War Against the White Knights

by Tim C. Taylor

  Del slapped his old friend on the shoulder. “Relax, General. It’s entirely natural to get confused. You’re getting old. That’s all.”

  The words were meant as a joke, but aging was never a laughing matter to Arun and especially not now.

  Arun felt himself transported back to an event when he was eighteen, and had led a boarding action on a mysterious ship they’d named the Bonaventure, which had blown up in unexplained circumstances shortly after. Admiral Indiya had been monitoring Bonaventure closely and told Arun that a rescue ship had ripped apart reality in order to take off the crew undetected. Indiya was not someone given to exaggeration, nor to half-baked theories.

  The ship’s human crew had identified themselves as Amilxi, and the first Amilxi Arun encountered were injured personnel in an infirmary. Underneath the sheets of his hospital bed had been an old man with a beard who had referred to Arun as General McEwan. The Amilxi crewman had been older, and there had been more white in the beard, but Arun was absolutely certain that the same man was standing before him.

  The wounded Bonaventure crewman had been none other than Del-Marie Sandure. But that was impossible…

  — CHAPTER 11 —

  Remus hurtled down the corridor. He was in a hurry and not in a good mood. Funny, but he had always thought of himself as carefree, happy go lucky – despite what Romulus thought – but that was before…

  In truth there had always been a dark corner, a knot of anger, of… not despair exactly, but rather the fear that everything good in his life would be snatched away, that he would somehow lose everything he considered dear, and now it felt as if he had.

  He’d never discussed this with anyone, not even Romulus. He didn’t need to, not with his brother. He could sense a similar kernel of clenched obsidian lurking within him too. This was what made their bond so strong and kept them so close; they shared more than mere history, they shared this darkness too. It was one of the reasons Remus had transferred away from the Wolves, and Romulus had always acted the part of the extrovert, the couldn’t-give-a-damn risk-taker, to deny what lurked within him. Until the attack on Khallini. Since then the carefree Romulus had been an act.

  He didn’t need anyone to psychoanalyze his situation: he knew that any shrink who caught wind of it would point straight towards the traumatic death of their mothers, to the compassionate but tough upbringing Nhlappo had subjected them to. Maybe that was true, maybe it wasn’t. Remus didn’t care. Nhlappo was all the mother he’d ever needed and he had been too young to remember the death of his actual birth-mother; any memories of that incident he might think he possessed were merely constructed from what others had told him. Besides, the darkness had been with him all his life. It was a part of him, to be relished because it kept him sharp – kept him at his best. He needed to be in order to make certain the beast remained tethered.

  Now, for the first time since he was a kid, he felt his grip slipping and worried that someday soon he might lose control and let the darkness emerge. All because of Romulus.

  Ever since Romulus had returned following the Hardit attack on the Khallini system something had changed. Remus knew his brother, and knew that he was hiding something, but Romulus denied the fact and had been avoiding him as much as possible. That worried Remus more than anything. He had to find out what was going on. He had to get his brother back.

  He’d achieved nothing by confronting Romulus himself and Janna wasn’t any help. She refused to admit there was a problem. But she was closer to Romulus than anyone now, even him, and the Wolfgirl wasn’t stupid.

  Finally, he found who he was looking for. She was with two other Wolves, in what looked to be casual conversation.

  “Kalli, can I have a word?” If Janna confided in anyone, it would be this, her closest friend.

  She looked round, clearly surprised. Remus knew that his appearance resembled that of a Wolf more than anything – the parasite adding layers of gnarly growth to his skin, the very thing that set the Wolves apart – but he wasn’t one, not anymore, despite his upbringing.

  She didn’t hesitate, though. “Certainly, Squadron Leader,” and the two moved apart from the other Wolves.

  Rank, a reputation, and a shared past had its advantages, it would seem.

  “What I’m about to ask is in strictest confidence…”

  “Of course, sir.” Even though he was now navy, she drew her shoulders back, almost standing to attention.

  “…And I’m asking not as an officer, but as a brother.”

  “Oh?” She looked wary now. “This isn’t official, then.”

  “No, but that doesn’t mean it’s not important. Has Janna said anything to you about Romulus?”

  Was that a smirk? “All sorts of things,” she said. Yes, definitely a smirk. “You’d be surprised what us girls talk about.”

  “I didn’t mean that… has she said anything about being worried? About Romulus acting weirdly, or keeping secrets?”

  “Look, Remus, I don’t know what you’re driving at, but I’m not comfortable talking about my friends behind their backs. You got a problem with Romulus? Talk to him, not me.”

  “I’ve tried,” he admitted, “but he’s avoiding me. Even joined the Wolves to keep away from me.”

  She looked exasperated. “He re-joined the Wolves to be near Janna!”

  “So he says.”

  “Dear Gods, typical man. It always has to be about you, doesn’t it? How self-obsessed can you get? Can’t you imagine that your precious brother has other priorities – a woman, say?”

  “Look, I didn’t mean…”

  She waved a hand, as if to push him away. “I don’t care what you meant. I’m not having this conversation. It shouldn’t be me you’re talking to in any case. This isn’t official, right?”

  “Right.”

  “In that case, frakk off, sir!” So saying, she spun around and left him.

  That went well.

  ——

  The conversation with Kalli had made his mind up. Her overly defensive reaction spoke volumes – she knew something was up, just as Janna did, but no one was willing to face the fact; except him. Drastic action was needed and he could only see one course that remained open to him.

  Remus took a few moments to compose himself, to work out what he was going to say, and then set out.

  Remus liked being a pilot. Yes, there were always strategies to comply with and orders to follow. Being a fighter pilot, particularly a senior one, didn’t absolve him of responsibility. He was a squadron leader, others relied on him and it was his job to ensure they carried out their assigned missions, but when the shooting started even the best laid plans had a habit of going to hell in a hand-basket, of being superseded by events, and then it was down to the individual.

  Yes, he liked being a pilot, but times changed. He had been raised a Wolf but turned his back on soldiering, deliberately distancing himself from the opportunity that represented at a young age. Nhlappo hadn’t objected. In fact, she had always been quietly supportive of both him and Romulus in whatever they chose to do. Perhaps, at some subconscious level, she sensed the darkness that lurked within them and recognized why they didn’t want to be Wolves. Fighting that close up, using hand-held weapons and without the bulwark of a hull and the immensity of space between you and an enemy… That prospect had always terrified Remus. Not in terms of his own safety, no, but rather because of the opportunity it would provide to lose control. In the early days, he understood that some of the Marines had called the Wolves ‘berserkers’. Remus had looked the term up, and he could understand why outsiders might think that, but the Wolves weren’t berserkers, not really. Yes, they relished combat, got a real buzz from fighting, killing, and winning, but there was always an element of control, of rational thought in even their wildest moments.

  Remus was afraid that should he ever return to the Wolves, that was when everyone would discover what the term berserker really meant.

  But Romulus had done it, and Re
mus hadn’t heard any whispers of craziness, any talk of his losing it in the field…

  “Hey, Remus, I want a word with you.”

  Janna! That was all he needed.

  She came charging up like a runaway fighter. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, going to Kalli behind my back, quizzing her about Romulus?” That hadn’t taken long. “He’s my lover for frakk’s sake and your brother. If you’ve got a problem, you talk to me about it not my friends, or, even better, man-up and ask him to his face.”

  “I have!” The ferocity of his response more than matched Janna’s anger, clearly catching her by surprise. “And he keeps spouting the same old drent about being adrift after your ship blew until he was rescued.”

  “I was adrift and picked up, so are you saying that I’m a liar too?”

  “No! The timings, Janna… He was found much later than you. How come his air lasted so long?”

  “For Horden’s sake, we’ve been over this a hundred times. Do you remember what it was like that day? People dying, ship’s systems getting fried – it was chaos out there. Someone’s got their timings wrong, that’s all. Romulus survived, that’s what matters. Why can’t you just accept that, be grateful, and move on?”

  “Because he’s hiding something, Janna. You know that. Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t.”

  She tried, but her gaze slid away from his.

  “Thought so.”

  He turned and strode away from her.

  “Where are you going?” she called after him.

  “To get to the bottom of this.”

  “How?”

  “By stepping down as a pilot. I’m joining the Wolves, just like my brother did.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “Watch me.”

  She made no move to follow or to stop him.

  — CHAPTER 12 —

  Announced by that gear-crunching noise that the maintenance teams could never quite eliminate, the hatch to Arun’s ready room retracted and his confidence received a boost that no artificial drug could hope to match.

  The officer who stepped through exchanged a salute with her military superior before opening her arms to receive Arun in her embrace.

  “You ready to tell them, Twinkle Eyes?” Xin whispered into his ear.

  “No,” he replied, and kissed her like a hormone-riddled cadet. The universe seldom allowed him the simple pleasure of kissing her. He groaned, frustrated because they only had a few moments for each other.

  He drew away, holding her upper arms in a loose grip and wondering when she had bulked out with so much muscle.

  “You know I’m never ready to give the big speeches,” said Arun, “but I’m ten times better prepared for having seen you beforehand.” Arun grimaced. Del had grown into the master of the stirring speech that appealed to different races, but Del-Marie’s position in Arun’s world had become far more complicated after Arun had recognized him as an Amilxi. “Come in,” he said to Xin. “Sit down.”

  “Arun, there’s no time.”

  “Then at least tell me how you’ve been. I missed you.”

  Xin rolled her eyes, and Arun couldn’t resist smiling in delight. The rest of her had been hardened and scarred by war – the look in her eyes even more than her body – but her eyes were still bright pools of wonder, and there were still glances and gestures, such as that eye roll, that were unchanged since their youth.

  “It’s only been four months since you last saw me,” she said.

  “Four months, three days, seven hours.”

  “Way to avoid looking needy, McEwan.”

  “You look beautiful.”

  “Yeah, I kinda got that. But…” she looked away for a moment. “But don’t ever stop telling me.” She sighed. “I don’t expect the former Governor of Klin-Tula thought I was beautiful at 07:30 this morning.”

  He frowned. “I haven’t been following the pacification program down on the planet. Are you referring to her execution?”

  “Its execution. The Governor was Hardit New Order. Tawfiq’s freakish monkey-vecks have buried endless Hardit gender wars by redefining their bodies as something post-gender. The very idea terrorizes the Hardits who lived here before the New Order annexed their world.”

  “It’s okay, Xin. There’s nothing to feel guilty about. We have to make an example to the remaining Hardits.”

  Xin drew in a sharp breath. “Arun, the Hardits are important. You need to get over your bad memories and make the effort to understand them a little more. I didn’t execute their leaders in public to cow the Hardit population into submission, I did it to reassure them that the Governor and the New Order can no longer hurt them, that Legion protection is meaningful and here to stay. It feels so weird to say this about a Hardit planet of all places, but the fight for Klin-Tula feels like a clearer case of liberation than almost any other planet I’ve fought over.” Xin’s eyes narrowed to slits. “And I didn’t just order the executions, Arun, I watched them die in person, and felt deep satisfaction when I saw the light fade from their eyes. Does that make me a terrible person?”

  “Terrible?” He squeezed her shoulders. “Yes, Xin you are terrible.”

  He let her frown on, teasing her. There had been a time long ago in Detroit when his comrades had regarded Arun as the squad joker, but Xin was the only person he could still tease. Everyone else was too dead or too alien. Actually no, he corrected himself, he still teased Pedro whenever they met. “Xin, you are terrible like the seas of Earth that our mariner ancestors once knew, a terrible mistress, an untamable force of nature that sailors worshipped, feared, and loved in equal measure… which is pretty much how I feel about you.”

  Arun delighted in watching the tension fall away from Xin until she could actually smile. “I like that, Arun. Good recovery. From here on, you’re to worship me as an incarnation of Mazu, the sea goddess. Makes sense. They call Marines like us Homo sapiens marinus, after all.”

  Arun placed a hand on Xin’s belly. “My goddess, when we win the final battle–”

  “If we win, Arun.”

  “No, when we win. I know we will…” He took a sharp intake of breath. “Springer foresaw it. When we win, will you be ready to bring our child into the universe?”

  “No.”

  Arun’s heart solidified and then shattered. Everything after this point had depended on her saying yes. What the hell just happened?

  Xin’s face softened at the sight of his pain. “Don’t despair so quickly, Arun. Since the dawn of time, I don’t think a single prospective parent has truly been ready. Frakk it! Let’s do it, Arun. When we’ve won, we will quicken this little bump into a new life. Into a little girl.”

  Arun picked up Xin and swung her around, laughing like a lunatic until they lifted off the floor and bounced off the bulkhead. She had never told him the gender until now.

  “Heaven help our child with parents like us,” he said with a grin.

  “Heaven help her with a father like you,” countered Xin playfully. “I’m the only one who remembered we’re on a spaceship with nominal acceleration.”

  They kissed. Arun wanted more, much more, but that would have to wait until after the planning conference. He settled for tracing a line with his fingertips along her eyebrows, across her cheek, and down to the nape of her neck. As he looked into her beautiful face he wondered idly what would happen to the embryos Pedro had stored long ago. They were his children too. His and Xin… and Tremayne’s.

  “Please don’t force me to be the sensible one,” said Xin.

  Arun took a deep breath. “Okay. Colonel Lee, we have to go.”

  “Yes, we do.”

  They set off for the planning room, walking hand-in-hand.

  ——

  The ‘A’ Fleet commanders in Vengeance of Saesh’s planning room contemplated the holo-display, but if any there had hoped the display would yield fresh answers, they could only be disappointed.

  The vassal races that comprised the
Human Legion had always been denied detailed information on the target system, the holo-display reporting only what they could tell through long-range astronomical instruments. The fleet’s astrogation systems didn’t even have an English-language name for the system, something Indiya had rectified. She named the system Olympus-Ultra and the four planets after Earth rivers. It was on the third planet, an inner gas giant called Euphrates, where the White Knight Emperor claimed his species had evolved. Or, rather, on its huge moon, which Indiya had named Athena.

  Somewhere on Athena was the Imperial capital where the Emperor waited helplessly inside the shielded citadel. Capture the Emperor, control the empire.

  “It is all very well contemplating the target system,” said Graz, the Tallerman commander, pulling her cupola-like head defensively into her rocky body. “But we have no intelligence on what awaits us there. The risk of an attack is huge.”

  “The risk of not attacking is greater still,” said Admiral Kreippil. “Does your courage falter, Lieutenant-General?”

  For a moment, Arun thought the Tallerman would use her slab-like fists to strike the Littorane, but she must have thought better of it. “A Tallerman without courage is an oxymoron, Admiral. To suggest otherwise indicates only ignorance. The quality my race lacks is blind optimism.”

  The big Littorane went very still.

  “General Graz makes a fair statement,” said Aureanus, the representative of the Gliesans, a race of hollow-boned gliders from the low-gee world of Gliese-Pavonis. “We cannot know what awaits us because our reserves are overstretched as it is defending Legion territories. The larger our alliance of planets grows the more points of vulnerability we offer to attackers. And they are attacking. Khallini has suffered three major attacks in fifteen years. Next time may be the last one for us. We will not get another chance at to take Olympus-Ultra, and it looks unlikely that our enemies will grant us the luxury of waiting for reinforcements.”

  “I disagree,” said Graz. “We could still retreat, consolidate on a bastion of strong worlds, wait and expand when we are stronger.” The Tallerman’s attitude didn’t surprise Arun in the slightest. Stoic defense and fortitude against the years-long winters of their natural habitat on Tallerman-4 was more than cultural: it was their key evolutionary strategy.