The Marata shot back out into reality as the stars reemerged, though in all-new configurations. Before us hung the brown-green limb of Sarmata, fourth world out from old Earth in the chain of newly-awakened Gates.
The crew were all astonished, and again I had to remind myself that this was something entirely new for them, as it was for me. I was fairly certain no one aboard was six hundred years old and could remember the last time this had been possible.
But we would have no time for awe and wonder until the job before us was accomplished. Relieved that the sky here wasn’t filled with thousands more Verghasite warships, en route from their own world to ours by way of this world’s Gates, I barked out, “Find the trail,” and watched as, one by one, the officers and tech crew pulled their eyes away from the main display and forced themselves to get back to work on the myriad tasks of running a spaceship—now having become, for the first time in so long, a starship.
“Your uncle is on the line, my lord,” the communications officer said, ending my musings. I knew exactly which uncle the young woman was referring to; there was no need for further names or titles. So—he had called me before I could call him. And he’d found me remarkably quickly.
I accepted an earpiece from the communications officer and thanked her, found a spare 2D monitor I could borrow, then opened the channel. “Justinian,” I said. “I was just about to call you.”
“Gaius. Where are you?”
The voice was deep, resonant—just as I remembered it. I hadn’t chatted with Dad’s next-eldest sibling—and now, presumably, our new leader— in a while. He appeared to be standing in a camp very similar to the one we had just taken leave of on Victoria, but the sky was different. I took that to mean he was on Majondra itself. Soldiers hustled and bustled here and there around him and there was a general sense of urgency verging on outright chaos.
“It’s Dad,” I began. “He—”
“Yes, I know about that,” he snapped, cutting me off. “We’ll discuss it—and mourn—later. Right now, I need to know where you are, and what you’re doing.”
“I’ve taken the Marata,” I said. “We’re on the other side of the Sarmata Gate.”
“The Sarmata Gate?” Justinian’s astonishment was evident. “What in the name of the Holy Church are you doing there?”
I quickly sketched the chain of events that had led us here. Then I tossed in mention of Dad’s orders regarding the Church—and not trusting it. I concluded with my plans to track down the ship and thoroughly question its crew.
A long pause, then, “Very well. Do what you must. I wouldn’t presume to contradict Constantine’s final orders to you. And I don’t see anything the Church has done at this stage to earn our favor. Your Aunt Aurelia won’t like to hear of such talk, but I won’t say anything for now.” He stroked his smooth chin, glanced at displays off to his right, and looked back. “I’m down with the armies planetside, attempting to rally the remains of Maxillus’s forces and deal with whatever Verghasites have managed to land. Only a few have gotten all the way through so far, thankfully. Jerome and Alexius have control of the fleets,” he said, referring to his two younger brothers. “Aurelia is nowhere to be found; she’s off seeking spiritual guidance on it all, I’m sure.” He looked annoyed as he said that last part. “Octavia and Stephanie—” He waved a dismissive hand. “So—I can spare you for a brief while, but I will need you back here soon.”
I nodded. “Understood.”
“But know this,” he added, leaning forward into the camera, his expression still carrying with it no small traces of his frustration and his near-desperation. “On that side of the Sarmata Gate, the entire Verghasite navy is between you and any help I could provide. As long as you’re over there, there’s little or nothing I can do for you.”
I nodded again. “We will be okay. Safer, in fact, than you might think—because, from here, it appears you’re correct that the entire Verghas navy is engaged with you—because there are no signs of them here. They must have slid right through Sarmata airspace en route to attacking us, and they’ve poured everything they have into that.”
“Terrific,” Justinian murmured. “I suppose it would’ve been too much to ask that the Sarmatans resisted them on the way—or had something to throw at their rear guard.” Silence for a moment as he appeared to be deep in thought, then, “Alright, fine. The Marata is officially assigned to you for the duration. Stay out of trouble, stay alive, find out what you can, and get back here as quickly as possible. If we’re all still alive in twenty-four hours, we will gather at the palace on Victoria.” He sighed. “And we will go from there.”
I nodded.
“Understood. See you then.”
I cut the link and sat back, thinking.
My other two uncles would probably go along with Justinian, follow his lead, at least for now. I could not imagine either of them venturing much beyond his orders, especially during a crisis. The same held true for the women of our clan. Depending on how things worked out, though, there could be trouble ahead. My father had possessed the gift of managing the various relationships within our family, of keeping most of my aunts and uncles on decent terms with one another. Could Justinian do this? From what I knew of him, I doubted it. He was a decent enough general, but not a great diplomat. I hoped I was wrong. I did not want to imagine my family winning the war only to fall to internal squabbles turned violent.
“We have reacquired the trail, my lord,” the captain reported, disrupting my thoughts. I glanced over at him and nodded.
“Very well. Can you tell where it leads?”
“Down to the surface of Sarmata. To their capital city—or, at least, what was their capital six hundred years ago.” He spoke a few quiet words with a bridge tech, then added, “We’re accessing their data nets now and updating all of our records.”
“Good,” I said. “That’s one thing we can contribute when we get back home.”
“As expected,” the captain said then. “There’s a Church complex outside of the city. That’s where they went.”
Nodding at this not remotely surprising bit of news, I quickly issued orders for my regular crew to return to our shuttle. “We’re going down, Captain,” I told Salas before vacating the bridge. “Stay up here and keep an eye on things. Let me know the instant anything changes.”
The captain saluted. “I can send another shuttle along with you, my lord,” he suggested. “With a contingent of at least two dozen Rangers.”
I pondered the idea, then shook my head. “No. We may need the cooperation of the Church officials here—assuming killing my father was a rogue operation and not official Church policy. And of course we do represent the first official contingent from Majondra to make contact with this world’s Church leaders in nearly six hundred years. Leading a platoon of heavily armed Rangers into the Grand Corindar’s sanctuary probably wouldn’t go far toward establishing a good working relationship moving forward.”
The captain offered a sliver of a smile. “I take your point, my lord,” he said.
“Still,” I added, “I wouldn’t object to said Rangers sitting aboard a shuttle, ready to launch at a moment’s notice, in the unlikely event we might need them.”
“Of course.”
Satisfied, I turned and departed the bridge. A veritable mountain of problems lay before me, but the only one that truly concerned me at the moment was finding the priests that had worked with Jeras and putting some extremely pointed questions to them.
+ + +
It turned out the trail indeed led down to an area just outside of the capital city—an area dominated by a vast and ornate complex of white stone buildings surrounding a rectangular, man-made lake that gleamed like topaz in the afternoon sun. A spire some five hundred meters tall reared up from the center of the waters, and at the top of it shone the circular emblem of the Church of the Burning Stars.
“Nice temple complex they have here,” I muttered. Glancing over at the pilot, I asked, “No o
ne has challenged us yet?”
The pilot shook his head. “No communications whatsoever, my lord—though I started signaling the Church complex the moment we started down. And nothing much in the way of air traffic.” He glanced at me, puzzled. “It’s as if the whole planet is deserted.”
I didn’t like the sound of that. “No answer at all?”
He shook his head.
I leaned forward, staring out the viewport, slowly shaking my head. “Could the Verghasites have killed them all before they attacked us?” And then, before anyone could answer me, I provided myself with a sort of reply: “There’s no damage, no signs of conflict.”
“Pretty strange,” the pilot said.
“Too strange,” I agreed. I chewed my lip for a few seconds, then motioned to the co-pilot. “Ask Captain Salas to go ahead and send out the Rangers.”
“Aye.”
We moved into a slow circle over the complex.
“Any sign of the ship itself?”
The pilot hesitated, then pointed. I followed his gesture to where he indicated through the viewport. A tiny gray smudge slowly resolved into the late Corindar Jeras’s ship. It sat almost dead center in the grassy field that filled the space between the main building and the artificial lake.
“Odd choice of parking spots,” I observed. “They must have been in quite a hurry. Can’t imagine the Church was happy about it.”
“Maybe they knew we were chasing them,” the pilot said.
I looked at him. “Did they? Could they have?”
He shrugged. “Possibly.”
I considered. If the Church officials weren’t out throwing a fit over Jeras’s ship landing there in the middle of their landscaping, they weren’t likely to care much if we did the same, I reasoned.
“The ship with the Rangers will be here in two minutes,” the co-pilot informed me.
“Very well. Then take us straight down beside the other ship and we will go from there.”
The pilot nodded once and manipulated the controls of our small vessel.
The expanse of immaculately maintained lawn had been cut into a representation of the Church’s emblem, seven stars in a circle, wreathed in flame. At the base of the emblem stood the cathedral that formed the foremost structure of the compound. The seven towers comprising its façade loomed at least a hundred meters above the lawn, each of them reflecting a different architectural style; presumably, representative of the styles of the Seven Worlds, before the closing of the Gates had cut each off from the others. Behind that edifice, the lower shapes of the administrative and support buildings trailed away into the distance.
Waiting by the hatch, I hopped out as soon as we touched down. The grass, thick and fragrant, swallowed up my boots. Motioning for the others to remain onboard, I jogged across to where Jeras’s ship rested, its engines off but smoke still rising from its exhaust ports. I stared at the ship for several seconds as I felt the anger—the rage—rising up from within me. I could see my father in his tent, and I could see Corindar Jeras. I could see them both erupting in flames. The look on Dad’s face would haunt my dreams for the rest of my life—or so I believed at the time.
I pushed the all-too-recent nightmare images away and drew my sidearm. Slowly I circled the ship, moving to my right, until the entry/exit hatch came into view. It stood open. I halted and stared. The ship’s occupants had disembarked in a hurry. A big hurry. They hadn’t even bothered to close the door behind them.
A whoosh of air brought my attention above and behind me and I looked back. Another ship, this one bearing the emblems of my own government and navy, was settling to the lawn on columns of vectored thrust. A heavy troop transport shuttle. I waved.
Hatches snapped open and the Rangers filed out briskly. They wore dark blue jumpsuits with brown leather belts and boots. Each wore a red commando’s beret and carried a heavy rifle. Their sergeant came up to me and saluted. Then he eyed the Church buildings warily.
“What’s this all about, if you don’t mind my asking, my lord?”
Many of our planetary troops were religious. Our planetary regent, Maxillus, had always encouraged it, to foster obedience and devotion. These men probably were nervous about brandishing their weapons on the Church’s grounds. I sincerely hoped they could overcome that feeling, if the situation called for it.
“We’re just going to have a look around, Sergeant,” I said. “The place actually appears to be deserted.”
This seemed to satisfy him well enough, and he returned his attention to his soldiers.
I glanced back at the cathedral as the troops formed up. The place indeed appeared vacant. No one moved on the tops of the towers. I frowned.
I started across the lawn and had gotten within a few yards of the massive main doorway when it swung slowly inward of its own accord. I stopped, waiting, but no one appeared, so I continued through and inside. The room was dark, and it took my eyes a moment to adjust.
“Did you have a fire on your ship?”
“What?”
Puzzled, I turned toward the voice.
A woman in the brown robes of the Church stood just inside the door to my left. She was of medium height, and I could make out tanned skin beneath the hood that completely covered her hair and most of her face. I recognized the emblem of a junior corinda dangling on a chain about her neck, the red gemstone glittering at the center of a golden starburst.
“Your clothes,” she said, approaching. “You look like you’ve been through a fire.”
I looked down at myself, saw what she meant. My blue uniform was dingy, streaked with soot, and my hands didn’t look much better. I’d already forgotten what the fire and its remnants had done to me, back on Victoria. And that brought back other memories I preferred not to dwell upon.
“Things have been a little too busy to worry about it,” I said, causing her to frown.
“What do you—?” she began.
“Where is everyone?” I asked.
She opened her mouth, closed it again.
“I am Sister Halaini, assistant corinda,” she said after a moment’s confusion. “Who are you? Where are you from?”
I touched a point on my belt and a holographic image appeared in the air between us, showing my credentials.
She drew back her hood and stared, first at the credentials, then at me. Her hair was dark and her features somewhat Polynesian.
“Gaius Baranak,” she read. “Commander. Special Assistant to Lord General Constantine Baranak.” She looked up. “Never heard of him.”
“My father,” I said. “My late father. Which is why we are here, in a way.”
“You aren’t from Sarmata,” she gasped, recoiling, stumbling back a step. Her eyes, widening now, never left me. “You’ve come here from one of the other worlds. Through the Gates.”
“We have indeed,” I said with a nod. “From Majondra.”
She walked forcefully past me and out through the doors onto the front area. She looked around almost frantically, seeing the Rangers patrolling here and there. She clutched at her Church emblem on its chain. “You’ve come to take over. To conquer us.”
“Not at all,” I replied quickly—ignoring the fact that, yes, that had indeed been part of my father’s original plan. That plan had not survived first contact with the enemy; the question I now faced was, exactly who was that enemy?
She appeared extremely dubious of my denial. “Then why are you here?”
“Following a lead,” I replied. I gave her a quick and basic summary of the events that had led us to her world and her cathedral, omitting the part about why our forces had been gathered on Victoria to begin with.
When I finished, she shook her head.
“We are the Holy Church,” she said, her voice indignant. “We harbor no assassins.” She folded her arms across her chest, grasping her golden insignia with one hand, and glared.
“Are you certain of that?” I asked. Turning, I pointed back to the abandoned Church ship sitting par
ked in the middle of the expanse of grass. “It’s empty now. They had to have gone somewhere. And they chose to flee to this facility.”
Her expression clouded. “I have seen no one arrive,” she snapped. “In fact, quite a few of our own have disappeared this afternoon.” She gestured around at the empty courtyard and the open doors; the only people visible were my own Rangers. She frowned then, and I began to wonder if she had until now appreciated just how deserted her church facility was.
One of the Rangers caught my attention. He held a small sensor device. “My lord,” he said, “she has sent a signal. I just detected it.”
I faced her, frowning.
“I have called for the Sister Superior,” she said before I could ask. “Perhaps she can better answer your questions.”
I didn’t reply to that. We stood there a few moments, waiting, while the Rangers continued their search. At one point a sergeant approached and informed me, “No signs of the people from the ship, my lord. We are continuing to scan.”
“Very well.”
“What is this?”
We all looked around as a new figure strode out through the cathedral’s main doorway.
“Who are you people? How dare you bring armed soldiers onto Church property?”
It was a woman, that much was clear enough. Though almost entirely covered in a brown cloak and robes like Sister Halaini, she was taller and stronger of build. She whipped back her hood to reveal angular features and long, black hair. Her eyes were cold and blue and drilled through me as she approached.
“I am the Sister Superior,” she announced. She gave her name, as well, but I immediately forgot it and did not remember it again until much later. “What is going on here?”
I attempted to calm her, to little effect. “We are from Majondra,” I explained, “and are chasing the accomplices of a murderer.”
Her expression altered only slightly at that. “And you believe these—accomplices—have come here?”
I nodded toward the ship we’d tracked.
The Sister Superior and Sister Halaini exchanged looks.
Baranak: Storming the Gates (The Above Book 2) Page 4