The Ascendant Stars

by Cobley, Michael

  On the viewport overlay the same information was being exchanged between the admiral and Ash.

  ‘ … and we’re getting an audiocast from the Firebrand,’ Olarevic said. ‘I’ll tie you in on this channel.’

  There was a moment of interference followed by a man’s voice. He sounded young, agitated and determined.

  ‘ … repeat, this is Sub-Lieutenant Weiss, head of the Firebrand loyalty cadre. We have retaken the bridge and intend to fly this ship safely home, whatever the intentions of the enemies within and those outside. This message is going out shipwide and on local ship frequencies. No one aboard this vessel should doubt our resolve. If we are prevented from flying back home, we shall implement the self-destruct. We have all the senior officer command keys and are fully prepared to use them. That is all.’

  ‘What’s a loyalty cadre?’ Greg said to Berg.

  ‘I remember Becker proposing such a thing a year ago,’ Berg said. ‘At the time the Bund rejected it out of hand, but now … perhaps he believes he no longer needs their approval. Ah, the Firebrand’s shields have just gone up!’

  They were now getting a visual feed from the Vox Humana flagship. The Imisil probe schematic showed that the two contested vessels were nearly 2,000 kiloms apart but the split-screen visual showed them both. They were of identical design, a bulky boxy stern, a tapering midsection and a wider forward section containing most of the heavy offence capability. The image subtitled ‘Firebrand’ possessed a glowing halo corresponding to that vessel’s shield defences. A number of small specks, lifepods, were radiating out from it, each tagged with a symbol and a number.

  Berg had been in a muttered exchange with Ash but then turned to Greg.

  ‘The Imisil probe has been picking up some shipboard communications for the last few minutes – doesn’t sound promising.’ He prodded a few holopanel keys and Greg’s own console began playing a conversation.

  ‘ … won’t speak to you! – you’ve shown that you have nothing to say that we wish to hear!’

  ‘Look, have we not ceased firing and pulled back from your corridors? If you want this ship to go anywhere you’ll need our cooperation and we too are desperate to get away from here. Please, let me speak with Weiss … ’

  In a low voice Greg said, ‘Is this happening in realtime?’

  Berg nodded as a new voice came over the audio link.

  ‘This is Weiss – what do you wish to say?’

  ‘We propose a bargain – if we help you get the ship away you agree to put us off at a neutral world before heading for Tygra.’

  ‘I understand. Here is my counter-proposal – you and all working with you shall agree to enter lockdown confinement prior to our departure for Tygra, where you will be tried for the crime of mutiny.’

  ‘No, Weiss, that is unacceptable and foolish given that we surround you while our ship is likewise surrounded.’

  ‘I will not sully my honour and the honour of the Black Sun Commandery. As Nightwalkers I would not expect you to grasp these essentials.’

  ‘You are deaf to the voice of change – things cannot go on the way they have under Becker. Have you even seen the Rawlins testament?’

  ‘I have seen it and it is a pack of stinking lies from start to finish. Genocide against the Zshahil? It’s a vile slur on our ancestors and our collective honour, which seems to hold little meaning for the likes of you.’

  ‘I weary of this. Blab and whine about honour all you like, but we’re coming for you!’

  ‘Do not test me, Nightwalker … wait, what’s that? … through the ceiling? … so you think I’m bluffing, do you? Then prepare to be devoured by the fire … ’

  Seconds later there was a burst of static and the link went dead. At the same time, on the visual feed a series of explosions ripped apart the forward section of the Firebrand. This was followed by fiery eruptions along the midsection and several minor ones on the underside. These were all eclipsed when the entire stern burst apart in a cataclysmic blast of destruction, one last violent blaze of energies as the drive fields tried to simultaneously create and consume the quanta of space-time …

  On another screen, Ash and the Vox H admiral were discussing the retrieval of the Firebrand’s pods and what to do with the other ship, the Vanquisher. But Greg was thinking over what he’d heard during that final, fateful exchange, especially the bit about a testament. When he mentioned it to Berg, the man seemed semi-distracted as if caught up in a stream of his own thoughts.

  ‘There is … something that it may refer to,’ Berg said. ‘But I’d rather let Ash or the captain explain it for you.’

  ‘Contact,’ said the tac officer suddenly. ‘Ship matching Tygran destroyer configuration just exited hyperspace 48,680 kiloms from Darien with high-vee trajectory. Extrapolation suggests that vessel is on course for atmospheric re-entry.’

  ‘Smart flying,’ Berg said, sitting back in the couch.

  ‘And you’re just going to let him go ahead and land,’ Greg said. ‘On my world.’

  ‘You were here when Commander Ash gave his very precise instructions, Mr Cameron … ’

  ‘Aye, but … ’

  ‘And we know that Tygran destroyers considerably outgun scout vessels like the Starfire … ’

  ‘Well, aye, but … ’

  ‘But, Mr Cameron, my orders did not specifically restrict any efforts to gather additional data – Sub-Lieutenant Bains, how many sensor probes do we have?’

  ‘Twelve short-range, eight long-range, sir,’ said the tac officer.

  ‘Prep eight of the short-range and configure them for pursuit,’ Berg said. ‘Launch them in sequence to intercept that destroyer’s projected re-entry path at half-kilometre intervals.’

  ‘Probes configured, sir … probes launched … ’

  In almost the next breath a frame popped open on the main viewport. It was Ash.

  ‘Lieutenant Berg, I thought I’d made myself clear … ’

  ‘Sensor probes, sir, gathering more data on their atmospheric capabilities.’

  ‘Really? Their trajectories seem somewhat aggressive, almost as if they’re on course to collide with Becker’s ship!’ Then his attention switched to Greg. ‘Mr Cameron, wild plans like these undermine my authority.’

  ‘Had nothing to do with this one, Commander. Almost wish I did, though. Clever … ’

  Ash frowned. ‘Clever? How?’

  ‘Well, if this guy Becker is as distrusting and paranoid as everyone seems to think, then he’s gonna look at those incoming probes, think the worst, and … ’

  ‘Becker’s ship is altering its descent path, sir,’ said the tac officer, Bains. ‘Banking to starboard … executing a turn of 163 degrees … ’

  Greg gave Berg a smiling nod. Berg raised an acknowledging eyebrow.

  ‘So Becker, y’see, now has to pass over the continental landmass to reach the colony rather than coming from the sea,’ Greg said. ‘Should take him over areas dominated by them Spiralists with their shoulder-mounted ground-to-air launchers.’ He shrugged. ‘Maybe one’ll get lucky, who knows, eh?’

  ‘A long shot, Mr Cameron.’

  ‘Aye, but God loves a trier, Mr Ash.’

  ‘Contact,’ said Bains. ‘Multiple contacts at outer long range … sir, I’m picking up Imisil idents.’

  ‘But their fleet’s not due for hours,’ said Berg.

  Ash was getting similar data on his own bridge but suddenly his face turned grim and his channel went dead.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Greg said.

  Berg was studying his own holoconsole, worry plain in his features.

  ‘Oh, it’s the Imisil all right,’ he said. ‘But we’re only picking up four ships.’

  ‘Four?’ Greg said. ‘Out of the original sixty that set out … ’ He shook his head, then chuckled quietly.

  ‘You see a humorous side to this?’ Berg said, annoyed.

  ‘Not so much, but I remember what my Uncle Theo said about the time he was expecting reinforcements and
got rather less than he hoped. He turned to his men and said, “All it mean, boys, is more medals for the rest of us, eh?”’

  JULIA

  Julia-Dragon paused on the mountain track and stared out over the lands of Vendredasir, at the hills, forests and dales growing dark with the encroaching dusk. The great winding river Manarun was a shining ribbon which was turning bloody red as the sun dipped to the horizon. She sniffed the air then shook her great head and resumed the trudge to the summit.

  Harry was already there when she arrived. His exter was that of a paladin of the Order of the Dawnflower and was clad in an elaborate suit of armour, all silver, yellow and blue. Julia’s exter was a Great Red Drake of the Damynel Nightclan, who just happened to be mortal enemies of the Order of the Dawnflower …

  ‘How much longer will this take?’ she said, slumping down, taking up most of the summit’s flat, pebbly area. ‘Your drone friend said that all we needed to do was spend some of the credit and this Nicodemus would easily track us when the account flagged up. We’ve been in here for nearly two hours and still nothing.’

  For Julia the entire situation had turned sour. They had translocated from Reski Emantes’s data refuge aboard the airship to the Glow lobby at the Medafrique multiportal, and soon after received a glownote from the AI telling them to buy player tickets in a sagaverse called ‘The Chronicles of the Black Throne’. Even as they wove through the immense crowds she felt she was being watched. Harry had laughed and said that was because everyone was being watched – visual feeds of every part of the open concourses were streamed around the world and across the solar system. Thus her initial experience of the Glow had been hectic and rushed, a dash through masses of wildly variegated avatars and exters, past the roaring neon flash of impossibly grand virtual stores, beneath the towering shapes of advertising goliaths scattering handfuls of groundcars and hoverbikes like confetti.

  The ‘Black Throne’ sagaverse was a hugely popular story braid comprising scores of major plotlines and hundreds of minor ones in addition to the thousands of side quests, as well as those conspiracies and intrigues set in motion by the players themselves. The setting was a vast pseudo-medieval domain populated by a staggering array of fantastical creatures and species and fleshed out with detailed histories, customs, rivalries and superstitions.

  Most of which Julia disregarded as they hurried through the character-induction process which they’d both set to Random-Fast … and ended up with exters whose story roles were diametrically opposed. After a few unsettling incidents they left Kadyni, the hill-town they started at, and headed for the mountains. Where they ran into a band of masked horsemen who said not a thing, just attacked them on sight. After Julia had flown them both away, an exhausting task, Harry was sure that they were only a preset bunch of encounter mooks but she felt there was something more to them.

  ‘Do you know anything about this Nicodemus?’ she said.

  ‘A little – he’s supposed to be the greatest living netmole, aka the Trapdoorman, aka the Karpetkrawler, aka Obscuriel.’ Harry laughed. ‘Moles do like their akas. Well, if anyone can help us get the Farag report to our Sino pals it’ll be him.’

  ‘Assuming that he comes for us,’ Julia said, glancing at the dimming sky. ‘And now it’s getting dark … what’s wrong?’

  Harry was standing and peering back the way they had come. ‘It seems that our horse-riding friends have caught up with us … ’ He paused as the leathery sound of flapping wings came down from above.

  Looking up, Julia saw three winged, lizardlike creatures circling overhead, icy blue eyes staring down. Their wingspans were nothing like her own but together they could be effective against even a Great Drake. But only if she actually decided to stick around and get involved.

  ‘Harry, this is a waste of time,’ she said as she laboriously got onto her clawed feet. ‘We should leave and try one of the other sagaverses. Perhaps this Nicodemus will find it easier to find us elsewhere.’

  He grinned. ‘I detect a certain determination.’

  ‘I just feel that I’ve seen enough.’ She paused, recalling the exact trigger phrase given to her at the induction stage, then said, ‘Angel Boxer Campus.’

  At once a big red button appeared and she leaned forward to nudge it with her dragonish snout as the masked horsemen came charging up from the mountain path …

  The scene before her quivered, blurred, dissolved and resolved into the bright extravagance of a huge, horseshoe-shaped foyer lined with player portals. Light from glowing orreries lit up the busy crowds that streamed to and fro across a glass floor inlaid with lacy white patterns, or came and went on the helical slides that spiralled down to the level below. The foyer to ‘The Chronicles of the Black Throne’ sagaverse had over two dozen entryway levels to cater for the throngs eager to sample its fantastic domains, and that was just at the Medafrique multiportal. Julia saw numerous adbanners floating around, some claiming that the average daily player numbers were equal to the population of one of the larger South American nations …

  ‘Ah, there you are,’ said Harry, who was back in his gaudy Tiger-Duke exter, as provided by the drone Reski Emantes. Julia’s was similar, Lioness-Lady, a marvel of golden velvet, amber satin and black lace highlights. ‘Where shall we go next?’

  ‘The nearest sagaverse to this one,’ she said, leading the way out to the canyonlike concourse. Halting at the threshold, her eyes alighted on an immense, pillar-flanked entrance with an archaic bas-relief frieze above and wide white steps sweeping up towards it. Solid-looking black letters hung in midair, spelling out Welcome to Magnum Imperium.

  ‘That one,’ she said.

  Harry obtained a swan-shaped jitney which they rode across the concourse, weaving through the frantic swarms of players, tourists and other Glowfolk. Some moments later they were climbing the white stair to a towering hall that was all obsidian columns, gold statues and immense mirrors.

  The mirrors turned out to be the means by which their in-saga exters were chosen, after which Harry used the credit account to pay for an all-day access. This time Julia gave more attention to the milieu – an alternate Roman Empire that had developed steam power – and her options for choosing a character-exter. She settled on that of a female military praetor of middle years called Placidia. The exter’s attire was a combination of military practicality and feminine delicacy. There was a bronze breastplate and over it a loose patterned blue robe. A kirtle of scales, and a pale yellow sash tied about the waist. Shoulder pauldrons with long pegs from which little fealty pennons hung, and a muslin scarf wound about the head. And at the waist a long dagger in a plain scabbard. Once she had settled on her preferences, she only had to walk forward and through the mirror to emerge on a sunlit colonnaded arcade overlooking the river Tiber.

  Rome was a hazy, smoky cityscape spread out beneath a midmorning sun. The river was busy with vessels, single- and double-funnelled galleys steaming up to the docks or down to the sea. Tugs hauled lines of covered barges to and fro across river-spanning viaducts while bulbous dirigibles flew overhead, trailing smoke and steam.

  ‘Quiet view, eh?’

  Harry joined her at the stone balcony. He had on a mixture of battered grey armour and red-stained leathers, with the symbol of a black wolf clearly visible. He wore a long sword at the waist and carried a large satchel on his shoulder. He gave a flourishing bow.

  ‘Quintus Cornelius Vibiano, centurio-evocati of the Sixty-Third Legion, at your service, lady!’

  ‘Pleased to make your acquaintance – apparently I am Placidia Murcius, praetor and trader in fine wines. So, here we are, or rather here we still are.’ She frowned. ‘When should we … ’

  ‘Return to the Glow and try to reach the representatives ourselves?’ Harry shook his head. ‘I may be a cunning AI with friends in low places but in this place I wouldn’t know where to start.’

  ‘But time is not on our side,’ she said. ‘If this Nicodemus doesn’t show up we may have no choice.’
r />   Harry arched an eyebrow. ‘Well, if it does come to that there is at least a sizeable amount in that account … ’

  A crash and a rumble from somewhere close interrupted him. Leaning forward on the low balcony, Julia looked down ten floors to a cobbled street lined with small shops and odd kiosks on stilts. A steam-powered wagon had collided with the corner of the two-storey building opposite and tipped over, spilling its cargo of oranges across the street. A shop front was demolished and a stilted kiosk had also been knocked over. Some traders were arguing with the driver and his two loaders and before long harsh words led to shoving and thrown punches.

  But before things got out of hand, several men in dark green cloaks and leather armour arrived and pulled the antagonists apart. They were armed with cudgels that were waved about or ostentatiously rested on shoulders.

  ‘The Vigiles Urbani,’ Harry said. ‘City police, basically.’

  As she watched, Julia heard an odd metallic creak behind her, like hinges. When she glanced round she was stunned to see a skinny man in a long, grubby coat and wearing antique-style goggles emerging from a trapdoor in the floor of the arcade. For a moment they stared open-mouthed at each other, and he seemed about to smile and beckon to her when a red light started flashing on his wrist.

  ‘Dammit, they’re here again!’ he said in a strangled whisper. Lithely he ducked back down and pulled the trapdoor shut with a muffled thud.

  ‘Harry, it was … ’

  ‘Ah, I think we’d best be on our way,’ said Harry. ‘Our pursuers are back.’

  Julia peered over the balcony and saw that the green cloaks, now wearing pale, blank stage-masks, were leaving the scene of the accident and crossing the road.

  ‘Who or what are they?’

  ‘Can’t imagine that it’s the netlaw – they would land on us in overkill numbers and with a brass band playing.’ He frowned. ‘I fear they may be those who tracked us to Earth and assassinated the original Reski Emantes. In any case, we can’t stay here.’