by Joe Vasicek
“That’s not true!” Abaqa protested, clenching his fists. “Jahan is a friend, and always has been. I can trust him!”
“No you can’t,” said Sholpan. “If you want to live long enough to make a name for yourself, that’s the first thing you need to learn. Everyone in your father’s fleet—and everyone in Tagatai’s fleet too, for that matter—is only out for themselves. That’s the way it’s always been.”
Abaqa shifted nervously on his feet, not sure what to say. He opened his mouth to protest, but the deadly expression on his mother’s face silenced him.
“These are dangerous times for us,” she continued. “Tagatai may lead the Hameji for now, but he’s got plenty of rivals who would love to see him fall. The only reason he’s launched this campaign is to unite us while he consolidates his gains. But in his arrogance, he doesn’t realize how weak he’s become—how weak all of the Hameji have become.”
“Weak? What are you talking about?”
His mother sighed. “Abie, you’re too young to understand any of this. You’re just a boy. If you want to survive in the world of men, stay low and don’t let yourself get burned.”
“I am not just a boy!” he said, blood rising to his cheeks. “I’m old enough to pilot a gunboat, aren’t I? Besides, if I don’t leave with Jahan now, I might never get a chance to prove myself.”
“Are you sure?” his mother asked, narrowing her eyes. “What if Tagatai loses—what if the planetborn win?”
The question was so ludicrous that Abaqa couldn’t help but laugh. “What kind of idle woman-talk is that? The planetborn are soft and weak—we’ve never lost a battle against them, much less a campaign.”
“That’s not true.”
Abaqa snorted and turned his back to her. “Well, whether or not that’s true, I’m going and you can’t stop me.”
He made as if to leave, but before he could get to the door, his mother stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “Wait,” she said softly. “If you’re going to go, at least give me a chance to say goodbye.”
She put her arms around him, shoulders trembling a little from her quiet sobs. Abaqa’s pride and anger melted almost instantly, and he returned her embrace.
“Don’t worry about me,” he said. “I’ll make you proud.”
“Remember what I’ve taught you,” she whispered. “Honor and glory are not the only virtues in this universe.”
“I will.”
“And remember your language lessons.”
He groaned, but in a good-natured way this time. As he let go of her and stepped back, he couldn’t help but suppress a smile.
“Goodbye,” she said. “Take care of yourself. You are my everything.”
“I will, Mother. And when you see me again, I’ll be a man.”
“It takes more than a war to make a man.”
“Whatever.” Then, cheeks blushing, “I love you, Mom.”
He turned and left quickly, afraid that tears would soon fill his eyes. He couldn’t afford to show any sign of weakness—not if he was going to make a name for himself.
Chapter 4
The heavy, wet wind blasted Rina Al-Najmi’s face as she sped across the face of New Rigel V’s boiling world-ocean. The skimmer hummed between her legs, its tiny engine pushed to the limit. Overhead, massive thunderheads gathered toward the dark storm nexus on the horizon, a hurricane the size of a small continent. Still, she flew on, climbing the waves as if they were rolling sand dunes and catching a great deal of air as she crested each one.
Her mind pulsated with the desire to kill. Like the storm on the horizon, it threatened to consume her. She’d learned to hide it well enough in public, but alone, she could not ignore it. How many lives had she taken already? Faces flashed across her mind, indistinct memories that had long faded into half-remembered images.
If she were anyone else, their deaths would probably haunt her—and perhaps they did, in a mild sort of way. But not enough to prevent her from killing again.
The waves were more than twenty meters tall now, cresting with massive whitecaps that filled the air with spray. Lightning struck in the distance as she struggled to climb the next one, thunder mingling with the whine of the skimmer’s engine as she cleared the top. For a thrilling moment, her stomach fell out from under her, and the sheer drop down the other side made her feel as if she were falling to her death. But then, the skimmer’s aqua-repulsors caught, and the craft slammed down with a great splash before lifting her again to a hover.
Most people would tell her it was suicide to be out here in such conditions. Indeed, the one-person skimmer wasn’t designed to fly more than kilometer or two from the large cities. There was something about being alone, though, that she wouldn’t have given up for anything. Even as the storm threatened to destroy her little craft, the solitude calmed her, bringing her back to a simpler time, and a better life.
A life that had quite literally been shattered.
The engine groaned with effort as the face of the next wave became increasingly vertical. Lightning struck the top of the crest, illuminating the water with a brief pulse of green electric light. The thunderous crack seemed to split the heavens, heralding the torrential downpour that pelted the boiling surface and soaked her within seconds. The skin-suit protected her from the worst of it. Still, she couldn’t afford to travel across the surface much longer. As she crested the monstrous wave, she leaned forward and flicked a switch on her handlebar, diving through the boiling surf into the heart of the sea.
The aqua-repulsors created a small pocket of air that followed the skimmer through the water, a little bubble that enclosed her in the midst of the deep. The engine idled as the momentum of her fall took her down, far past the storm-tossed surface of the hydrosphere where things were much calmer. She slowed, and a pair of rods extended from the back of the vehicle into the water behind her: propellers to move her forward. She flicked on the holographic display between the handlebars and brought the skimmer to bear. According to the map, her destination was only five kilometers away: one of the submerged island-cities of New Rigel V.
Within the shimmering bubble of air, the silence was like a tomb, reflecting the inner recesses of her heart. How far beneath her did the world-ocean descend? In some places, as much as a hundred and fifty kilometers. In those unfathomable depths, neither the light of the sun nor the rage of the storm troubled the cold, shifting waters. Humans were never meant to go there, yet Rina couldn’t help but wish that she could see it.
Not today, though. An unspoken urge called her forward, and like night seeking day she was bound to follow.
The island-city first appeared as an indistinct glow, shining faintly through the wall of rippling water in front of her. She slowed as she approached, coming at it from beneath. When the cross-hairs on her display aligned and the soft yellow glow shone almost directly above her, she retracted the propeller rods and eased back on the handlebars, letting the aqua-repulsors carry her upward.
She surfaced in a large, cavernous hall, with white LEDs running along the vaulted brick ceiling. A loading crane stood off in one corner, its claws retracted, while several barges sat moored in neat little pens on the far side.
As she had expected, the bay was empty. There was nothing to unload while the city was in the storm, and since security had never before been a problem, there were no guards at the docks. There were still the cameras, of course, but those could always be scrambled.
Moving quickly, Rina steered the skimmer over a nearby platform and powered it down, parking it behind a large loading crane. She considered collapsing it and hiding it somewhere, but decided against it. She might need the quick getaway, and if anyone chanced upon it, they’d probably think it belonged to one of the workers.
Leaving the skimmer behind, she pulled the hood of the skin-suit over her face and swiftly climbed the nearest access ladder to a hatch partway up the wall, leading into a maintenance shaft.
Once inside, the familiarity of the crampe
d, narrow space made her relax. Using the datalink implant in her head, she accessed the main city map and found the surest back-channel route to her target. With luck, no one would ever know that she had been here.
* * * * *
Katsuichi stepped briskly into the war room at the heart of Shinihon’s main station. Once a conference hall for the corporation that operated the shipyards, it had been temporarily appropriated by the Rigelan Imperial Navy as the headquarters for their planetary defenses. The walls were covered with display screens, while a holographic projector hung from the center of the ceiling. Around the edge of the table, almost a dozen high-ranking military officers in crisp white uniforms rose to greet him.
“Your Imperial Highness,” they said, bowing respectfully as he walked to his seat. Behind him, Kenta assumed his place against the wall. The door to the room hissed shut.
Katsuichi took a moment to look into the faces of his men. Most of them were about twenty or thirty standard years older than him, with graying hair and furrowed brows. The youngest officer had almost a dozen medals fastened to his dress uniform, while the oldest had more than twenty.
In one smooth motion, he took his seat. “Men,” he said, nodding to them. Without saying a word, they sat down as well.
“Admiral Uematsu,” said Katsuichi, turning to a tall, broad-shouldered man on his right, the senior-most officer of those present. “What is the current disposition of our forces?”
“Sir,” said the old admiral, rising to his feet. “All of our warships within the Rigelan system have gathered to the Shinihon main orbital, as requested by your father. Besides the Divine Wind, our fleet consists of four Katana-class cruisers: the Mikawa, the Roppongi, the Hirohito, and the Masamune; four Wakizashi-class destroyers: the Miyamoto, the Akiba, the Ginza, and the Sagami; thirty-seven gunboats of various Federation classes, twenty-two transports, and more than three hundred squadrons of drone fighters. Commander Hideyoshi, who assumed command of the Kurefune following Admiral Genjiro’s assassination, was unable to respond to the summons and has moved his fleet into the Gamma Sector for joint maneuvers with the Federation. His strike force consists of the Kurefune, two Wakizashi-class destroyers: the Akira and the Yamato; sixteen gunboats, and about fifty squadrons of drone fighters.”
Katsuichi nodded. “Thank you, Admiral. And the current disposition of the Federation?”
A middle-aged officer rose to his left and bowed. “Scattered at best, sir. Admiral Genjiro was the highest ranking officer within the Federation, and the only one able to unite the various factions. The various systems to the galactic south have fallen into their typical squabbling, and High Command has been unable to replace him. This does not mean that co-ordination is impossible, of course, but the individual fleet commanders do have considerable independence, which means that we have no unifying strategy right now.”
A low grumble rose around the room. One of the younger commanders leaned forward.
“The Federation may be disunited, but our strategy remains clear. Tagatai will doubtless advance through the New Velan Rift; any attempt to bypass the nebulae would put his forces out for months. Admiral Genjiro foresaw this—surely the fleet commanders must see the importance of controlling the rift’s entrance.”
“With all due respect, Commander Ishihara,” said an old, wizened man across the table, “you simply do not understand the dynamics of the situation. No one has ever defeated a Hameji war-fleet in open battle. Not the Federation, not the Gaian Imperial Navy—no one.”
“Then we shall be the first to win that honor,” said Commander Ishihara. “Come—let’s go to the head of the rift and smash the Hameji with a bold counter-attack!”
Katsuichi took a deep breath, his head already spinning with the burden of command. “You are forgetting one thing, Commander,” he said. “We are not going to war just to win honor, but to defend our homeworld from destruction. You all remember what the Hameji did when they took Gaia Nova.”
A somber hush fell across the room. Katsuichi looked each of his men in the eye.
“Let us make sure it does not happen here.”
“If I may be so bold, sir,” said a round-faced commander on the far end of the table. “As the situation now stands, our forces would do more good at the front than they would back here. If the Hameji push through the rift to New Vela, it would be impossible to prevent them from attacking Shinihon itself.”
“Commander Sakaguchi is right,” said another. “If we can control at least a portion of the rift, the Hameji won’t risk a full-scale advance. So long as we can threaten to cut them off in their rear, we can choose the time and place of the next engagement.”
Katsuichi nodded, while a murmur of both agreement and dissent rose up around the edges of the table. “All good points,” he said. “It’s certainly in the best interest of our people to take the fight to the Hameji, and not wait idly for them to bring it to us.”
Admiral Uematsu took a deep breath and leaned forward. “Your Highness,” he said, “I hope you understand what you’re going up against. Our Katana-class cruisers are barely four hundred meters long—the Hameji capital ships average more than a kilometer. The Mikawa is equipped with four projectile missile launchers, six plasma cannons, twelve laser-stars, fifty tactical nukes, and five wings of drone fighters. The smallest Hameji frigate boasts an arsenal at least twice that.”
“Then what we lack in armament,” said Commander Ishihara, “we’ll more than make up for in speed and maneuverability.”
“At best, that will be difficult,” said Uematsu. “A typical Hameji battleship has at least four times the reactor capacity of the largest Federation capital ships. A full suite of tactical FTL drives ensures that they can overwhelm their targets from the periphery of the battle by launching warheads through jumpspace. Only rarely do they resort to a full-scale frontal assault—their preferred tactic is to co-ordinate a nuclear fusillade and wipe out their enemies in one swift blow.”
Katsuichi nodded, breathing in sharply through his teeth. Was this how Admiral Genjiro had felt when he’d learned of the Hameji advance? No one has ever defeated a Hameji war-fleet in open battle.
“I am sure it will be difficult,” he said at length. “However, I also have full faith in the capabilities and the spirit of our men.”
“Sir,” said each of the commanders, nodding in respect. Their faces were solemn, yet the energy in the room was palpable.
“It seems that the best way to defend our people is to hold to Admiral Genjiro’s strategy and join with the Federation forces at the front. First, we’ll rendezvous with Commander Hideyoshi. I’m sure he has better intelligence than we do on the current situation in Gamma Sector. Once that is complete, we’ll make the assessment whether to advance or fall back.”
“Very well, sir,” said Admiral Uematsu. “Shall we leave any of our forces behind to guard Shinihon?”
Katsuichi surveyed his men. To his great satisfaction, they watched him with anxious eyes, as if afraid of being asked to remain behind while their colleagues had the honor of fighting alongside their emperor.
“No,” he said. “Our forces will do no good back here. If we are to win this war, we must commit ourselves wholeheartedly, no matter how precarious the course.”
“Sir!” said Commander Ishihara, joining with several of the others in an eager salute. “We will follow you to the gates of Hell itself!”
“Then ready the fleet,” said Katsuichi. “Let us depart for the rift at once.”
* * * * *
Rina crawled on her knees and elbows through the narrow air ducts. Her skin-suit, which had already dried out from the storm, padded her arms and legs and kept her from making any noticeable noise. She wasn’t in a hurry—she was never in a hurry. Patience was the skill that separated hit men and thugs from highly trained, highly disciplined assassins.
Up ahead lay a branch point, where the bright infrared glow told her she’d find an opening. Sure enough, the duct bent downward to an
air vent, opening up to a courtyard below. A cluster of leaves off to one side told her that the drop to the floor was fairly substantial—at least eight or ten meters. Still, the lack of any noise told her it was safe to climb down.
Moving swiftly, she unscrewed the cover to the air vent and slid it aside. She then reached to the smooth surface of the vaulted courtyard ceiling and attached a clear suction cup, with a cable extending to the belt at her waist. In one smooth motion, she swung herself out so that she was dangling from the ceiling. After righting herself, she reached up and pulled the cover back over the vent. To a casual observer, it would appear exactly as it had before.
As she lowered herself soundlessly to the floor, she couldn’t help but notice the rust-red wall tiles and Terra-cotta bricks lining the walkway. The trees weren’t the young oaks or maples that she was expecting, but short, ancient olive trees, their trunks thick and knotted with age. An arched patio wrapped around the outside wall, with a small pool in the center. A small school of goldfish showed up on the infrared as dark blue dots drifting aimlessly beneath the surface.
After retrieving her cord and securing it to her belt, Rina pulled up the hood of her skin-suit and surveyed the place with her natural eyes. Glowlamps set in niches between the arches illuminated the place with a soft light that the skylights could not provide, now that the city was submerged. The smell of dill and sage met her nose, while grapes dangled from vines covering a small grotto on the other side. It all felt wonderfully peaceful, an oasis in the midst of a dark and violent universe.
The sound of approaching footsteps snapped her back to the present, and she slipped behind one of the olive trees.
As she crouched in the shadows, images came to her—memories of tight, dark spaces and long waits mixed with sweat and adrenaline. Her fingers itched for the feel of a trigger, or the weight of a knife in her hand. The smell of fresh blood came back readily to her, as if she had just made another kill.