“The comets,” Delain said by way of reply.
Tamerlane blinked. “I’m sorry?”
“The comets,” she repeated, her voice flat and even.
“Yes—of course.” Tamerlane stood, frowning. “I will be contacting the appropriate parties immediately.”
Delain nodded. “After you do that, we will discuss the next steps that must be taken.”
“We will?”
The woman’s face remained impassive. “The Grand Inquisitor has briefed me fully on everything that he wishes for you to do. You may consider my...advice...as coming directly from him.”
“I...see,” Tamerlane replied, raising one eyebrow. Before he could say anything more, the woman turned and moved to the door. It slid open and she vanished through it.
Tamerlane sank back in his chair and shook his head. Apocalyptic comets, he thought. Mysterious figures conspiring against humanity. And to top it all off, a new assistant, compliments of the Inquisition—and one who makes Stanishur seem like a sparkling conversationalist...!
11
The shock waves from explosions erupting all around hurled the bodies of the regular infantrymen across the battered landscape, in some cases in more than one direction at the same time. Resolute and unmoved amidst the maelstrom of violence, however, the dozen members of the Golden Phalanx’s Bravo Squad pressed on. The forces that washed over them budged them not at all, as though each step they took somehow glued their feet to the ground. Their Deising-Arry Model 5 heavy plate armor, layered as it was over complex exoskeletal components, increased their weight by a factor of five and their strength and power by an even greater number.
“Keep moving,” barked General Agrippa over their closed Aether link. “Distortion shields to maximum, everyone. Don’t allow them to get a fix on us. Any of us.”
No one replied; it was expected that they would all simply do as their leader commanded. With their humming distortion shields cranked to maximum output, the only thing the enemy would be seeing when gazing down into this valley—with scopes, scanners, or just the naked eye—was a hazy field of gray fuzz, stretching for hundreds of yards in any direction. There could be no pretense of stealth, of course, with the noise the devices generated; but then, no one wearing heavy plate armor had a right to ever expect stealth to enter into the equation.
The distortion shields crackled and popped whenever the troopers got too close to one another and caused their bubbles to momentarily overlap. Each time, before Agrippa could hurl an admonishment, the offenders would realize their error and pull back into proper spacing. They were good troops, disciplined and well-trained. Agrippa had seen to that for his entire army, and had then chosen only the best for his Bravo Squad.
With the big Colossus walkers out of commission, Agrippa and his crewmen had been forced to walk for a time, crossing the heart of the battlefield clad only in their normal uniforms. Finally, though, they’d managed to break through the Aether jamming and set up a rendezvous with the other members of the squad. Armed and armored now, they represented a force almost as intimidating in many ways as the gargantuan machines they’d piloted only hours earlier.
At the front of the marching formation, only a half-step behind Agrippa, Major Darius Torgon kept his quad-rifle at the ready and his eyes peeled for enemy troops. The landscape, barren and rocky as it was, afforded little in the way of cover, but they’d stumbled across hidden traps more than once already since landing here on Eingrad 6.
Massive bolts of energy streaked overhead, smashing into the line of cliffs in the distance. Torgon glanced quickly backward at the source of those blasts and once again marveled at what he saw: the heavy artillery of Third Legion’s main assault force, just unloaded from city-sized carryalls that were now streaking back up into orbit to ferry down the next load. “Artillery” scarcely conveyed a true sense of exactly what Agrippa had ordered to be employed here on Eingrad 6, however. From the Colossus walkers to heavy aircraft to planetary-crust-shattering bombs, the general was leaving no weapon in his arsenal unemployed. “Eingrad will be ours,” he had intoned at the start of the campaign to free it from the Riyahadi invader, “or it won’t be at all.”
And yet for all of the bluster he had put on display for the benefit of his men’s morale, Agrippa understood that this world represented only one small portion of a much larger problem now faced by the Empire: they were confronting enemies everywhere, and they were losing everywhere.
And the sheer variety of enemies was overwhelming in its own right. In his earlier days, Agrippa had fought against the Riyahadi here and there; simple border skirmishes that had happened from time immemorial. Likewise, from time to time the alien Dyonari had blundered into human space—or vice versa—and armed conflict had resulted. But never anything like this. It seemed to Agrippa that every planet the Empire controlled, short of the core worlds themselves, was being attacked, besieged, or invaded by someone. The Riyahadi, the Chung, the DACS crowd, and various outlaw groups from among the human part of the galaxy, not to mention the alien Dyonari and Rao—if it had a ship that could fly and a gun that could shoot, and it existed somewhere beyond the borders, it looked to be coming after the Empire.
“Enemy forces ahead,” one of the scouts reported over the Aether. Agrippa immediately motioned for a halt. He then began issuing orders to the troops to move into position.
Even as the Bravo Squad prepared for battle, a signal suddenly penetrated the static that had dominated the Aether link for hours. The general gritted his teeth at the volume but accessed the signal. “Agrippa here,” he answered tersely.
A pause, then, barely audible over the interference, “General, this is Ezekial Tamerlane. I apologize for the level of this communication—it’s being boosted to about a thousand times the normal signal strength—but the tech guys here tell me it was the only way to get through to you.”
“I believe it,” Agrippa replied, his head already throbbing in reaction to the squealing static in his brain. “We’ve been dealing with a great deal of interference—jamming, or else something natural we haven’t encountered before.”
“Understood,” Tamerlane said. “So I’ll keep this brief. I have a new assignment for you.”
Agrippa scowled. “What? But—General, the Legion is committed to liberating Eingrad 6! In fact, my Bravo Squad and I are at this very moment about to engage the Riyahadi and—”
“You can leave your Legion in place there, Arnem,” Tamerlane interjected. “Colonel Iksander is perfectly capable of leading it to victory. For the job I’ve just learned needs doing, though, I will require the best. And we both know that’s you.” He paused, as if knowing that objections were sure to come. Then, in a lower, more intimate tone, “Arnem, listen to me. The survival of not just the Empire is at stake, but of all the men, women and children that make it what it is. Everyone.”
Agrippa bit back his automatic reply—the argument that he didn’t want to leave Eingrad with the job not fully done. He wanted to say it, but he couldn’t. After all, if Tamerlane had another job—a job that was somehow more important, more critical to the survival of untold billions of people—he could scarcely turn it down.
“What’s the job, then, General?” he asked, truly curious.
“I need you and a chosen team to investigate the incursions into Imperial territory that we are now suffering.”
Agrippa was puzzled. “General…I thought that’s what we were doing now—battling the enemy forces that have invaded across our borders.”
“Not those incursions, Arnem,” Tamerlane replied. “Not just the usual jealous neighbors. I mean something else. Something perhaps more insidious.” A pause. “I mean the comets.”
For a long moment Agrippa was at a loss for words. He didn’t know what to say—whether to take his commanding officer seriously or not. Finally he managed to reply, “Comets? You want me to investigate comets?” He shook his head in astonishment. Had the leader of the I Legion lost his mind?
&
nbsp; “Trust me on this, Arnem,” Tamerlane responded quickly. “There’s more to them than we realized.”
Agrippa looked up at the darkening sky above Eingrad 6. The blood-red comet was still there, larger than ever. It seemed to grow even as he stared at it. The longer he did so, the more a prickly sense of…unease, anxiety…filled his mind and his heart. There was no arguing it; there was indeed something very disturbing about the thing. With great effort he tore his eyes away.
“…Understood, General,” he managed after another few seconds; seconds it had required for him to regain his equilibrium. Within his mind, he cursed. Another threat? Now—when our forces are already divided and spread all across the Empire? Could our luck be any worse?
“I will send you coordinates of the nearest Imperial world that we know has one in its system,” Tamerlane was saying.
“Not necessary,” Agrippa said, still looking up. “We have one here.”
“There? Above Eingrad? They’ve penetrated that far into the Empire?”
“Yes, sir,” Agrippa replied, still eyeing the comet. It was very close now.
Tamerlane’s voice was sharp, clipped. “Investigate, General. But—be careful. From the fragmentary reports I’ve been hearing from other worlds—just…be very careful.”
What Agrippa had at first thought was a joke or perhaps insanity on the part of his commanding general now seemed increasingly serious to him. “Understood,” he repeated. “We will proceed with caution and I’ll let you know what we find. Agrippa out.”
The squealing, static-filled link clicked off and the pain in Agrippa’s head lessened—but it didn’t entirely vanish. Now it seemed to have been replaced by something else; by a deeper, lower hum that partially registered in his ears and partly within his skull. He looked around at his armor-clad men, all still crouched in their defensive positions, awaiting contact with the enemy, and tried to determine if they were hearing it, too. He couldn’t tell; their helmets covered their faces.
“Alright, Bravos,” he called over the local link. “Change of plans. We have a new job, direct from the top.” He expanded the signal to reach the rest of III Legion. “Phalanx, you’re now under the immediate command of Colonel Iksander. Mop these Riyahadi up and reclaim this planet for the Empire.”
“Not a problem. We shall have them sorted out in no time, General,” the notoriously brash Iksander replied from his position some distance away. “But I suspect the tough part of this fight isn’t over yet.”
“Why do you say that?” Agrippa asked, even as he signaled for his Bravo Squad to assemble around him.
“The omens have been wrong here from the start,” Iksander stated. “It’s been there—right up in the sky—all along.”
“The comet,” Agrippa said, and a chill ran through him. He senses it, too. The wrongness of it.
“It’s an evil sign. Bad things are coming.”
Agrippa wanted to scoff at this naked display of superstition, but he couldn’t. He felt it, too. Everything his subordinate was saying was true.
“Look,” called one of the squad members, pointing upward with an armored hand.
Agrippa had to force himself to regard the comet once more. It loomed high above, blood red and fragmented, shimmering clouds trailing in its wake, and a very palpable sense of unease—of fear—preceded it. As ridiculous as that sounded, Agrippa found he could not deny it. Not one bit.
It was starting to break apart as it encountered the outer edges of Eingrad’s atmosphere. And something else. He thought he was imagining it at first, but as he continued to watch, he became convinced it was true: the comet fragments were slowing.
Much as he hated to admit it to himself, he knew that Iksander was right. That Tamerlane was right. Something bad was coming. Something worse than a Riyahadi army unit with creative ideas about the deployment of gravity generators. Something worse even than the unexpected arrival of enemy heavy armor. No, something far worse—something unnatural—was coming to this planet, and perhaps to every part of their Empire.
And it would arrive very, very soon.
“So—what are we going to be doing, boss?” Major Torgon asked from nearby, his voice echoing hollowly over the local link.
Agrippa swallowed and raised his arm, pointing to where the first fragments of the comet were streaking down some miles away. In a voice he found he had to struggle to keep even, he answered, “We’re going comet hunting, gentlemen.”
Nobody laughed.
BOOK SIX:
FIRE AND ICE
1
The Sand Kings troopers in their golden plate armor stood with weapons at the ready. They were arrayed on either side of the crowd of men and women who were lined up just outside the main doors of the throne room. The people had been randomly rounded up from the streets of the Heliopolis at the orders of Zahir, the recently-installed vizier to Imperial Governor Rameses, and brought here at gunpoint. No one knew why—not the people, and not the soldiers who herded them along.
Now the great double-doors were opening, and the voice of the vizier himself called out: “Bring them inside! Quickly!”
The Sand Kings motioned impatiently for the people to move through, into the vast throne room itself. There was little panic among them now; many among them began to suspect that they had somehow won a semi-private audience with great Rameses himself.
Indeed they had.
“There,” Zahir barked, pointing at the golden basin with its column of energy towering up into the cavernous open space of the chamber, far above their heads. A ramp had been constructed that led to the edge of the bowl, looking for all the world like a diving platform for a very small pool. “Line them up there.”
“This is absolutely necessary?” came the voice of Rameses as he descended from the throne and stood beside the red-clad vizier. His eyes moved nervously from the soldiers to the citizens to the basin itself.
“It is vital,” Zahir replied. “The matrix is not complete. The basin is gathering and channeling the Power from the Fountain in the Golden City, but it lacks the...shall we say, human element that will enable it to more fully interact with you, sire.” He smiled his wicked smile. “It will most assuredly speed up the process of your apotheosis—and that is something you most assuredly desire, yes? Something worth virtually any price?”
Very reluctantly, Rameses nodded.
Zahir once again attached the cuffs to the governor’s wrists and ankles, the wires and cables trailing away to the machine that sat next to the basin. Then he motioned to the guards. “Now!”
At that order, the special operations soldiers of the Sand Kings Legion in their gleaming gold armor began directing the citizens forward, toward the ramp. At first they moved along, uncertain. Then, as they drew closer to the churning energies of the Fountain, they began to resist. A couple of quad-rifle butt blows to the head took the fight out of the first few, but stirred the others up a great deal more than they already were. Finally the Sand Kings were forced to physically shove the people up the ramp, guns in their faces. At last the first of them—a dark-haired man in his forties—stood like a diver at the edge of the ramp, looking down into the coruscating bowl of light and flame and energy.
“Go!” came the electronically amplified voice of the nearest soldier.
“What? But—no! What is—?”
The Sand King reached out and shoved the man off the ramp and into the bowl. He vanished instantly in a crackle of light and sparks.
The others cried out. Some began to fight back again. The soldiers beat them down mercilessly.
“Put them in,” Zahir cried, his voice growing impatient. “Now!”
The Sand Kings bodily shoved the remaining citizens—all crying out and trying to fight back— up the ramp and off of it, down into the swirling fire of the bowl. None of them had any chance against even one soldier in plate combat armor; against half a dozen, it was over very quickly and with brutal efficiency.
The flames danced higher within
the bowl. The column of energy that erupted continuously out of it, geyser-like, appeared to grow thicker, brighter.
Zahir nodded as he watched this occur. Then he touched a set of controls on the machine before him. Waves of energy radiated out from the fountain, even as the cables and wires that connected to Rameses danced with scarcely-contained current. The cuffs around the governor’s extremities flared brightly with light, and Rameses stumbled back, the electricity racing through him.
“Bring in the girl,” Zahir cried.
Two more Sand Kings, these wearing only beige smartcloth uniforms, escorted the tiny figure out of an anteroom. This time she was awake—though barely. She looked around, dazed, unsteady on her feet, uncertain of her whereabouts. Zahir moved alongside her and began to connect a set of cuffs to her, as well.
Before he could go further, one of the Sand Kings officers strode up and stood at attention. “My Lord Governor,” he said, addressing Rameses, “a party has arrived from the Taiko.”
Despite the waves of raw energy rushing through his body, Rameses managed to focus his eyes on the officer. “A party?”
“Emissaries,” the man stated. “Colonel Belisarius of I Legion, along with certain other members of the Imperial bureaucracy.”
“Bah,” Rameses scoffed. “Tell them I am busy.”
The officer hesitated. “The Colonel bears orders directly from General Tamerlane. He warns that failure to receive him immediately is tantamount to treason against the Empire.”
Now Rameses grew angry. “Treason? I’ll show him treason! How dare he—?”
Zahir leaned in. “My Lord Governor,” he intoned, while surreptitiously motioning to his servant to take the girl back out of the room. “We are not yet ready to move. I counsel that you receive this emissary from the Taiko, hear what he has come so far to say, make whatever promises are called for, and then send him on his way.”
Rameses growled wordless anger deep in his throat. “Very well,” he muttered. Then, louder, “Send them in!”
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