The Great Game Trilogy

by O. J. Lowe

  He’d heard the transmission from Unisco played back. It had sounded serious trouble in every sense of the word. Enough for them to throw together everything they had at hand. Not only his Wild Stallion, but the medical freighter the unfortunately-named Sitting Target, the carrier ship, the Lost Lucie, as well as the Bounty Snatcher and the Carrion Crow, both smaller, deadlier, more modern versions of his own ship. He’d grown attached to the Stallion though. All ships carried enough firepower to repel any threat, because he knew if things weren’t resolved here, it could be war. Nobody wanted that. He needed to oversee the job here properly. Twenty fighter squadrons were docked aboard the Lucie including five donated by Unisco for the duration of the mission. He felt confident this would be another successful engagement. If there was a threat their mustered firepower couldn’t deal with, he didn’t want to meet it. Likely he wouldn’t survive the engagement. His thoughts drifted more to the positive, at least until he saw the target ahead. He felt sweat drizzle on his face as he stared out the view port. Divines, the thing was huge. Words failed him as he gripped the armrests of his seat. The bad feeling felt justified, its size was monstrous. It hung like a great eye in the sky, staring at them and although he didn’t feel terror at its presence, it didn’t do much for his confidence.

  “Technical officer, I want scans of their offensive and defensive capabilities,” he suddenly barked, jerked into action. “Communications officer, open a hailing frequency to them, see if we can talk this out without firing a shot.” He paused. If they were lucky, this would be the case.

  The part of him that was human wanted this to be the case. In his life, he’d seen enough death and destruction to hope that they’d back down. The part of him that was a soldier knew better. They were trying to make a point. They weren’t going to meekly go to the table when they could march up with weapons in hand. “And open up channels to every ship in this task force. I want them to hear what happens.” He said nothing else, silent with his reasons. If he was going to make them give up their lives, he wanted them to go to their deaths knowing he’d done everything to avoid this end. It helped him sleep better at night.

  For a few moments, nothing. Privately he doubted they could end this amicably. Criffen had always been an optimist though, even when faced with tragic odds.

  The alarms went off as their aeroship flew through the disabled energy shield and into the hangar, and just for a moment, Wilsin thought they’d been rumbled. He half rose to his feet, nerves threatening to overcome him, expected the automated guns to turn towards them and engulf them in a big fireball. Dead before the whole thing had even started properly. Anne put a hand on his arm before he could make a further fool of himself.

  “The fleet just arrived,” she said. “They’re panicking. Nobody’s supposed to know they’re here, right?”

  Wilsin cleared his throat. “Excuse me,” he said, apologetically. “That was unprofessional of me.” He managed a nervous grin.

  “Bit jumpy, Agent Wilsin?” Brendan inquired, more amused than impatient by the reaction. Leclerc was the one who chuckled loudly, the sound echoing in the cockpit.

  “Tenterhooks, Chief,” he replied. “Skulking around doesn’t suit me.”

  “It doesn’t suit any of us,” Lysa said quietly, her hands running a quick check over her weapon. “But it’s got to be done.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Fagan quipped. “I like a bit of skulking around, me.” It brought some faint laughter, Wilsin sat down and tried to relax. He’d never done that before; he couldn’t help but feel like he’d overstepped somehow. He tried to control his breathing and regain composure as the two pilots brought the ship towards a landing berth.

  Outside, he saw scenes of flurried of activity, men and women in jumpsuits scurrying about in a hurry to ready equipment for a type of aerofighter Wilsin hadn’t seen before, they resembled posing eagles with the wings curved in arcs across the body.

  “Hey,” Noorland said. “There’s something you don’t see every day.” He sounded appreciative. “Eaglefighters.”

  “Eaglefighters?” Fagan asked, getting a better look. “Seems a bit on the nose for a name.”

  “Based out of Premesoir now, think they’re a Sandoval model originally. Not seen any like these before. Maybe they sold the rights to the design to Reims, I don’t know. No mistaking that design.”

  “There’s a lot of them,” Derenko remarked. “They could invade a kingdom with what they have here.” Already pilots were getting into their eaglefighters through a hatch in the belly of their ships, some already taking off, leaving the way they’d entered.

  “Not our problem,” Brendan said. “There’s still going to be plenty of hostiles, so stay sharp. Noorland, when we get in there, I want you to get to a terminal and hack in, see if you can find some schematics. We need to know where to look. It’s huge, we get lost, we could be searching for days until we find what we came for.”

  “Roger that,” Noorland said, the aeroship finally coming to a gentle halt. Already people were moving towards them, some of them carrying weapons although they didn’t appear to be ready to use them yet. “Guess I get the easy job, huh?”

  “There’s no easy jobs up here, son,” Tod Brumley said, giving his Featherstone one final once over with his eyes. “Sorry to say.”

  “That’s not true,” Aldiss said dryly. “We could die Tod. That’d be piss easy.”

  Kyra twisted her kjarnblade and deflected a trio of blaster bolts back into the jump-suited grunts up ahead, trying to block out the sensation of their lives slipping away from them. The hits had been good, lethal fire turned back into upper bodies and throats, the shock palpable on their features. Nobody ever expected it. They’d probably put more effort in if they did. She blamed the Vedo for it, if she was honest. Everyone should see that glowing laser blade and know it meant certain death. It was a fearsome weapon but the Vedo had chosen to hide it away, use them for ceremonial purposes and training toys. That very notion was an insult.

  Her blade hissed as she deactivated it and took in her surroundings. Another corridor, only a vague idea where she was going. She’d made it out of the maintenance corridors into the ship proper courtesy of the key she’d removed from… Yeah, she wasn’t going to think about him now. What was done was done. The alarms had been going nonstop for what had to be ten minutes now, made it hard to think but not impossible. Letting the Kjarn move once again into her footsteps, she sped through the corridors, blazing past anyone who might have seen her. They might have noticed a blur out the corner of their eyes but beyond that, she was moving too quickly to track. Needless bloodshed wasn’t always a good thing despite what some said, she only wanted out of here, she wasn’t on a crusade to punish them unnecessarily.

  Truthfully, they’d done her some favours, she was closer to the Kjarn today than ever before. In hardship, she’d been forced to swim against the current in circumstances nobody should find ideal. Her master would be proud, she hoped. What had Cobb ever done to warrant something like this? He hid in his labs and preached progress when really, she knew he was just… a… coward. He didn’t have the balls to do what she was prepared to.

  She was gritting her teeth together so hard she thought they might crack, suddenly aware of the pain. Kyra exhaled sharply, slowed down and felt the exertions creep up on her. To use the Kjarn like that wasn’t an absence of fatigue, it was merely a delay. A helpful one but everything had a cost and sooner or later she’d need to pay it. And when she’d gotten off this ship and was safe on the ground, she’d sleep for a week but now she had to keep going. She’d suffered worse than this. Back in the first days of training, her master had refused her sleep for days on end, all with the intent of preparing her for times like this. At the time, she’d hated him for it. Now, she was glad that he had.

  He hadn’t managed to find the cloaking device but looking out a window, he had seen a fleet approaching, ready to start an assault. Nick guessed it was an Allied Kingdoms fleet, he’d seen
some of the ships before, even if he couldn’t name them off the top of his head. But it just meant he was running out of time. Someone had tipped them off, he needed to get out of here. The cloaking device wasn’t an issue now; it’d be taken care of when the whole thing blew. It’d prevent automatic targeting, but if they could see it, their gunners in that fleet could hit it manually with enough ordnance to blow it out of the sky.

  Nick gulped. So that left two objectives. The prisoners and Claudia Coppinger. As much as what he suspected about Wim Carson, it wasn’t something he needed to do. He couldn’t prove Carson was involved with the death of Sharon, beyond him owning something that Sharon might or might not have possessed. No, it was more a hunch, one that he couldn’t drive from the forefront of his mind. Whichever he came across first, he’d need to deal with. He turned and ran, almost straight into an armed guard who didn’t have time to bring his blaster rifle to bear before Nick hit him with a flying elbow to the face which put him on the ground. Putting the boot in next, he was out cold, and Nick had retrieved the weapon in one swift motion.

  He should kill him. And yet he couldn’t bring himself to shoot the unconscious man dead, he’d been disabled, he posed no threat, Nick might need the charges in his weapon. It was all the convincing to himself that he needed. He was closer to the prison block, he guessed. This corridor looked familiar, the same picture he’d seen earlier. An artist’s rendition of the Divines in their glory, or at least as much glory as their meagre ability had been able to convey. He’d seen better paintings. The artist’s use of colour was severely lacking, if he was being generous about it.

  Yep, everyone’s a critic.

  They were in motion, the moment the door open, they hurled some of Noorland’s special credit grenades out of the hatch. They’d been developed over months of testing, the shell containing a small motion sensor, the interior holding well over a hundred spiked ball bearings each smaller than the average fingernail. Upon detonation, they’d sense out the nearest source of movement and shoot their load in that direction, range about good for a dozen feet, control chips in them preventing an overlap of targets and upon six simultaneous detonations, they hurled themselves from the aeroship, weapons blazing into wounded men and women. Bodies dropped by the dozen, even as one of the eaglefighters was already reacting, moving to turn its weapons on them.

  Brendan King moved faster, hit the button on the summoner on his belt and a pair of humanoid golems emerged in a burst of light, one made of steel, one from stone and brought uniblasts to bear on the eaglefighter before it could do the same to them. Most summoning devices could easily support two spirits at once, some of them even more, it was just a considerable drain on power when they did. Two by two, they filed out of the ship, more shots finding the surveillance devices in the hangar, shattering lenses and destroying recording equipment. Those few enemy combatants left behind fell under the second wave, taken by surprise against a more heavily armed onslaught.

  Within moments, they had it. The area secured, although Wilsin knew it was just one small part of a truly enormous task. Still, most plans failed within the first few seconds of combat so for this to still be working with all of them unharmed was a bonus. Brendan was barking out instructions around them, weapon still held to his shoulder.

  “Watcher go find a sniper spot,” he ordered. “Team two, you have your objective. Team one, form up on me.” Noorland and Leclerc had been ordered to remain with the aeroship, along with Anne Sullivan making up the threesome. She hung her Saga over her back and immediately made for one of the elevated areas, determined to seek out a good position. Her skills as a sniper weren’t much use in the corridors and the close-range combat they were about to see. Wilsin formed up on Derenko’s team along with Mel Harper, Fank Aldiss and Pree Khan. Their team was smaller than the other, everyone they could spare for the secondary objective. Find Nick Roper. He had to be somewhere. Dead or alive. Wilsin really hoped he wasn’t dead. It’d kinda put a whole downer on the mission if he was. He slipped his summoner tight to his belt, checked a crystal was loaded. Just in case.

  This wasn’t the time to try and get artsy with his kills. Those who did that wound up dead. A spirit could make a difference in crowded areas, especially when they were as lethal as his veek. But trying to direct it at the same time as trying to duck shots required an uncanny amount of focus, the sort of levels that were difficult to teach, if not impossible. It didn’t stop them from trying to impart it at the academy though.

  Right now, he was glad they’d at least made the effort.

  “Madam Coppinger, the five kingdoms fleet is trying to hail us.”

  The voice came through her earpiece, Wim could hear it as he moved items towards the small ship. They were getting out of here, although the timing appeared to be terrible. He shook his head and stretched out his arms. Physical labour wasn’t his forte but moving them with the Kjarn felt disrespectful. It wasn’t something to make life easier. It was something to co-exist with. A way of seeing the world.

  “Ignore them,” she said simply. “Have you despatched the eagles to meet their attack?”

  “Of course, Ma’am. We’re preparing to engage.”

  “I’m about to leave,” she said. “Not because I don’t have faith you’ll rout them but because I have places to be. Keep them away from my departure point. I want no survivors. We’ve been found up here, I mean to make sure they don’t send a second party any time soon. You’re in charge, Commander Folson. Win this battle and the rewards will be great.”

  Wim could almost hear him swallow with pride on the other end of the line. Folson… Folson. The name rang a bell, but he couldn’t picture the face. That undoubtedly boded well for them all. Idly he extended his senses out, hoping to see if he could catch a glimpse of which way the battle might turn if things carried on the way they did but either the Kjarn wasn’t willing to reveal it to him or the future remained clouded. Either way, it was a failure on his part and he swallowed it down angrily.

  “Our place isn’t here,” Madam Coppinger said, glancing over at him. She’d changed out of her working clothes into a pilot’s flight suit, not dissimilar to what others wore in the hangars. The only difference he could see was hers bore no rank insignias. He also had to admit she cut a fine figure in it. “Unfortunately, we have places to be. More important tasks.”

  “I quite agree. I hope you can pilot us out of a firefight,” Wim said.

  “Well someone has to,” she said. “My shuttle only holds two people. I’m a competent pilot. And I’m sure you’ll let me know if someone gets a little close for comfort. That remarkable danger sense of yours.”

  He let that go. She had a point. That had been the first thing he had sought to recover upon his regaining his ability to touch the Kjarn. That and the telekinesis. Through those two skills, the fine control would eventually return, then the pure power he’d once held at his fingertips. Knowing when something was coming was always a handy skill, especially around here when one never knew if a knife was coming towards his back.

  “Maybe you won’t have to deal with the issue of Roper after all,” he said. “Him and his conflicting emotions. Maybe he’ll be killed in this attack and it’ll cease to be a problem. You won’t have to worry about his loyalties.”

  She smirked at him. “You know, it never occurred to me before I saw him look at you. But maybe there’s a reason for that.” Wim didn’t like what he was feeling from her. “He recently suffered a bereavement. The woman he loved died.”

  “Yeah?” Wim felt disinterested at hearing that. People died. It was the way of the world. No power could change that.

  “Sharon Arventino. They were engaged to be married.”

  That brought his attention, almost sent his hand to the second kjarnblade he now wore on his belt. The one that had belonged to her. She was right, it did explain much. He raised an eyebrow at Claudia, saw her smile. She’d seen the twitch in his hand. She knew. Wim got that impression in the quickest momen
t and he hid a shudder. He regretted it but that didn’t change what had happened. “Interesting,” he said. “A small world.” She didn’t push for what he meant. Still the feeling only grew that she knew and inside he recoiled.

  “A lot’s interesting about the whole thing,” she said. “Now come on, let’s get this show on the road. We don’t have long.”

  It looked like it was to be battle then. Criffen sighed, saw the eaglefighters coming towards them and he looked around his crew on the bridge of the Stallion. “So, it starts,” he said. Their attempts at contact had failed. They didn’t want to talk. The Lost Lucie was still spitting out its own fighters, ready to engage the eagles at close range, HAX’s and Kingdom Chargers flying out in tandem. At first glance, they looked to be matched for numbers. The Sitting Target had moved out of range, behind his own ship, while the Carrion Crow and Bounty Snatcher moved up on him in a three-pronged formation. Already he knew they’d be readying probes to try and pick up on any downed ships, recover any pilots lost in the engagement. A thankless task but one that he wouldn’t deny them.

  “Gunners! Focus firepower on that thing!” he barked. “Aim to disable. Try to avoid hitting the central node for the time being.” He knew Unisco had their own mission, they were to wait before going for the kill, even if it was easier said than done. All through the three capital ships, the guns were lighting up, white hot bursts of plasma screaming through the air to crash against the eye-shaped ship.