Zero Star

by Chad Huskins

  Chang-shu smirked. “I thought Zeroists disliked obfuscation and subterfuge.”

  “I feel the need to clarify, Brigadier,” Kalder said. “We dislike obfuscation for ourselves. We are a very selfish and pragmatic people, though. If others do not attain the enlightenment of Zeroism, what matter is it to us? And we might as well use it. So, while I would refrain from using such a deceptive tactic myself, I can only tell you what would work best for you. Take my advice or don’t, but it’ll go more smoothly if you do.”

  Quoden looked like he was about to bring up another point when a chime sounded at his side. He waved at the air, spoke to someone no one else could see, then said, “Send him in. Put the High Priestess in the best quarters we can supply until we’re ready to receive her.” The General looked at Kalder. “Happy?”

  “It’s a good start. Best keep a guard with her, too. Keep her under surveillance at all times.”

  Suddenly, the Visquain stood as one, just as the door behind Kalder slid open.

  “Captain Lyokh,” said the General. “It’s good to see you in the flesh, soldier.”

  “Thank you, General,” said the man who stepped around Kalder’s seat, snapping a salute and approaching the Visquain to shake hands. Aejon Lyokh was a bit shorter than he had looked in the vids, but his build and bearing were far more impressive than what the vids had shown. His armor fit him perfectly, and not just in measure. The sword on his back and the rifle that hung from his shoulder looked like natural instruments of his will. It all merged with his essence. Defined him. They were as much a sign of his office as Quoden’s uniform or a senator’s robes. This man was made to soldier, and no mistake. Once, Kalder had been told the same thing by his peers, but that was long ago, before the Buddha man and before everything else.

  After they all shook Lyokh’s hand, Quoden gestured at the forgotten senator in his seat. “Captain, this is Senator Holace Kalder. You remember we discussed him?”

  Lyokh turned and looked at him. Staring into his face, Kalder saw the hard warrior’s lineage, echoes of some European tribesmen written in his genetic code, with dark eyebrows that hung over his eyes and made them look like caves. The eyes were animalistic, yet calm. Now it was Kalder’s turn to see through the artificial distance, and look into a cage. To him, Lyokh rather looked like a lion, pacing back and forth behind its bars, calmly waiting for the opportunity to escape.

  And when he saw Lyokh’s expression upon looking at him, Kalder figured the wing commander probably was taken aback by his appearance. When someone told him he was going to be meeting a senator, Lyokh had probably imagined someone in the red-and-gold robes of state, or the white robes that sometimes veteran senaors wore. He had not expected a man in a shabby brown robe, barefooted, wearing not a single piece of jewelry or even a wristpad.

  To his credit, Lyokh recovered immediately. “Senator,” he said, extending his hand.

  General Quoden cleared his throat, and started to speak, probably about to tell Lyokh that Zeroists didn’t shake hands.

  Kalder took it, and could see the surprise register on both Lyokh’s and the Visquain’s faces. Lyokh had not expected such a senior man to have such a firm grip.

  “Captain,” he said. “Congratulations on leading your people to victory. And that was quick thinking on the reanimation signal, and getting it jammed. Brilliant work.”

  Lyokh nodded. “Thank you, Senator.”

  “I hear you turned many impossible situations into successes. And with no officer training! It is a marvel. It seems General Quoden promoted a real prodigy when he elevated you.”

  Lyokh cleared his throat. “I have good help, sir. The best lieutenants, sergeants, and techs in the Republic Army.”

  “It’s a brilliant leader who surrounds himself with an effective command coterie,” said Kalder, not allowing the captain to weasel out of the praise. “But I recognize humbleness when I see it, and as a Zeroist I must not discourage it. Modesty is the way that a pure mind reminds itself not to become too infatuated with results.”

  Lyokh nodded. “If you say so, sir.”

  “You may sit, Captain,” said Quoden, even as he and the Visquain took their own seats.

  Lyokh took the seat just beside Kalder, first removing his sword and rifle, as though he was merely taking off his hat at the dinner table. He leaned his weapons against the table, and faced the Visquain with eyes that looked tired yet resolved. The gaze of a predator after a long hunt, Kalder thought. A hunt that took its toll.

  “Major T’luk says things go apace in the building of the wall,” said Quoden.

  “They do, sir. The fortifications in Vastill are almost complete. There were some problems with a couple of the plasma shield generators, but everything’s working now for the most part. The other megalopolises are not nearly as fortified, but they don’t need the kind of protection that Vastill needs.”

  “That’s good to hear. And the Wardeness?”

  Here, Kalder detected a smile struggling to get free on the captain’s face, but he managed to keep it suppressed. “She’s…interesting, sir.”

  “Did she give you much trouble?”

  “Some of my men took offense to some of the things she was saying, but I’m used to it.”

  “What sort of things?” asked Vickers.

  “She’s a sole ruler, ma’am. She’s used to having everything her way, right away, no questions asked. I made sure to show her respect, while framing what I needed from her as requests, even begging, which allowed her to listen to me without looking like she kowtowed to outsiders. But it didn’t take any convincing to get her to leave Vastill and come up here. That she was eager to do right away.”

  Kalder nodded, and looked at Quoden. “Her thanes. She will not let them see her as weak, and she must be seen as having a relationship with us. The sooner the better for her.”

  Quoden nodded. “We should probably still have the liaisons keep close tabs on them.”

  Captain Lyokh looked confused. “I’m sorry? Her thanes?”

  “It’s all political stuntwork, Captain,” said Kalder. “Nothing that need concern you. Especially not now.”

  “Why not now?”

  Quoden looked at Kalder. “Should you tell him, or should I?”

  Kalder waved a hand. “Please, go ahead.”

  “Tell me what?” Lyokh said warily.

  Quoden cleared his throat. “We would’ve told you sooner, but we only learned ourselves recently. We were cut off from much of the galaxy by the Ascendancy’s jamming, and it wasn’t until a few days ago that reports finally started trickling in from across the galaxy in uncorrupted transmissions. Even then, most of it was prioritized for tactical necessity, no one saw it as being all that important, so it shuffled to the bottom. But now that you’re here, and the campaign is all but over, I guess you should know.”

  The General leaned forward, and fixed Lyokh with a look.

  “You’ve become something of a…celebrity, Captain.”

  The snort that shot out of Lyokh was one of genuine humor. He thought they were joking.

  Quoden continued. “We don’t know how the stories initially leaked, but they did, along with the footage from your helmet cam on Kennit 184c.” He waved his hand in the air, and brought up a flat holopane that showed muted news reports, ones with images of his battle playing in the background.

  Kalder watched him. Lyokh’s eyes narrowed. There was a flash of anger, perhaps missed by everyone else in the room, but Kalder saw it.

  “Also, footage from your cam from the Vastill battles, which was sent to PI for analysis of the enemy, also somehow managed to leak.”

  That footage was waved into existence, too, and Lyokh’s jaw hung open as he watched it. Then, he remembered himself, and shut his mouth.

  “So, this narrative of you has been building the whole time you’ve been deployed,” Quoden concluded. “This narrative of you as a hero. It’s strange, and it’s quite beyond my understanding how such things build, bu
t build it did. I’ve been told people wanted some good news after the Queen of Mothers and the Knights of Sol were lost in Kennit, so…” He sighed. “Media outlets on Monarch started circulating these stories, playing this footage over and over again. It gained traction, then momentum. And before long, you were…” He trailed off, shrugged.

  “Were…what?” Lyokh said.

  “The Hero of Kennit,” said Kalder. “The Defender of Vastill. The Ascendancy’s Bane. Take your pick, every news outlet has chosen their favorite and run with it.”

  Lyokh snorted again, this time derisively. He shook his head. “Well, as long as it doesn’t affect our work, it doesn’t bother me. Like anything else, it’ll probably run its cycle, and then I’ll be forgotten like anything else.”

  “Except,” Vickers said, “we cannot afford to let that happen.”

  “What?”

  The Visquain looked at one another briefly.

  Kalder sat patiently, waiting for his moment to enter the fray.

  “Do you remember why I asked you to wear that medal on your shoulder, Captain?” said Quoden, pointing to the Imperator’s Medal of Valor, which had somehow survived the Battle of Phanes.

  Lyokh looked at it. “Yes, sir. You said it was to remind us of the traditions of the Knights of Sol.”

  “That’s right. And why do you think they did it?”

  Lyokh shrugged. “Because it was tradition, sir?”

  “And what does tradition do?” Quoden did not wait for an answer to his question. “It instills in us order, discipline, and sanctity. It gives us a sense of meaning.” He drummed his fingers twice on the table, obviously struggling with having to tell a born soldier that he was about to be an instrument of a different sort. “We’re going to be partnering you with Senator Kalder’s office. He’s already arranged it, and he’s got a media liaison ready to speak to you at oh-eight-hundred tomorrow.”

  “Media liaison,” Lyokh said. The words came out like he was testing out some complex Latin name for a creature that existed only in fossils.

  “Yes,” Quoden said.

  Lyokh looked at each of them. He glanced at Kalder, and wrinkled his nose slightly, as though detecting a foul odor. He looked back at Quoden. “Propaganda? You want me to be a propaganda piece for the military?”

  “That’s not—”

  “That is exactly what you are now, Captain,” Kalder said, stepping in.

  Lyokh turned his cold gaze on him.

  “These others may dance around the subject because they’re afraid of how it sounds to you, but you are a soldier, and soldiers like it straight. I know, because I was once one. It’s one of the few things I still hold dear to me from my time as a soldier, the ability to cast aside bullshit and just hear the raw truth of the matter. And the truth is, you are now a propaganda piece for the Republic, for a government that is desperate need for some kind of symbol around which people can rally.”

  Lyokh went still as stone. His eyes didn’t even move off of Kalder. At last, he said, “What would I have to do?”

  “Make yourself available for the occasional interview,” Kalder said. “You may be asked to write opinion pieces now and again—”

  “Opinion pieces?”

  “—stories from the front line of the Crusade, and, of course, detail the heroics of each battle fought. Make sure the people know the names and deeds of your fallen comrades. Surely that’s something you can get behind?”

  Kalder gauged Lyokh’s response, seeing how he might respond to the next piece of news.

  It was Quoden who broached it. “I’m going to have you speak with the captain of Ares Wing,” the General said. “You’re going to confer with him and begin the transition of handing over command of all ground forces on Widden to him. He will be taking over within the week.”

  Lyokh’s eyes widened fractionally. “A week? General…that’s not enough time. We’ve only just secured the planet’s perimeter, but we’re still sweeping Vastill’s sublevels, and the other megalopolises have their own problems. The wall is still being erected—”

  “You just said it’s going apace.”

  The soldier looked angry at being trapped by his earlier words. “I know that’s what I said, but there’s still more to do. To make it solid. To make it all secure. I understand there’s still sweeps of the outer planets going on, and the asteroid belt. It’s still dangerous here. You want to pull out Gold Wing, pull me out of the leadership position—the position I took because you thrust it on me—and take how many starships away from Second, and do it all in a week’s time to go off some some…” He stopped himself. Probably before he could say bullshit Crusade. “Some new mission?” he said.

  Kalder was pleased to hear the captain check his own anger at the last minute and become more diplomatic. That would serve him well for what Kalder had in mind.

  “The Crusade has been sanctioned by the Senate and Senator Kalder is in charge of it,” said Vickers. “If they say it’s time to move forward with this, then it is time.”

  The soldier looked at Quoden. “General, you’re okay with this?”

  “I will be sorry to see you leave us, Captain,” Quoden said with supreme regret in his voice. “But it’s the way it has to be. We all serve our purpose for the sake of the Republic. We do what we have to do.”

  “But I still have a choice.”

  “Yes, you do,” said Quoden.

  “No, you don’t,” said Kalder.

  They all looked at him. Lyokh’s gaze was the fiercest, like he might strike Kalder at any moment.

  “You have taken the Oath, Captain. You joined the army with the sworn purpose of doing whatever it takes to defend the Republic and uphold its principles. If your superiors tell you that you are to start working with the media and become a rallying figure, then that’s what you are to do.”

  Lyokh stood up. He hadn’t been dismissed, and it didn’t look like he cared. “I’m not going to abandon Gold Wing, or the rest of Ninth Legion. This is where I belong.”

  “And Ninth Legion is where you’ll stay,” said Kalder. “Nobody’s removing you from it. A large portion of Ninth is coming with us, including your entire Gold Wing. Only, they won’t be called that.”

  The captain’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

  Kalder rose to his feet, and met Lyokh’s gaze. For a moment he saw Lyokh’s eyes register surprise again. For Kalder was tall, imposing, and square-shouldered. Still had the military posture ingrained in him ages ago. Lyokh had to look up slightly at him. Both of them felt protected by their clothes of offices, certainly—Lyokh in his nigh-impenetrable armor, Kalder in his robes of official state. Two different species of Man, separated by artificial distance. Strange how garments alone could achieve this.

  “General Quoden,” he said, “I leave the official ceremonies to you.”

  “Ceremonies?” Lyokh said. “What ceremonies?”

  “Captain Lyokh, I have discussed it with the Visquain,” Kalder said, “as well as the Primacy and the Senate, and it has been agreed that, for reasons of morale and necessity, you and your people are to be granted a new destiny. You, Gold Wing, and anyone else you nominate to come with you on this Crusade, are hereby re-christened the Knights of Sol. Long may your sword swing, far may your enemies run.”

  LYOKH WAS FUMING when he stepped out of the War Room. Takirovanen was waiting for him, and joined him silently as he walked through the hallway of sensor suites. It was good to have someone like Takirovanen around when one was pissed, because one had the satisfaction of having someone to vent to if need be, yet someone who did not speak if they were not spoken to.

  As they walked the corridors of Lord Ishimoto, Lyokh and Takirovanen passed by several windows that looked out at the cluttered space above Vastill. Currently in geosynchronous orbit above the megalopolis were the Republic ships Shatterstar, Vaultimyr, Sikorskiy, Ramlock, Amonophostepp, and Voice of Reason. Outside of that cluster were the Brotherhood ships Mercy’s Caress, Bushido’s
Culmination, and Tao of Piety—the rest of the Itinerant Fleet was scattered throughout Phanes. There was a single destroyer provided by the Widden government, as well as fifty tiny skiffs. If the Ascendancy returned now, they would find Widden a different creature.

  We did this, Lyokh thought. With soldiers and naval officers, with boots on the ground, with men and women operating the Pacifier weapon and rushing to reload torpedo tubes. With engineers rushing to solve problems, and rescue teams taking care of the wounded. With blood and sweat. We did this, not a bunch of bureacrats. And we did it without propaganda or the need for heroes. We did it because we are called to.

  Lyokh cast a glance over at Takirovanen. He wondered how he would break it to him. Then he figured that, of all people, he could trust Takirovanen to just roll with it.

  “We’re being renamed the Knights of Sol,” he said. “And we’re going to be used as propaganda for the Republic, I suppose to help with recruiting efforts, and to help the Senate to get more funding for more campaigns, that sort of nonsense.”

  Takirovanen shrugged. “Okay.”

  As expected.

  The others might not be so easy, though. Looking down on the planet from orbit, it still seemed in perfect order. Besides the obvious scar that was the megalopolis itself, there was no indication that the planet had gone through significant change. The blight of war hadn’t made any noticeable difference.

  And yet, Lyokh knew it was only the illusion of distance. He had been down there, inside trenches both imagined and made, watching people die all around him (Heeten) and experiencing the out-of-body experience that surely every other soldier in those streets must have felt. They had fought and died to keep this ground. It felt premature to leave so soon. There was still so much to do. So much work to be done.