by Richard Fox
Jeneck swung the pistol toward Gage and caught a spinning tea saucer between the eyes. She flailed back and bounced off a portrait of the Thames, first flagship of the Albion navy. The painting crashed to the ground.
She cleared her vision with a shake of her head and saw a blur of a charging body. She fired out of reflex, hitting the assailant in the chest and stomach. The bullets didn’t send the man to the ground; instead, he kept right on coming and plowed into her. She went down under the dead weight and found herself staring into the already dead face of Captain Ulrich. Gage had used the body as a shield.
Kicking the pistol from her hand, Gage then sent a fist hammering toward her face, but Jeneck shoved Ulrich’s body up with more strength than should have been possible with her thin frame and Gage’s fist smacked against the back of Ulrich’s head. The commodore stumbled as the corpse collided against his chest.
Jeneck kicked up into a squat. She sprang up, flattened her hand into a spear tip, and stabbed at Gage’s neck. He deflected the strike, then rammed the palm of his hand against her chin.
Her head snapped back and she managed to twist aside just as Gage kicked at her stomach. The blow glanced off her hip, knocking one foot out from under her. She swung with the momentum of Gage’s blow and jumped up, spinning around and launching a roundhouse kick at the man’s head.
Gage ducked to the side, catching the edge of her foot against the top of his head. The force of the hit sent him face-first into the wall. She landed on both feet, then raised a foot to stomp Gage’s skull into paste.
He rolled back, blood streaming down his mouth and nose.
Jeneck grabbed Sartorius’ desk and lifted it onto her shoulder. Data slates and the poisoned teakettle slid off and thumped against the carpet. She smiled at Gage where he lay against the wall, the back of one hand against his face.
Gage raised her pistol and aimed it at her heart.
“What is this? Who the hell are you?” Gage asked.
“We are the yoke you’ve forgotten.” Jeneck slowly raised the massive wooden desk just a bit higher. “We are your masters and you will be ruled again.” She lifted the desk higher.
Gage shot her twice in the chest. She faltered, then laughed. The third round went through her eye and out the back of her head. She and the desk crashed to the floor.
“Admiral?” Gage kept the pistol on Jeneck’s body as he went to Sartorius’ side. He lay in a pool of blood, both hands against wounds on his sternum.
“Son…” Sartorius looked up, but his eyes had no focus. “Son, you’re all that’s left.”
“Corpsman!” Gage finally heard the sound of fists banging against the ready room door. “Sir, hold on. We’ll get you to sick bay. Albion needs you. We need an Admiral to get us through whatever’s happening back home.”
Sartorius brought a bloody hand up and pressed it against Gage’s face.
“You’re the Admiral…and the King.” Sartorius’ hand fell away.
Gage grabbed the limp hand before it could hit the ground.
“No, not me. Not me, sir. I’m not the one for this.” He looked back to the room full of dead captains. The doors jerked open a few inches as Bertram and a pair of men-at-arms pried the doors open with pneumatic jaws used by damage-control parties.
Sartorius’ head fell to the side.
Bertram rushed into the room, then stopped, his face slack and eyes wide.
“Sweet mother…” Bertram tapped at his earpiece frantically as the men-at-arms went from captain to captain, searching for any still alive.
Gage closed the Admiral’s eyes. Heat rose from Jeneck’s body, like she was a piece of hot iron just pulled from the fire. Gage raised an arm just as her body burst into blue flame, scorching the desk and singeing the carpet. She was nothing but a blackened mass within seconds.
“Sir…you…you…” Bertram tapped Gage on the shoulder.
“Corpsmen…get the corpsmen up here. Tell Doctor Seaver there are casualties coming.” Gage wiped blood from his face and got to his feet.
“They’re all dead, sir,” a man-at-arms said.
“Do it!”
****
Gage walked onto the Orion’s bridge, trailed by armed Marines. Commander Price, the ship’s executive officer, turned away from the holo tank on the command dais to face Gage as he took the curved stairs leading up from the bridge deck.
Crewmen gawked at his bloodstained uniform and Gage saw fear writ across their faces. He rubbed the back of his hand across his mouth, feeling a trickle of blood from a split lip.
“I—I’ve monitored everything…sir,” Price said. “Med bay doesn’t have any good news. The poison’s never been seen before. All were beyond saving by the time they—”
“You’re the Captain of the Orion now,” Gage said. “You understand that?”
“I’ve been the XO for a week,” she whispered to him. “Captain Simpson was about to fire me after I screwed up the last logistics push to—”
Gage grabbed her by the forearm with his bloodstained hand.
“You. Are. The Captain.”
She bit her bottom lip and nodded quickly.
“There may be more enemy agents. I need you to get this ship locked down. Armed guards on every vital system. Set combat conditions. Your sailors know what to do; they just need your leadership to make it happen.” Gage let her go. A corner of his mouth tugged down at the red smudge he left on her sleeve.
“Aye aye.” Her features hardened and she turned around, put her hands on the railing around the command dais, and began issuing orders.
Gage looked over the control panels at the Admiral’s station. He could pull up any data feed throughout the fleet and open a channel to any of the ships with a single touch. Gage took a deep breath, then tapped an icon.
Faces appeared in the holo tank as the second officers of each ship and Colonel Horton came online.
“Bloody hell, Gage,” Barlow said, frowning at his friend. “You know you’re on Sartorius’ channel?”
Green lights came up next to each ship name on a smart screen. He had everyone.
“Albion is under attack,” Gage said. “Admiral Sartorius and the captains—all the captains—are dead. Command of the fleet falls to me and each of you are now master and commander of your vessel.”
“Dead?” Arlyss said the word like it was from another language. “This is ridiculous. You’re obviously suffering from some sort of stress disorder from your last boondoggle planetside. Put Captain Simpson on the line so we can have you sent to a padded room.”
Gage pressed his palm to a screen and a menu popped up in the holo. He tapped in an order and the portrait around each second officer blinked, then changed to a blue border of command.
“The Orion’s biometric controls know the captains are dead. Official command is now yours. Admiral Sartorius’ steward poisoned them all, then murdered him. Her body…immolated after I killed her. We must assume there are more infiltrators. Every ship will adopt full combat readiness and prepare to weight anchor on my order.”
“This is insane!” shouted Commander Erskine of the battle cruiser Valiant.
Gage found a video file in Sartorius’ data buffer and opened it.
Camera footage from the Joaquim came up in the center of the holo tank: Daegon fighter squadrons in the skies over New Exeter. Home Fleet ships breaking apart in Albion’s atmosphere. Hundreds of enemy ships emerging from slip space around the domed mothership.
“They call themselves the Daegon,” Gage said. “I don’t know much more, but survivors from Albion are here along with—” He stopped himself from mentioning Prince Aidan. That at least one member of the royal family lived would remain secret until he was certain another assassin wasn’t lurking in the shadows.
“Get your ships locked down. The evacuation from Siam will continue. Colonel Horton,” Gage said, swiping across the carousel of newly minted captains until he found the engineer, “leave the heavy equipment behind. Get our p
eople off world as fast as you can manage.”
“The Siam are already asking questions,” Horton said. “There’s no guarantee these Daegon will even come here. If we leave now, people will die by the thousands. You can’t just—”
“Our first duty is to Albion,” Gage said, “not Siam. Prioritize naval crew for return. I need our ships ready to fight.”
“We’re leaving billions’ worth of equipment behind, but you’re in charge.” Horton threw his hands up in defeat.
“We have to go back to Albion,” Barlow said. “Standard procedure. Any attack on the home world and all military assets will return at best speed.”
“It’ll take hours to pull a slip formula from the grav buoy,” Gage said. “Focus on securing your ships and getting your crew off the surface until then. I’ll speak with the survivors and share more when I have it. In the meantime, keep the situation secret. Sleeper agents may be waiting for word of the attack to strike. Gage out.”
He closed the channel and thumped a fist against the control panel. A mountain of unknowns weighed on his shoulders. Who was the enemy? How long until they arrived here? What chance did his fleet of green crews stand against an armada of that size?
I’m not the man for this, he thought.
“Excuse me,” came from behind where Tolan and Thorvald stood at the base of the stairs. “We overheard. Don’t suppose that assassin went charcoal after he died?”
“She. You must be the intelligence officer.” Gage waved them both up the stairs. “You’ve encountered them before? How do we root them out?”
“Killing everyone to see who bursts into flames is a bit counterproductive,” Tolan said. “I’m afraid we didn’t learn much before we made it off world by the skin of our teeth.”
“What about ‘nobis regiray’? She said that before she killed Sartorius,” Gage said.
“I’ve heard that from their soldiers,” Thorvald said, bending slightly at the waist in a bow. “Benjamin Thorvald. My gestalt recognizes you as Albion’s regent until such time as…my charge reaches maturity.”
“Protocol can wait,” Gage said. “What I need is information. Were you followed? Tell me everything you can.”
“Someplace more private.” Tolan’s eyes flicked over the bridge crew. “I’ve a spot in mind.”
Chapter 18
Thorvald led Gage and Tolan into the shuttle bay where the Joaquim let off bursts of steam and cooling metal clicked. Lubricant pooled beneath the hull and dropped into small puddles. Amber lights along the bulkhead lit up and dimmed away, announcing combat conditions across the ship.
Gage, his skin free of blood, wore a fresh uniform—a skintight body glove and light armor beneath coveralls. An armored helmet and holstered pistol hung from his belt.
“Impressive,” Gage said.
“Really?” Tolan raised an eyebrow at him.
“Impressive that it can break orbit. You’ve got the heir in that thing?”
“Didn’t hear any complaints when it saved the kid’s life or came bearing news. This gift horse may have a nag’s teeth, but she gets the job done. Thorvald?”
The Genevan held up a hand and flashed three signs toward the ship’s security cameras.
The ramp descended and Salis, holding a carbine, greeted Gage with a dirty look at his pistol.
“The regent,” Thorvald said.
“Sire.” Salis remained tense.
“Where is he?” Gage asked.
“Playing.” Salis waited on the ramp until the three were inside and then closed the ship off from the Orion.
Thorvald led Gage to a cabin where Prince Aidan sat on the floor, a half-dozen carved wooden animals and dinosaurs in a semicircle around him. The boy didn’t acknowledge their arrival. He glowered at the toys, then slapped one against the bulkhead.
“Bad!”
“We’re eager to get him off this piss bucket,” Salis said.
“And I’m eager to have my stuff back,” Tolan snapped.
“Move him into the Admiral’s quarters once…they need to be cleaned. Extensively,” Gage said. “What of the King and Queen? Prince Nathaniel? Princess Daphne?”
“The Queen is dead. We witnessed her,” Thorvald said. “The King stayed behind and is presumed dead. The castle’s security systems read both Nathaniel and Daphne as deceased, but not witnessed. By Albion law and our charter, Aidan is the heir. You are the regent.”
“How much did he see?” Gage asked.
“Too much,” Salis said. “Nightmares. Outbursts. We’re not experts in childhood trauma. The Orion has a complement of four psychologists, correct?”
“She does, but there is an issue of infiltrators. Steward Jeneck was extensively vetted before being assigned to the Admiral. If these Daegon can get through that…I don’t know who we can trust.”
“If only we had a spy onboard,” Tolan said, “one versed in counterintelligence and all things dirty tricks.”
“I don’t know what good you’ll be,” Gage said. “You were seen entering the bridge with—”
Tolan snapped his fingers and his face fell into loose folds, then morphed into patrician features. His visage molded into a poor approximation of Gage’s face, then twisted into Thorvald.
“I told you not to do that,” the Genevan said.
“Wait for it—” Tolan’s voice perfectly matched Thorvald’s, then he grew four inches taller. “That last part hurts.”
“A Faceless,” Gage said. “I knew intelligence liked to skirt the law, but this is too far.”
Tolan morphed back into his original look, but one cheek drooped. He pressed the loose skin back with his fingers and clucked his tongue.
“You want to find the Daegon spies? Set me loose. I’ll start with your men-at-arms and intelligence section. After all, if you don’t have counterintelligence, you don’t have much of anything. This steward, did she poison the captains?”
“How did you know?”
“It’s what I would have done. I take it there’s a sample of this somewhere? Med bay? Assassins prefer tools with a low probability of killing themselves before the job is done. I’d bet the Daegon agents are immune to this poison…which would make them unique compared to the average sailor, yes?”
“He is insufferable,” Thorvald said, “but insightful.”
“Get to it,” Gage said. “I’ll tell Doctor Seaver to expect you.”
“Do keep this…” Tolan waved a hand over his face, “…our little secret, yes?”
“Fair enough.” Gage looked at the Genevans. “I prefer you stay here until I’m certain the ship is safe.”
Salis sighed heavily.
“I’ll have armed guards posted outside the shuttle bay. There’s no place safer for now.”
“As you wish, sire,” Thorvald said. “Which of us shall accompany you?”
“I don’t need either of you. Stay with Prince Aidan.”
The two bodyguards glanced at each other.
“You are the regent,” Salis said. “Your safety is our responsibility. Our confidentiality and loyalty is total.”
“I don’t doubt your ability,” Gage said, holding up a hand, “but having one of you hovering over my shoulder at all times is—”
“A necessity, so long as you suspect enemy agents in your crew,” Thorvald said.
“Don’t…don’t you need to sleep? There are only two of you.”
“Our gestalts can supplement our nervous systems. We can sleep while standing and with our eyes open,” Salis said.
“I’m sure that’s not at awkward at all. Bertram will be jealous, but…Thorvald. Come with me, please.”
Aidan started crying, demanding his mother.
“I’ll see to him.” Salis bowed to Gage.
The commodore’s heart ached as the boy began sobbing. Aidan pulled into a ball and fell to his side, his head buried in his hands.
****
The Orion’s primary med bay was eerily quiet as Tolan walked past a surgical suite wher
e a handful of doctors and nurses huddled together. They said nothing, occasionally pressing their fists to their lips where they puffed on nic-sticks hidden between their fingers. The silence…coping through nicotine (medical professionals were always the most unhealthy members of any crew, Tolan had noticed during his many years of service to the crown)…something terrible had just transpired in this med bay.
Tolan wore the same scrubs as everyone else in the med bay, and his face was morphed into a visage so bland it was meant to be forgotten. Human beings had evolved to recognize and remember other faces more than any other physical trait. Those few who went through the surgery and pain of becoming Faceless learned ways to trick others’ memories with the right set of features or by changing just a few details when those fleeting glances surveyed a crowd.
This was not a time to be remembered, and on his way out of the med bay, everyone would see a different person than the one that came in.
He looked at a reflection on a window across from the chief doctor’s office. Empty, but Tolan had an idea where to find her. He continued on, walking with the confidence of one who was supposed to be there, and stopped in front of the morgue. The door panel read it was locked from the inside.
Tolan put his palm to the panel and a thin metal transmitter embedded in his wrist sent out an override command. Bolts clicked as the door slid open. He stepped over the threshold and walked into a familiar smell of burnt meat with a foul copper tang.
The morgue had several rows of square lockers along the walls. One was ajar, and Admiral Sartorius lay on a slab, his uniform soaked in blood, eyes taped shut. Twenty bodies in black bags lay on gurneys along the walls, the dead captains waiting for return to their ships.
Tolan spotted a woman sitting next to Sartorius, her upper body hidden by the slab. The spy closed the door behind him and walked around the dead admiral.
Doctor Seaver sat with her head in her hands, a small metal flask pinched between a thumb and forefinger. The spy had a good view of a mess of gray-streaked black hair, but not her face.