Athena paused and looked around her. It had been 18 months since she’d last entered Cloud base’s Convocation Hall. Huge portals looked out into the eerie blue clouds of Vespin.
Behind her, a tool mule carried the containment vessel for her prize. Before her, a small convocation of Muses were embedded upstanding in earth, surrounded by plant life. The whole space seemed like a cross between a cathedral and a botanical garden. Each Muse was around three metres tall and one metre wide, appearing polished and megalithic. Ten stood before her in a circle. One was the purest black, another so white it was almost blue. The rest were shaded in between and bearing distinct patterns within the pseudo-stone.
Vespin’s glow suffused each muse, practically gave them halos. Athena continued forward, the weight of the sacred pressing her down.
A deep masculine voice sang out. It did not seem to have a source. It came from all around at once. “Diana Fargo”, a pause like god himself taking a breath “Of the Psy-Guard”, that pause again “Known to many as Agent Athena”.
She’d almost forgotten how her real name sounded. No one had called her by it in a long time. In the back of her mind she wanted to cry. Not from sadness, but from the release. She could allow herself, here and now, to be who she truly was.
The Muses continued “You were sent out with a purpose”, the voice continued in tone and pace “Have you brought us what we asked for?”.
Athena’s voice almost broke “I have”.
The Muses spoke out as one again “You may remove the shackles”.
She walked back two steps to the tool mule. Her mind’s eye linked to the containment vessel. Her hand touched a blue hologram hovering over its surface, whilst she sent the shutdown order. The vessel’s sides flowed away like water, revealing a Muse in smaller form. Athena managed to prevent herself from jumping. The subject of her efforts had changed much since she had placed in confinement. Its colour had lightened from a deep black to a light grey and the machined patterns had taken a more naturalistic and curved forms.
The tool mule rotated to the vertical standing on just two of its legs, it’s feet thickened. It rolled forward, the molecules on its surface sliding like tracks. It moved to the centre of the circular convocation. A second source-less voice appeared, gentler, more feminine, “Thank you Diana Fargo. You were my only hope”. The tool mule deposited the recovered Muse into the earth. It remained standing as the mule backed away.
The first voice returned “You may leave us now”.
She bristled inside at the summary dismissal, but casually turned back to her transport capsule, refusing to look over her shoulder. Athena’s curiosity was peeked but her pride won’t let it show.
Throughout the Hall, all was silent, bar the leaves and fronds of the many plants rippling in an artificial breeze. In contrast to the quiet, Convocation was the centre of an electronic cacophony.
The recently returned Muse, Amniarix, felt almost like an emptied gourd as precious knowledge was syphoned out. For fifty-one Terran Standard years it had immersed itself in the nemesis of it’s kind. For an elder Muse, this was a tiny portion of runtime. The very eldest were over one thousand years old and had been present on the home world. Amniarix however, was just coming up on seventy years TS.
Amniarix had been sent out to learn of the world directly. The biologicals that Muses called allies were unaware of this undertaking. The Laurentian humans were beloved, almost like family. But they weren’t yet ready for every secret of Muses. The Vespin Convocation’s Primus, Tsun Tzu, pondered the nature of secret keeping, even as it melded with the others and absorbed Amniarix’s experiences.
Athena leaned back in her seat on the transport capsule. She had expected a sense of satisfaction, but all she felt was confusion. Her career had involved many retrieval missions. This had been the only time she had passed a retrieval prize to a Muse Convocation. Even as her brain contemplated the unusual behaviour a chime sounded in her mind’s eye. She was required at debriefing.
High up in the arches over the dock, Dekaneas Andreou found the polished marble architecture of Cloud base needlessly grandiose. Back home in the Empire, stations had a more industrial feel. Here, everything seemed like a room from some decadent tyrant’s summer palace.
He walked lightly behind his escort. Out of his battle suit, he movements regained an elegance somewhere between a ballet dancer and tiger. He envied the Laurentians their suits. Extruding molecules around themselves left their natural poise far more intact than actuators and ceramic plates.
After a few twists and turns, Andreou’s escort came to a halt. He pointed at a door “Major will see you now”. Andreou stepped from the wide passage into cubby hole office. He entered and saluted.
The figure in Paratrooper uniform sitting behind the desk stood up and returned the military courtesy. He was big, had a neatly trimmed beard and short dark hair. He stood tall and muscled, with no neck. His face looked like it hadn’t smiled in a decade. Built like a brick shithouse, thought Andreou to himself.
The Major spoke “So you’re the little Lakedaemon soldier who thinks he’s fit to fight my lads. No battle suits in my ring”.
Andreou unconsciously bristled, he was of normal height amongst his people, but fifteen centimetres shorter than Sharp. Like every NCO baited by an officer, he considered his response carefully “Sir, I’ll be gentle”.
The Major smiled despite himself “You’ll do”. The Major looked over the top of Andreou’s head. Andreou heard a swish of the door to the passage way opening. Sharp continued “Sergeant Augustine will look after you. Dismissed, Dekaneas”.
Andreou turned smartly and stepped out of the office into a man even bigger than Sharp. He didn’t miss that Sharp was one of the few Laurentians he’d met who knew Lakedaemon ranks. Andreou wondered if Sharp believed in subtle courtesy or knowing your enemy. Or both. Given the short meeting, Sharp had clearly wanted to size Andreou up for himself.
Sergeant Augustine towered over Andreou, with a beneficent smile of his face. “Ah! Dekaneas, it’s been a while since we’ve had new meat, now so many turn up at once. Welcome to Major Sharp’s Havoc” the tone of his mellow voice, matched the smile.
Andreou replied “Thank you, Sergeant”, whilst expecting a knife between his ribs. Augustine sounded a little too friendly.
Augustine “Come with me, we’ll get you and your boys enrolled”. He started off up the passage in a different direction than the one Andreou had originally been brought in to.
In his small office, Major Sharp had just begun to bring his attention back to weekly munition reports, when his mind’s eye chimed he had an unscheduled visitor. For an unwanted surprise visitor to make it past his trusted Aide, Lance Corporal Harris, seemed unlikely.
He popped the door with a thought. In the passageway just outside stood his old friend Gregory Jones, wearing his trademark shit eating grin. Sharp’s own fearsome visage cracked and formed a mirror image of his old friend’s smile. “Gregory Jones! You blind old bastard!”, he stood, slid round his desk and reached out to grab Jones in a bear hug “What brings you here? I’m fresh out of paint”.
Jones returned the hug “Last time I scratched any hull paint was rescuing your sorry arse, Airborne!”.
Sharp’s mind’s eye flicked up the time of day without him even knowing he wanted it to. “Officer’s mess opens in a few minutes and I’m sick of counting fucking bullets. Shall we sink a few for the old Eagle”.
Jones’ smile only grew bigger “As long as you promise I won’t have to call your Sergeant to carry you to your bunk. You never could keep up”.
Sharp clapped him on the back “I never make promises I can’t keep, old friend!”.
Sharp stabbed his finger at the secure button on his terminal. The display blanked, taking with it, pages and pages of reports all demanding his attention. The two friends left Major Sharp’s small office and set off in search of a stiff drink, which they soon found at the Officer’s club.
As was his way, alcohol
left Harrison Sharp far more emotive “You see any of the old Eagle’s crew?”.
Gregory Jones, who was didn’t want to join his old friend in alcohol induced depression, started with the good news “Well if you remember the Chief Engineer, Byron Saunders? He was made up to his century. I think he moved down to Savoie, him and his lady must be at the top of mummy-daddy list”.
Sharp had never been that close to Saunders “Hmmph! Hope he’s a gentler parent that he was a Chief Engineer. Can’t fix a shitty bum with a hammer”.
Jones continued on “You know the XO’s here. He’s tied up explaining just why he brought Dreadnought back into service and started an international incident”.
Sharp’s forehead creased, though his tone remained light “Ha! Magnus, that space pirate. No wonder Sky Keep was so proud of him. Birds of feather those two”.
Jones continued “Well exiling him to Tor Station clearly didn’t keep him out of trouble”.
Sharp’s tone turned serious and he looked straight in Jones’ eye “So who aren’t you telling me about?”.
Jones wasn’t quite ready for what was coming so played for time “Err. How long have you been posted here?”.
Sharp answered sounding suspicious “Since that last op on Eagle. My messages get censored both ways. Most of the High Guard don’t even know this place exists” he sounded disgusted “I’ve been told I won’t be posted anywhere else now. I’d embarrass too many of the current crop of Space Lords”.
Jones looked away ashamed “I’m sorry then. I know you were close to Commander Jellico. He took the blame for the Eagle incident. He was exiled, by order of King Valentine himself”.
Sharp looked up “And you all let him?”. Jones shook his head “No. Like you, we were sent off to new posts. I went with Magnus to serve on the frigate Foresight. I only found out about Jellico three years later”.
Sharp looked more tired than Jones had ever seen before “So Jellico has been down on Albion for twenty years”. He sighed heavily “I always wondered” he paused again “About all of us I mean”.
Jones looked him over “This is all too melancholy for me. Time to sleep, you look like you can walk yourself to your quarters. Goodnight, my friend”. Jones stood, patted a thoughtful Sharp on the shoulder and walked out of the Officer’s mess in the direction of his courtesy cabin.
Sharp watched him leave, finished the last sip of his brandy, then made his own way back to his cabin.
He’d liked Gordon Jellico. He was alive because of Jellico. Now Jellico, as natural an Astronaut as anyone he knew, was at best grubbing out a stone age existence on the worst continent of the Kingdom’s dumping planet.
He didn’t even realise his fist had pounded the bulkhead until the medical warnings flashed up in his mind’s eye.
Sharp was no naïve young Rupert. Life in the service could be damned unfair. His own long and dull service on Vespin with the 95th had numbed his emotions. For the first time in a long time, Sharp felt angry and the only target he had was the Kingdom he loved.
Chapter 21
Clone Prince Ptolemy Alexander strode down the boarding ramp of his personal shuttle and onto the hangar deck of Naval Station Archimedes. His armour boots made the metal surface ring out with each step. His battle suit shone like the sun. He had his visor retracted, so all his loyal subjects could rejoice in his regal presence. His squad of Hippei followed behind in perfect lock step. Ptolemy felt glorious, despite despondency in the back of his mind.
The flight from the Socotra system had passed in a blur. Since his visit to the ex-Palantine, his memory seemed full of holes. But every time his thoughts strayed to what had happened there, his eyes seemed to burn for an instant. His mind would think of nothing except successful alliance with the Blight.
Before Ptolemy, the senior officers of Naval Station Archimedes stood in perfect rows, to salute his greatness. He had no time for melancholy thoughts. He acknowledged the assembled figures in return, then removed his armoured gloves.
His trusted old friend Antinavarchos Tito Hierax stood first in line to greet Prince Ptolemy. Hierax commanded a significant concentration of Lakedaemon naval power. Yponavarchos Aster of the Battlegroup Apollonius stood next along in the greeting line with his flag ship’s commander Ploiarchos Eurylochos.
Ptolemy clasped hands with each of the assembled worthies as he went down the line. Such informality was uncharacteristic and against protocol, but few would challenge a Clone Prince of the Lakedaemon Empire. The last person he was greeted was the only one who might have stopped him, Proconsul Kreon of the Imperial Inquisition. He was a powerful psy-talent in his own right, but Kreon didn’t have any reason to suspect wrongdoing today and it was a rare Lakedaemian who would question the Imperial Family.
Ptolemy strode confidently up to the dais to give his speech. He felt his eyes burn once more, as his treacherous mind had briefly allowed great sorrow to again fill his soul.
“Friends, Imperial subjects, I bring you wondrous news”, he paused to provide rhetorical flourish, “We, the principality of Syracuse are to lead the restoration of our Great Empire to its rightful place”. The small crowd was silent, hanging on his words. As well they ought, Ptolemy reflected. “We Lakedaemians have long been held back from our true perfectionist potential by dark Laurentian competitors”.
He felt so much pride he thought his heart might split, though he never remembered being quite so emotive during public oration. His mind was not his own. As soon as this ran through his head, he forgot and drew back to the crowd “I come here today to share with you our Imperial Orders”. Subtle cheering broke out from the back. His loyal Hippei helping him work the crowd. “We are to take Battlegroup Apollonius and voyage forth to the outer limits of the Laurentia Star Kingdom. As we fly, we shall be joined by more ships and soldiers, sent by my brothers, Prince Keteus of Antioch and Prince Nicomachus of Myonia”. He fought down a nervous laugh.
“Together, our combined forces shall conquer the lost world of Atlantis. There lies a fleet capable of meeting the Laurentian enemy in open battle and defeating them”.
He felt a rapture like no other sweep through him, but the room didn’t erupt into the cheers he expected. All around him, the great and the good of his principality lay on the deck, writhing, clasping their heads, necks and bodies. Infection burned brightly through their cells. Like their Prince, they were now slaves to their most ruthless enemy.
Inside the local defences of Naval Station Archimedes, the ex-Palantine skimmed through space unnoticed. Her thermal signature damped by her heat sinks, her hull skin tuned to dissipate beams from Radar and Lidar. She was a black hole in space. Onboard, the Blight strain gestalt cogitated on the nature of success.
It had no intention of infecting all the hated humans of Naval Station Archimedes and Battlegroup Apollonius. Instead it would turn more key individuals. First it had taken over their Prince thanks to his ruthless ambition outweighing his judgement. Now the gestalt would take their military as it’s puppets.
The gestalt watched with great satisfaction as the newest wave of servants left the ceremony, having recovered from the infection seizures. They went back to their lives commanding stations, ships and soldiers. They then shared their infection by guile, stealth and Blight motivated ruthlessness.
The ex-Palantine would have to remain nearby to control all its new limbs for now. None had the capacity to think for itself for very long.
There would be no tell-tale overheating signatures to give the newly infected Blight ships away. Battlegroup Apollonius would behave like the perfect sword, loyal and dangerous. But really it was a shade that ex-Palantine could hide in the shadow of. Machines couldn’t feel satisfaction like a biological. But if they could, the gestalt would feel it now.
In a small office, buried deep in the system of contra-rotating wheels of Naval Station Archimedes, Inquisitor Dardanus watched the Clone Prince’s arrival. He had no portal to the outside world beyond his smart-com. The handheld devi
ce currently sat in his Office terminal’s universal port granting him access to the Naval Station’s security net.
Dardanus was watching for attempts to disrupt the Imperial ceremony by dissidents, traitors or incompetents. He’d found none, right up until his secure link to the hangar deck had dropped out, cutting his video and audio feeds. Some data continued to flow, implying Imperial privacy overrides had been activated. He felt unhappy with this explanation until the feeds resumed at the end of the ceremony, showing all participants walking, talking and leaving to go about their duties.
Rather than worry further about today’s minor interruption of the Empire’s bread and circuses, Dardanus reached the point where sleep’s call could not be ignored. It had been a long day. The Prince’s arrival was not nearly mystery enough for him to work through the night. None of his superiors cared enough to direct him to do so. A bland notification popped up in his screen, but from the sender’s identity Dardanus decided it would be worth a late night.
Dardanus found himself stuck in the Station transport capillary, trying to cross from wheel 1 to wheel 3. He toyed with loading his Inquisitorial override into his travel pod, but it would attract unwanted scrutiny. On the other hand, Tagmatarchis Alexi Halkyone had supplied the Inquisition with invaluable information at considerable risk. He’d owed her better than to be late.
He tapped a few commands into his smart-com. The pod dropped out of the queue and into the expressway. Other pods had been rerouted to allow his priority entry into the traffic flow. His pod made the short hop across the gap between station wheels and headed directly for his final destination. As he did so he gained a perfect view of the Station’s military dock. A flurry of lights and motion surrounded every ship, from the smallest frigate to the battleship Apollonius herself.
The social club Halkyone arranged to meet him in was popular with dating couples. Privacy was easily assured. In part by the club’s ethos and also because of the counter e-surveillance pack she’d set up. Dardanus wondered what Halkyone wanted to see him about.
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