by Richard Fox
“The King and the family are involved in matters of state,” Royce snapped. “That you’ll be under Marshal guard the entire trip to Geneva is enough of a guarantee for me and the King. You’re no longer worth the family’s time.”
“As he wills.” Thorvald’s head dipped a bit lower.
“These tunnels aren’t in my protocols,” Salis said. “The risk of an infiltration is too high for this to be off my gestalt.”
“Access is restricted to robots and a few others. Gene scanners throughout,” Royce said, motioning to a featureless plate on a wall tucked against the ceiling. “You’ll have it all once the King accepts your service. You still need to memorize the layout.”
“I have been,” Salis said.
A slight smile tugged at Thorvald’s lips. He was starting to like her.
The puddles on the floor rippled in tune with a slight rumble. Royce held up a fist and the other Genevans halted.
“Earthquake?” Salis asked.
Deep booms echoed through the tunnel and the floor heaved up, slamming Thorvald against the wall.
“We’re under attack.” Royce gave Thorvald a look of disgust as his armor slid a helm up his neck and over his face.
“I don’t know anything about this!” Thorvald used his shoulder to wipe blood away from a gash on his cheek.
“To the King!” Royce took off down the tunnel, Salis close behind.
Thorvald hurried after them, his gait hampered by the restraints on his ankles. A crack split the ceiling as another hit shook the castle. A fog of dust billowed out from the connecting tunnel just as the two guards rounded the corner.
He found Salis and Royce digging through a partially collapsed stairwell. Thorvald dodged a rock the size of his head and hurried to their side.
“Let me help!” Thorvald shook his arms against the restraints.
Salis gave him a quick look, then used her armor to haul a boulder that must have weighed half a ton off the stairwell.
“Useless without armor.” She stepped aside as Royce broke a rock in two with a knife-hand strike and let the hunks tumble past her.
“There…we can climb out.” Royce looked up as rays of light played through thick dust and reflected off his armor. A distant strike sent pebbles cascading down the stairwell.
“Him?” Salis asked. “He’ll die down here.”
“For the King until my last dying breath,” Thorvald said. “You know I’m still loyal!”
Royce touched his forearm and Thorvald’s restraints fell to the ground.
“Then I expect you find your breath up there and die with honor.” Royce bent at the knees and waist, then leaped up. Salis climbed after him.
Thorvald grabbed a handhold and hauled himself up, testing each new grip and foothold as he went higher. A doorway beckoned above, where Royce was braced against the rocks. The Captain beat at the door with his foot, kicking out an exit.
Thorvald fought back a cough as loose dust fell around him and ignored the jagged rocks biting into his skin and ripping his jumpsuit. He wiggled through a gap just as the Captain climbed through his ersatz exit.
The sounds of blaster fire and panicked shouts came from beyond the door.
Thorvald’s pants caught on a rock before he could get his legs through the gap. He kicked at it and accomplished nothing.
“Help me,” he said, holding a hand out to Salis. She followed Royce without even a look at Thorvald. He grunted, ripped his pants leg free, and crawled to the opening.
What should have been the castle’s outer wall was a wreck of blasted masonry spreading into a haze of dust. He looked up at the blinking lights on the underside of the massive domed ship hovering over the castle. Dueling fighters and energy bolts cut through the air above as smoke mixed with the haze of pulverized stone.
Royce and Salis knelt next to a still-standing segment of the outer wall. The Captain touched his fingers to one ear, his head shaking. A fighter shaped like a spear tip roared overhead and sent a blast into the top of the air defense tower, which exploded into flames, blowing armor plating and bricks into the air.
Thorvald jumped aside as a flaming hunk of twisted metal slammed into one of the gigantic marble bricks. Shards of rock pelted his body, sending a flare of pain over his right arm and his face. He struggled to his knees and pulled a flake the size of a coin out of his flesh just above his elbow.
The hard rain lessened. Thorvald looked up and saw a flaming bit of debris falling toward Royce and Salis.
Thorvald shouted a warning.
The mangled remains of the tower’s main gun hit a dozen yards from the two Genevans and bounced straight toward Salis. Royce shoved her aside just as the debris took a wild bounce off the ground. It struck Royce in the face and sent him flying.
The Captain rolled like a rag doll over the field of broken bricks before coming to a stop, his back bent over a sharp angle.
“Royce!” Thorvald ran to his still form. The armor was intact…but the Captain’s neck was bent at a horrid angle. Thorvald reached for his old friend but didn’t touch him. There was nothing he could do.
The Captain was dead.
Salis ran over. The armor pulled away from her face and she looked over the dead man, her lips moving in shock.
Blue laser bolts shot overhead. Shouts in an unknown language echoed off the broken walls.
Thorvald pressed his hands together and touched his fingertips to the bridge of his nose in prayer.
“Be at peace…and forgive me,” Thorvald said as he pressed his hand to Royce’s chest.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Salis drew her pistol and knelt behind a broken brick the size of a small ground car.
“The gestalt is still alive. I’m taking his armor.” A chill went up Thorvald’s arm as the armor’s spirit felt the connection to another Genevan.
“Are you insane?” Salis asked. “It takes weeks for a gestalt to recover from the trauma of a separation. If you take up his mantle now, it’ll drive you and the gestalt insane.”
“Do you know how to find the King? Any of the royal family?” Thorvald winced as the thin armor plates flowed off Royce’s chest and up his arm.
Salis peeked over her cover and then looked around. Her silence was all the answer Thorvald needed.
+Traitor!+ thundered in Thorvald’s ears and the armor pulled back.
“We are sworn to the King.” Thorvald pressed his other hand to Royce’s faceplate. “You cannot save them if you stay with Royce. I feel your grief, your pain, but your duty does not end with his death!”
Thorvald pulled up a memory from the day Prince Aidan was born, remembering the feeling of holding the baby and repeating his sworn oath to the tiny boy. The emotions of that moment flowed into Royce’s gestalt.
+I hate you.+ The gestalt swept over Thorvald’s arms, shredding his uniform and covering his body. The armor sent a spike of pain through his neuro-wires. Thorvald gripped his head and fell to his knees, screaming as he tried to pry the armor away. One hand went to the ground as he fought to control his breathing.
Blue energy bolts snapped overhead. Two more struck Salis’ cover, blowing fist-sized holes into the rock.
“Nobis regiray!” came from the haze. Three Daegon warriors in deep-blue armor, each carrying a rifle tipped with a serrated bayonet, charged at Salis.
She leveled her pistol and fired a three-round burst into the leading Daegon’s chest. An energy shield flared against the first two hits and failed with a loud pop as the third bolt broke through. It struck his collarbone and twisted the warrior halfway around.
One of his companions jumped onto the broken block and lunged at her with his bayonet. Salis grabbed the weapon by the barrel and swung it and the warrior into the ground. She raised a foot and slammed her heel into the warrior’s head, caving in the helmet. She backed up, putting distance between her and Thorvald, who’d remained out of view behind the brick. She took another shot at the warrior with no shield and hit the thi
rd when he jumped in front of his companion.
The warrior aimed at her and fired, hitting the ground as she sidestepped far faster than an unarmored fighter could have ever moved. The Daegon thrust his bayonet at her, glancing a blow off her shoulder. He twisted the blade to the side and ripped it across her chest. The blade drew sparks as it passed but didn’t break the armor.
Salis struck the warrior with a cross to the jaw and then slammed an open hand against his face. Her gauntlets squeezed, breaking cracks across his visor and eliciting a weak scream. Salis jabbed the muzzle of her pistol through his shield and shot him in the throat. The bolt exploded out of his spine and she tossed him aside.
Thorvald tried to rise, but his new armor clung to him like a blanket soaked in lead.
A bolt flashed over his head and struck Salis in the knee. Her shield took the brunt of the hit, but the impact knocked her to the ground.
The last warrior walked past Thorvald, his rifle at his shoulder, and aimed at Salis’ head.
“If we don’t move, we’re going to fail!” Thorvald pulsed the words from his mind to the gestalt…and his armor loosened. He tackled the warrior just before he fired, sending the bolt straight into the air.
Thorvald punched straight at the Daegon’s faceplate, but the warrior caught the punch with an open hand. Thorvald tried to focus more strength into the blow, but the Daegon’s hold stayed true. The warrior brought his other fist back and spikes popped up from the knuckles. The spikes glowed red hot and the warrior drove his fist into Thorvald’s stomach.
Feeling like he’d been stabbed, Thorvald fell on top of the warrior, pinning his spiked fist between their bodies. Thorvald’s hand closed over a rock. He reared back and slammed it into the warrior’s head. The warrior released Thorvald’s other hand and the Genevan gripped his weapon with both hands and slammed it into the warrior’s face. Blood spurt onto Thorvald’s helmet. The Daegon flailed against Thorvald as the Genevan rammed the rock home again.
Thorvald’s enemy went slack. His faceplate broke apart and sloughed to the side. Beneath the broken glass was a human face…one with deep purple skin. Metal wires embedded in his temple ran down his jaw and neck. The Genevan Houses took great pride in knowing every potential culture across settled space to better understand potential threats, but this Daegon was unlike anything he’d ever seen.
Warmth ran over Thorvald’s body as the gestalt and his nervous system blended together. After decades of use, some gestalts developed distinct personalities. This one, Thorvald realized, enjoyed killing.
“Are you OK?” Salis asked.
“It’s still…fighting me…but…” Thorvald fought to his feet, then looked down at his gauntlets and worked his hands open and closed. Data flowed through his faceplate.
“The King is alive. He’s with the rest of the company at Angelo Tower. Queen Calista and Aidan are with him.” Thorvald looked down at Royce, the dead man’s half-open gaze staring at Thorvald.
He reached to him and closed his eyes.
“To my last dying breath,” Thorvald said and then ran off into the smoke and fire.
Chapter 12
Keeping her back to a wall, Salis slid toward a corner, holding her pistol perpendicular to the wall and sweeping the muzzle around the turn. The cameras in the weapon sent video to her armor.
“Clear.” She cut the corner, weapon still leveled and ready. Thorvald, holding a broken metal rod as a weapon, followed.
Dead Albion and Daegon soldiers littered the hallway, most of the former still in their parade uniforms. A broken glass from the ceiling littered the floor. Blast scoring on the walls and floors smoldered, igniting into small fires on the bloodstained carpet and large paintings of Albion royalty and other notables.
A thrum filled the air and Salis went flush with the wall as one hand went over Thorvald’s chest. Overhead, a Daegon lander floated by.
Thorvald slapped her hand away.
“You think I need your protection?” he asked.
“I think you need a weapon and you’re something of a liability until that happens.” Salis moved a blaster carbine away from a dead soldier with her foot, then kicked it to Thorvald.
He scooped up the weapon and shook his head.
“Capacitor’s fried.” Flipping the weapon around, he held it like a club, set the curtain rod down gently, and pulled another carbine out from under a body. Half the weapon crumbled to the ground.
“That one’s smashed…overloaded…what happened here?” Salis asked.
“These Daegon are thorough. Every one of our dead have been stabbed through the heart, every weapon rendered useless…”
“Who are they? Some new pirate kingdom from wild space?” Salis saw a dead Albion soldier gripping a Daegon rifle. Stepping over a dead blue-armored warrior, she reached for the weapon.
“No!”
Salis pulled her hand back, then glared at Thorvald.
“Look at his hands and neck,” Thorvald said.
Lightning bolts of scorched flesh ran up the corpse’s exposed skin, unique injuries compared to the smoldering blast wounds and torn flesh of the other Albion dead.
“These Daegon booby-trap their weapons,” Salis said, “and destroy ours.”
“Pirates pillage, attack for slaves. They’re here to conquer. There’s no one like them in wild space.” Thorvald flicked a lever on the damaged weapon in his hand and removed the damaged upper section. He tossed it aside and found another rifle with an intact receiver but a mangled magazine and handle. He pulled that weapon apart and cobbled together a banged-up whole weapon. He slapped in a magazine and the weapon cycled a bullet into the chamber.
A ray of light swept through the broken roof and moved across the floor. The Genevans jumped aside and went flush against the wall. The hum of repulse engines grew in the air as the Daegon lander descended.
Thorvald watched the pool of light as it lingered over Albion bodies…then shrank down to nothing. The whine of engines died away as the lander ascended.
“We’re close to the main—”
As the bang of a rocket launcher crashed through the walls, the flash of an explosion burst through the broken roof and the Daegon lander’s engines changed pitch. A silhouette crossed over the broken glass and a hulking form came down in a shower of clear shards.
A Daegon warrior landed in a crouch. His armor was black lacquer, and even in a crouch, he was almost as tall as the other warriors Thorvald had fought. The Daegon held a hammer in one hand, the head of which snapped with raw electricity and whirring servos. The other hand carried a wide-barreled gun with a drum magazine. Additional plates of armor were bolted to his front.
Salis levelled her pistol and shot the Daegon in the temple. The bullet bounced off with a spark, barely nudging the helmet.
The enormous warrior snapped his head toward Salis, his faceplate molded into a screaming demon. Light burned in his eye sockets as he stood to his full height, towering over both Genevans.
The warrior swung his hammer at Salis, far faster than Thorvald thought something that size could move. She leapt aside and the hammer hit the wall with a thunderclap. Dust filled the air as the energy field surrounding the weapon discharged and blew out a section of the wall as if it had been hit by a wrecking ball.
Thorvald ran toward the opposite wall, jumped onto it, then sprang away and onto the giant warrior’s back. He wrapped an arm around the Daegon’s thick neck and jammed his heels against the warrior’s lower back. Thorvald switched his grip to latch on to the enormous helmet with both hands, then heaved upwards.
For all the strength his armor and his gestalt could lend, he managed to tilt the Daegon backwards, not rip the helmet clean away like he’d intended.
The warrior remained perfectly calm. He let his hammer slide down his grip several inches, then used the additional reach to strike at Thorvald. The Genevan let go and fell back, tendrils of electricity reaching from the hammer to his chest as the blow nearly hit its mark.
/>
Thorvald’s back slammed against the ground and the Daegon raised a foot to stamp the life out of the bodyguard. Thorvald rolled to the side, and the warrior’s heel cracked the floor right where Thorvald’s head had been a moment earlier. The Genevan bumped against the wall and found himself boxed in by the warrior.
Salis unloaded her pistol into the warrior’s back, with no effect.
The warrior reversed the grip on his hammer, then raised the weapon over his head.
The crack of a rocket launcher slapped Thorvald against the wall with a wave of overpressure and the hallway exploded into fire and shattered masonry. Thorvald found himself buried beneath bricks and the remnants of King Archibald II’s portrait. He dug himself out, thankful for his armor, which protected him from the explosion that would have killed anyone protected by anything less than Genevan craftsmanship.
The Daegon lay on his side, arm locked in mid-swing, a massive hole in his chest. Thorvald could see straight through the warrior from the entrance wound in his back. There was no blood, no viscera…nothing at all inside the armor.
“Royce?” a man asked. “No…who’s in his armor?”
A Genevan guard stood in the gap blown open by the Daegon’s hammer, a smoking rocket launcher on his shoulder. Albion soldiers clustered behind him, their uniforms torn and dirty.
“Thorvald. He fell, Lucan.” Thorvald stepped around the fallen Daegon. “I took up his gestalt to—”
“Fight now. Explain later.” Lucan took a battle rifle off his back and tossed it to Thorvald. “Enemy troops have the King pinned down near the St. Angelo redoubt. Come on.”
****
Tolan stumbled into the Intelligence Ministry control room as another explosion rocked the palace. Screens along the walls were alive with attacking fighters, explosions in orbit and panicked newscasters trying to make sense of the sudden onslaught.
A holo table in the center of the room, holding Albion and near space, roiled with red enemy icons that far outnumbered the green of the planet’s forces in orbit.