Spirit of Empire 4: Sky Knights

by Lawrence White

  Galborae shrugged and picked up the sword still enclosed in its scabbard. “It’s too light and too short. It won’t work.”

  “Just try it.”

  Galborae slid the sword from its scabbard and his jaw dropped open. The blade looked like a child’s toy and was only as long as his forearm. He rolled his eyes toward Havlock. “This is a joke, right?”

  “Actually, no. It’s more than it seems.”

  With those words, Galborae gave the toy more attention, but he could not bring himself to believe Havlock was serious. The blade was dull black instead of shiny, narrow instead of wide, and far too short. Except for the full-size hand guard, the blade looked more like a knife. He brought the blade in and tested it with a finger, nodding knowingly. “Your craftsmen forgot the most important part—it’s dull. I might be able to sharpen it myself, but this knife is only for show. My arm barely feels it. A warrior needs a heavy blade.”

  “Does he?” Havlock asked.

  Galborae nodded. “You’re not a swordsman, so I wouldn’t expect you to know, but a blade is heavy not just for penetration but for defense. Stopping an opponent’s blade takes strong shoulders and a heavy blade.”

  “You’re the expert, not me,” Havlock said, nodding his head in agreement. “Let’s go to the training room. I want you to meet Sergeant Guarl.”

  Guarl, a four-armed Dramda, greeted them as they entered. “I’ll be your weapons instructor during our voyage,” Guarl informed Galborae. “By the time we reach Tranxte, you’ll be an expert with stunners and blasters of all types.”

  Galborae eyed him with curiosity. “I met two of your people on the Knight’s ship, though I had little time to get to know them. Can you use weapons in each hand?”

  Guarl shrugged. “Depends on the weapon. Today we start with the sword.”

  Galborae raised his eyebrows. “You’re a swordsman?”

  “I like weapons of all kinds. Let’s find out. I’ll only use one blade this time.”

  Havlock excused himself and left on other business. Guarl brought out wooden practice blades, weighted to simulate Galborae’s broadsword, and he and Galborae sparred for a while. Galborae reveled in the process, using muscles he had not tested since his fight with the gleason.

  Then Guarl switched Galborae to his new, tiny sword while keeping his own heavier sword. The heavier sword made short work of the tiny sword in Galborae’s hand, but when the two men traded swords, Guarl’s skill with the lighter weapon had Galborae in a heavy sweat as he tried to keep up with Guarl’s faster movements.

  “You’ve made your point,” Galborae finally admitted, breathing hard to get the words out. “But that knife does not have the weight to penetrate chainmail, nor does it have the necessary reach.”

  “Agreed,” Guarl said, lowering his knife. “Are you planning to fight other knights?”

  Galborae rolled his shoulders, keeping his broadsword at the ready and his eyes on Guarl’s sword. It had been a long time since a master swordsman had surprised him, and he was not going to let it happen now.

  “Maybe. I’m supposed to introduce Colonel Havlock to kings on Tranxte. It will not always be a smooth process.”

  Guarl nodded thoughtfully in agreement. “Our blasters are excellent for long and medium range work, and they’re acceptable for close-up fighting, but in hand-to-hand fighting I prefer a short sword or knife.”

  “Or bare hands,” Galborae said nodding in agreement. “I’ve spent a lifetime with the sword. As much as I appreciate the benefits of blasters, I will always carry a sword.”

  “Colonel Havlock knows. It’s why he had the new sword made for you.”

  “A new sword for the—what do you call me?—the barbarian who knows no better? I understand, but this time he’s wrong. I know what I’m talking about.”

  Guarl shook his head. “No, you don’t understand. He admires your survival skills, so much so that he has given you a great gift. Keep in mind that he will likely be by your side when weapons come into play. It might be his life you save with your new sword, and he knows it.”

  “My old sword.”

  “Maybe. You might change your mind.” He put Galborae’s new sword back into its scabbard and called, “On guard!”

  The tip of Galborae’s broadsword came up, but when the knife cleared its scabbard in Guarl’s hand, the black metal blade was gone. Instead, the outline of a shimmering yellow blade sprung into existence. The blade was as long as his broadsword, but its shape was like an elongated leaf, narrow at the hilt, widening out in the middle, then narrowing back to a sharp tip.

  The tip of his broadsword held, but he stared at the glowing blade with a look of bafflement. Guarl moved in on him. With a few light flicks of his wrist, the flat, nearly invisible glowing blade destroyed Galborae’s practice sword. Galborae backed away with wide eyes. The light outlining his new sword died, and it returned to its dull black knife shape as Guarl sheathed it.

  “What just happened?” Galborae asked in awe.

  Guarl drew the black knife again. As soon as it cleared its scabbard, the sword sprung back into existence. He stepped up to Galborae. “This sword will never need sharpening. I can’t explain how it works, I’m not certain myself, but it has a field around it that, in effect, gives it an edge only one atom thick.”

  When Galborae stared at him, Guarl got the message. “Okay, think of it this way: your blaster is quiet when it’s in your holster, right?” Galborae nodded, and Guarl continued. “It fires only when you activate it. The sword works in a similar way. When you activate it, an invisible edge that is sharper than the sharpest sword ever made, surrounds the blade. The master builders who formed it gave it a bright, yellow light so that you and everyone around you will know where the edge of the sword is.”

  Guarl stared hard at him to make certain Galborae was paying attention. “Never, ever test the blade with your finger. If you do, you will lose the finger. Understand?”

  “No.”

  Guarl turned off the sword and sheathed it, then he removed the scabbard and belt from his waist and placed it in Galborae’s hand. He touched lights on the back of the guard, then had Galborae place his hand through the guard and around the hilt.

  He waited a moment, then said, “There. It’s done. Only you can activate the sword now, and then only when your hand is on the hilt. If you drop the sword, it stops working. Understand?”

  Galborae nodded uncertainly, so Guarl repeated what he had just said. “Only you can use this sword, and if you drop it, it stops working. That’s to protect others around you and to prevent an opponent from using the sword against you.”

  Galborae’s eyebrows lifted in understanding and he nodded. Guarl showed him how to activate the sword, instantly stepping away as he did so.

  “Careful!” he exclaimed as Galborae raised the glowing blade, his eyes shining in appreciation. “It will cut through anything it touches.”

  He brought out a metal pipe and had Galborae bring the sword down gently. It cut through the metal as if it was butter. Galborae tried it again and again with the same results.

  “This pipe is made from plasteel,” Guarl explained. “It is much harder than the iron of your sword. Can you trust me when I tell you this sword will cut through chain mail with equal ease?”

  Galborae held out the sword and cut the air with it several times, his eyes shining. “A dangerous weapon, and it weighs nothing,” he said.

  “We made it the same length as your broadsword, but you can double that length, or you can shorten it to that of a dagger. Here’s how.” He showed Galborae how to control the length by pressing tiny lights on the back of the guard in various sequences. The shimmering sword lengthened and shortened on command. While Galborae practiced the process over and over, Guarl added, “One drawback to this weapon is that it has a high pitched sound when it is activated. You won’t hear it, but it might bother some of the nonhumans in your crew, so be on the lookout.”

  When Galborae had the proc
ess down, Guarl eyed the knight sternly. “This is a lethal weapon in the right hands, but a weapon that endangers everyone around you in the wrong hands. Before I consider you safe, you have to retrain muscles and reactions that have grown accustomed to a lifetime of fighting with a heavier sword. You and I have seven weeks to practice before we reach Tranxte. We will practice every single day until it is second nature to you.”

  “I might be a barbarian, but I hear you, Master.” Galborae eyed the shimmering blade once again, his appreciation clear in his eyes, then he looked back to Guarl and said, “I am an eager student.”

  * * * * *

  Sleep was a luxury Galborae sorely missed during the voyage to Tranxte. He spent hours every day practicing with the sword. It wasn’t just his arms and shoulders that had to be retrained. Sword fighting drew on timing, strength, and reactions from his whole body. Strength still mattered, but with the new, lighter sword, it played a back seat to quickness. With practice, the sword became a blur.

  When he wasn’t practicing with his sword, he was practicing with blasters and stunners, or improving his skills with the equipment carried by individual marines, executing maneuvers as a member of a squad, and something the marines called exercise. Exercise was a ritual he had never needed or even heard of on Tranxte, though the marines seemed to consider it a never-ending form of entertainment.

  Limam surprised him. She understood enough from his thoughts to know that the body armor Havlock had made for her would help her provide better protection to Galborae. The two of them struggled initially to get it on—it fit like a glove—but in the end Limam was covered from nose to tail in a perfectly fitting protective garment that matched his own in appearance. Havlock had even included Galborae’s coat of arms on Limam’s back. Her head was protected except for cutouts, allowing full use of her nose, eyes, teeth, and ears, and additional cutouts allowed unrestricted use of her claws. Wearing it would take some getting used to, and she still did not have sufficient mass to stop a charging gleason, but Galborae did not believe a gleason would be able to ignore her.

  Twenty shuttles gleamed white in their attach points on the top and bottom of the disc-shaped transporter. Each of them could convert to various colors at will, even camouflage when appropriate, but for daytime operations, the pure white color would actually help them blend in with the sky and reduce their visibility from the ground. Havlock was determined to limit the fear his presence would generate among the local populace as much as he could. As for the gleasons, they reportedly had poor eyesight and might not notice the ships at all unless they were nearby.

  Shuttles were essentially just two-level shoe boxes for carrying marines, with a ramp on each end for quick egress and ingress. There were no windows. Instead, screens displayed the outside view. Two heavy canons poked out of the waist on each side of the craft for a total of four. Shuttles carried only light armor and could not sustain heavy hits from anti-ship lasers, but they carried shields to protect them from personal weapons, and those shields could take a modest number of hits from heavier weapons before failing.

  The bottom deck appeared cluttered at first glance, though on closer inspection every single piece of equipment had its place. Warning signs, labels, and instruction placards for team equipment, 22 scooters, and two single person stingers broke the monotony of otherwise gray surroundings.

  The upper deck was a friendlier place and was where the marines lived while on missions. The bridge/engine room stretched the full width of the shuttle, with a full-width screen wrapping around the front corners of the shuttle to give a clear view of the environment. Two pilots, one of them always in the net, did not need the screen, but others on the bridge found it helpful. Aft of the bridge, sick bay, shared accommodations for the squad, a kitchen, and storage areas filled the rest of the space. Most of that space was painted in warm colors more reminiscent of civilian life.

  Supplies on the shuttle could support the team for days at a time, though interstellar voyages required shuttles to travel attached to a transporter. Shuttles were otherwise fully space capable.

  Galborae’s shuttle held the standard squad of twenty marines, their team leader Lieutenant Fogel, Colonel Havlock, himself, two pilots, and a medic. It would be the first shuttle in, surveying the area around his home town from high altitude. They would deal with gleasons from close range during the hours of darkness when none of the locals would see the shuttle. The next day Galborae would return to his town by himself. When he felt the townspeople were ready, he would invite the marines to join him on foot. Only afterward would they show the shuttle. The townspeople had seen the Knight’s ship, Resolve, but Havlock and Galborae agreed that meeting strange soldiers would be hard enough on them. They would keep the shuttle out of view until later.

  Chapter Six

  Fifteen shuttles detached from their berths on the transporter. They rotated and joined up, then headed for atmosphere, all of them for the moment focusing on a forty mile radius around Galborae’s home town of Waerton. Major Lebac, Havlock’s second in command, remained with the transporter to keep an eye on everyone from above, and he kept a reserve of five shuttles ready to go at a moment’s notice.

  Havlock and Galborae both stayed in the net during descent. Though Galborae did not fully appreciate the reentry process, by virtue of being in the net he automatically understood some of the basics. He knew the outside of the ship was hot, though he did not understand why, and it was clear to him that they were moving very fast over the surface of his home world.

  As the ship entered the lower atmosphere and ground details began emerging, his worst fear became reality: he was completely lost.

  Through the net Havlock knew his discomfort and turned to him with a grin. “I know it’s been worrying you, but the Knight who took you from here gave us directions.” He nodded ahead. “We’ll be over your home in a few minutes.”

  Galborae shook his head as a long-simmering concern evaporated. He ordered the AI to magnify the image of the town, an image he studied for a time.

  “I believe it’s my home. Is this a recording?” he asked the AI.

  “No.”

  “What time is it there?”

  “The sun rose four hours ago.”

  Despair shot through him. He turned to Havlock’s virtual image in alarm. “We’re too late. The main gates are open and no one guards the town. It’s deserted. Land in front of the gates. I have to know what happened.”

  “That’s not the plan,” Havlock replied, placing a virtual arm around Galborae’s shoulders. “Whatever has happened here has happened. A few hours will not make a difference. We have a plan. Let’s stick to it.”

  “Just drop me. You and your men can hunt the gleasons.”

  “No. There could be gleasons anywhere around here, including inside your town. We have to test our sensors to see if they can find the creatures. We’ve been over this a hundred times. I’m not going to drop you off just to lose you. Be the leader I know you are. You know I’m right.”

  Havlock conducted a high reconnaissance out to a distance of ten miles around Galborae’s town. The gleason sensors developed by Resolve’s artificial intelligence, George, showed him nothing more than the ship’s regular life force sensors showed.

  They studied targets that were in the open and discovered both wild and domesticated animals. Havlock frowned. Were the gleason sensors not working, or were there no gleasons in the area? He could not imagine gleasons leaving meals roaming free, so he reasoned they had left this area for some reason. Could the locals have run them out?

  He called for reports from other ships and learned that all the small towns appeared deserted. Not so the larger towns. They looked crowded and vibrant, though no one worked the fields surrounding them.

  “This is bad,” Galborae said. “They must have abandoned the small towns as indefensible. Everyone has gone to the king. Has anyone found a gleason?”

  Havlock sent a request to his shuttles. Nothing showed on anyone�
�s gleason sensors, so the crews attempted to visually identify targets on the regular sensors. If sensors showed a target but no target was visible to the naked eye, then it was probably a gleason. It wasn’t long before several probable gleason sightings came in, all of them near the capital city.

  “The sensors don’t work,” Havlock grumbled in amazement. “How can that be? They’re the key to our whole operation.” He turned to Galborae. “Did you see any gleasons on the sensors of the ship that brought you to Aldebaran?”

  “No, sir, but they didn’t stay here very long and I was in pretty bad shape. I didn’t visit the bridge until after we’d left. They assured me they saw gleasons clearly on their sensors while they were here.”

  The net stayed silent while the officers, gunners, and pilots considered this ominous discovery, a discovery that would certainly affect their lives and the lives of General Stymes’ main force when it arrived.

  Havlock finally broke the silence. “I had hoped to start picking off hordes of gleasons out in the open. That doesn’t look promising at the moment.” He looked to Galborae. “So far the only reported gleasons are around Shanloc, your king’s city. We need to take you there, but we have to clear gleasons from the immediate area there before landing. With the gleason finders not working, we won’t be able to tell a gleason from a wild animal after dark, so we’ll have to hunt them during the day. I don’t see how we can do that without showing our ship.”

  “Drop me at the gates to my town first. I want a quick look before I go to the king. It won’t take long.”

  “Before we do that, we have to make sure we can find and kill the creatures at all,” Havlock said. He called another shuttle who had identified a probable gleason on its sensors and ordered it to take the creature out.

  The process was two-fold, whether from a shuttle or from marines on the ground. The first step was to wound the gleason, or at least make the gleason think it was wounded. Experimentation aboard Resolve on its earlier visit had determined that stunning a gleason hard enough made it think it was mortally wounded. Of course, stunning practically any other living creature brought instant collapse, but gleasons had an incredibly strong constitution. Once the gleason thought it was wounded, it lost its ability to blend in with its surroundings and reverted to its normal body color, a deep green. As soon as the gleason became visible, blasters could take it out.