“We’ll make it right.” Sullivan vowed, even though he had no idea how.
UBF Tempest
Francis was biting his nails. The sun was down. They were on the outer edges of a bad storm. The teleradioscope was still getting a return telling them the approximate location of the Tokugawa. It was moving west again, heading for Japan. This was their last chance. They were moving along at full speed to intercept.
The boarding party was below. He wished he had more time, then he’d personally speak to every one of them, knight, mercenary, and other. The Tempest wasn’t designed for such things, but Lance had told him that they’d land right on top of the giant Tokugawa, lower the ramp, and it would be just like parking at an airport. He had a sneaky feeling it wouldn’t be that easy, and suspected that Lance concurred. Either way, he’d be joining them at the last minute.
Faye had joined them in the cockpit and was wandering around, looking at all the flashing lights, remarking on how pretty they were, and he felt a little nervous that she might start pushing buttons just to see what would happen. She was geared up for battle, armed with a short Auto-5 shotgun and wearing crisscrossed bandoleers of brass buckshot shells. Her hair was tied up, and Francis realized that he was staring at her, so he went back to trying to be a leader for the UBF men. He didn’t like the idea of her going in with the boarding party one bit, but Lance had been adamant, they needed every warm body they could get.
Pain shot through his ring finger, as if it had gone molten. Lance had been talking to the navigator, and he jerked as his ring ignited too. He’d never felt one burn so hot. It was like a knight was trying to contact everyone. The signal was so strong that all the Grimnoir in the world had to be feeling it. He shouted at the nearest crew member. “Get me some salt!” Lance started clearing maps from the navigator’s table.
“I don’t think I would have took the oath if I knew it was gonna try and cook my fingers off,” Faye said as she watched them make the circle. Dan Garrett had come running. The stubby man was so weighed down with extra ammo that he had a hard time climbing up the ladder. Heinrich Faded through the wall and took his place off to the side. Francis could see that Heinrich’s wrist was still bruised and discolored from where Delilah’s magically enhanced grip had crushed it in the morgue.
A minute later the circle was complete, and light from the shining disk filled the little room.
He did not recognize the Grimnoir in the circle. He was older, weathered, totally bald, with wrinkles around his eyes that suggested he was a man who spent a lot of time laughing and smiling, except those eyes were hard now and there wasn’t an ounce of laughter left in him. “Attention all Grimnoir knights. This is Robert M. Southunder, once of the knights of New York.”
“Former knight,” came another voice with a French accent, and the circle suddenly shifted to another man that Francis had never seen. “A disgraced knight, turned to brigandry.”
“The vagabond returns,” said a grey-haired woman. She sounded English. Francis had never seen so many people communicating through a magic circle before. The background noises told him that there had to be many others listening as well. The Power drain to the creator had to be enormous.
“Stick it, Harriet,” Southunder said as the circle flew back to focus on his face. “There’s no time for your politics. The Chairman has the Geo-Tel.”
There were collective gasps from every corner of the world.
“Preposterous!” bellowed someone else, a hundred other people started to talk and now the circle was spinning so fast that Francis thought he was going to be sick.
There was a brain piercing whistle. Faye pulled her fingers away from her lips. “Y’all shut up and let the man talk already, jeez-Louise.”
The circle returned to Southunder. “Thanks. I can’t keep this up for long. The Chairman recovered the last piece. Did we ever find where they’d marked New York?” There was a spinning chorus of negative replies. “Then we’ve got to assume that he’ll fire it at the same place as last time. We need to evacuate the Eastern Seaboard. Contact the President, the Army, do whatever you have to do.”
“Things have changed since you left, Robert,” the Frenchman said. “Actives have no favor in the halls of politics. They will not listen to us.”
“Then get off your asses and do something,” Southunder barked. “Live up to your damned oaths for once.”
Lance cut in. “Where is the Chairman?” Everyone knew he’d want to be there when it was used.
“I don’t know. The device was in the Northern Marianas,” Southunder replied. There was another voice from behind him, a deep rumble, and a large, beard-stubbled face pushed past Southunder.
“Lance?” Sullivan asked.
“Yeah, we’re not far from you. We’re tailing the Imperial flagship now,” Francis said.
“He’ll fire it from his flagship, sure as hell,” Sullivan said. “That’s his style. Give us your coordinates.”
Francis signaled for the navigator, who had recoiled in panic from the glowing, levitating, magic circle. He really had to remember that not very many people got to see stuff like this.
The next face that appeared in the circle was more recently familiar. It was Isaiah Rawls. “It looks like I’m the senior member of the council listening, so it falls on me to do this. Stand down, knights. That is an order. Do not, I repeat, do not attack the Tokugawa.”
“Are you mad?” Dan shouted. His voice made Francis reel. Dan was under such stress that he could barely control his Power. The anger in there was palpable, and Dan’s emotions made Francis want to pull his .45 and shoot Rawls right between the eyes. “You couldn’t stop us when we were going to do it for one person, let alone ten million.”
“Let them try, Isaiah,” the English woman said. “We’ve nothing to lose at this point.”
“We have everything to lose.” Isaiah was furious. “You must let the flagship continue toward Japan. That is an order.”
Sullivan’s voice was utterly cold. “Captain Southunder, could you please ditch all these other bozos and just talk to my friends?”
“Gladly.”
Isaiah began to scream. “No, you mus—”
The circle spun back around to the sweating Southunder. “That’s much nicer . . . but I can’t hold this much longer. Location of the flagship?”
The UBF navigator read off a bunch of what seemed like random numbers to Francis, but Southunder just nodded, doing the math in his head. “We can be there within an hour if I mangle the winds from here to Australia.”
“Us too,” Lance said. “See you there.”
***
As the storm clouds parted, they spotted the Tokugawa before it spotted them, which was easy to do since it was the size of a skyscraper flipped on its side, and was running with all of its lights blazing. It was a thousand feet lower than they were, but only a mile ahead.
“Will you look at that . . .” Lance whistled. “It’s huge.”
“Forget that,” Faye said. “There’s two of them.”
Francis followed her pointing finger. Sure enough, there was another vessel ahead of the triangular Tokugawa. Once again her weird grey eyes proved superior to everyone else’s. This craft was also wedge-shaped, but more bulbous. It was only running a few lights, so its overall size was hard to determine, but it had to be at least as big as the flagship. “What is that thing?”
Mr. Chandler, the accountant, had joined them in the control center. “I believe that is a Kaga-class superdreadnought.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because UBF made a fortune selling the design to the Imperium,” the accountant replied. “That’s one of ours. I’m afraid your grandfather didn’t really worry about the embargo.”
“Weapons?” Lance asked hesitantly.
“Unknown. We just provided the basic hull, and they worked out the rest, but probably at least equivalent to a Great War battleship, and it has a hold that can fit, depending on the size, a whole bunch of planes.”
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Lance scratched his beard. “Define bunch, Mr. Chandler.”
“Forty or fifty.”
“That nice pirate captain has two,” Faye pointed out. “Now, I’m not an expert or nothing, but that doesn’t seem quite fair.”
Francis bit his lip. If it had still just been a rescue mission, he would have called it off. It didn’t make sense to trade a bunch of lives for one, even though they’d probably have to knock Dan out first and tie him down, but this was too big now. The Geo-Tel was on that thing. “Call the Marauder. Warn them and get their ETA. The battleship won’t be able to shoot at us if we’re tethered to the Tokugawa.”
Lance looked at him slyly. “You’re sounding more like a captain already, kid. You want the hat back?”
“Not after it’s been on your smelly head.”
FS Bulldog Marauder
Captain Southunder put the mirror down. The news had been grim. In twenty minutes they’d break the edge of the storm. Sullivan held on to the wall of the stateroom as the dirigible was slammed back and forth by the wind. The creaking and flapping was making him nervous. It would really not be fair if they crashed before they even had the chance to get shot down.
“Two ships, which also means that the crew of the flagship will be reinforced with more men . . .” Southunder said slowly.
Not to mention Madi, who was probably capable of killing all of them by himself, but he didn’t bring that up. Dealing with his brother was personal business. “What are you going to tell your crew?” Sullivan asked. They were pirates after all, and mutiny was a distinct possibility.
Southunder smiled. “Why, the truth, of course.” He stood and walked from the room, not seeming to notice that the entire place was swaying violently back and forth and rattling like they were about to fly apart at any second. “Remember how I was talking about loyalty? Let’s see if I was right, because I’ve already been wrong far too much for one day.”
“I hope you ain’t on a roll . . .” Sullivan muttered as he followed.
Most of the Marauder’s crew had assembled in the little galley. They were a motley bunch of toughs, armed to the teeth, outside the law, perfectly adjusted to killing, and they were about to be asked to go on a deadly mission to help a bunch of folks who not only didn’t care about them, but didn’t even know they existed.
Southunder stopped at the front of the room. Sullivan was expecting some big display, maybe a pep talk, like the kind General Roosevelt had given them before Second Somme. Fat lot of good that had done. Instead, Southunder sat on the end of a table and folded his arms. He didn’t even raise his voice. “Well, boys, I’ve got bad news. We’ve got two Imperium ships. Both of them are bigger and have more guns than we do, with probably ten times the crew. There’s probably going to be several Iron Guards on board, not to mention ninjas, and who knows what other kinds of terrible blood magic.”
“What’s the bad news?” Barns asked jokingly.
“One of the ships is a Kaga, which means that it is ringed in 37mm long-range cannons and a main ten inch gun. Rumor is that they might even have a Peace Ray. If that don’t get us, the host of biplanes piloted by fanatics probably will. I won’t lie. Our odds of survival are about none.” He was completely honest.
“So we’re running?” a muscular Polynesian with tattoos all over his face asked.
“No, Mr. Paonga, we’re not. Because aboard one of those ships is a superweapon that is about to destroy a quarter of the United States, and once it falls, then the rest of the world will surrender. The Chairman will rule the world and everyone like us will be extinct within a year, tops. This job isn’t about the loot, crew, I’m asking you to do this because it’s the right thing to do. Stick with me and I’ll do everything I can to make sure we make it through.”
“This is madness,” said the badly scarred Ken.
“I’d take volunteers, but we’re either all in, or all out. There’s no time to drop anyone off. We either fight together, or we run, and if we run, you’ll have to kill me first. I can’t promise we’ll live, but we’ll die free men, and our great-grandkids will tell stories about the bravery that goes on tonight.”
There was a tiny voice from the back of the room. “I not have babies yet. Like to have babies someday.” Lady Origami squeezed between the burly men. She had neatly folded a piece of rice paper into an intricate shape. She tossed it into the air, and the miniature blimp almost seemed like it would fly, but it burst into magical flame and was consumed instantly. “But only babies I make be from Imperium rapers if Chairman win. I fight with captain.”
“I didn’t join to prove I’m brave. I joined to make money . . .” Parker said, but then he smiled. “And to kill some Imperium. I’m in.”
One by one the pirates added their assent. The last to speak was the young American, Barns. “Do I get to take a Raptor out and die in a glorious dogfight?”
“Yes,” Southunder answered.
Barns grinned. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
Southunder nodded calmly. “Let’s go murder some Imperium dogs then. Every. Last. One.”
“EVERY LAST ONE!” All the pirates shouted together.
Sullivan followed Southunder back into the hall, figuring he could learn a thing or two about leadership from this man. “You didn’t tell them that the Chairman himself would be on board . . .”
Southunder gave him a sad little smile. “They’re brave, Sullivan, not suicidal.”
Chapter 24
The Imperials have a war cry. Tennoheika Banzai. It means something about the emperor ruling for ten thousand years. The emperor is a puppet, but the soldiers meant it when they bellowed it at the tops of their lungs. Their Actives would often charge numerically superior, entrenched positions, with complete disregard for their own lives, confident in the rightness of their cause. Banzai!
—Captain John J. Pershing
Army Observation Report on the taking of Vladivostok, 1905
San Francisco, California
John Moses Browning was sitting up in bed. His chest still ached from the gunshot that had left him crushed and bruised, but he could certainly call his new, lightweight, woven-armor vest a success. He was getting far too old for this business. The UBF company Healer had stuck with his parting promise to Francis and had Mended him, but not nearly all the way, just enough to keep him from dying, the rotten weasel.
He had listened to Southunder’s message along with most of the Grimnoir in the world. He knew Southunder well, so he knew that the man spoke the truth. Many thought that he had been run out of the Society because of his rashness in dealing with the enemy, but Browning suspected it had been more because of his outspoken loyalty to Pershing’s cause to take the fight to the enemy, rather than to skulk in the shadows.
Something about that magic conversation had left him unsettled. He’d had a notebook in his pocket, as was his custom. It had been retained with his other things at the hospital, and he had sent for it. When the nurse had brought it, he had turned immediately to the last few pages, where he had carefully copied down the mad scribblings that Jake Sullivan had drawn on the mansion walls after his brief death.
He had never seen the Power represented as a single cohesive entity before, yet it made sense. His mind had always been attuned to making pieces fit together in perfect harmony, and this was no different. Given sufficient time, he had no doubt that a map could be made of where every single individual magical ability originated, and if that corresponding geometric shape could be drawn correctly, then those energies could be harnessed. It was exciting, but it would have to be a younger man’s work, because he had no doubt that it would take a lifetime, and he’d been living on borrowed time for too long now.
But it was for another reason he’d turned to Sullivan’s map. It was the interrelation of the various Powers. He’d long held suspicions that a sufficiently powerful Active could blur the borders between their own abilities into those areas that traditionally belonged to others. Sullivan was a perfect e
xample of this, having moved beyond just altering gravity into the related fields of mass and density. If this new hypothesis was correct, then it was possible that with sufficient knowledge, any Active could do this, which was extremely exciting, but once again, not his purpose.
The Power’s complete body seemed to be two overlaid triangles. Sullivan’s drawing was two-dimensional, so that was all Browning had to work with. The bottom triangle was how the Power interacted with the physical world, the top triangle was how it interacted with the living world. The two combined into one great mass in the middle. Overall, it looked a bit like the Star of David. The physical triangle’s three points were gravity, electromagnetism, and nuclear forces; the governing laws of the universe. Each of the Active magics that influenced physical realities was connected to coordinates within those areas.
It was the top triangle that had been more mysterious to Sullivan. This one appeared to interact with life, with three points ending in the biological, the mental, and then into one that Sullivan had left as a question mark, but that Browning’s personal belief system logically attributed to the spiritual.
The coordinates in the middle were where Actives that seemed to overlap the two areas came from. Healers were such, near the middle, and Sullivan had gotten a good look at the geometric structures there that Browning had long erroneously thought of as stylized archaic letters. Healers operated in the realm between physical and electromagnetic. The other areas around that had also been mapped into their coherent pieces by Sullivan’s fevered hand, and the close cousin to the Healer was the Pale Horse. They inhabited bordering areas. Both bent the laws of biology and matter to their will. One for good, one for ill.
And if one were to reason that a sufficiently strong Active, such as a Heavy, could wander into fields such as mass and density, then why couldn’t he assume that a sufficiently strong Healer could wander slightly into the area of causing disease? Or even more important to the particular question haunting him . . . Could a sufficiently strong Pale Horse drift across the boundary and masquerade as a weak Healer?
Hard Magic: Book I of the Grimnoir Chronicles Page 38