by Rick Partlow
Though Modi could be a tough sell, given how much territory they had lost to Starkad already. Still, give them enough time dealing with the bandits on their own and they might change their tune.
“Chief Councilor Tarzarian has said it is the choice of the Council to appoint a new Guardian, and this is so. This is how it was meant to be. So I ask you, the Council, to act in accordance with the needs of the people of Sparta, to follow your conscience. Do not make me Guardian of Sparta simply because my father was Guardian before me. Choose me as Guardian because I have already dedicated my life to keeping Sparta safe and working for her future.”
He could have said more. There were more words inside him, tales of the battles he’d fought against Starkad, against the Jeuta, against the Red Brotherhood. There were the stories of friends lost, of everything and everyone he’d counted on for support stripped away, but all those were for another day. He’d said enough.
“I thank you for your time, ladies and gentlemen of the Council,” he told them in closing. “And I leave you to your decision.”
He turned on his heel, his best parade-ground about-face, and headed back to the antechamber where Terrin and Franny waited. It was a pleasant enough room, earth tones and stately furnishings and furniture just fancy enough to keep you from getting too comfortable. Portraits hung on the wall of his father and grandfather and all the Guardians before them back to the beginning, though a conspicuous gap remained where one should have been placed with a painting of Rhianna Hale. He wondered if she just hadn’t gotten around to having it commissioned or if the Councilors had been prudent enough to dispose of it before he arrived.
“You did great, bro,” Terrin assured him, rising from a leather-upholstered sofa to pull Logan into a warm embrace, joined by Franny after a moment’s hesitation.
“It was inspired,” she told him with that little pause in her cadence that he’d come to understand was her trying to decide if she should call him “Lord Guardian,” or “Logan,” or “sir.” He had to admit it must be complicated for her, being one of his troops and also being involved with his brother. “You told them the truth but you also told them exactly what they wanted to hear.”
“Dad would have been proud,” Terrin added. Then he winced slightly, withdrawing from the hug and holding his brother at arm’s length. “But that’s some shit you promised them,” he went on. “I mean about not passing down the throne to one of your kids…”
“I didn’t promise them anything I didn’t already intend to do,” Logan declared. “I won’t be having any children or grandchildren.” His voice was bleak as he finally let himself give in to the grief and despair he’d barely been able to control in front of the Council. “That part of my life is over.” Then he looked between his brother and Franny and felt a pang of guilt. “I know I was being presumptive, speaking for you, Terrin, but I was pretty sure you didn’t have any aspirations to be Guardian. And if you two wind up having kids, well…” He shook his head, blowing out a breath. “I’d never do that to them, or to you. No one in their right mind wants this fucking job.”
“Which is why you should have it, Logan Brannigan.”
Logan turned, startled at the interruption. He’d been so emotionally drained by the speech, he hadn’t even noticed the footsteps behind him. The voice wasn’t familiar, but the face was. He’d seen the man with his father, coming out of meetings at the palace.
“Councilor Shupert,” Logan said, nodding respectfully. “I’m glad to finally meet you.” Derek Shupert had been one of his father’s strongest supporters, an ally if not a friend, but he’d never had the chance to speak to the man before today. “When do you think I can expect to hear a decision?”
“You’re hearing it now.” Shupert smiled what Logan’s father had used to call the “politician’s smile,” the one that made you check to make sure no one had picked your pocket. “Oh, they want you to come back inside and make it formal, which is why they sent me after you, but it’s all over except for the shouting. No one in their right mind would try to oppose you at this point.”
Logan nodded to the man, feeling a burden fall away from his shoulders. There was a lot of work left to be done, but he’d managed to fulfill his promise to his people. He could get help from experts on questions of policy and diplomacy, but gaining the Council’s support was something he’d been forced to do on his own, with no advisors, no support. He’d been terrified he would screw it up.
“Is he coming, Derek?”
Another Councilor had followed Shupert into the antechamber, a younger man with a dark, close-cropped beard and a face made for a slick business suit, which made his traditional Council robes seem even more incongruous.
“Logan,” Shupert introduced, “this is Warner Michelson, the Councilor for Nike…and, coincidentally, heir to the Sparta Interstellar Shipping Combine.”
The words had been spoken tongue in cheek, as Logan and all the rest of them knew there was nothing coincidental about it. Nearly every Councilor represented a vital Spartan business interest as well as, nominally, a geospatial area. But Logan recognized Michelson’s name from intelligence briefings he’d had from Nicolai Constantine, and his eyes narrowed at the memory.
“You were one of Rhianna Hale’s supporters.” The tone of the words was flat, neutral, and Logan didn’t believe anyone who hadn’t spent considerable time around him would know the cold rage they represented.
Terrin recognized it, though, and he cocked his head at Logan in a warning look, putting a restraining hand on his brother’s arm.
“I was,” Michelson acknowledged readily. “As were many others, because there didn’t seem to be any choice at the time.” His lip curled in distaste. “She was a classic narcissist, always ready to believe anything as long as it flattered her inflated opinion of herself and her family, and she was obsessed with reforming the reputation of her uncle, Duncan Lambert.” A shrug, in counterpoint to the sneer. “But this is politics, Lord Guardian, and beyond making strange bedfellows, it also forces you to deal with reality, no matter how unpleasant reality may be. I supported Hale’s efforts because she was the de facto leader of the Guardianship, and all any effort I might have made to depose her would have done was cause a civil war. Thankfully, such compromises are no longer necessary.”
Michelson bowed slightly toward Logan.
“Rest assured, Lord Guardian, that I am relieved you’re stepping into this position and you will have my eager support.”
“Thank you,” Logan told him, and meant it. Saying things he didn’t actually mean would have to come with time and experience in politics. He hadn’t quite mastered the art of it, yet. “Thank you both. Please tell the Council I’ll be right in.”
Both men bowed at the shoulders and withdrew from the room, Shupert putting a hand to Michelson’s elbow and conferring with him quietly on the way out.
Probably complimenting him on his ability to fake sincerity.
“Why didn’t you just go with them?” Terrin wondered.
“If I come when they say,” Logan explained, very quietly, as if they were in a tactical situation—which, he supposed, they were, to some extent, “then they’re in command. If I make them wait, I’m in charge.”
Terrin chuckled with what might have been admiration.
“Did you learn that from Dad?”
“When I was very young,” Logan confirmed. “It was one of the first things he taught me, and it got me in serious trouble with my elementary school teachers.”
All three of them shared a laugh and Logan felt tension melting away from him, something inside his chest working its way loose.
“Sir, I need to speak with you.” He didn’t know when Colonel Lee had entered the room, but the man seemed unusually keyed up, as if he wanted to bounce from one foot to another, his jaw working like a dog worrying a piece of leather.
“What is it, John?” he asked the Ranger commander. The name felt strange in his mouth. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever u
sed Lee’s first name before.
“Sir, we have a message from Mira, sent through the relay, a report back from the scout ship they sent to check out Revelation.”
A prickle went up Logan’s back, a firing of nerves more suited to combat in a mech cockpit. His teeth clacked from grinding together and he had to squeeze his eyes shut for just a moment before he could force himself to keep listening to the report. Mira was one of Constantine’s agents, a native of Revelation who had carved out a position for herself on the Periphery as a fixer, a mediator between agents of corporations or governments making shady deals in backrooms of quasi-legal space stations. With Constantine gone, she’d be his senior intelligence asset.
“Tell me,” Logan rasped the words.
“The Jeuta are still there and still searching for survivors.”
Lee’s square-jawed, earnest features screwed up in pain, not just for Logan, but for himself and his own troops left on Revelation. For everyone they’d left behind.
“Sir, it’s possible there might still be people alive down there.” Lee shook his head. “We have to go back.”
5
Katy forced herself not to shovel down the food, but it wasn’t an easy fight. Despite the meal she’d taken at the algae farm, she was still ravenous and it was probably the pregnancy. Her mother had told her of intermittent morning sickness and constant cravings and an insatiable appetite when she’d been carrying both Katy and her sister, though she’d dared to hope hers would be different.
Maybe if she’d been back on Sparta, tended to by specialized obstetricians, there might have been safe medical recourse to keep it all under control, but out here on Revelation, sitting on a rock in the canyon system they called the Run, she was just going to have to live with it.
“You know,” she said, reluctantly setting her fork down on her plate next to the final third of the soy steak and the last few bites of spirulina pasta, “this all feels very familiar.”
“You mean all of us hiding in the Run again, waiting for an invader to come kill everyone?” Chloe Carpenter asked, her voice dull and flat. She stared at the sandstone of the canyon floor, not even looking at the ring at the end of the necklace as she turned it around and around in her fingers. “Yeah, it feels like we should have gotten off this damned piece of rock a year ago, when we had the chance.”
Katy stared at the girl, wondering if she should ask her what was wrong. Then she looked around again at the crowd gathered beneath the cover of the canvas overhang, huddled around the dim glow of the chemical light, and realized she didn’t see her parents. David Carpenter had been the planetary governor and if he and his wife Karen weren’t here talking to them, it could only mean they hadn’t made it.
Katy glanced over at Bohardt. He sat on a metal storage crate beside Josephine Salvaggio, their fingers intertwined. Bohardt shook his head, sadness dragging down his hound-dog features. Katy tried to remember the exact number of civilians who’d lived in the city and compare it to what she saw here. She didn’t want to ask how many were dead and missing because she was fairly certain no one wanted to talk about it.
Lila and Antonia seemed happy to be here, as if the sheer number of humans was some sort of shield that could protect them from the Jeuta instead of just making them a bigger, juicier target. Lila was stretched out on the ground, her head cushioned by one of the backpacks they’d carried from the truck, while Antonia was deep in conversation with a teenaged boy Katy didn’t recognize at first, his face concealed by shadows. When he moved and some of the glow of the chemical lamps caught his features, she realized it was Alec Kane, the little brother of Lana Kane. Katy hadn’t seen him since before the coup, back when she’d first come to this world with Logan, searching for Terrin and Franny. Alec’s sister had died in the final battle with the Starkad forces and he’d gone to live with the Carpenters.
Now he’s lost his second family.
“What are we gonna do?” Chloe asked, finally raising her head, meeting Katy’s eyes. “Those things are all over the place. I thought you people were supposed to protect us.”
“In case you hadn’t noticed, girl,” Salvaggio snapped, “quite a few of our friends were vaporized in that blast, too. It ain’t like we expected the damn Jeuta to show up out of nowhere and nuke the place.” She shrugged. “All we can do is try to lay low and keep from drawing attention to us. Either the Jeuta will get tired of looking for us and leave, or help will come, or…” She fell silent. “Well, you know or what else. But pulling in our horns makes the best sense.”
“They’re going to find us eventually,” Bohardt said, dolorous confidence in his tone. “This place is remote, but it’s also the most obvious place to hide. Once they check all the outposts and settlements and realize we haven’t gone there, they’re going to come here.”
“What do you think, Nicolai?” Katy asked Constantine.
The intelligence chief was sprawled out, leaning against the rock wall of the cliff, his long legs stretched in front of him, eyes half closed. He looked exhausted, but at least he had clean bandages on his hands.
“There’s one good thing,” he said, fatigue slurring his words. “They won’t waste another nuke on us, even if they figure out where we are.”
“How can you be so sure of that?” Bohardt wanted to know. Katy wasn’t sure if the Armor officer was challenging Constantine’s certainty or just desperate for him to be right. “This is the Jeuta we’re talking about. They don’t have any scruples when it comes to using fusion bombs on habitable planets.”
“No scruples, no,” Constantine agreed. “Also, no capability of manufacturing fusion weapons on their own. Remember, the Jeuta were engineered to be just smart enough to carry out basic repairs and maintenance.” He snorted humorlessly. “I suppose the biggest mistake the Empire made was in not realizing it doesn’t take a theoretical physicist to plot a revolution. Still, they don’t have scientists and they won’t use human workers, so they have no way of manufacturing their own weapons. Nothing bigger or more complicated than a rifle or a mech cannon, anyway. They steal all their nukes, all their ships, all their mecha from us.”
He waved a hand around them at the desolation surrounding them in the darkness.
“Out here, there’s no one to steal more Ship-killer missiles, so I doubt they’ll use another on the off chance of killing the rest of us. And the canyon is too narrow for air support, so they’ll have to come in on foot or in armor.”
“They didn’t bring as many mecha as they could have with that many ships,” Bohardt said. “From the drones and scouts we’ve sent out, I’d estimate they didn’t land more than a battalion.”
“They’ll send their heaviest stuff in first,” Constantine judged, “if I’ve learned anything about Jeuta tactics through the years. Strike mecha, then assault mecha, then infantry. They’ll send their scouts around the other side or keep them up top to make sure no one tries to run away.”
“This place is a natural choke point,” Josephine Salvaggio said, frowning in thought. She sounded intrigued, whether at the idea of possible survival or simply at the concept of taking as many of the Jeuta with her as possible when she died. “They’ll lose half their force trying to push through the Run.”
“And they won’t care,” Constantine pointed out. “They lost millions bringing down the Empire and didn’t bat an eye. No one knows for sure, because no one lives among them and gets out alive, but all my intelligence sources are pretty sure it’s a religious thing with them. They want all of us dead, and if they have to die in the process, it’s just the cost of doing business.”
“And this is good news how?” Chloe demanded.
The girl seemed to be taking the leadership role among the civilians with her parents dead, despite the fact she wasn’t even twenty-one yet. Older civilians were present, but none had come forward to talk to them, apparently content with allowing Bohardt and Salvaggio to run things for the duration of the emergency.
“They won’t be
afraid to die trying to kill us,” the girl went on, shaking her head. “Is that supposed to make me feel better about our chances?”
“It gives us time,” Constantine told her, not giving the slightest hint of impatience. Maybe he was too tired to be impatient. “They’ll be content to plod through and try to kill us as long as they aren’t worried about losing us.”
“What about the people out at the settlements?” Katy asked. “They won’t have anywhere to go, and they’ll never find their way here without a guide. The Jeuta have already started working their way up the coast.” She motioned toward Lila. “They were heading toward her algae farm when we got there. David,” she said to Bohardt, “do you think you could run your mech through the settlements and warn them?”
“That’d be taking a huge risk,” Salvaggio objected. “They may not have spotted David this time, but if we keep running mecha out of here, they’ll track us back here.”
“I’ll go,” Chloe volunteered, surprising Katy. She didn’t seem enthusiastic about the idea, simply resigned to the necessity. “I can take my motorcycle, get there without attracting attention.”
“You’re not going alone,” Bohardt told her. He twisted around, facing back into the canyon. “Lt. Guarras,” he called.
A figure clad in dark-hued camouflage emerged from the night as if the darkness had coalesced into human form. The Ranger officer pulled down her balaclava and pushed up her night-vision goggles and the hazy, vague edges of the shape of her armor and dark fatigues came into sharp focus, as if light were shining off her pale face.
“Yes, sir?” she asked in a clear contralto. She was young, Katy realized, barely older than Chloe, though she seemed confident and steady beyond her years.
“I know we have at least six or seven motorcycles out here,” Bohardt told her. “I want you to assign three of your people to requisition bikes and accompany Ms. Carpenter here out to the settlements down the river valley. Warn them that the Jeuta are sweeping out through the settlements and lead any who are interested out here to the Run. Don’t engage if you can help it and do your best not to get detected.”