His name is Legatus Cressock. He is the commander in charge of the Legion’s reserve here in Hestia, an older man but very hale in the way all aged Principate people seem to be, with broad shoulders and a shock of thick gray hair. We met a day ago in the briefing where the order of this battle was first laid out for me, and he was friendly enough then, like a gruff but gentle old hound. In combat he directed his troops with stern good humor, but as with everyone here, he underwent a change as IMEC-1 disappeared into Lunar Veil. There is no joy in his smile as he watches his soldiers busying themselves with the defense of Earth, and his hands grip our platform’s railing as though he intends to squeeze the life from it.
Charles said almost nothing throughout the whole opening skirmish, trusting in Cressock’s expertise and speaking only when he wanted to make some point of instruction to Jax or myself, but now he says, “No need to tire them out, Legatus. It’s going to be some time before we have any real news from Dis. If Reydaan decides to call in the cavalry, you’ll want everyone fresh.”
Charles has already explained our part in the present engagement, and even had he not, the briefing we attended with Legatus Cressock, and numerous others before and after, were education enough. We are part of the Legion’s reserve, the portion held back from combat so that we may seize any opportunities that arise in battle, though it is obvious to everyone that the opacity of Lunar Veil will make seizing opportunities difficult. For that reason, Charles says, we may also think of ourselves as an extreme rear guard, left behind to thwart any enemies who find their way past our main force. In the case of a rout, it will be up to us to make Earth’s last defense, but that piece of our mission is unspoken, and no one speaks it now. I wonder, though, if it is this possibility of a final, hopeless fight that now hangs so heavily over the Basilica.
“Something of a lost cause, staying fresh,” Cressock says with what sounds to me like bitterness. “This situation is going to wear on them whether or not anyone is shooting at us. At least if we keep them busy, they won’t have time to dwell on a situation they can’t do anything about.” He looks over to where I am standing with Jax. “This is your first action, isn’t it, ma’am? I know Fontanus Jaxten has stood for the city during an incursion before.”
Legion people are always highly formal and polite. I like that about them. “This is my first assignment, sir, but I have joined Jax on one previous occasion. Nor am I a stranger to organized violence. I have seen a deal of it elsewhere.”
“Organized violence,” he repeats, his eyes crinkling at the edges in a way that makes me think he approves of my comment.
“I will own that is something of a contradiction in terms.”
Cressock lets out a short, barking laugh. “Then you already know more about war than I did the first time I saw combat, and I must have been nearly twice your age. The Legion will be in capable hands with you. And you, sir,” he says, nodding to Jax.
“Legatus,” Charles interjects, somewhat sharply it seems to me, “I think it’s about time we got ready to move. It’s earlier than scheduled, but a little practice now should make the transitions smoother later on, wouldn’t you agree? And it’ll keep the troops busy.”
Charles is referring to the way Lunar Veil drifts constantly over Earth, following the path of the Moon. With time, it will pass beyond the sight of Tenth City and the range of its guns. The reserve will have to move if we intend to keep watch for anything coming through, but I had thought that necessity was still some time away.
“Yes, sir, I think you’re right.” The grim set has returned to Cressock’s face. “Let’s see how speedy these old dogs can be about prepping for the trip.”
“Jax, Naomi,” Charles says, looking down at us, “why don’t you go and see if you can find Malandeera at the Forum. I’ll coordinate with the Legatus and his people and meet you outside.”
Jax was quiet all throughout my conversation with the Legatus, and he remains so until we are nearly out the Basilica door. “I’m not crazy, am I?” are his first words to me. “You heard that, right?”
I ask him to be more specific. “Something weird was going on back there,” he says, “with Charles and Legatus Cressock.”
Now that Jax has mentioned it, I think he is right. It was as though only part of what passed between the two men could be heard in what they said. “Cressock was angry about something, I think,” I reply. “It must be some recent development, as I met with him only yesterday, and he seemed genial enough.”
“And did you see the way Charles got sort of mad at him?” Jax asks. “When he started talking about going off to war the first time? What was up with that?”
“Cressock was not the only one,” I say. Jax has me pondering now, thinking about the heavy atmosphere that seemed to hang everywhere in the Basilica. Tension over the ongoing battle, yes, but something else as well. Could it have been fear? “Is that how your commanders usually act—during an incursion, perhaps?”
Jax shakes his head, brows furrowed. “No. That was just . . . weird.”
As a description, “disquieting” would serve as well as “weird.” But I have no good explanation for the behavior of Charles and Cressock, and I doubt Jax has, either, as I conclude from his silence as we emerge from the Basilica onto the Forum of Tenth City.
It is a far less pleasant city to look at than Ninth, I have decided. Close living is a common feature of all Principate cities, which endeavor to contain as many people as possible within thelemity’s limited purview. But whereas Ninth City’s geography of towers and battlements appears to follow some natural organizing principle, like a grove of tall trees that arrange themselves to leave ample sunlight and air to breathe, Tenth City has the look of a mouth crammed with too many teeth. The smooth, gleaming blocks appear to jostle for space, uncomfortable in one another’s presence.
Like Ninth, Tenth City is built around a central Forum with a fountain of extravagant and symbolic design adorning its center, and that is where we find Fontana Malandeera, her eyes turned skyward. It is possible to discover a great deal about the world from one’s mijmere—even things hidden from human sight—by cultivating a kind of double vision. As a baby crying in its crib may become a mewing cat in the dream of its sleeping mother, so the details of reality find their way into a mijmere, and often something invisible to the casual observer will become glaringly obvious through the eyes of fontani usikuu. Charles has said that with practice it is possible for fontani to look across great distances even without the aid of a mijmere, but I am still some way from learning this trick.
As we approach, Jax calls out, “Can you see anything?” Meaning has there been any news from Dis. Because of the obstacles Lunar Veil poses to communication, messages between the Legion’s main body and its reserve are to be sent in the form of signaling rockets. But time in Dis moves slowly by our reckoning here in Hestia, and I doubt the fighting there will be past its first few minutes—much too early for there to be anything of significance to report. If Jax is already looking for news, he is more anxious than I thought.
“Clear skies,” Malandeera says, turning a rueful smile our way. “No doubt our boys and girls are already making a mess of things.”
Fontana Malandeera has made no secret of her dissatisfaction at being assigned to the reserve. As the only legionary to return alive from the Front, she considers it her duty and privilege to heap a measure of ruin upon the hordes that killed her comrades and pursued her the long way to Earth. Fontani will be at a premium in this battle, however, and while the Consulate has decided there must be at least four of us in the reserve, no commander was willing to give up a trusted and familiar fighter so that Malandeera of the Twenty-Second Legion could have her revenge. Though Malandeera plainly disagrees with these orders, she is a loyal legionary, and her stance is closer to impatience than anger.
I have an idea to question her about the scene we witnessed in the Basilica, but J
ax is quicker with his queries. “Do you think they’ll call us in?” he asks. It is an attempt at swagger and not at all convincing. “When will we know?”
“Can’t say for sure,” Malandeera answers. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen signal rockets in a battle. But I think there’s reason to hope you two have a long wait coming before you end up in the thick of things.” That rueful smile appears again. “Not too long, though.”
Here is another odd comment. The Consulate has already debated which portion of the Legion should embark into the Realms if we are victorious today, and while nothing has been decided, most are of the opinion that our youngest soldiers—namely Jax and myself—ought to remain behind for what many are calling the “MapleWhite Campaign.” If the mission succeeds, and the Valentine Host is delayed sufficiently for the Legion to rebuild, it will be twenty years or more before Earth sees any fighting more serious than a routine incursion. Perhaps this is what Malandeera meant about hoping Jax and I will have a while to wait before we see real battle. But how long would be “too long”?
I am about to request a word of clarification when I spy movement over the skyline of Tenth City. Our fighters have begun to rise over the stony spearpoints of buildings in preparation for the coming journey. I pick out the armored figures of equi among them, and the heavy globes known as tetra fortresses.
Malandeera has observed them also. “So soon?” she asks.
“That’s what we came to tell you,” Jax says. “Charles thought it would be a good idea to go a little early. For practice,” he adds uncertainly.
If this news surprises Malandeera, she does not show it. “I suppose it isn’t too long until we pass out of range,” she says, turning again to look at Lunar Veil. “What have you two done with Charles, then?”
Charles, however, has just emerged from the Basilica, and so can speak for himself. There is no doubt in my mind that our commanders would have preferred to bring him into this fight. The only reason they relegated him to the reserve was that doing so meant Jax and I could be sent along with him, thereby depriving our main force of only one experienced source where it might have lost three.
“All right, everyone,” Charles says. “Ready to play leapfrog?”
By “leapfrog” Charles means our plan of jumping from city to city to keep pace with the movement of Lunar Veil. Each city along our path has a full complement of legionaries crewing its guns. All they need to be ready for combat is a source of thelemity. As Lunar Veil passes beyond one city’s range, Jax and I are to fly ahead and make sure the next is fully powered. Once we arrive, Charles and Malandeera will follow with the remainder of the reserve. That way we will always have guns ready to fire, even if the Valentines attack while most of the reserve is in transit.
But I am not quite ready to forget the strangeness I sensed in the Basilica. I search Charles’s face for any clue of what might have caused it, and finding none, I ask, “Charles, has something gone wrong with the battle?”
Charles appears surprised. “Why would you say that, Naomi?”
I do not quite know how to respond. There is nothing in particular I can cite as cause for my unease, and if I try, I will likely sound silly. And yet I have a notion Charles knows what I mean to ask, and also the answer, only he has decided not to tell me.
“This is a tense situation, Naomi” is what he says instead. “We each have our own part to play. I’m sure I can count on you and Jax to do what’s right.”
Whatever is going on, I have had about my fill of it. I open my mouth to say as much, but just then Jax says, “Yes, sir,” at the same time resting a hand on my shoulder, and in a puff Tenth City is gone. In place of the jagged stone towers and moody sky, I find myself beneath a canopy of thick green leaves luminous with summer sun. It is a whole new world, built faster than the blink of an eye when Jax shaded beside me, and my own mijmere sprang up in response, yet it feels like a place I have known forever. Before me stretches a rolling, grassy hill dotted with gaily attired figures, all in various attitudes of leisure. The air carries the scent of herbs and wildflowers, and gentle music played on strings.
“He isn’t going to tell us, Naomi,” Jax says. He stands in the same relation to me as before, only now he wears a long, smock-like shirt and a “baseball cap,” his usual attire when he appears in my mijmere. Outside this place we are already moving toward our destination at considerable speed, crossing lakes and forests and deserts like twin bolts of lightning, but here only an easy stroll is required. I have on a light, long-sleeved dress and wide hat with an excessive amount of frill. I know Jax does not see this world quite the same way I do. To him, we will likely be at one of his baseball games. The essence of things will be the same, however: We are situated together in some friendly manner.
Only I do not feel friendly just now. “Charles is hiding something from us,” I say. Pulling down my hat to keep the sun from my eyes, I set off in the direction of the music, which I see is coming from a quartet arranged on a small hillock nearby.
I set a good pace, and Jax must hurry to keep up. “Maybe he is, but he must have a reason, right? Charles knows what he’s doing.”
I glare at him from beneath my hat. “What makes you so sure? It could be that something has happened, and he doesn’t want to tell us.”
“Well, it can’t be about the battle,” Jax says. “We haven’t heard anything yet.”
He is right about that, at least. “My sister is fighting out there right now.” I cannot quite keep the quaver from my voice.
“I know,” Jax says. “And she needs us to do our part. Everyone does. Maybe that’s why Charles hasn’t said anything. Maybe he doesn’t want us getting distracted.”
Likely that is the explanation, knowing Charles. “How long is too long a wait to fight the Valentines?”
Jax crinkles his nose at me. “What do you mean?”
“It was something Malandeera said. That she hoped we’d have a while to wait, but not too long. What do you think she meant?”
“I don’t know.” He ponders, then says again, “I don’t know.”
“She meant something, I’ll tell you that.”
“Yeah,” Jax says with a sigh, “maybe, but you know what we can be sure about? Everyone wants to win today. Charles, Cressock, Malandeera, the whole reserve. They’re doing everything they can to make that happen. So that’s what we’ve got to do, too.”
“You’re right.” It’s true. I dislike being lied to, but there is not much I can do about it now, and winning this battle is far more important. If I have to bite my tongue, that is what I will do.
A gust of wind has begun blowing toward us, visible in the flapping of ladies’ dresses and of blankets laid over the ground. “We’re nearly there,” I say to Jax. “Are you ready?”
“Yeah, let’s go.”
Together, we turn our faces into the rushing air. All at once, the sun-drenched hillside burns away, and we are in a stone plaza much like the Forum of Tenth City. There are differences enough in the shape and arrangement of this place, however, to be certain we are somewhere else. Also, the time of day has changed. The sun, just risen when we departed, now waits somewhere below the horizon. Only a few minutes have passed, if that. It is simply that we are now considerably farther to the west than we were before, and the sun here occupies a different place in the sky.
The air is chilly, but within seconds a warm breeze begins to blow as the power Jax and I have brought with us brings this new city to life. On every side, strange sounds screech and clatter, each a sign for some different magic taking shape. The city’s great guns groan and pivot into alignment. Far away on the horizon, Lunar Veil shimmers like an expanse of deep water.
Jax’s eyes are on Lunar Veil as well. “Do you think they’ll be all right?”
I do not know what to tell him. I dearly hope they will, but we are in a war, and in war, anything can ha
ppen.
FIFTY-THREE
KIZABEL
Under zealous cross-examination, I would probably be forced to admit I’m the teensiest bit disappointed no one at Gun Red Fifteen seems to know who I am. After all, we’re currently battling a terrifying alien threat on a flying island I designed, not to mention the leading role I played in putting the whole extravagantly-baroque-jigsaw-puzzle-of-a-thing together. Anyone who wanted to add a little poesy to the overall affair might have titled me the grand impresario of IMEC-1, though, of course, no one did. I realize the present situation offers a profusion of other more pertinent subjects for contemplation, including but not limited to moral and philosophical examinations of my relatively short life to this point and any number of ontological speculations. My comrades out there in the melee are probably far more concerned with simple, cerebello-medullary subthoughts, procedural memory and fight-or-flight stuff, but working heavy artillery lends itself more to introspection in a cerebral, prefrontal sense, and right now, I’m thinking I’d like it noted somewhere that I really did help build this thing.
As far as anyone on Red Fifteen knows, I’m just another gun monkey who, due to my singular lack of combat skills, is useful in battle only as power for the heavy artillery. The lack-of-combat-skills part is perfectly true, but I was invited up to Command to advise in case my expert knowledge of our Ingenically Mobilized Expeditionary City was required. The trouble with the invitation was that it came from Vinneas, who understands IMEC-1 just as well as I do and who also happens to be a strategic and tactical wunderkind, something I most certainly am not,1 all of which made the invitation feel more patronizing than anything else. At least on GR-15, I’m doing something useful, videlicet blasting Romeo into a million microscopic smithereens. The Legion’s heavy artillery is all palaketic,2 meaning it has to be crewed by revenni like myself. Every time our gun fires, a little bit of that power comes from me.
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