by P. L. Nealen
Scalas took a single step forward, stiffened to attention, and saluted. “The Avar Sector Legio is assembled, Brother Legate,” he announced. “I hereby relinquish command.”
Maruks returned the salute gravely. “Thank you, Acting Legate,” he said solemnly. His voice was deep and gravelly, though he spoke a clipped, fast-paced Latin. “I accept command.” His eyes swept the assembled Centurions, he nodded once, then he turned on his heel and faced the rest of the Legio.
“Brothers!” he bellowed, his voice easily echoing from the walls of the courtyard. “I have come at a difficult time, a time of crisis. I mourn Brother Legate Kranjick with all of you; he was my friend, and a greater Brother. A more formidable warrior, and a better friend and mentor could not be found in all the galaxy. I mean that.” For all the speech must have been rehearsed, Maruks’ voice caught slightly as he spoke. He cleared his throat and continued. “There may well be dire days ahead of us, Brothers. There will not be time for us to get used to one another before we must once more plunge unto the breach. But we are Caractacan Brothers, and we will do our duty. To God, to the Brotherhood, and to our fellow man.” He lifted a meaty hand to salute the assembled Brothers. “We have much to do, and I am not much of a man for speeches. Legio! Dismissed!”
He turned back around, the movement as precise as if he was still on parade. “Centurions, I would speak with each of you.” He turned his eyes on Scalas. “You first, Centurion Scalas. We have a great deal to discuss.”
***
Maruks was standing just about where Scalas had been as the Herald of Justice had landed. He was looking around the room, his hands clasped behind his broad back. He turned as Scalas knocked on the door frame.
“Come in, Centurion,” he said. “And in the future, you needn’t ask permission. My door is open to all my Centurions.” He looked at the chair, then turned and leaned against the desk, crossing his arms in front of his chest.
Scalas stepped to the center of the room, though he did not move so close that he loomed over the Brother Legate. The difference in height was still noticeable, but Maruks’ sheer presence seemed to nullify it. “You wanted to see me, Brother Legate?” he asked.
Maruks studied him. The Brother Legate’s eyes were a pale green, set in a mass of crow’s feet in a face as tanned by unknown suns as Scalas’. “If I’d had my way, Scalas,” he said, “you’d be standing here wearing the red. Not because I know you, but because I knew Kranjick. If he named you his successor, that would have been good enough for me.
“But there are enough of the New School on the Conclave that letting a Legio become the inheritance of Michael Kranjick was out of the question.” He looked momentarily like he felt like spitting on the floor. “Fortunately, the Brotherhood is not so far gone that one of those fops was picked to replace such an irreplaceable man. So, they sent me. Tell me, do you resent this?”
It was a blunter question than Scalas had been expecting, and it staggered him a little. “No, sir,” he said. When Maruks raised a graying eyebrow, he corrected himself. “Well, perhaps a little, sir. Against my better judgement. I shall speak to Father Corinus about it.”
A faint smile quirked the corner of Maruks’ mouth. “I hardly think it’s that bad, Centurion,” he said. “You’ve every right to resent it. If only for the sake of the memory of Brother Legate Kranjick. But, the Conclave has spoken, and we have our duty. The Code is clear.”
“It is, Brother Legate,” Scalas agreed. He paused, and when Maruks seemed to be waiting for him to say something more, he ventured, “Sir, why would the New School want to…separate this Legio from Brother Legate Kranjick’s influence, even after he is dead?”
Maruks’ eyes went cold, though they were not aimed at Scalas. “Because of what he represents in the Brotherhood, Centurion,” he said quietly. “I know you served under him for ten years, but knowing him, somehow I doubt you ever knew everything about him.”
“I never knew he had been on Pontakus IX,” Scalas said.
Maruks nodded. “One of the few to survive. And also one of the oldest still serving men in the Brotherhood. No one really knew how old he was; he never seemed to get older after a certain point. And even after that horror-show, he held as strongly to the Code as anyone in the Brotherhood.”
Scalas thought he understood. “And his faithfulness to the Code undermines the ‘pragmatists’’ arguments. If a man who survived that, and who knows how many battles since, still held to the Code, what does that make them?”
Maruks snorted. “’Pragmatists?’ That’s an overly complimentary name for them. But yes, you are right. That’s precisely why they want him blotted out, slowly forgotten.” He smiled tightly, a feral expression that did not meet his eyes. “I fear that they have been thwarted if that is their intention.”
“How did they even come to such power in the Brotherhood in the first place?” Scalas asked.
The Brother Legate sighed. “The Brotherhood, as noble as it is, is still a human institution, Centurion,” he said. “After almost eight hundred years, some rot is bound to set in. Younger generations might not face the same challenges that the older ones did. What recent battles have we fought that compared to Pontakus IX, until Valdek?” He sighed more heavily. “It is our fault, really,” he said. “Those of us with the age and experience have not taught the Code and its purpose sufficiently. And I fear, with the threat before us, it will only get harder.”
Scalas nodded. He had no doubt of that. “What has the Conclave decided regarding this so-called ‘Galactic Unity,’ sir?” he asked.
“Even the most contrary of the New School could not argue with the recordings you sent,” Maruks said. “Is General-Regent Rehenek still on Kaletonan IV?”
“He is back aboard the Pride of Valdek, in orbit,” Scalas said. “I believe he is preparing to travel to Eta Sashenaei, to appeal to their Duma for help.”
Maruks nodded, turning and looking out the windows. “We will send a contingent with him. Not you; not yet. I need you here, to help me get the Legio ready to go back to war. I brought replacements aboard the Herald; we will have to integrate them into the wounded Centuries.” He looked up, at the deep blue sky above the limb of Kaletonan.
“I fear that the first galactic war in history may be at hand, Centurion,” he said gravely. “And somehow I doubt that any of us will live to see the end of it.”
Scalas stood next to his new commander and said nothing. There was nothing to say. He knew that the Brother Legate was right.
Everything had changed on Valdek. And he knew that no one, not even the Brotherhood, was ready for the onslaught to come.
COMING SOON
THE UNITY WARS
The Defense of Provenia
A Nightmare From the Sky
Gaumarus Pell is a Corporal in the Provenian Planetary Defense Force. He’s had a quiet career, up until the simmering rebellion on Provenia abruptly escalates to a level of violence never before seen. The starfaring Knights of the Order of the Tancredus Cluster believe that an off-world terrorist group might have infiltrated the rebellion.
But it is worse than that. The M’tait are coming. And when the ravagers of worlds descend from the deep black of space, nothing is ever the same again…
TO STRIKE AT THE ENEMY’S HEART
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Honor Roll
Special thanks are due to all of those who joined the Brotherhood or Planetary Defense Forces on www.theunitywars.com, to support the creation of this series.
Austin Harris
Nate Granzow
Michael Fry
Daniel Carne
DeDe Connors
Samuel Redding
Robert Pattison
Alex Pechenik
Further thanks to Kelli Kochan, and to Nick Cole and Jason Anspac
h, who showed the way.
About the Author
P. L. Nealen is a veteran and a former Recon Marine. He spent a lot of free time in high school and the Marine Corps trying to write an epic, sweeping science fiction series. After the Marine Corps, he settled down to actually finish some novels, and has finally gotten to write just such a science fiction epic, the beginning of which you hold in your hands.