A Prospect of War (An Age of Discord Novel Book 1)
Page 64
“So what happens now?” asked Varä, looking from Ormuz to Finesz and back.
“Nothing,” Ormuz replied absently. He was considering his own origin: not only was he a clone of DNA, he believed, to have remained unchanged since the early days of the Empire but he had also been grown from a tissue culture that was perhaps sixty years old. He was, in all respects, a man born into the wrong time. And yet, as the only person truly capable of stopping the Serpent, he could not have existed at any other time in the Empire’s history.
“Nothing?” parroted Varä, incredulous.
The marquess’s remark brought Ormuz back to the present. “Nothing,” he assured him. “You are mine now. When you report to the Involutes—and you will at some point—you will tell them only what I want them to know.”
“Yes, Casimir,” Varä said meekly.
“However, I think it best that you remain aboard Tempest for the time-being. I will be shuttling across to Vengeful shortly.”
“But who will guard you?” protested Varä.
Ormuz smiled. “I will have no need of guards aboard Vengeful. You will stay here.”
“You can keep an eye on Commander Mubariz,” put in Finesz.
Ormuz looked at her. She had not mentioned this before. She grinned in embarrassment. “I won’t leave him on Linna. Sudnik has already made one try for him. The Admiral won’t let me have him aboard Vengeful but Rizbeka has finally agreed to keep him under guard on Tempest.”
“Very well,” said Ormuz.
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
From the starboard wing of the captain’s gallery, Ormuz watched three destroyers leave orbit. As they slowly rotated to bring their keels to bear on Vengeful, it appeared to him they were folding away their complex superstructures, putting away their fearsome weaponry. Sharp edges and patches of brightness slid from view, leaving behind only hulls, ghostly smears of Linna’s nacreous green light across the star-speckled heavens. These too faded as the destroyers rode the invisible energies of their drive-tubes away from Vengeful and the planet.
A further two destroyers were scheduled to depart later in the day. They would spread the Admiral’s call to arms. But through face-to-face meetings only—Ormuz had impressed on the captains that no copy was to be made of their orders. The Serpent had access to the nomosphere, after all.
Each captain recruited to the Admiral’s fleet would be charged with passing the message on before making their way to Linna. Only through using such exponential enlistment could they hope to have a fleet formed in time to meet the Serpent’s forces at Geneza.
Ormuz shifted his gaze up to peer through the Pilothouse’s mullioned roof. He saw Linna spread out above him, a rumpled blanket of green and brown haloed by a faint nimbus of atmosphere. The Empire comprised such worlds as this. The Emperor could not rule them all. He reigned supreme in the surrounding void and relied on His nobles to rule the lands in His name. And should they fail Him… The Imperial Navy paid a visit.
Were the Duke of Kunta’s subjects looking up at their sky now, seeing a new star and knowing it to be Vengeful?
Did they wonder why a battlecruiser had paid their world a visit? Linna’s loyalty had never been questioned. Nor had it needed to be. The Yalosukinens had always supported the Imperial Family. And the loyalty of a fief’s liege was by definition the loyalty of all within the fief.
He remembered no similar incident during his childhood on Rasamra. Ormuz’s home world had been too out of the way and too placid to need swords rattled over it. He had not even seen a warship—other than in a melodrama—until he’d joined the crew of Divine Providence.
And now he stood on the bridge of a battlecruiser.
Vengeful’s hull stretched below him, a potent weapon—and Ormuz controlled her. She would fire her main gun at his bidding. He put a hand to the bulkhead beside him, felt the chill of space transmitted through the metal. It threatened to take his heart in its frozen hand. Not fear, but… He felt his destiny as a living thing, coiled within him. He had followed its dictates, seized the chances it presented him. His obligation had seemed so clear. What he must do.
Initially, after abandoning his proletarian vows, he had thought of the fame the role he had chosen would bring him. As if the daydreams of his youth had become truth. He had spent hours closeted with the self-same princess his young heart had once fastened onto from afar… Until he had learnt of her “death”, of course—but she was not dead, had never been dead. It was all a fiction.
Fantasy. He wondered at the strange way so many of those childhood wish-fulfilments had become real. The Grey Princes no longer existed, although some he knew suspected they lived still, even more secretive and manipulative than before.
One element of this reality his teenage fantasies, however, had never considered. The cost. The battle at the aerodrome had shown him that, painted in red across the apron. And the Admiral, in her cloak of bounden duty, she too had taught him of the responsibility he must bear for his actions.
At moments of reflection such as these, Ormuz wavered. When confronted with the Serpent, or the Serpent’s minions, the scorpions, he was strong, resolute. He saw what needed to be done. He did it. But there was no denying with each step he took on his chosen path, the death toll rose. And yet he could not categorically say there would be less destruction should he decide to let the Serpent have his way.
A delicate balance of forces held the Empire together. The Serpent would shatter that. And Ormuz too would disrupt the balance in his fight to prevent the Serpent. Perhaps Finesz had been right after all; perhaps he should have let the Office of the Procurator Imperial investigate and indict the Serpent.
But it was too late now.
“We have to get word to the Involutes,” Marla Dai said, glaring in turn at Lexander Lotsman and Adril Tovar. “They have to know what the Admiral plans.”
The three of them hunched about a table in a corner of the masters’ mess. They spoke in low voices so as not to be overheard. Not that any of those in the mess were paying them attention.
Lotsman put down his tankard of beer and wiped his moustache with the back of one hand. “And how are we supposed to do that?” he asked, not without some sarcasm.
While he agreed with Dai in principle, he was all to aware that the three of them were prisoners aboard Vengeful. If the deck telegraph were to be believed, the Admiral was gathering a fleet to do battle with the Serpent’s forces. Lotsman was not privy to the Involutes’ plans but he guessed a civil war was the last thing they wanted.
“We can sneak into the Signal House,” Tovar suggested.
“How? It’s occupied every hour of the day and there’s always a ship’s corporal on guard outside,” pointed out Lotsman. He had seen as much when Rinharte had given him a tour of the battlecruiser.
“What about using the signalling apparatus in one of the boats?” asked Dai.
“I think they would be harder to get to,” Tovar said.
“But where would you send the signal to?” Lotsman demanded. “We don’t have anyone to contact.”
“The Imperial Company of Signalling Agents,” Tovar said. “They can forward it to the Order contact on Kapuluan. He’ll pass it onto the Involutes.”
The Order maintained contacts on most important worlds. The crew of Divine Providence had memorised the names and addresses of all those in the area of the Empire in which they operated.
“It’ll take weeks to get there,” Lotsman said flatly.
“We’ve got weeks,” Dai pointed out. “It’ll take them that long to gather their fleet.”
“So,” the ex-pilot said, “by the time the Order gets here, they’ll have to contend with an entire fleet of warships. I can’t see them being able to achieve anything.”
“We have to do something,” snapped Dai. She stared angrily at Lotsman. “Or have you forgotten your duty so quickly?”
“It’s not a matter of duty, it’s matter of what we can do,�
�� he replied. “The ship’s corporals are no obstacle—they’re just thugs in blue coats. But have you seen the marines on this ship? I wouldn’t like to go up against one of them.”
“So they throw us in the brig afterwards. It doesn’t matter: the signal will have been sent. The Order will know.”
Lotsman thought of Rinharte. She would be disappointed in him should he be imprisoned. Or would she? He would, after all, be doing no more than his duty…
Inspector Sliva demar Finesz sat on the edge of the cot and gazed down at the uniform tunic she held in both hands. It was hers, black, the mailed fist of Imperial justice emblazoned on one arm, the silver bars of an inspector’s rank on the epaulets. Rinharte had asked her to wear her OPI uniform while aboard Tempest, as if wearing it justified her presence amongst the marines, regimentals and Navy crew. Strange, then, that she no longer felt qualified to wear it. Her small act of disobedience on Darrus—continuing to investigate Divine Providence, even though Norioko had ordered her to concentrate on Merenilo’s murder—had become an act of rebellion against the Imperial Throne. No, not against: an act of rebellion in defence of the Imperial Throne. She grimaced. Pure sophistry. She knew the law well enough to recognise she was still committing treason in being part of Ormuz’s crusade. Spending time with Mubariz, and her deepening feelings for the man, only increased her awareness of her sedition.
Something warm pressed against her tailbone, folded itself about her lower back. A hand settled on her side, between the smooth curve of hip and buttressing of ribcage. It gently stroked her flesh. She dropped her uniform tunic on the stool by the cot and twisted round.
Abad mar Mubariz, Baron Mateen, wedged into the corner of mattress and wall, had shifted to press against her. “From the set of your shoulders,” he said, “I see you are having misgivings.”
“About Casimir’s ends? No. About his means, yes.” She pressed a hand over his, pushing it deeper into her flesh. “The Serpent has to be stopped, but building a fleet is— Well, it’s tantamount to rebellion.”
“It is rebellion, Sliva. It was when the Admiral mutinied, and it will be no matter how many captains join her.” He withdrew his hand, and scratched the hair on his chest idly. “I know you mean well, and your doubts do you credit, but you must act on them, Sliva, if you are to keep your honour.”
Finesz rose to her feet and turned about. Naked, she gazed down at her prisoner and lover. The closer they had become, the more he had mellowed. But on one point he would not be moved: what the Admiral and Ormuz intended was wrong.
“Your patron,” Mubariz asked, “is in the House of Rectitude, is he not?”
“He’s probably out by now,” Finesz answered absently.
“You should get word to him, if he is indeed free.”
Finesz shook her head. “No. That would be a betrayal of Rizbeka. Of Casimir.”
“To do nothing would be a betrayal of the Emperor.”
Smiling wanly, she replied, “But, Abad, I’m not doing nothing.”
Marine-Captain Garrin demar Kordelasz stood before the armoury, his hands clasped behind his back. There were weapons in there. Swords, pikes, lances. Armour, too: helmets, gauntlets, cuirasses. Perhaps even cannons and their power carts. They would need it all. After six years of skulking, it was finally time to go to war. He grinned at the prospect.
“Take a carronade to get through that,” said Boat-Sergeant Alus, “sir.”
“There’s probably one in the armoury,” Kordelasz replied.
Alus grunted. He added, “Should we be doing this? The captain said—”
“I know what she said,” Kordelasz snapped. “But this could be important.” He shrugged. “Besides, we have guards on all the clones and we check up on them every hour. What more could she want?” He knew exactly what Rinharte wanted: Kordelasz to stand guard himself. She was, he thought, near paranoid about the clones. They were brain-dead, they were not going to do anything. Guarding vegetables was a waste of Imperial Marines.
“We should get the duke’s troops,” he said, thinking aloud, “to stand guard.” He shook his head—no, if Rinharte had wanted the Yalosukinen household troops on sentry duty, she would have put the Yalosukinen household troops on sentry duty. “Let the orders stand.”
He rubbed his hands together and grinned a second time. “So,” he said, “how do we crack this little nut?”
“Corporal Huk is certified for implosives.”
“Ah, so he is. Let’s get him down here.”
Turning about, Kordelasz spotted a trio of the Duke of Kunta’s Imperial Winter Rangers dicing at a trestle table by the field-kitchen. “You,” he called, “one of you run up to the quarter-deck and fetch Marine-Corporal Huk for me.”
For a moment, the three soldiers stared at Kordelasz. One rolled the dice clattering across the metal table-top. Under normal circumstances, they were under no obligation to obey him, but—
Kordelasz put his hand to his hilt. The smallest of the Winter Rangers scrambled from the bench and set off for’ard at a quick jog. The remaining two returned to their dice game, although not before redistributing the three piles coins before them so the missing soldier’s winnings were slightly diminished.
“How in heavens are we going to build an army from this lot?” Kordelasz asked quietly.
“We don’t,” Alus replied. “Just point them at the enemy. We do the real fighting.”
Kordelasz had heard such sentiments before from fellow marines. While the regiment could not boast the expertise of the knights stalwart or knights militant, nor the training of the Imperial Commando or Imperial Skirmishers, the Imperial Marines were certainly the most experienced fighters. An average marine saw combat ten times more often than a regimental—from boarding actions to planetary assaults.
“Hmph. The Serpent’s been shuttling battalions back from the Imperial Army Abroad for months. He’s sure to have more men than we can raise in the time we’ve got left.” He turned back to the armoury. “That’s why we have to ensure we’re as well armed as possible.”
“You don’t think we’ll win, sir?” asked Alus.
“On the ground?” Kordeslasz thought a moment. “No. But that doesn’t matter. The Admiral will win the fleet action for us. And that’s what counts.” He grinned. “Ah, but it will be a glorious battle.”
Captain Rizbeka demar Rinharte gazed down at the body lying motionless in the sarcophagus and wondered once again what ailed it. She had twenty such bodies. Between them sharing four faces. Each with a scorpion tattooed between thumb and forefinger. Who were they? Who were the original quartet from which they had been cloned? And why did the Serpent use clones as his minions?
None of it made sense. And these brain-dead bodies lying in their sarcophagi were not going to tell her. She put out a hand and touched the cold glass. The body beneath did not stir. Of course.
Abruptly, she spun on her heels and left the cabin. The marine in the gangway saluted smartly as she appeared and she acknowledged him with a terse nod. At the end of the passage, the hatch gave onto a landing looking down over the troop-deck. Standing there, Rinharte gazed down at her passengers. Yalosukinen house troops. Imperial Winter Rangers. Less than a battalion, so not an army. But more would come. Casimir had promised as much. He would have a fleet, courtesy of the Admiral and her secret negotiations of the last six years. And he would have an army…
And then they would go to war.
TO BE CONTINUED…
190,000 words
Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTE
EN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
CHAPTER FIFTY
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
CHAPTER SIXTY
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT