battle with other Terren starships, while several warlords kept track of the warbirds’ skirmishes. Boarding teams were tracked from Ares Command Center with a warlord overseeing the progress and welfare of the away teams. The warlord in command—Mestor—kept Azaes apprised of the progress and obstacles as needed.

  Unlike the dramatic vids he sometimes watched at home, battles in space lasted hours and then there were weeks of cleanup after the disabled vessels were collected and prisoners taken. Once the fighting stopped and all living beings were detained in GIP’s custody, the salvage teams could enter the zone and ‘sweep’ away debris, making the space over the planet safe for travelers and vessels once again.

  He had no doubts the first part of the battle would be over soon. The Medusa and the other two Atlaintician ships were keeping the Terren vessels busy. Historically, the Terrens refused to give up until the vessel with Commander Ji Huang-Fu was brought in, and he ordered their surrender. Mestor’s responsibility was to find this cowardly commander and force a capitulation from him, then Azaes would transmit the recording over the Terrens’ military comms.

  The task sounded easy, but the Terren ships were a confusing maze of rooms and corridors. Per the treaty with the Terrens, they were required to send updated naval schematics on a quarterly basis to GIP. After the Galactic
Emperors and the Council of Neighn reviewed the information, the records were passed down to the planets participating in the Valespian Pact. Emperor Valdor briefed the warlords and it was their responsibility to know the information. But that did not mean the Terrens always complied with the treaty by sharing all the required military information.

  “Accompany me to the armory.” Mestor gestured to Zian. “You can choose your weapons there.”

  He was not familiar with Zian’s abilities or knowledge. Similarly, they were unsure what the capabilities of the Feteine starships were. The Feteine were closemouthed, only revealing what they believed pertinent, not that Mestor blamed them. He, too, was vague with new allies until he could better gauge their trustworthiness.

  Now that he was off the bridge and no longer forced to watch a battle he could not personally participate in, his blood thrummed with excitement. All this waiting around made him anticipate taking the fight to a more personal level.

  “Warlord Aspasia, there has been a change of plans,” he said when he entered the away team war room. “You will man Ares Command Center. I am adding Zian to a team and assuming command of Team Phobos.”

  He grinned internally. Azaes would be livid, and perhaps, more than a little jealous. While on the bridge watching the fighting, impotent to make any kind of hands-on contribution, Mestor resolved to do something. Sitting behind the desk at Ares Command Center would vex him to no end, especially if he had to listen to teams Deimos and Phobos having all the fun. He would ask Azaes’ forgiveness later, after he reminded the Terrens why they would always lose when facing Mar’Sani.

  Mestor ignored Warlord Aspasia’s agitated tail rattling, the noise giving away her frustration. She wanted to argue and countermand his order, but he was not only her Prince, but outranked her as Azaes’s Chief Warlord. The only warlord with the rank to gainsay his orders was Warlord Sohm’lan, and he was not present. A niggle of fear attempted to get a foothold when he wondered how Sohm’lan faired on Valespia’s surface, but he quickly stamped it out.

  Turning from Warlord Aspasia, he led Zian into the well-stocked armory where the two boarding teams, Deimos and Phobos, geared up. Stopping before the weapons cage, he pressed his fingers to the reader before entering a code. The door clicked and popped opened.

  “Here is the armory. I would suggest a small energy weapon for the humans. As you know, we have intelligence suggesting that V’Saar might be aboard. For them, I would advise equipping an edged weapon and one of these heavy surge rifles. The V’Saar exoskeleton is durable, according to both Alpha’s briefings and Queen Isolt’s ambassadors. We cannot use the plasma rifles on a space vessel since it could burn through the hull, but these rifles have a heavy pinpoint charge perfect for boarding. I assume you read the briefing packet and know the V’Saar’s vulnerable areas are the stinger and eye sockets? Beware, even wounded the V’Saar are deadly.”

  Zian declined the rifle and took one of the longer sonic swords. “I reviewed the material provided by Prince Azaes.” After a short consideration he took a pistol. “I have no concern for the V’Saar. My grip strength should be more than sufficient when dealing with the bugs. As for the humans, I will employ the pistol so that I do not accidentally hurt them with my strength.”

  Mestor pointed to an exit opposite from where they had entered. “Team Phobos are the blue and yellow exoskeletons. I will meet you there after I have donned my own equipment.”

  After Zian gave his agreement, Mestor moved to the aisle of battlemechs. He bypassed the larger, more bulky exoskeletons that towered over him by three meters. Those were designed for ground maneuvers. What he wanted was at the very end of the aisle. He passed several empty hubs and stopped before a blue and yellow exoskeleton with the silver warlord stripes across the breastplate. He examined the readout on the forearm, ensuring the senior mechanic had cleared the device for battle and the artillery was fully charged.

  Moving to the rear, he swiftly undressed, grabbing the bodysuit hanging on the hook that would help him interface with the battlemech’s software as well as regulate his body temperature. They had no idea what the environment on the Terren ship would be. Gravity and atmosphere were not a given. During the Twenty Years’ War, one of the Terren companies had set nasty traps, filling the common areas with poisonous gasses. The Terrens had used suits similar to the exoskeletons to protect themselves from exposure. The battlemechs not only offered protection from tainted air but against energy as well as some edged weapons. In a pinch, the suits allowed his team to operate in a vacuum with limited thruster capabilities.

  Once the battlemech was unsealed, he climbed the steps, stopping when his feet were next to the opening in the exoskeleton’s shoulders. The suit was only a quarter of a meter taller than him but donning the device was more arduous than climbing into one of the larger battlemechs. Using the overhead handles, he lowered himself into the interior. Releasing the overhead grips, he slid the rest of the way in, inserting his arms in the corresponding compartments.

  “Please state your identity and rank,” said the onboard AI.

  “Prince Mestor Vondorian, Warlord.”

  “Good afternoon, Warlord Mestor. Welcome aboard, I am called Thrax and will be assisting you today. Please remain still and make sure all fingers are settled in the receptacles while I load the shield program and close the hatch. Initiating… Official orders received from Ares Command Center. Connecting with Team Phobos.”

  The onboard display scrolled the initiating sequences as the battlemech powered up. The hatch lowered, enclosing Mestor. Thrax asked him to test his tail and other limbs. He extended his barbs. The suit protectively cradled them in the metal ridge that ran from Mestor’s crest to the tip of his tail. During the test, Thrax collected the poisonous excretions for possible use later.

  Experimentally, he stretched. The ease of the movement satisfied him. If there had been any jerkiness or delayed reaction, he would have moved to another battlemech. He could not afford any problems, no matter how small, when entering a combat situation. Wearing an exoskeleton should never restrict movement and be no different than wearing a uniform.

  Before disengaging from the terminal, Mestor shut down Thrax, not wanting to offend Zian. The AI was not self-aware, but he did not want to hamper relations with the Feteine until the subject was discussed with them. He sent a message to both teams to do the same. Then he returned to the armory and Team Phobos. Team Deimos gathered nearby, Warlord Zachaios giving them their final orders. Both teams would board shuttles, linking the gangplank to hatches on opposite sides of the battlecruiser, Dynasty. Ares Command Center would coordinate the two teams of forty Monticore and the deadliest soldiers.

  Normally, the Monticore’s only responsibility was protecting the royal family whenever they left palace grounds. When the emperor or Azaes went on diplomatic missions on The Gorgon, the Monticore accompanying them could be used to supplement the royal family’s private army, protecting them from spacefaring dangers. Many Monticore and soldiers had been sent with Zeus. Mestor was glad Azaes had insisted on the number, especially after witnessing the Oethra 7 being pursued through Valespia’s shields. There was no guarantee the number of Monticore sent with Zeus would turn the tide of any battle Zeus found himself in, considering no one knew what kind or how many soldiers were on the Terren vessels. Mestor did not doubt the Monticore would sacrifice everything to keep Zeus and his mates safe. Haven had an airbase, surely they would be able to assist the Oethra 7. Besides, the fortifications and defenses around the city were of Gaziniti design. Once they crossed that barrier, they would be protected until reinforcements arrived.

  “Prince Mestor,” Warlord Zachaios called. “I did not realize you were heading Team Phobos.”

  A look of consternation passed through Warlord Zachaios’s eyes. If Azaes did not already know Mestor had switched places with Warlord Aspasia, he would soon. Mestor withheld a hiss. He would not deign to reply to the warlord’s challenge. He was not only a Prince but Aza
es’ Chief Warlord. He did not need to be coddled by his peers and warriors simply because he was also a prince. He had proven time and again he was more than adequate for the position and refused to be a warlord in name only.

  He gave a grim smile, and Warlord Zachaios blanched as if he felt Mestor’s simmering rage.

  He turned to his team, briskly giving orders to his warriors. “Zian, stay close to me.”

  Team Phobos saluted him before he led them to the dock and their waiting shuttle. The flight to the hatch on the Terren battlecruiser, where they would breach the vessel, took no time but seemed like hours to Mestor. His blood ran a little hot as the beginnings of battle lust stirred. His vision flipped to hunting colors, scents grew stronger, and his hearing sharpened as the adrenaline thrummed through his system.

  Once the hatch was breached, squads surged in formation onto the battlecruiser. There was curiously no resistance. Scouts were sent down the various corridors, the bulk of Phobos setting up a temporary perimeter around Mestor.

  After Zian reaffirmed he would take orders from the officer leading the scouts, he was given permission to accompany them. “If we encounter a terminal, I will hack the ship’s systems,” Zian reasoned. “We can then pinpoint their locations as well as acquire a complete schematic of the ship, and then lock onto the commander’s location.”

  Even though Mestor thought it would be safer for Zian to stay with him, he could not ignore the logic. As he listened to the scouts’ unhindered progress, unease crept through him as he wondered where the Terrens were hiding.