by Eric Thomson
Both also wore mismatched castoffs, though they carried civilian pattern weapons, reinforcing Skurka’s suspicion these were either concerned citizens trying to keep their part of the bombed out town safe, or predators looking for easy marks.
He heard the rear door open with a soft squeal and glanced back in time to see Cahal jump out, carbine slung at a lazy, downward angle. Yet he held the pistol grip in a way that would allow him to raise the barrel and fire almost instantly. A military professional would recognize the stance, but neither of the men took notice.
“I’d consider it a favor if you tried to avoid making a lot of noise,” Cahal said in a conversational tone. “There are two terrified wee ones inside, and it’s taken us this long to calm them.”
Neither of the checkpoint guards replied, though they silently stuck their heads through the opening before one of them turned to the first man.
“Eleven with the big guy here, including a pair of kids, Jake. Three armed. No cargo. Want us to frisk them?”
Jake, eyes still on the control cabin, met Sister Averyl’s intent gaze.
“No. They can go.”
Moments later, the transport came to life again, and they passed the checkpoint.
As a gray dawn chased away the night’s last tendrils, it quickly became plain that apart from the suburbs, Tiryns had suffered less than Petras. Compared to the star system’s capital, half ravaged by rebel and loyalist troops over the previous weeks, the port city seemed only superficially wounded.
Once a bustling center of commerce, Tiryns appeared to exist in a sort of stasis, unable to greet the new day. But soon Skurka and Sister Averyl saw movement in the shadows, lights coming on behind curtained windows, and doors opening furtively, proof many citizens hadn’t fled into the countryside, or worse yet, died at the hands of the warring factions.
The main docks were on the banks of the Celadon River, a kilometer or so upstream from where it merged with the waters of Tiryns Bay and two kilometers beyond the town center.
Surprisingly, the port itself was more or less intact, as if the combatants had tried to spare that particular piece of critical infrastructure from the wider orgy of destruction.
However, where a dozen ocean-going vessels would fill most of the berths at any one time, they found only two smallish, beetle-shaped cargo ships, one in the process of off-loading, the other taking on containers. Both were skimmers, built to rise above the waves once out on the open waters, and capable of reaching the western continent of Karinth in under two days.
The port’s perimeter fence and security gates were casualties of war, allowing Skurka to reach Laertes, the on-loading ship, unhindered. He parked the transport near one of the gangways, careful to avoid blocking any of the autonomous cargo handling bots scurrying back and forth between the ship and the nearest warehouse, itself scarred by gunfire.
The tang of salt air greeted them when they climbed out, a pleasant change from the faint miasma of burned polymers, pulverized stone, and smoldering hydrocarbons that hung over downtown Tiryns even this long after the last skirmish.
Sister Heloise and Hartwood Cahal teamed up to negotiate the group’s passage while the remaining mercenaries and Void Brethren clustered around the truck, nervously eying their surroundings for any signs of Danton’s soldiers or what remained of the Tiryns police battalion. Marta and the children stayed inside the transport, out of sight, as ordered. Moments after Heloise and Cahal vanished into the black maw at the top of the gangway, a soft rain started falling.
They reappeared almost half an hour later. Although Heloise seemed as impassive as ever, relief shone on the mercenary’s tired features.
“By the shit-eating grin you’re wearing, boss, I’ll guess we’re sailing the ocean blue in a few hours,” Skurka said in a low voice once Cahal and the sister rejoined the group. “Am I right?”
Before Cahal could answer, Heloise nodded.
“Indeed. We may go aboard now and settle in. Laertes is due to leave in ninety minutes.”
“It won’t be a luxury cruise,” Cahal warned. “Laertes doesn’t normally take passengers, but it’s sailing short-handed, thanks to the rebellion, so there’s one crew cabin available. But she’ll take us away from this place and hopefully to a saner part of Mykonos. Besides, half of us will stand guard, so we don’t need racks for everyone.”
“Mind you, it cost us most of our remaining funds,” Heloise said, “so we must stretch our rations. The price of our passage doesn’t include food or drink other than water.”
“Stand guard, boss? You don’t trust the boaties?”
“I trust no one I don’t know, Yann.” Cahal indicated the gangway, then Dufour’s winger. “You and Raynor lead the way. There’s a boatie up top waiting for us. Colyn, you and I will hang around here until we’re about to leave. Let’s put her ladyship, the bairns, and the Brethren aboard. We’re almost clear, folks, but not quite.”
“What about Anders and the others?” Skurka asked.
A grimace creased Cahal’s face.
“He knows where we’re headed, Colyn. And he knows the deal. We see the civilians to safety. Everything else is in the Almighty’s hands.”
**
“Shit.”
Colyn Skurka’s heartfelt curse yanked Hartwood Cahal from his contemplation of a silent loading gantry looming over the pier. Frozen into place since before the rebellion, it seemed like an oversized industrial sculpture underlining Tiryns’ reason to exist. Both troopers stood in the entry port’s shadows at the top of the gangway, weapons slung, waiting for the moment of departure.
“What?”
“My sensor detected a combat car near the port’s main gate.”
“A routine patrol?” Cahal checked his carbine out of habit, to make sure it was ready, then glanced at the readout in his helmet’s heads-up display. “Lousy timing. If the boaties are on schedule, we cast off in just over five minutes.”
“I can’t think of any other reason for the poxed Guards to show up so early on this fine morning, boss. But if they’re patrolling Tiryns, why were civilians working that checkpoint?”
Cahal grunted.
“Your guess is as good as mine.”
He opened the unit push and sent a terse warning to Yann Dufour and Raynor Day, standing guard at the cabin door.
“What should we do?” Skurka asked.
“Make them believe we’re just honest citizens about to take a cruise. What else? I doubt they’ll immediately figure us for being survivors of Danton’s mercenary massacre.”
A pair of low-slung, gray, ground-effect combat cars with 84th Guards Regiment markings slowly made their way around the warehouse and onto Laertes’ pier. They stopped short of the ship and idled silently for more than a minute. Cahal knew the soldiers inside were scanning them with military-grade equipment and couldn’t fail to notice two armed and armored men at the entry port.
One of the cars settled on the cracked concrete. Its aft ramp opened to disgorge half a dozen soldiers in full fighting gear led by a centurion. Cahal stepped out onto the gangway and waited for them to approach.
“Can I do something for you, Centurion,” he shouted when the soldiers were within earshot.
“You can drop your fucking weapon and put your hands on your head, asshole,” the man replied. “Your fire team buddy as well. I know who you treasonous vermin are.”
The naked aggression in the centurion’s voice caught Cahal by surprise, but instinct took over in a flash. He fell backward, through the entry port, and took cover to one side, opposite Skurka.
“Let’s not make this harder than necessary, Centurion. We’re leaving in a few minutes, and it would be a shame to spoil our peaceful departure with a shootout nobody wants. Neither my winger nor I are your enemies or the enemies of Governor General Danton.”
“You mistake me for someone who gives a shit. A fugitive wanted by the star system government is aboard this ship. We
will find her, and those who oppose us will die on the spot. It’s in everyone’s interest to cooperate. Now drop your weapons and surrender, or I will open fire.”
Cahal was aware the Guards could force their way in, but not before he and Skurka gave them a hard time, something the centurion must have figured out as well, hence threats instead of a direct attack. But even if they fought, two against a platoon backed by combat cars wouldn’t last long.
And then what? They’d take Lady Marta and the bairns, and massacre the Brethren on the spot. Besides, any moment now, Laertes’ captain would figure out it was better to expel his last-minute passengers so his ship could escape Tiryns unscathed.
“What fugitive are you talking about, Centurion?” Cahal asked, temporizing while he desperately searched for a solution.
“Lady Marta Norum, you idiot.”
“What the fuck makes you think she’s here?”
“Because your late commanding officer, Anders Proulx, told us under field interrogation she intends to take a ship in Tiryns, and what do I find when I check the one preparing for departure? More mercenary scum of his sort.”
A vicious curse escaped Cahal’s lips unbidden.
“You fuckers killed him?”
The centurion made a hand gesture at an unseen watcher inside his combat car. Seconds later, a bloody, naked body was tossed out the aft opening. It landed on the grimy concrete with a dull thud. By the angle of Proulx’s neck, Cahal figured it was broken and the man dead.
“He took a long time to die. Longer than his men. You and your winger are the last survivors. Give me Norum, and I might let you escape. She’s the only one I want.”
The fact he was still talking meant the centurion definitely didn’t want to fight his way aboard if he could help it.
A soft voice from inside the ship, one filled with sorrow and resignation, startled Cahal.
“I heard everything, Hartwood. I’m sorry for Anders and the rest of your comrades, but this is the end of our run together. More innocents will needlessly die if you try to fight them off for my sake.”
“What do you mean, Milady?” The mercenary asked in a gruff tone, though he already knew what her answer would be.
Instead of replying, she shouted, “I am Marta Norum, Centurion. What is your purpose?”
“Governor General Danton ordered we bring you to him unharmed, Lady Marta.”
“Only me?”
“He mentioned no one else.”
She took a deep breath before stepping into view.
“If I surrender, will you let everyone else sail away aboard Laertes in peace?”
“No!” Cahal hissed. “Stefan and Sigrid need their mother, Milady.”
Norum gave the mercenary a sad smile.
“I want them to live, Hartwood,” she said, pitching her voice for his ears only. “And if I don’t negotiate everyone’s safe departure, I will find myself the sole survivor. The needs of the many must triumph. Danton wants me alive for a reason, and it won’t be to stage another public execution so he can further consolidate his grip on power.”
“Nothing prevents him from killing us after he has you in his custody.”
“Indeed. That’s why you will shoot me if the Guards try to keep this ship and everyone else aboard from leaving Tiryns unharmed. Surely you can kill an unarmored woman from a great distance. After all, you’re a Marine, a veteran of the 77th Imperial Regiment.”
“But—”
She raised a restraining hand.
“This is how it must be. My life for that of my children. If we’re to convince the Guards officer I will die should he play us false, I need your undying pledge you’ll obey me without reservations. Anything less and the bastard might suspect we’re bluffing. Promise you will shoot me if he shows any signs he might prevent this ship from sailing away.”
Cahal searched her face but saw nothing more than grim determination. He inclined his head.
“I hear and obey, Milady. If the Guards bastard tries anything, I will take your life and leave him with nothing.”
“And for that, please accept my undying thanks.” She raised her voice once more. “Centurion, I surrender. In exchange, you will allow Laertes and my companions to leave in peace.”
“I give you my word,” the Guards officer replied after a moment of hesitation. “Your surrender in exchange for their escape.”
“Your word means nothing, Centurion. Not after your regiment forswore its oath and rebelled against the star system’s legitimate ruler.”
She felt satisfaction at watching his cheeks redden with a mixture of anger and embarrassment.
“Here is how it will be. I will leave this ship and stand on the pier, unencumbered, while my companions leave. Should you try to fire on Laertes or otherwise keep it from sailing away, First Sergeant Hartwood Cahal, Imperial Marine Corps, retired, and a better man than you’ll ever be, will shoot me. One round, one death. Needless to say, Governor General Danton won’t forgive you for such a blunder. Your own demise won’t be quite as swift or as painless, I’m sure. That is my proposal. Take it or leave it. Should you refuse, we will fight, and I will die one way or the other, as will you.”
Another pause while the officer digested her words, then, “Agreed, Milady.”
She glanced at Cahal again.
“Take care of Stefan and Sigrid, Hartwood. See they’re safe and make sure they know their mother loves them beyond words. They don’t know I’m leaving. We had no time for goodbyes.”
“Promised, Milady. I give you my oath as a Marine. I’ll make sure the wee ones suffer no harm, even if it means my men or I die trying.”
She reached out and touched his cheek with her fingertips.
“You’re a good man and a good friend. Perhaps we will meet again, and I can thank you properly for everything you’ve done.”
“I’m sure the Almighty won’t leave your bairns without a mother for long,” he replied in a hoarse voice.
“The galaxy is full of orphans these days. Farewell, Hartwood.”
Heloise, who’d remained unheard and unseen until now, said, “I will come with you, Marta. Not as one of the Brethren, since revealing I belong to the Order of the Void would mean instant death, but as your personal attendant, a sworn liege woman if you wish.”
Marta turned to face her. “Why?”
“Because this is my path, set by the Almighty, now that you chose to sacrifice your freedom for the lives of the others.” Heloise sounded so confident, so serene, both Norum and Cahal were struck speechless for a few seconds.
Marta met the sister’s impassive eyes and understood any attempt to dissuade her would be futile.
“Thank you.”
After a final nod at Cahal and Skurka, she stepped out onto the gangway.
“Centurion, I am bringing my personal attendant with me. I’m sure the governor general understands a lady of my rank cannot travel without one.”
“As you wish,” he replied. “Whenever you’re ready.”
Both women walked down the shallow ramp slowly, with the sort of stately poise befitting a noblewoman of the empire and her lady-in-waiting.
Shortly after that, a glum Cahal, now stretched out on the ship’s upper level, his weapon pointed at Norum’s back, watched her and Heloise shrink in the distance through his gunsight while the soldiers waited patiently by their combat cars. He kept his aim until Laertes reached the Celadon’s ever-widening mouth and they finally disappeared from view.
Cahal left his perch and headed for to the berthing deck with a heavy heart, knowing his next and exponentially more difficult task, would be explaining to Sigrid and Stefan why their mother left them in his and the Void Brethren’s care.
— 16 —
The Guards centurion proved to be surprisingly courteous, enough so Heloise figured Jorge Danton had put a substantial bounty on delivering Marta Norum unharmed and healthy. The trip back to Petras in the combat car
’s rear compartment seemed stunningly brief and made a mockery of their long, painful trek from the capital to Tiryns.
Laertes would surely still be within sight of the coast as they climbed the bloodstained steps of Government House. Marta stopped on the veranda and turned to the western horizon, wondering what sort of life awaited her children.
The centurion coughed politely to attract her attention.
“Milady, Governor General Danton is waiting for you in the reception room. If you’ll please follow me.”
She turned a cold stare on him.
“Since this was once my residence, I shall dispense with your services and find my own way to the reception room. You’re dismissed.”
The centurion snapped to attention and saluted out of sheer reflex at her commanding, aristocratic tone, proof he remained an imperial creature by training beneath a rebel’s veneer.
“Of course, Milady.”
Once inside the opulent foyer, Heloise said, in an amused voice pitched only for Marta’s ears, “Some might suggest you were rather unkind to the centurion, my dear.”
“How so?”
“He clearly hoped to bask in Jorge Danton’s gratitude as well as his riches. You deprived him of the honor.”
Marta let out a soft and rather unrefined snort.
“Tough. I didn’t surrender to flatter the ego of a treasonous subaltern who murdered a dozen private security consultants guilty only of helping innocents escape a vile creature such as Jorge Danton, may the Almighty damn his soul.”
“Danton damned his own soul a long time ago.”
“Which doesn’t do much for his victims, since he’s still among the living.”
“Danton’s turn will come.”
Watched closely by armed soldiers standing guard at regular intervals along the main corridor, Marta led them unerringly to the reception room where, in better times, her late husband would formally receive envoys, senior officials, and other notables.
They entered without knocking, let alone announcing themselves only to find Jorge Danton seated on the throne-like chair Marta’s husband had disdained as overly pretentious. Guards officers resplendent in silver-trimmed black uniforms, their right shoulders dripping with the twisted gold cords appropriate for aides-de-camp to a star system governor general flanked him. Danton was clearly expecting his prisoners, though when he noticed they weren’t accompanied, a frown creased his broad forehead.