Ferrum Corde

by Richard Fox

  It leapt at him, claws raked down…and missed his face by inches, slamming into the ground.

  The scythe snapped its head up and back, staring at the red Armor holding it by the tail. The Uhlan jerked it back and it twisted in midair, grasping at the Uhlan with all four limbs. The Armor caught it by the neck with his gauss cannon arm. Double barrels blasted up and out the scythe’s back, blowing dry bits of its body that landed around Davoust like old corn husks blown by the wind.

  The Uhlan slammed the scythe into the Ark’s hull, and it went into convulsions like it had touched a live wire. It slipped out of the Armor’s grasp and slashed its tail at the Armor’s helm.

  The Uhlan caught the blow with his forearm and the tail wrapped around his arm. The Uhlan slammed a foot against the scythe’s flank and ripped its tail clean off. The monster showed no sign of pain as it pounced toward him, catching a hooked fist to the side of the face that sent it to the ground. The Uhlan stomped its head, crushing it. He ground his heel from side to side and the scythe went limp. Steam flowed out of its body and it seemed to deflate, then disintegrate into tiny cubes.

  A bodyguard lifted Davoust up to his feet. Only then did he hear the gauss fire.

  The Uhlan banged a fist to his chest and walked up to the barricade. His rotary cannon spun to life and opened fire.

  The marshal grabbed a bar jutting out from the wreckage that marked the scythe’s passage and pulled himself up.

  Figures shuffled out of the fog, heads hung low and shoulders hunched. He zoomed in and saw they were the same bodies that had been crucified.

  Scythes loped through the crowd, closing like a wolf chasing down prey. Gauss cannon shots from armor knocked them back, and the scythes retreated back into the mist.

  “Air support.” Davoust called, drawing a pistol from his holster and put the other hand against the small of his back as he took careful aim at the oncoming horde. He made three shots, each exploding craniums at over a hundred yards.

  One of his bodyguards glanced at the marshal, and then at the optics on the guard’s own rifle.

  “Orbital, engage final protective fire,” Davoust said through his quantum-dot connection to the commander of the Gilcrest, a strike carrier in orbit directly overhead.

  “Shrikes vectored,” the captain replied. “Go for rail cannon bombardment?”

  “Stop asking and start shooting. Judicious aim is appreciated.” He ejected his pistol magazine and slapped in a fresh one and resumed his firing stance.

  Saint Kallen, return our Armor with the Lady’s salvation…soon, please, he prayed and opened fire.

  Chapter 21

  “And that’s why we never should have let soccer come back from the dead.” Marc cocked his head to one side, his blank expression focused on Valdar.

  The admiral put one hand to his temple, wobbled from side to side, then collapsed to the floor.

  “Really? You’re going to pass out to keep from talking to me?” Marc whacked the bars with the back of one hand. “Valdar? Come on, man, get up. Valdar?”

  He grabbed the bars and gave them a quick shake. Marc looked up at the lights and waved.

  “Hey! Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Dip Shit, got a man down in here! Maybe you should’ve kept the heat on while I was recovering from a gauss shot. Get in here before I have to explain to Lady Ibarra why you let the hero of the Ember War die while you sat there with your thumbs up your—”

  The cell block door burst open and three guards entered. Two in simple fatigues, Medvedev with his gauss carbine behind them. Medvedev raised his hands and backed up as the legionnaire drew down on him.

  The other two guards hurried into Valdar’s cell. One keyed a mic attached to his uniform and spoke Basque, then leaned over the admiral and put two fingers to Valdar’s neck.

  “Pulse is fine.” The guard said, looking over his shoulder to the other.

  Valdar’s hand snapped up and grabbed the mic.

  “Florence. Sigma. 4-6-1!” Valdar shouted.

  The three Ibarrans went soft-eyed and Medvedev dropped his weapon.

  “Give me a second.” Marc put his hands over his face and his body shrank several inches.

  Valdar poked the nearest guard in the face.

  “What did I do to them?” he asked.

  “One…second.” Marc’s voice fluctuated several octaves.

  Valdar got to his feet and went for the pistol still holstered in the guard’s belt.

  “No,” a woman said and Valdar stopped. Stacey Ibarra looked up from Marc’s hands, her nose tilted to one side. “No, let me take it from here,” Marc said in his granddaughter’s voice.

  Valdar tapped the bridge of his nose and “Stacey” snapped “hers” into place. Marc wagged fingers at the guards’ mic. Valdar held the key down.

  “Dawning. Yellow. Rochefort,” Marc said as Stacey.

  The guards snapped back like a switch had been thrown. The one in the cell door put his hand on his pistol grip.

  “The prisoner will—”

  “That’s no prisoner,” ‘Stacey’ said. “That is Admiral Valdar of the Ibarra Navy.”

  “My Lady?” Medvedev picked up his gauss carbine. “How…why are you—”

  “SSeize him!” ‘Stacey’ pointed at Medvedev and a guard slapped the weapon out of the legionnaire’s hands. Medvedev started to protest, but a shock baton to the ribs sent him to the floor.

  “He is a traitor.” ‘Stacey’ shot a finger to Valdar’s bunk. “Put him in that cell and keep the privacy filters on. Don’t believe a single word he says. Now let me and Valdar out; we have to deal with that scoundrel Marc Ibarra’s vile treachery.”

  “Yes, my Lady.” A guard dragged a groaning Medvedev into Valdar’s cell.

  “Kick him,” ‘Stacey’ commanded and there was a thump of boot against flesh. “Harder. Okay, that’s enough. Come, Valdar. We’ve much to do now that you’re on Team Ibarra.”

  Valdar took a tentative step out of the cell.

  “Guards, I need your data slates,” ‘Stacey’ said and took the devices from both men. “Stay here for an hour with the privacy filters up. That one’s rascally. Can’t have him get away.”

  “Yes, my Lady,” the guards said together.

  Marc motioned for Valdar to follow him and the two left the cell block.

  “What the hell is going on?” Valdar asked as Marc tapped out commands on the slates. The admiral followed the disguised Ibarra as they went past several elevator doors.

  “We have a number of subconscious commands in our procedurals,” Marc said. His Stacey disguise grew several inches, but he shrank back down once he saw his reflection on a door. “You triggered a fugue state, made them highly susceptible to commands for a few minutes. All the guards on that mic’s network are now laser-focused on the knuckle dragger. They won’t respond to anything but your command to watch him for hours. Buys us all the time we need.”

  “If you can do that, why the hell did you leave Stacey in charge for so long?”

  “I’m not the top lobster of this hierarchy, Valdar, and Stacey is no fool. That word combination triggered several fail safes throughout Navarre’s network—this elevator—which means she was just waiting for me to try and use it. The entire commo grid just went down, her way of stopping me from messing with more of the Nation’s head. Which works out in our favor.”

  Marc stepped into an elevator and slumped against the wall when the doors closed. He reverted back to his normal form, that of an older gentleman clad in chrome.

  “Uh…that’s exhausting. These ambassador bodies match self-image. It takes a good deal of concentration to keep up.”

  “Ibarra, we’re out of our cells, but now what?” Valdar watched as floor numbers ticked higher on the elevator consol.

  “You’re a what? Forty-five chest? Size ten shoes?” Ibarra’s brow furrowed as he tapped on a slate.

  “My crew.” Valdar tried to grab the slate, but Marc slapped his hand away. “The rest of the sailors fro
m the Breitenfeld. What about them? I’m not leaving without them.”

  “I’m good, Valdar, but I’m not that good. The rest of your people are on Zelara, not even in this system. Let’s worry about saving Earth from the Kesaht and the Vishrakath first, yeah?”

  “How are we going to—”

  “Go time.” Marc said, shifting back into Stacey. “Act in charge.”

  The elevator came to a stop and the doors opened, revealing a half dozen Ibarran legionnaires in full power armor. One handed a plastic case to Valdar, took a step back, and beat a fist to his chest in salute.

  “Is my shuttle ready?” Marc asked in Stacey’s voice.

  “Yes, my Lady.” A legionnaire stepped to the side and motioned to a small shuttle idling at the edge of a hangar. “We’re unable to contact your honor guard for escort. The network is off-line for some reason. Shall we—”

  “Not necessary.” ‘Stacey’ strode forward, catching Valdar flat-footed. “Admiral Valdar and I have a mission that is vital to our Nation. Double top secret. Not a word of this to anyone. In fact, you never saw us. Understand?”

  The legionnaire looked to his fellows and said, “Saw who?”

  “Exactly. Come on, Valdar. You can change on the way.” ‘Stacey’ got into the passenger compartment of the small shuttle. “Take us to the Yalta,” she told the pilot and activated the privacy screen and shut out the cockpit.

  Valdar sat in the only other passenger seat and opened the box. He lifted up an Ibarra Navy uniform as the shuttle buttoned up and took off. The afterburner engaged and pressed him to the back of his seat.

  “You can’t be serious.” Valdar touched the admiral’s insignia on the collar.

  “Every sailor in the Ibarra Navy reveres you as a hero,” Marc said. “Taking orders from you will be an honor. You know how to drive ships and fight space battles, not me. You also have a number of access codes that’ll get us to the fight faster. Hurry up and change. No time to be bashful.”

  Valdar unzipped the top of his dirty and worn Terran Union jumpsuit.

  “Semaphore?” He raised an eyebrow at Marc.

  “We’re old farts, Valdar. We didn’t teach our procedurals to signal each other with flags. I figured you might remember your blue water Navy days. Good thing you did, otherwise, my charades were going to be a bit too obvious for the guards not to notice.”

  Valdar shrugged his shoulders out of his jumpsuit.

  “What’ll we do when we get to the Yalta?” he asked.

  “Just follow my lead.”

  “You have a plan?”

  “Yes. Mostly. More of a vague idea that I’m making up as we go along.”

  Valdar stopped changing and gave Marc a hard look.

  “I got us this far, didn’t I?”

  Valdar grumbled and put on his new uniform.

  ****

  “Admiral on the bridge!” an armsman announced as Valdar, wearing a full Ibarran uniform, stepped off a lift, a short female legionnaire in power armor behind him.

  Captain Zahar of the Yalta sprang to his feet and stepped away from his command chair.

  “Valdar?” Zahar reached for his forearm screen but stopped when “Stacey” Ibarra removed her helmet.

  “He’s with us now,” Marc said. “Take all orders from him, Zahar. I need you and your fleet to make ready for a Crucible gate jump.”

  “Of course.” Zahar touched his lips. “It’s just that…we’re the ready reserve…for your mission to Nekara.”

  “All a brilliant ruse of my own design,” Marc said. “I’ll explain it all in good time.”

  There was an awkward pause and Marc gave Valdar a tap to his lower back.

  “Captain, set the fleet to pilum formation and ready boosters. Bring this ship to the fore and get us through the Crucible,” Valdar said. “Open a channel to gate command from my holo tank.”

  “Aye aye.” Zahar nodded and turned away, then began issuing rapid fire orders to the bridge crew.

  Marc put his helmet back on and went with Valdar to a lit holo table. Valdar touched panels, trying to familiarize himself with the layout.

  “Ibarran ships aren’t that different than Union,” Marc said. “Though our sailors are more likely to swear in Basque.”

  “Is that why I can’t read any of the displays?” Valdar frowned.

  “I’ll fix that.” Marc tapped on a screen and the language switched to English.

  “Yalta is a battleship…more rail batteries than the Missouri-class I’ve done maneuvers with.” Valdar swiped through ship icons in the tank as the fleet re-formed into a long spear formation with the Yalta at the front. “Two strike carriers…not a lot of fighters. Cruiser and frigate heavy compared to a Union task force.”

  “Is there a problem?” Marc asked as he brought up a display to one side of the tank and opened up a star chart.

  “Commanding a fleet in battle isn’t like driving a car, Ibarra—”

  Marc cleared his voice and waved fingertips over his female visage.

  “I mean…my Lady.” Valdar had to force out the title. “Please give me a moment to familiarize myself with my new command.”

  Marc tapped two fingers to the side of his forehead then pointed at a new screen as it popped up in the tank in front of him. An elderly woman with short blonde hair canted her head slightly as she looked at Marc.

  “Stacey?” Keeper asked. “Now is a hell of a time to—”

  Marc touched the screen on one side and swiped it to Valdar.

  “Keeper, this is Admiral Valdar of,” he took a quick breath, “the Ibarran Navy. I understand you could use some cavalry.”

  “Wait. No. Valdar would never do that,” Keeper said.

  “I didn’t.”

  “No, he didn’t,” Marc said.

  “But you just said that—” Keeper flinched as light from an explosion flashed across her head and shoulders.

  “I know what we said.” Marc’s fingers tapped furiously on a panel and a text message popped up on Keeper’s screen. “But what we said is not what we’re saying. If you know what I say.”

  Keeper’s brow furrowed as she read the text.

  “You two are insane,” she said.

  “Clear us for Ceres gate transfer and we’ll join the fight over Earth,” Valdar said.

  “No, not Earth. I need you on Mars,” Keeper said. “The Vishrakath have the planet blockaded. I need those macro cannons back online and intercepting mass drivers on course to Earth.”

  A situation map over the Solar System came up in the holo tank.

  “But Earth—” Valdar gripped the handrails tight as he took in the current state of the battle.

  “The main force of the Kesaht armada is still out of range,” Keeper said. “We can hold the line long enough for you to get Mars back into the larger fight. We are hours from losing cities to a mass driver strike. Millions of lives, Valdar. I need you to save civilians. We’ll lose soldiers and sailors…but that’s the choice we have to make.”

  “That’s the right call, Keeper.” Valdar touched the mass of Vishrakath asteroid ships arrayed around Mars. He double-tapped a massive ship nearly the size of Deimos. “There’s the hive queen. Can you get us to cross their T?”

  “How close?” Keeper asked.

  “Close enough for a knife fight,” Valdar said.

  “The firepower on that ship is—”

  “Can you do it or not?” Valdar snapped.

  “For you…yes. But the margin of error on a maneuver like that is extreme. Even for something this desperate. You want to blow them to hell, not smash into them face-first.”

  “I’m glad my intent is clear,” Valdar said.

  “I can give you a small jump window,” she said. “Anything more and the enemy might try to piggyback off your jump.”

  “Thank you, Keeper.”

  “Godspeed, Admiral.” The screen blinked off.

  “You’re going to what?” Marc asked.

  “We don’t have time to
bring in your—our fleets on the far side of Navarre or your out system ships. Earth needs a miracle. Just wish I was aboard the Breitenfeld to deliver it,” Valdar said.

  “The Yalta is a fine ship,” Captain Zahar said, “and our crew is second to none. We’re honored to have you aboard, sir.”

  The corner of Valdar’s lip tugged to one side.

  “I’m sure this ship and her crew will distinguish themselves,” Valdar said.

  “Perhaps…a fleet-wide address?” Zahar asked. “Our inter-ship comms are unaffected by the shutdown. To escort you and the Lady into battle is…a fine moment for us.”

  Valdar looked back at Marc.

  “My presence is to be kept secret,” Marc said. “Can’t highlight this ship for enemy attack, can we?”

  “No, my Lady.” Zahar put a hand over his heart. “Admiral, this may be the last best time to speak to your sailors…perhaps explain the mission.” He held out a small comm link.

  Valdar took it and pressed a small button. A bosun’s whistle piped a general call and a red light pulsed on the comm link.

  “Ships of the…” Valdar glanced at Zahar who held up several fingers, “Fifth Fleet, this is Admiral Valdar. This is not the mission you expected, but it is vital. Earth is under threat. The Kesaht and Vishrakath have the system under siege and our home world—Ibarran or Terran Union; we came from Earth—has hours before the defenses crumble and millions die to bombardment. No matter the differences between us—we are all still human. And to save lives is far nobler than rigid obedience to the patch on a uniform or the colors on a flag. We will break the aliens over Mars, then we will chase down the remnants and teach the rest of the galaxy that Earth and the Ibarra Nation will unite against a common foe. The Breitenfeld does not fight beside us this day, but may God still be with us. Gott mit uns.”

  Valdar keyed the link off and turned back to Ibarra, who gave him a tepid thumbs-up.

  “Captain,” Valdar said, “order all rail cannons loaded and charged. Gunnery officers are to fire at will on the Vishrakath hive ship until instructed otherwise. Volume of fire is more important than accuracy.”

  “Exactly how close will we be to the target?” Zahar asked.