‘My what?’
‘Say, a description of castrating a man.’
‘No different from cutting off that ginger mane of yours,’ he hissed. ‘Now, Jack Tatum …’
She nodded politely at him.
‘“The Minotaur”.’
‘The who?’
‘It’s what he calls himself,’ said Lira. ‘And the name seems to have stuck. He’s a remarkable contradiction.’
‘How so?’
‘On one hand, he loathes himself. He’s a hopeless drug addict, high or intoxicated most of the time. Yet there is incredible strength in him. He is strangely approachable for a Ceti Lieutenant. He can talk to anyone; he looks everyone in the eye, from commanders to mutants. And he handles himself rather well in a fight, which is odd. Plus, he seems to have a knack for learning the truth about people.’
‘I’ve noticed.’
‘The bounty sums for him are as high as they are for you. Rumour is the Navy is bidding the price up.’
‘So more people with guns are coming to Brotherhood.’
‘No more than usual. But that isn’t should concern you.’
‘Then what is?’
‘The fact he is well liked by everyone. People respond to him during crises – there is a reassuring authority to him. He leads when others freeze or panic. His clarity under duress makes me wonder if he possesses the Gift. The Minotaur persona is making waves in the culture here, starting a legend. Perhaps one greater than yours.’
‘Are you provoking me?’
Lira smiled as he rose abruptly.
‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m just stating that it’s unclear to me whether or not he’s favourable to your interests. For all his flaws, there is much about him that reminds me of you.’
Vladric began making his way to the door, pausing at the entrance. She remained seated.
‘Well done, Lira,’ he said.
‘Enjoy your war, Vladric,’ she said.
The main hangar at Helodon was always closed to civilians, but today it was closed even to the personnel that managed it. Evidence of the fleet’s imminent departure was scattered across the expansive deck: crates of supplies, ammunition, and fuel tanks standing beside dozens of mech loaders lining the boarding areas where Ceti corvettes once sat.
Only one remained, suspended from the last mooring in the hangar. It was a hybrid design; the boxy, functional Jackal hull designed by the privateer-operated Lantrek Yards; Ceti-manufactured Sunburst vectored pulse thrusters; and two pairs of salvaged Navy MK-221 rail guns. A patchwork of chequered black and yellow paint with the Ceti seal was emblazoned on the aft sensor dome; the designation CW-266 was stencilled on the hull. Rows of fangs had been painted on the bow, and beneath them was a series of skull and crossbones, one for each registered kill. Some had been placed over an Orionis Navy logo.
Her name was the Griefmaker, owned by the late Atticus Lazrel, and she was to be Vladric’s flagship for the invasion.
‘She’s no Aria Black,’ Dr Tallendin said, as the two men walked beneath the huge vessel, gazing up at her ventral hull. ‘But she’ll do.’
The doctor was exhausted. A full beard sprouted from his face and chin; he seemed to have aged decades in the last few months.
‘What you’ve accomplished here is astounding,’ Vladric commended him. ‘I won’t forget this.’
Dr Tallendin kept speaking as though he hadn’t heard.
‘I thought to have it painted over so as not to draw enemy fire,’ he said, ‘then I remembered that we ought to have done the same for every other ship.’
‘Paint won’t make a difference,’ Vladric said. ‘The shielding is what counts.’
‘If I had just four more weeks, I could probably finish the rest,’ Dr Tallendin said. ‘We’ve automated the most tedious steps of the installation.’
‘You know we don’t have time.’
‘I was hoping that had changed.’
Vladric kept walking as he spoke, admiring the Griefmaker. She was ninety metres long from bow to stern.
‘The longer we wait,’ he said, ‘the more people will suffer.’
Dr Tallendin stopped.
‘Is that really true, though?’ he called out. ‘Inevitable suffering and oppression?’
Vladric turned around.
‘Look at everything you’ve built,’ Dr Tallendin continued, his hands clasped together. ‘Must we risk it all now?’
‘Complacency is the temptation of success,’ Vladric said, his voice low, but gentle. ‘A generation ago, many died to make all this possible. I won’t waste their efforts.’
‘No, of course not,’ Dr Tallendin said. ‘I just wish we could delay a bit more, is all. To protect more of our lads we’re putting in harm’s way.’
‘There’s never enough time to prepare.’ Vladric said. ‘But the sooner we go, the better our chances.’
‘I understand that.’ Dr Tallendin was looking nervously at his shoes. ‘I mean, I’m no soldier, but …’
He took a deep breath.
‘They all know,’ he said, wiping his brow. ‘The fleet captains. They know what I’ve done to their ships … which ones are protected, which ones aren’t.’
‘Of course they do,’ Vladric shrugged.
‘There is talk of desertion,’ Dr Tallendin added. ‘Mutiny, or worse.’
Vladric crossed his arms.
‘The officers are managing their concerns fairly well,’ he said. ‘Once the crews learn our plan, they’ll realise our odds are much better than they think. The reason for secrecy ought to be obvious by now. They also know any deserters will only live with their mistake for a short while. No Ceti station will allow them to land or refuel. And that will be the least of their concerns once the Archangel is ours.’
‘It might help if they all knew sooner,’ Dr Tallendin said. ‘To inspire them.’
Vladric grasped the frail man by his shoulders.
‘Ilya, we’ve known each other a long time,’ he said. ‘I have taken every precaution to protect you and your loved ones – not because I have any doubt of the outcome, but to ease your concerns. Now, tell me the truth: have I ever given you any reason not to trust me?’
Dr Tallendin flushed red.
‘Of course not.’
‘Then trust me now,’ Vladric insisted, releasing his grip. ‘This assault is going to correct some of the mistakes I’ve made. Not all of them. But most. Things will be different when this is done.’
‘Mistakes?’
Vladric threw his hands up, then began pacing.
‘Ceti isn’t what I hoped it would become,’ he admitted. ‘I’ve done terrible things. And I’ve enabled others to follow my example, all in the name of “freedom”.’
The doctor’s face betrayed complete surprise.
‘Freedom is bloody,’ Vladric continued, resuming his inspection of the Griefmaker. ‘It needs weapons, incentives, and cold men who will do cruel things to protect it.’
He stopped.
‘I used to love the idea of the Archangel,’ he said. ‘I was inspired by its purpose. The original one.’
‘Then how will attacking it amend for mistakes?’ Dr Tallendin asked.
‘Because Ceti is on the same corrupted path,’ Vladric said. ‘It was a noble idea that’s morphed into something else. I have to regain our purpose. If we take that ship … when we take it … We’ll make sure it does what it’s supposed to: find a world that we can all call home. Not just the ones who call themselves firstborns.’
Dr Tallendin nodded wearily.
‘That will always be a worthy cause, sir.’
Vladric checked his corelink. The fleet was amassing at Brotherhood. It was almost time.
‘Ilya, thank you for helping me,’ he said. ‘My biggest mistakes won’t be on the ships you’ve shielded.’
20
VESPA
She found herself on a ship with no name, surrounded by a faceless, angry crew.
They were in great danger, b
ut Vespa’s every attempt to help earned a shove aside and bitter excoriation. The harder she tried to be involved, the more the crew resented her. Ashamed, she finally gave up and retreated to a small corner, hoping to avoid any further disruption.
It was then, only when she was voiceless and invisible, that she noticed something ominous about the bulkheads: they were perspiring. A dark, heavy fluid had formed where they met with the ceiling.
As the viscous ooze grew larger, Vespa tried to warn a crewman of the danger. But she was scorned for her trouble, even as the seepage spread relentlessly, dripping from the ceilings and creeping up from beneath the floors. Another crewman stepped in a small puddle, then tracked the vile substance across the deck. She watched in horror as the spatters coalesced and raced after him. Terrified, she screamed at the officers on the bridge. But they kept conversing as though nothing was amiss, even as the dark shadow ran up their legs, torso, neck and head. When they were completely engulfed, their blackened forms liquefied and splashed onto the deck without a trace of human flesh.
Suddenly, the bulkheads separating her from the adjacent compartments melted away. The decks above collapsed in a gushing cascade of ebony. A sinister shape rose from the bridge: a demon of death and devastation. It glared at her, unwavering, as the ship disintegrated around them, then it vanished when the final bulkhead gave way. The vacuum hurled Vespa into space, flailing and desperate as the air was sucked from her lungs.
Vespa tumbled through the void, her last views alternating between the bubbling black mass that was once her ship, and the distinct contours of the Tabit Genesis some distance away, ablaze like a torch in the deep of night.
She had awakened short of breath, violently sick with fear. More than once, she needed to collect herself as she recounted the dream to ORPHUS.
‘And you cannot remember the name of the ship?’ the AI asked.
‘I told you, no,’ Vespa answered.
‘Then I am confident this was no vision,’ ORPHUS said, in his synthetic yet calming voice. ‘This dream emerged from challenges in your life. The constructs you encountered are consistent with recurring personal themes.’
Vespa shuddered as she thought of the demon.
‘What about that … thing I saw?’ she asked.
‘An abstract representation of your distrust of people,’ ORPHUS said. ‘The darkness is your anxiety about the outcome of your decisions.’
‘Tabit,’ she whispered. ‘Why does it burn?’
‘That construct is unrelated to this dream, but a persistent concern,’ ORPHUS said. ‘It remains a plausible outcome. Would you like to review the sequence map again?’
The AI was referring to a visualisation of all the possible paths from her visions that could lead to the destruction of Tabit Genesis.
‘No, thank you,’ she said.
Arturus was visiting today, at last. Vespa had not shared his presence in three decades. The prospect stirred unwelcome feelings.
Above all, she wondered if he was terrorised by these nightmares as well.
For the historical implications alone, the arrival of House Alyxander ships to Inner Rim space would have been sensationalised by the Orionis media. But the spectacle was drawing huge audiences due to the sheer enigma of the Houses. To the firstborn population of Tabit Prime, House Alyxander was akin to an alien civilisation. They gathered around news feeds in homes, schools, and offices to gawk at the peculiar U-shaped corvettes and disc-shaped freighters gathered between the orbits of Amnisos and Eileithyia.
The visitation agreement between the two governments prohibited the convoy from approaching the Tabit Genesis directly. So House Alyxander entertained its viewing audience by delivering a spectacular lightshow; huge arcs of electrostatic energy danced between enormous volumetric adverts for the merchandise on sale.
Several of the barges were so large that they held biodomes, and they offered a variety of services for every age, habit, and interest. One allowed children to pilot real combat mechs in mock battles. Another showcased live animals reconstituted from the Earth gene pool, trained to walk with custom magnetic fittings. And then there were the ‘x-barges’, promising tailor-made fantasies in which customers were analysed to determine the ideal combination of stimuli to invoke the most unforgettable experience.
The House offered it all completely free of charge, a ploy ostensibly designed to lure business from Orionis corporations already furious over their presence in the Inner Rim. Navy frigates kept sentry alongside the streams of spacecraft bringing eager tourists to the show while corporation warships lurked nearby, with Vulcan Industries having the most visible presence of all.
Chancellor Vespa Jade kept a proud, confident appearance while waiting for the House delegation to arrive. Accompanying her in the main hangar of the Tabit Genesis were four senators from the Orionis parliament: Senators Brandon Tice and Landon Hsu from her own Genesis party, and Senators Stefan Martin and Helena Kjanik from the main opposition Freetracks Guild. Whatever Cerlis Tarkon was doing to protest, Vespa was determined to show her brother a unified front in here.
Her pulse quickened as the House shuttle rose on the transfer elevator. A company of Navy soldiers dressed in parade uniforms lined the path between them and the boarding ramp, while the Orionis government flag hung prominently from an overhead cargo gantry.
‘All this pomp and circumstance,’ Senator Tice pouted, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. ‘Isn’t it a bit excessive?’
‘I’d have sent a customs drone,’ Senator Hsu muttered.
Vespa made an effort to smile a bit more broadly.
‘I’m sure you understand the necessity of diplomatic honours,’ she said.
‘Not when it means a hero’s welcome for someone who isn’t here,’ Senator Kjanik hissed.
Vespa nearly rolled her eyes. No House had ever before sent a diplomatic delegation to Orionis. Lance Alyxander was the first to send so much as an envoy – who in this case happened to be her brother Arturus.
‘Hard to trust a man who sends someone else to conduct his affairs,’ Senator Tice said.
‘Is he even a man?’ Senator Martin quipped. ‘I heard he was androgynous.’
‘No, a hermaphrodite,’ Senator Tice scoffed. ‘And he fucked himself by not coming here.’
‘Did Cerlis Tarkon tell you that?’ Senator Hsu sallied.
‘If anyone knows what’s beneath his trousers …’ Senator Martin began.
‘Anyone’s trousers,’ Senator Kjanik corrected.
‘Do you speak from experience?’ Senator Tice smirked.
Vespa had heard enough.
‘Did you two always act like menstruating cunts in the Navy?’
‘Excuse me?’ Senator Kjanik demanded.
Vespa smiled at them.
‘It would explain why we lost the war,’ she said, just as the shuttle ramp door lowered.
The first to emerge were House guards; each was seven feet tall and completely covered in gold armour, including a full face mask. They were as beautiful as they were intimidating; a grotesque human face, locked in perpetual suffering, was carved upon the shoulder plates. House Alyxander called this icon Angustia, a representation of suffering as the inevitable condition of the human species. There were eight of them in all, women and men alike, each with gender-tailored armour to match. Per Orionis regulations, they appeared to be unarmed.
Then Arturus stepped out.
Dressed in resplendent, lavish robes lined with precious stones, he strode down the aisle with ramrod-straight posture, one hand upon a strange sceptre shaped like a human figurine. He was unashamedly and openly augmented; silver circuitry extended from his tear ducts across his cheekbones and down the sides of his neck. He appeared much younger than his twin sister; his pale skin contrasted sharply with rouge lips and violet eyes that were clearly not his own.
His every step was a measured display of regal authority, and Vespa knew it was all an act. Arturus halted an arm’s length away from
the Senators, glaring down his nose at them.
Everyone was uncomfortable. Vespa cleared her throat.
‘On behalf of Orionis, it’s my sincere pleasure to welcome you—’
‘In our culture, it is custom for a new host to kiss the Lady,’ Arturus interrupted, holding his glare on the Senators. ‘Who shall oblige?’
Vespa caught the Senators exchanging confused glances at each other. She took a step forward, but Arturus recoiled in disgust.
‘Not you!’ he hissed, looking directly at Senator Tice. ‘You. Come here.’
The blood drained from the elder statesman’s face.
‘Don’t keep her waiting,’ Arturus scolded, narrowing his eyes at him. Senator Tice advanced two steps, then froze in place.
‘Now, if you please,’ the envoy insisted. ‘Kiss the Lady.’
Senator Tice glowered at Vespa.
‘Not her!’ Arturus said, again with disgust. ‘Her.’
He nodded towards his sceptre, which was in fact shaped roughly like a lady. Arturus was holding it in one hand, directly in front of him, resting the top well below his navel.
Senator Tice’s eyes widened as he looked down.
The stern demeanour of Arturus imploded in a fit of maniacal laughter.
‘Priceless,’ he wheezed, slapping Senator Tice on the back like an old friend. ‘Go on, check your corelinks, I just sent you something. All of you, hurry!’
Vespa, completely embarrassed, complied and found a new message; it contained an image of Senator Tice staring incredulously at Arturus’s crotch. He was playing a game, an egregious dance intended to provoke them.
‘Ambassador Jade,’ she said, her voice cool. ‘A pleasure to welcome you.’
Arturus performed a mock bow.
‘Chancellor, the pleasure is all mine,’ he gushed. ‘We’re delighted with your hospitality. The station looks fabulous from eighty thousand kilometres away. And all these guns pointed at us! It’s enough to get a man excited!’
The Tabit Genesis Page 21