Red Sky Dawning

by Ian J. Malone

  “Chief, what’s the word?” Ryan yelled.

  “We need a minute,” Hamish stressed.

  “You don’t have one, Lunley!” Ryan roared. “Our armor is down to zilch here, and when it goes you’re gonna be in one helluva—”

  “All right, we should be good!” Wyatt cut in. “She’s patched up as good as I can make her, Admiral, so call the ball!”

  Wyatt’s voice was extremely labored. Something was wrong.

  “Sir, go!” Ryan ordered. “You can figure out what happened here later, but for now, just get our people out of here!”

  Lee’s display flashed the “evac ready” marker beside the Kennox’s icon. They were good to go.

  “Vince, what’s your status?” Katahl countered. “Are you coming?”

  “Right behind you, sir, now go!”

  “Mac, you good?” Lee asked, spinning up his drive.

  “Um, ya think?”

  “All crews!” Katahl ordered. “Hyperspace jump in three…two…one…jump!”

  * * * * *

  Chapter 29: Betrayed

  Lucius Zier tossed his tablet onto the desk of his private study and sat back in his chair, lost in thought. He hadn’t bothered reading the entire report; he didn’t need to. The story of Masterson’s heroic triumph over the surprise Auran incursion of Kyma 4—with the help of his new friends, the Kurgorians, of course—was already in full circulation thanks to the commandant’s always reliable, and desperately predictable, friends at the Eurial Sun.

  No bother. Zier rose from his seat and trudged to the armoire across the room, which held his private stash of Smithson’s straight table whiskey. Soon enough, none of this would be his problem. Did that worry him? Indeed it did, for so many reasons. He knew what the future held for the Alystierian people under a Masterson-led regime, and that was a frightening prospect. Still, as long as he was being honest with himself, Zier also recognized the wave of relief that he felt at the thought of handing in his crown—even though he was fairly sure of what his own future held afterward.

  Someone knocked at the door. “Chancellor?” a voice called from the other side.

  And so it begins. Zier didn’t bother answering. Instead, he poured himself a finger of whiskey, eyed its beautiful golden color through the contours of the crystal tumbler, then fired it back in a single shot, allowing all of those glorious flavors, from caramel to cherry and oak, to saturate the wall of his palate before tapering off their burn with that classic cinnamon finish. Not too bad.

  “Chancellor, sir,” the voice repeated.

  Zier poured himself another shot and stared fondly at the bottle. Smithson’s was hardly the best whiskey on the market. On the contrary, it was economy level, at best. Still, a man’s brand was his brand, and when there was as much history between it and its consumer as existed between Zier and Smithson’s…Well, one didn’t mess with a good thing.

  “Chancellor Zier, sir,” the voice persisted, the knock now a firm, full-fisted pound. “I’m going to have to ask you to open this door.”

  Zier smacked his lips, taking in that last blast of charcoal-filtered flavor, then re-corked the bottle and replaced it on his desk. “Hope to see you soon, old friend.” He started for the door.

  “Gentlemen,” Zier said to the pair of escort guards outside; they’d probably be his captors shortly. “How can I help you?”

  “Sir, Parliament has called an emergency session,” the lead guard said.

  He was a handsome man, Zier observed, tall and lean. Though by the look of him—dark, rumpled hair and sandbagged eyes—he could’ve definitely benefited from a good night’s sleep.

  “Might I offer you a drink, Captain?” Zier said after inspecting the man’s rank on his sleeve.

  Apparently the captain hadn’t expected that, either, because his brows pulled tight in surprise. “Sir?”

  “A drink?” Zier pointed over his shoulder to the bottle. “Sadly, I must confess that it’s far from premium stuff. However, years of experience have taught me that it does do rather nicely in a pinch…and I am in a bit of a pinch here, aren’t I, Captain.”

  Zier hadn’t intended that last part as a question, and the captain must’ve picked up on that because he didn’t respond for at least five seconds.

  The other guard cleared his throat.

  “Sir, you’re being summoned to the palace at once,” the captain said. “We have to go.”

  “Summoned, you say?” Zier said. “My, this sounds urgent.”

  “It is, sir,” the captain said. “In point of fact, the commandant says it’s a matter of the utmost imperial importance.”

  Zier couldn’t help chuckling as his eyes flicked past the sidearm next to his coat. With a bit of luck and some help from the last of his supporters here in his home, he probably could’ve used it to escape and flee to a ship. But, Zier figured, Masterson’s propaganda machine would’ve enjoyed a field day afterward, and he couldn’t have that…not as long as there was still a chance he could find a way to help his people. Plus, whoever this captain was, he didn’t seem like a bad fellow. He was just a man doing his job, and he didn’t deserve to die for that.

  “Well then.” Zier grabbed his coat but left the gun. “Who am I to keep the great commandant waiting? Shall we?”

  A few minutes later, the three of them descended the steps in front to the alcazar’s main drive, where an imperial transport hovered over the cobblestones. A man in formal dress, presumably the pilot, was waiting there. He stepped aside to allow Zier aboard. The captain entered through the passenger opening up front and the short guard took another vehicle in the chancellery convoy.

  Seeing the captain close his door, Zier spotted a flash of ink under his left forearm.

  “That’s an interesting tattoo you have there, Captain,” Zier said once they’d exited the main gate and departed the premises.

  The captain acknowledged him with a look but nothing more.

  “Ardisyn, correct?” Zier pressed. “The Alystierian god of…wisdom, was it?”

  “Temperance, sir,” the captain said.

  “Oh yes, forgive me,” Zier said, hoping he didn’t seem too disingenuous but ultimately not really caring. “This may come as a bit of a surprise to a spiritual man such as yourself, but I never really placed much faith in the gods, if you’ll pardon the pun.”

  The captain snorted. “Why is that?”

  Zier threw him a lopsided smile. “I guess you might say I was never very comfortable with the notion of making radical life decisions, for myself much less the empire as a whole, on the promises of beings who would offer me power over my enemies in exchange for my blind obedience.”

  The captain swiveled around in his seat, and Zier could plainly see in the man’s face that he’d taken the point. There was something else there, though, something deeper in the captain’s tired eyes that said he knew more about what was happening than Zier had expected.

  “Why are you letting him do this?” the captain asked.

  Zier lifted his shoulders. “Letting who do what?”

  “You can drop the coy act, sir,” the captain said, sliding into the rear compartment and raising the privacy barrier to exclude the pilot from their conversation. “If you wanna lay down the cards, then fine, let’s lay down the cards. You know what this session is about just as well as I do. Masterson is going to try and force you out, and considering everything that’s happened in the last few hours, much less the last five years, you’ve got to know that parliament is more than likely planning to back him.”

  Zier turned his gaze to Eurial’s sprawling skyline outside. He’d always found the city quite lovely at this time of night. “Let me ask you this, Captain,” he said, feeling the transport bear slightly to port and seeing the lights of the parliamentary palace appear in the distance. “What exactly would you have me do that I haven’t already done or said?”

  “You could’ve given the commandant what he needed to defend Kyma, for starters,” the captain
said.

  “You’re assuming that a request was made,” Zier said. “One wasn’t. Believe me, I’d have granted it. Furthermore, and as long as we’re ‘laying our cards on the table,’ I would add that not only was a request for Kyma reinforcements never made preemptively, it was also never made once word of the invasion had come to light.”

  “You’re saying Masterson knew Kyma was coming and didn’t tell anyone?”

  “Yes,” Zier said. “It’s the only explanation for how the Kurgorians were able to reach you in time, hailing all the way from the Rynzer Expanse, even with C-100 capability.”

  “That’s preposterous!” There was a quiver in the captain’s voice—a reluctance.

  “Preposterous how?” Zier asked.

  “Well, for one, they’d have needed an active IDC to get through our net undetected.”

  “And you honestly believe that Masterson couldn’t have arranged that? Just how gullible are you?”

  The captain rubbed his face in growing frustration. “Listen, I’m not saying the commandant isn’t prone to stepping into some shady areas at times, because he is. But contrary to what you or anyone else may think of him, there are lines he won’t cross, and sacrificing his own people just to make a point is definitely one of them.”

  “Keep telling yourself that, Captain.” Zier reclined in his seat.

  “And what about Vendale 2? Are you gonna lay that at the commandant’s feet, too? I hate to break it to you, Chancellor, but everybody knows that it was your slaring decision to pull the Tenstan and the Delaphon from that part of Krenza Province. That’s public record.”

  Zier gave another shrug. “Again, you’re assuming that I had all of the facts. I was acting on the intel that I had. Commandant Masterson assured me that our defenses would hold without those two ships, so I pulled them from the line and reassigned them to the Rymonian talks, where I felt they were needed most. Only the line didn’t hold, we lost the world, and in a miraculous turn of events, the Eurial Sun had the inside scoop on all of it just in time for their morning edition.”

  The captain pursed his lips. “Are you seriously implying that the commandant would—”

  “That’s precisely what I’m implying.”

  “And I suppose you have proof of this, letters to the Sun and the like.”

  Zier folded his arms. “At the moment, no. There is no trail. But run the numbers, Captain, and you’ll see the truth. This position in which the empire now finds itself, politically and militarily, is exactly where Masterson has always wanted it to be, and he’s played his hand perfectly to get it here.”

  The captain sighed in weak protest then looked away.

  Zier could see in the man’s scowl that he wasn’t happy about what he’d heard. Nor, for that matter, was the chancellor sure his escort had believed any of it…but he was thinking about it. Of that much, Zier was fairly certain.

  “All right, fine,” the captain said, this time making full eye contact. “Let’s say for the sake of discussion I believe you’re telling the truth…What would you say if I asked you about the Alystierian frigate, Prelyn?”

  Zier felt the edges of his mouth plummet, and he returned his gaze to the window. “I’d say that there are few things in my life I regret more than what happened on that ship. But that still doesn’t change the fact that it was, in every way, an accident.”

  “And I should just take your word on that? She was the mother of Masterson’s child, Chancellor, and she died on that ship because of you.”

  Zier bit down the urge to lash out as he had with Charlotte, and didn’t speak until he’d cooled off. “I don’t enjoy taking lives, Captain. That much about me, at least, has been accurately portrayed in the press. Therefore, given that fact, do you honestly believe me so vain and so hypocritical that I’d kill someone over a vendetta but not a war?”

  Both men looked up as the transport eased to a stop outside the parliamentary palace, and the captain readopted his previous expression of stone.

  “You know, Captain,” Zier said, exiting the transport. “I don’t think I ever got your name.”

  “Briggs, sir.” He swept the streets around them with his gaze. “My name is Nathan Briggs.”

  Now it was Zier’s turn to be surprised. “The Kamuir’s XO? Well then, I’m sure you have quite the unique perspective on all of this, don’t you?”

  Briggs started to say something but stopped when his partner emerged from one of the other vehicles and headed their way.

  “Be very careful, Captain Briggs,” Zier said before the other guard arrived. “You’re in a highly precarious position as Masterson’s second. If you don’t believe me, just ask your predecessor, Major Langella.”

  Briggs’s grim expression was unmistakable.

  “Yes,” Zier said, reading it instantly. “That’s what I thought.”

  “Time to go, Captain,” the short guard said with the door in his hand.

  Entering the massive palace through the entrance to the north tower, the three walked for several minutes before crossing under the main atrium and halting at the Chamber of Ministers.

  “One more thing,” Zier said, unable to help himself. “Are you, by chance, any relation to The Hammer of Santee, Kenneth Briggs?”

  The captain exhaled. “Yeah, he was my father. What of it?”

  Zier gave the man a winsome smile. “Gods, how did I not know that from the start? You look just like him, you know.”

  Briggs wrinkled his nose. “You knew my father?”

  “Well, of course I did. Ken and I were stationed together aboard the Varfalla prior to his transfer to the Rulstoy. He was a good soldier, your father, and an even better man. But…” Zier stood up tall and adopted the same regal posture that he always wore for these sessions. “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that, do I?”

  With that, Zier turned his back to the Kamuir’s XO, gave a final profane salute to the statue of his father, and entered the chamber. “See you in the next life, Captain Briggs,” he called back as the door closed behind him. “Be sure you don’t join me there too soon.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter 30: Fall Out

  “Coming through!”

  Katie lunged aside as the female orderly plowed past her, gurney in hand, toward the swirling sea of persistent hands and bloodied patients that was the Praetorian’s main infirmary.

  “What do we have?” a triage nurse rushed to ask.

  “Full-thickness burns to the head and throat,” the orderly said. “Possible concussion and fractured sternum.”

  The nurse shined a penlight into the soldier’s eyes then produced a syringe which she plunged into his IV line. Instantly, his face went slack. “Take the sergeant to bay three,” she said with a scribble of his chart. “I’ll warn you now, you’ve got a bit of a wait ahead of you, but in the meantime I’ve given him three CCs of atraveniol for the pain. Tell Doctor Deemer it’s all in the notes.”

  Atraveniol, pain meds, Katie noted in her mind. Deemer, trauma doctor. Got it.

  “Yes, ma’am,” the orderly said and vanished into the crowd with her patient.

  For the most part, Katie still had no clue what was happening. She only knew that something had hit their ship, and hard. Now, all hell had broken loose, and if the flood of panicked people piling into the soon-to-be overwhelmed infirmary was any indication—most with severe burns, lacerations, and broken limbs—whatever it was had been bad. Really, really bad.

  “I need a doctor, now!” someone screamed behind her.

  Katie whirled to see Chief Wyatt limping her way as fast as he could, his right hand clutching his right thigh while the rest of him fought to keep up with the female medic ahead of him. She was shoving a gurney drenched in blood, and Katie gasped upon seeing the mountainous figure atop the crimson sheets.

  “Hamish!” Katie bounded forward, grabbing someone’s penlight and stethoscope on the way, and went straight to work on Hamish’s injuries—namely the massive chunk of shrapnel pr
otruding from his chest. “What the hell happened?”

  “Once we jumped away, the caldrasite injectors lining the main core manifold blew out,” Wyatt said. “Hamish was standing right beside them when they did.” He was wincing with every word.

  “You okay?” Katie asked.

  “You worry about my AC right now.” Wyatt winced again. “I told him to clear out of there with the rest of our crews, Katie, I swear I did. But he wouldn’t listen to me! We still had people in that section, and he wasn’t leaving without them.”

  “Come on, Hamish, hang in there for me, sweetie,” Katie murmured, now in her zone as she checked his vitals.

  “How bad is it?” Wyatt asked.

  Katie shook her head. “Hard to say. His burns are serious enough as it is, particularly the ones on his face. But I won’t know the extent of his internal injuries until I get in there and take a look. If this thing nicked his heart in any way, he could be in some real trouble.” Ripping the stethoscope from her ears, Katie grabbed the foot of Hamish’s gurney and started for the triage station. Come on, translator implant, don’t fail me now. “Nurse! I need an operating room, stat, and any people you can spare. I’ve got a significant penetrating trauma to the upper chest, presenting symptoms of a possible pneumothorax, cardiac tamponade, and aortic dissection. Tell the OR and anesthesia staff to gear up now, and have the perfusionist on standby in case we need to stop his heart and put him on bypass to get this thing out. Now where can I scrub in?”

  The triage nurse blinked in confusion, probably wondering who this stranger was barking orders at her. “O-OR Five is down the hall,” she stammered, “two doors on the right. You can scrub in outside. I’ll have Doctor Nylun assist with Nurse Jamai and the cardiothoracic surgical team.”

  Katie nodded, pausing just long enough to glance back at Wyatt. “You sure you’re good?”

  “They’ll get to me in a minute, now go!”