Michael grunted. He was not exactly sure how he had come to be Arcturus’ right-hand man. His military rank was not the highest, his experience of the ins and outs of the bureaucracy almost non-existent. Still, Arcturus seemed to trust him.
They did have resources. Terra Nova was the site of the government in Winter. “Two thousand troops are stationed across the city, in addition to private security, all of whom have been drafted, perhaps another five hundred.”
“I would have thought more,” Michael said.
Arcturus smiled ruefully. “There were twenty-thousand more stationed on Sumeria. The domes were breached. At least half of them are dead and for now, the rest are stranded. No. Unfortunately, we’re stuck with what we’ve got.”
The three convoys met little resistance at first but that changed very quickly. With less than an hour to prepare, the defenders still managed to mine the four largest highways leading into the city. The convoys were rolling sedately along, flanked by their supporting aircraft, when the first mines exploded. The vehicles were heavy and running on steel treads and they were shielded. The first vehicle rose a few inches but settled back to the road and resumed its steady pace forward. None of the vehicles suffered more than minor damage.
A few minutes later, the first convoy traversed a wide, empty street surrounded by tall buildings.
Arcturus smiled. “This ought to work a little better.”
Confidence was all very well. Arrogance would get you killed. The invaders seemed to be arrogant. Good. Michael hoped that Arcturus wasn’t, as well.
A row of x-ray lasers pointed their snouts over the stone enclosures and fired. The screens flared and then went down. The first vehicle exploded, then the second. The third rotated its gun turret upward and in rapid fire, sent a hail of explosive charges at the roof. The lasers disappeared.
Arcturus frowned. They were sitting together in the London’s control room. So far as Michael was concerned, this was now the safest place to be in Terra Nova. He had been a bit surprised when Arcturus had not objected to Michael and the crew, along with Catherine Halliday and all five Olivers, retreating to their ship. He had been more surprised when Arcturus expressed an interest in coming along, but now that he thought about it, he shouldn’t have been. Arcturus presumably knew at least some of the London’s capabilities. He could direct the defense of the city just as well from here as from Security headquarters.
“Transmission coming in,” Romulus reported over the ship’s comm. Romulus was still hiding in his chamber in the wall, which was not a hardship to Romulus. The ship’s senses and capabilities were an extension of his own. So far as Anson and the marines knew, the disembodied voice came from the ship’s brain, which it did. It did not occur to them that the brain was mobile.
A screen lit up. The smiling face of Johnathan Prescott Jones appeared. He was wearing a black, skintight uniform, without insignia. By now, Michael knew as much of Johnathan Prescott Jones’ history as Arcturus was willing to reveal, which was very little since most of it was classified. Not too different from Michael’s, as it happened, at a long-ago stage in his career.
“Johnathan,” Arcturus said.
Prescott Jones’ lips twitched. “Hello, Desmond.”
Arcturus looked momentarily annoyed. “Desmond is a name for social occasions, Johnathan. This is hardly a social occasion.”
Prescott Jones gave a tiny snort. “And yet you call me Johnathan. Why should the rules be different for you?”
“Would you prefer your old code name? You retired from the service many years ago.”
“Not exactly,” Prescott Jones said. “I merely changed my affiliation.” His eyes flicked to Michael’s face. “You are Luciano Barrad,” he said.
“Not exactly,” Michael said.
Prescott Jones sighed and shook his head. “So many layers to the game. I had my own false identities, back in the day. Good times, eh, Arcturus?”
“What is it you want, Johnathan?”
Prescott Jones looked pained. “You always did have a stick up your ass, even when we were kids.”
“And you always were an arrogant little snot who thought he could get away with anything. I thought you had finally turned into a responsible adult but I was wrong, wasn’t I?”
Michael was beginning to get the feeling that he was watching a poorly written family melodrama. He cleared his throat. Prescott Jones and Arcturus both looked at him. “As entertaining as all of this might be, I would like to point out that none of it is relevant and all of it is a complete waste of our time.”
The disdainful expression on both their faces was nearly identical and Michael almost laughed. Finally, Arcturus looked away. Hard to tell, but he might have been embarrassed. “Of course.” He turned back toward Prescott Jones. “Why are we even talking? In popular entertainments, the villain always feels the need to gloat. Is that what you think you’re doing?”
“No.” Suddenly, Prescott Jones looked grim. “What I’m doing is leading the ground forces against your city and your government. I’m calling on you to surrender. You can’t win and continued resistance will only lead to unnecessary casualties.”
“That’s it? That’s all?”
Prescott Jones inclined his head. “That is all.”
“No,” Arcturus said.
“You’re being foolish. Will the Prime Minister agree with you? Prince Nikolai?”
“This is a military decision. They have no authority to overrule me.”
“But when it’s all over, when they are all captured or dead, whoever takes their place will have the authority to investigate your decisions and court martial you for their stupidity, if you are lucky enough to still be alive, which is unlikely. If the Empire even exists, which is also unlikely.”
“We shall see.” Arcturus reached out and pressed a button. Johnathan Prescott Jones glowering face disappeared from the screen.
“Little shit,” Arcturus muttered.
“You seem to know each other quite well,” Michael ventured.
Arcturus fixed him with a beady eye. “My cousin,” he said. “A distant cousin. I never liked him. He was always a little shit.”
“I see,” Michael said.
Chapter 37
The ten ships of the Imperium fleet drew steadily closer. The three convoys ground on, losing a vehicle now and then to the Empire’s fire but suffering no major damage. The deliberate toppling by the defending forces of a few tall buildings effectively blocked most of the major thoroughfares. For a short while, the convoys slowed but alternate routes were soon followed. The tactic did little to impede them.
The Imperium’s foot soldiers did not fare so well. The convoys stopped periodically to release armed men, twenty or thirty at a time. It was not an effective strategy. The invading army (rabble might have been more like it) carried energy weapons and had received at least minimal training but the defenders were professionals, who knew how to hide, run, strike quickly and hide again. Also, the invaders were sitting ducks for the defenders’ aircraft. By the middle of the afternoon, the enemy soldiers had been effectively wiped out. It was impossible to determine how many remained in the vehicles but it seemed likely that the majority were still inside.
The enemy aircraft, on the other hand, ranged far and wide, occasionally engaging an Empire vehicle in a dogfight that rarely caused any material damage, as both sides had effective screens.
“The Imperium ships will be within range in thirty minutes,” Arcturus said.
Michael frowned but said nothing. The crew sat in the lounge, staring at the monitors. The three convoys made their way along silent streets. Glowing, pearlescent shields surrounded the government complex, sparkling like rainbows in the bright sunshine.
“Soon,” Michael said. He wasn’t sure why he said it, nor whom he was speaking to. Probably himself.
Arcturus glanced at him, gave a small shrug and returned his attention to the images in the tanks. Finally, high above their heads, ten small dots
could be seen. Over a hundred meters long, each of the Imperium ships carried enough fire power to obliterate the city. They drifted down in a circular formation, surrounding the complex.
“Message incoming,” Romulus said.
Admiral Ryan’s satisfied smirk appeared in the holotank. The Admiral did look like he was enjoying himself. “In five minutes, I will begin firing on your government complex. Your screens will not be able to hold. I suggest that you surrender. Now.”
“If you are monitoring the situation as closely as you should, Admiral, you know that your forces inside the complex have been defeated. Our people have been removed.”
“But they are still inside the city. Nothing has changed, except that you have given me more targets to shoot at. In any case, the destruction of your government buildings will serve as an effective symbol, a lesson in what happens to those who defy the will of the Imperium.”
“So that’s it? No presentation of grievances? No pretense to justify your unwarranted aggression? No attempt to negotiate an equitable settlement?”
The Admiral smiled. “I think we’re past that. Why should we negotiate when we hold all the cards?”
Arcturus smiled back. “Look up,” he said.
High in the atmosphere, the clouds suddenly twisted, as if pushed to the side by something vast and unseen. The air shimmered and the sun, obscured by an enormous, oval body, seemed to grow dark. Shadow fell over the city. On the nearly abandoned streets, the troops of both sides raised their eyes to the heavens and stared.
In the holotank, the Admiral looked away. He must have glanced at another screen, or perhaps a holo of the skies above his ship. He visibly blanched.
“So, Admiral, what do you have to say? Still demanding our surrender?”
The Admiral swayed. He looked as if he might faint. “What is that thing?” he whispered.
“That is a Hades class battleship,” Michael said, “named Gehenna.”
Two of the Imperium ships tried to run. Gehenna’s enormous lasers thrummed and the Imperium ships, less than a fiftieth of the battleship’s more than 5000 meter length, simply disappeared in flashes of light as their screens were overwhelmed and their magazines exploded. The rest, along with the convoys on the ground, surrendered. Admiral Ryan locked himself in his stateroom and blew his brains out. Johnathan Prescott Jones, despite his claim to be leading the Imperium ground offensive, could not be found.
The battle, if not the war, was over.
“Send in Henrik Anson,” Michael said.
A few moments later, Anson walked into Michael’s small office and sat down. Michael looked at him. “I wanted you to know that we’ve tracked all of your communications with Admiral Flynn.”
Anson puffed out his cheeks and said nothing.
“I realize that my methods might seem a bit unconventional to you but as I’ve said to you before, I’m the one in charge, not you, and that is not going to change. If you want to stay in my service, you’re going to have to do better.”
Anson looked at him for what seemed a long time. “I’m surprised you still want me.”
“You had plans in place to steal the London if the opportunity were to present itself, following the orders of your commanding officer. You were given a number of such opportunities.” Michael grinned. “Or so you thought. Yet you did not act upon those plans. Why is that?”
“It didn’t seem smart.” Anson shrugged. “You were acting in the Empire’s best interests.”
Michael nodded. “I will be turning the London, plus all of her plans and specifications over to the Imperial Navy. They should have little trouble duplicating her systems. We will be moving into a new ship.” He smiled. “A much larger one. Are you interested?”
“Yes,” Anson said.
“Good.”
“Leading from behind has a long and not-so-distinguished history,” Anson said.
“I suspect,” Michael said, “that we will see Johnathan Prescott Jones again, and Marcus Gerard as well, and Crane, Cabot and Rivas.”
They were sitting at Arcturus’ favorite table on the balcony of the Security compound, eating fried seafood and enjoying a bottle of champagne. Michael’s crew was also there, along with Catherine Halliday, all five Olivers and fifty or so of Arcturus’ agents. The party was raucous. Down below, the streets were filled with grateful, almost frantic partygoers, reprieved from death, or at least defeat, by what they considered a near miracle.
Gehenna had settled her enormous bulk down on an open field at the edge of the city. Curious revelers drove by on a constant basis to stare at the gigantic ship. None were invited in.
“So,” Arcturus said, “what are your plans now?”
Michael shrugged. “I’m considering my options. There’s the little matter of a war to get through.”
Arcturus grinned. Something about the grin made Michael uncomfortable. “You’re a very interesting fellow, Michael Glover. The Hades class battleships were supposedly only a legend. They were built in the waning days of the First Empire, to fight the Hirrill.”
Michael shrugged.
The privacy screen came down over their table with a faint hiss of static. Michael looked at it, unsurprised. He sighed.
“More champagne?” Arcturus asked.
Michael was already a bit lightheaded. It suddenly seemed wiser to keep what remained of his wits about him. “No, thank you.”
Arcturus poured himself another glass. “Very expensive stuff. It’s from Earth: France, what’s left of it. Still the best wine in the galaxy.”
“I never developed much of a taste for wine. I always preferred beer.”
“Look at them, down there.” Arcturus waved a hand at the beach down below. “Saved by a miracle, only it wasn’t exactly a miracle.” He raised an eyebrow in Michael’s direction. Michael said nothing. “Fortuitous, though.”
Arcturus grinned. “Reliance suffered less than almost any other world during the Interregnum,” he said.
Michael nodded and stolidly chewed on a fried shrimp.
“The industrial infrastructure remained almost intact. The databases do have some unfortunate lapses, particularly where military tech was concerned.” Arcturus shook his head. “Governments and their secrets, we can suppose. Still, the information contained in those databases goes back for literally thousands of years.”
“Oh?” Michael said.
“Thousands of years; and since the Winter Court was moved to Dancy, all of that data was copied here. I put a query in, not too long ago. A certain wandering ship owner came to my attention. His story, what there was of it, intrigued me.” Arcturus grinned. “It intrigued a lot of people, actually. I’ve sealed the records but I’m not certain who else might have seen them before I did. And, of course, we’re not the only world that still has data sitting in moldering files and ancient computer systems.”
“Data,” Michael said. “Dangerous stuff, data.”
“Isn’t that the truth? It wasn’t hard to get your fingerprints or a sample of your DNA. I had them save the glassware after you and your friend Anson ate here the first time. I wasn’t expecting much but I was wrong.” Arcturus drew a deep breath. “So…Michael Glover. Rose through the ranks to become Commander of Omega Force. After that, you served as the Governor-General of Sellisia for nearly thirty years.”
Michael sighed. “The place was decimated. Somebody had to.”
“Yes. One of the last worlds the Hirrill attacked. A hundred years after you stepped down, they re-named the place. Did you know that?”
Michael’s glass was halfway to his lips. He peered at Arcturus’ face over the rim. “No.”
“They named the world, ‘Ptolemy.’”
Michael blinked. He felt himself almost blushing and gave a small cough to hide his embarrassment. He sipped his champagne. “I certainly did not know that.”
“So,” Arcturus said with a toothy grin, “tell me about Thomas Montgomery.”
“The Usurper?”
Ar
cturus nodded. “He was the greatest hero of the age, before he became the greatest villain.”
Michael grimaced. “By the time I knew him, Thomas Montgomery was already Supreme Commander of the Allied Forces. He spearheaded the final push against the Hirrill. He had two sub-commanders.” Michael shrugged. “He asked me to be the third. I accepted.”
“Ptolemy, Xenophon and Saleucus.”
Michael gave a tiny snort. “By that time, it had become common for senior officers, at least the more prominent ones, to be called by their code names. It was good PR. The public loved it. Montgomery, of course, was Alexander. He liked the idea that his staff was named for the generals of the original Alexander.”
“The original Xenophon had nothing to do with Alexander.”
“No. Xenophon was a student of Socrates, a contemporary of Plato: a historian, a philosopher and a soldier.” Michael smiled. “Our Xenophon was Roderick Allen. He was a great guy, smart—brilliant really—always cheerful, always ready to help a friend. Montgomery grumbled a little when Rod chose the name, Xenophon. He wanted him to pick Krateros or Antigonus. Allen preferred Xenophon.”
“So, what happened?”
Michael sighed. “You know what happened. The Hirrill were defeated but the Empire was a mess. The Imperator was corrupt and probably insane. He left the armed forces under-funded but spent ridiculous amounts of money on palaces for his mistresses and then tore them down when the whim suited. He built orbiting habitats around useless worlds. The treasury was bankrupt. He wasn’t much better than Caligula. Montgomery told himself, and he tried to tell us, that he was doing it for the greater good, that things could not be allowed to continue as they were.
“I disagreed. Oh, he wasn’t wrong about the Imperator, but humanity has suffered through incompetent rulers many times before. Bad rulers, hard times…” Michael shrugged again and sipped his champagne. “The hard times come and they go. Adam Smith once said, ‘There is a great deal of ruin in a nation.’ The Empire was weaker than it had been before the war but it was still strong, strong enough, in my opinion, to survive an inadequate leader.
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