by Richard Fox
The final warrior tried to flee past Thorvald. He slammed his hand against the Daegon’s throat and raised it into the air, driving its skull into the deck, crushing it with a wet crack.
Salis stumbled against Thorvald. Her armor pulled away from her head and she looked at Bertram.
“The Prince?”
Bertram, who had held very still during the melee, leaned away from the bulkhead. He turned around and found Aidan squatting against the wall, his eyes closed and the dinosaur clutched to his helmet.
“Can I look now, Mr. Berty?” the boy asked.
“No.” Bertram pulled the boy close and kept his head buried against his chest. “You keep your eyes closed for a bit, young master.”
The lights flickered and a deep thrum rose through the ship.
“You hear that? We’ve gone into slip space,” Bertram said. “We’re safe now.” He looked over at the Genevans. “We are safe now?”
“That was the last of them.” Thorvald took his pistol from Salis and looked down at the scars on his armor.
“Are we going home now?” Aidan asked.
“Not yet, lad. Not yet.”
Chapter 22
Gage turned a corner and slowly walked down the corridor leading to his quarters. He half-slumped against the bulkhead and put his chin to his chest. His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, his limbs weighed down by fatigue. Three sleepless days of emergency repairs, failing engines, and a fire on four decks that refused to die until mere hours ago.
He’d just finished a tour through med bay, where Doctor Seaver and her teams had been working even harder than him.
Gage wiped the back of his hand across his face, feeling the coarseness of a budding beard, then he swiped his palm over a panel next to a door, and it slid aside with a hiss. As the Admiral’s aide, he rated a one-bedroom berth with a small desk and a lounge area with seating for several visitors. He entered and cracked the seals on his combat jumpsuit, getting a whiff of several days of accumulated funk.
“Sir?” Bertram came from around the kitchen partition, holding a silver tray with a small teakettle and a covered dish.
“Bertram…” Gage’s eyes struggled to focus as he flopped down on a couch. He ran a zipper down the side of his uniform and let the chest covering flop open, exposing a body glove beneath. “I need you to…something.”
“You need to eat, sir.” The steward put the tray down on a coffee table and removed the covering. A flatbread chicken parmigiana sandwich and french fries gave off a whiff of steam.
Gage’s eyebrows twitched, suddenly aware of just how hungry he was. He snatched up the sandwich and took a giant bite, eating in a most undignified manner for an officer.
“As we’re no longer on alert,” Bertram said, “I’ll lay out a shipboard uniform for you. The sonic shower is ready at your leisure.”
Gage mumbled as he ate. Once he was halfway done, he set the sandwich aside and turned to the fries, which came with a dipping sauce made of ketchup and mayonnaise that was uniformly reviled beyond Albion.
The pitter-patter of feet came from the bedroom. Prince Aidan, wearing pajamas and rubbing sleep from his eyes, ran up to Gage.
“Who are you?” Aidan asked. Salis and Thorvald stepped out of the bedroom and took a post on either side of the doorway.
“I’m Commodore Gage.” He cleaned his hand with a napkin and extended it to the boy, who shook it firmly.
“Is this your room?”
“The Admiral’s quarters require extensive repairs…and cleaning,” Thorvald said.
“No, this is your room for now,” Gage said to Aidan. “I have some of my things in here, which I’ll have moved.”
“When are we going home?” Aidan asked.
Gage put his hands on his knees. “I don’t have an answer for you, my Prince. We’ll need some help to do that.”
“But we will go home?”
“On my honor.”
“I’m going back to sleep. Thank you for the room.” The boy ran back into the bedroom and Gage heard a thump of a little body jumping onto his mattress.
Gage sighed, then looked at his half-finished meal.
“You two eaten?” he asked the Genevans.
“Do not concern yourself with our well-being, Regent,” Thorvald said. “We are here to protect you both.”
“I don’t need protecting,” Gage said, stretching out on the couch. He yawned and tucked a pillow beneath his head. “Figure out what to do with you two…morning.”
Bertram came out of the kitchen with a bowl of ice cream. He grumbled at the sight of the sleeping Gage, then policed up all the food and took it back to the kitchen.
“Two people are coming,” Salis said.
There was a crash of dishes and Bertram rushed through the sitting room and out the door. He found Price and Clark in the corridor, both holding several data slates.
“May I help you, madam? Sir?” Bertram asked.
“We need the Commodore to approve these personnel transfers,” Price said. “Then there’s the matter of our munitions.”
“Begging the good captain’s pardon, but is anyone bleeding, on fire, or at risk of either of those conditions?” Bertram set himself in the open door.
“Step aside, steward,” Clark said. “These need the Commodore’s…actually, maybe they can wait.” He stepped back, a bit pale.
“Commodore Gage has a standing practice of allowing his subordinates to make their own decisions so long as they follow his guidance,” Bertram said. “I’m certain you can manage for a bit.”
“Yes, thank you.” Price nodded quickly and walked off with Clark. Bertram watched them go with a smile.
“Mr. Thorvald. Are you standing behind me?”
“I am.”
Bertram turned and got a good look at the gouges running down the Genevan’s chest.
“I could have handled that all on my own, thank you very much.”
“No doubt.”
“You’re going to tell me how the two of you manage to hear every mouse fart and move like smoke. Now step aside and let me attend to my officer.”
Bertram squeezed around the Genevan and went to the sleeping Gage. He removed the Commodore’s boots deftly, a maneuver he’d practiced over the years at Gage’s side. He took a handkerchief from a pocket and wiped a smudge of blood from Gage’s face. Bertram gave his head a gentle pat, then returned to the kitchen.
Chapter 23
No matter how many times Tiberian walked the grand court of the Sphinx, the majesty of the engineering, the vision, the purpose of it all never failed to fill him with confidence. Obsidian floor plates were carved with great moments from Daegon history, from the first rulers to the first kingdoms to Awakening, Landfall, the Defeat of Death, and the declaration of the Final Crusade. The fall of Albion would become part of the history of every great House…an accomplishment he’d put in jeopardy through failure.
From this, the highest point of the mothership that dominated over the ruined city of New Exeter, one could survey much of the planet, the first to return to Daegon domination.
Tiberian made his way to the base of a stairway leading up to a golden throne, the back of which was to him. Regal statues of bulls, lions, and other beasts molded from gold and silver lined either side of the stairs. The animals shifted their pose as he went to his knees: snouts bared teeth, claws raised to strike—all now embodied a primal rage.
She was angry.
Tiberian pressed his knuckles to either side of his knees, then bent his forehead to the ground. He held the bow for a full minute, then slowly lifted his shoulders up. The golden chain and lockbox holding his Charge dangled from his neck.
Metal cuffs snapped out of the floor and pinned his wrists to the floor. Tiberian kept his head bent, waiting for his fate.
“You return,” came a lilting voice from the throne. “You return with fewer ships and without the last of this world’s pretenders.”
“There is no excuse for
failure, Baroness.”
A slight breeze scented with flowers and sword oil caressed his face. The sound of metal clinking against stairs came closer.
Tiberian knew his death could be moments away. He took comfort in the coming closure. Imagining his fate during the return from Siam had been worse than the moment the Orion slipped through his fingers.
The sound of steel sliding against steel tickled his ears. He kept his gaze to the floor and extended his neck, giving her an easy strike.
The tip of a blade floated in front of his eyes. The blade grew red hot, burning his blue skin ever so slightly. The edge touched the golden chain of his Charge, then flicked aside, taking the necklace with it.
“Look at me, Tiberian.”
He raised his head. Baroness Asaria was as beautiful as ever. Armor clung to her body like it was painted on. The intelligence protecting her shifted the plates over her arms, stomach, and thighs like waves lapping against a beach, giving tantalizing glimpses of the flawless blue skin beneath. Gold and platinum wire woven through her hair glimmered beneath the stars above Albion. Eyes the green of the deep jungle looked at him with pity. One hand held her sword, heat emanating from it even as it cooled, the other held his Charge.
“I am disappointed in you.” She wove the chain around her fingers and gripped the golden box against her palm. “You were to cast down the pretenders. Our spies assured us the world would not resist once their ‘king’ and his ilk were gone. I witnessed your bravery, your fury, in the castle. I was so certain you would lead the next phase of the Crusade…and yet one escaped you. I could take your head, mount it at the base of my throne as a warning to your brothers still fighting on the surface. Or I could melt your Charge and see it poured down your throat.”
The Baroness squeezed her hand into a fist and the golden chain softened, then changed color to slate gray. She dropped a new Charge in front of Tiberian. What had been gold was now iron.
“You have not failed…completely,” she said. “The mongrels believe their pretender king and family to be dead. Resistance crumbles across every front. Soon we will transform them into proper thralls, but if they have reason to believe they are not beaten…This is the first world of the Crusade. The rest of the un-ruled nations must see what awaits them, see that submission is the only way to survive and that those in our thrall are treated to their usefulness.
“Can you imagine, Tiberian, if our House fails here? If the other Houses can blame their failures on our poor showing? We would be left with nothing but scraps once the Crusade ends. We’ve planned our return for hundreds of years. Would you see me rule over a backwater, become the laughingstock of the other Houses?”
“Never, Baroness.”
“Your charge is incomplete, not failed. You will have the resources needed to hunt down this child and bring back the broken hull of the Orion. I will hang it in the sky where every mongrel can see it and know that they are defeated. Then you will return to the head of my House.”
“As you command.” Tiberian felt a wave of anger at the sight of the iron Charge. It was almost an insult for him to be given a tertiary task in the grand scheme of the Crusade. He would bring Aidan—and the damnable Gage—to her for a public execution or he would die trying.
The restraints unlocked and sank back into the floor. He stood up and Asaria ran her fingertips down the side of his face and over his lips.
“Don’t force me to choose another as my consort,” she purred at him. “You’ve always been my favorite.”
“If you allow, I will leave now.”
She clicked her tongue, then patted the flat of her blade against her calf.
“And do what, Tiberian? Blunder about wild space burning worlds until you stumble upon the Orion? No, I’ve a guide for you. Someone we found in the castle dungeons.”
A hatch slid open at the base of the stairs and an elevator rose, holding two guards in obsidian armor and a man in ragged clothes, his hands bound at his waist. Every part of his body was as dark as the abyss; even the sclera of his eyes was pitch-black.
A guard kicked the back of the dark man’s knees and sent him to the ground. One grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and pressed his head to the ground; the other put the flat of a serrated bayonet against the base of his skull.
“Such an abhorrent alteration to the human form,” Asaria said, “but useful.”
She flicked a finger and the guards pulled the prisoner to his feet, keeping his eyes off the Daegon nobles.
“Name yourself,” Tiberian said.
“Ja’war.” He lowered his head even farther. His voice sounded as if several men were speaking at the same time.
“This Ja’war knows wild space quite well, doesn’t he?”
“None know it better than I, mistress.”
“You will aid me in finding the Orion,” Tiberian said. “Do this and you will be raised over the other thralls.”
Ja’war looked at Tiberian, and his skin changed, melding into a perfect match for Tolan.
“Let me kill this one, and that’s all the reward I need,” Ja’war said.
“Go,” Asaria said. “I have less patience than mercy.”
Chapter 24
Gage leaned against the command deck railing, watching the kaleidoscope of bent starlight of slip space rotate beyond the Orion.
“Slip transit in three…” the astrogator said.
Real space swept over the ship and her slip bubble faded away. An ocher and beige world hung in the distance.
“No sign of the rest of the fleet,” Price said from the holo tank behind Gage. “But there is a significant orbital presence over Sicani Prime.”
“Three hundred million people down there,” Gage said, “and none of them will be happy to see an Albion warship in their space.”
“Scanners have hull matches on several known Harlequin vessels…multiple families. You know them better than I do, sir,” Price said. “What does this mean?”
“If they’re not fighting each other, then it means they’ve banded together against a common foe—which could be good for us, could be bad for us.”
“Ajax just came out of slip space. Nineteen thousand kilometers away,” the astrogator said. “More coming, very spread out.”
“Go into slip space sloppy, come out sloppy,” Gage said. We’re lucky we made it at all, he thought.
“Three battle cruisers just broke orbit and are on a course for us,” Price said, highlighting the tracks in the holo tank with her touch. “They’ll get here long before the Ajax or anyone else can link up. If we weren’t still limping from that last fight, it wouldn’t be much of an issue, but now…”
“We’re being hailed,” the comms lieutenant said. “A Captain…Loussan.”
Shit, Gage thought.
“Commodore,” Price pursed her lips, “isn’t that the pirate that put the death mark on your head.”
“He is,” Gage said, “and I’m sure he’s still angry for the beating I gave him the last time we crossed paths. No running from this. Comms, send it to my tank.”
A screen appeared displaying the image of a man with long blond hair spilling over bejeweled epaulettes and a magenta doublet. A scar over his eye marred what would have been an otherwise handsome face.
“Albion vessel, you have strayed too far from home,” Loussan said with a flourish of heavily ringed fingers. “If you’ve come looking for trouble, you’ve certainly found it, much more than you look capable of dealing with…”
The pirate’s eyes narrowed. He leaned toward his camera, looking intently at Gage.
“You…” His lips pulled back into a sneer. “I’ve waited a long time for this.”
The channel cut out.
“Harlequin vessels are raising shields…powering up weapons,” Price said.
“That went as well as expected,” Gage said.
THE END
The story continues in The Long March, coming April 2017!
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From the Author
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Also by Richard Fox:
The Ember War Saga
The Ember War
The Ruins of Anthalas
Blood of Heroes
Earth Defiant
The Gardens of Nibiru
The Battle of the Void
The Siege of Earth
The Crucible
The Xaros Reckoning
The Ember War
The Earth is doomed. Humanity has a chance.
In the near future, an alien probe arrives on Earth with a pivotal mission—determine if humanity has what it takes to survive the impending invasion by a merciless armada.
The probe discovers Marc Ibarra, a young inventor, who holds the key to a daring gambit that could save a fraction of Earth's population. Humanity's only chance lies with Ibarra's ability to keep a terrible secret and engineer the planet down the narrow path to survival.
Earth will need a fleet. One with a hidden purpose. One strong enough to fight a battle against annihilation.
The Ember War is the first installment in an epic military sci-fi series. If you like A Hymn Before Battle by John Ringo and The Last Starship by Vaughn Heppner, then you'll love this explosive adventure with constant thrills and high stakes from cover to cover.