Date: 2022-02-02 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Science Fiction
Description: Betrayed by allies, Commodore Gage and the Exiled Fleet must break free before the Daegon strike. The Cathay Empire holds Gage responsible for a sneak attack on its forces. A crime Albion's last fleet did not commit. While Gage rots in the prison cell, the Daegon hunter Tiberian comes to collect him. Tolan, the Faceless spy, hatches a plan to smuggle Gage out of captivity, but risks an all-out war in the process. With the Reich and the Daegon closing in, Albion’s Exiled Fleet must walk a narrow and dangerous path to free Gage and strike at the source of the invasion before all hope is lost. Co
Publisher: Triplane Press

The Last Ditch

The Exiled Fleet Book 5

By

Richard Fox

Cover art by Christian Kallias
https://www.christiankallias.com/
christian@kallias.com

Copyright © by Richard Fox

All Rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means without prior written permission.

ASIN:

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

From the Author

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Chapter 1

The Cathay Marine’s bronze power armor buzzed as he pushed Ivor down to her knees. The Cathay attackers shouted at each other and to the Orion’s crew as they spread throughout the hangar, corralling the sailors and pilots into a scrum. A decorative tunic—crimson with gold trim—over the Marine’s armor marked him as one of the emperor’s elite.

“No one talk! No one move!” A Kong with a long dragon embossed across his tunic brandished a small pulser pistol as he marched around the prisoners. “I don’t need any of you gweilo alive!”

“What the hell?” Wyman struggled against a boarder, his brute strength useless against the augmented limbs of the Marine as it was forced into the group. “We freed the Heracles that attacked your ki—”

A pistol butt cracked against the side of his head and he went down in a heap, bleeding from a cut across his temple.

“Sonsabitches!” Ivor planted one foot flat against the deck, ready to launch at the nearest Kong, when her captor snapped the barrel of his pulse carbine up at her. She stared straight into the dark within the muzzle and slunk back.

“Compliance leads to mercy,” said the one with the dragon on his tunic. She heard him continue in Cathay, his words muffled within his full-face helmet.

Cathay Marines rushed to the main lift at the back of the hangar. One slammed a chisel into the seam of the control panel and punched it in with a strike to the base. There was a crackle of electricity and the lift doors opened with a ding.

A half-dozen Marines crammed into the lift, and a pair close to the doors readied boarding shields. The lift lurched up, moving before the doors had even completely closed.

“Ready stunner,” said a Cathay lieutenant from the back as deck numbers flashed higher and higher over the doors. “Helmet dampeners ready. Kill anyone that fights back. We don’t need any of the bridge crew alive.”

“For his Immortal Majesty,” the Marines intoned. One raised a hand and a small saucer-shaped device rose from it and floated over his shoulder. He drew his hand back and the stunner’s tiny engines hummed with energy.

The lift slowed fast enough that the Marines’ feet nearly lifted off the deck. The elevator door flung open to the Orion’s bridge, and crewmen stood up from their workstations like prairie dogs warned against a predator.

The Marine with the stunner pointed the device at the bridge and it shot forward. An armored hand swung down from over the top edge of the elevator door and snatched the stunner out of the air.

Salis swung down and slammed her heels into a pair of Marines with the energy shields, knocking them into the others and pinning them inside the elevator. The Genevan punched the stunner between the shields and into a Marine’s chest just as the device activated. A blinding flash of light accompanied by a thunder crack of overpressure slammed the Cathay against the walls of the lift and its doors closed behind her.

A short knife snapped out from the underside of Salis’ forearm. She caught it by the hilt and stabbed the tip under the edge of the lieutenant’s helm, piercing the chain mail and stabbing through the roof of the man’s mouth and into his brain.

Wrenching the blade out, she struck it into the visor of another boarder, cracking the glass and burying it deep into his eye socket.

In the press of bodies, a Marine fought to bring his carbine up and swung the barrel toward Salis’ back.

The Genevan slapped a hand back without looking, knocking the weapon aside as the Marine opened fire. Pulser shots punched into one of the other Marines, stitching impacts from his hip up to his shoulder.

Salis put a foot against the elevator wall and pushed off hard, her shoulder striking the Marine with the carbine and pinning him against the side. Her armor quivered for a half second as it fought to extend her leg fully. The Marine’s chest piece gave out and his sternum and ribs cracked with a wet pop.

A crackling blade slashed across the Genevan’s thigh. The overlapping scales of her armor seized up and she stumbled against the crushed Marine.

The surviving Cathay with the knife stabbed at her again with rapid short strikes against her abdomen. The tip was turned away at each impact, but the Marine was undeterred.

Salis slammed her forearm down, trapping the Marine’s knife flat against her stomach. The Marine fought to free his weapon, leaving him perilously close to the Genevan. Salis slammed the palm of her other hand against his head and propelled him into the crease of the lift doors. She grunted, exerting more force against his helmet until it drove the doors open.

Salis mashed his head against the shaft wall, and a shower of sparks flew off the Marine’s helmet as the lift’s rapid descent sheared the metal away. The sparks quit as the helm cracked open and the Marine’s head caught against the wall, jerking him up and slamming him against the ceiling. He fell to the deck, a messy cross section of skull and brains exposed.

As the last Marine struggled in the mess of the other dead Cathay, Salis bent slightly and hooked a punch into his head. His neck snapped, leaving his head bent awkwardly over one shoulder.

Ding.

Salis snapped around. The damaged doors struggled to open, but she could see the main hangar and more Cathay Marines. She ripped one side of the doors off and stepped onto the hangar, snatching her carbine off the small of her back. Her armor shifted down her arm to better brace her wrist.

The Cathay retreated toward the hostages.

“You guys are so fucked.” Ivor smirked up at her captor.

Chapter 2

Gage felt the tips of his boots scrape against a rough floor as a pair of Cathay carried him, their arms bent under his, his wrists bound behind his back. His shoulders strained and burned, each bump against the ground threatening to dislocate a joint.

The tight dampener hood over his eyes and ears kept him disoriented, but he could still smell. The reek of urine and old feces was strong, laced with compacted mold and dampness.

The pressure on his shoulders ended as the pair of guards threw him forward. Gage managed to twist to one side and took the fall on his hip instead of his face. He thumped against a wall, the cold floor and walls leaching heat out of him. He felt a faint rumble as a cell door closed, then an ozone stench as an energy field switched on.

The dampener hood loosened and ambient noise returned. The mag locks connecting his tight cuffs disengaged and he rolled pain and tension out of his shoulders. He had to dip his head down to grasp the hood and pull it off.

His cell was small, with a concrete slab bearing a stained and tattered mattress against one wall, a hole in the ground for a toilet, and a corroded water faucet over the stinking hole. A panel on the door slid to one side and an elderly Cathay man leaned over to look at Gage, a beautifully embossed silk sleeve over his nose and mouth.

“Care to explain this, Shin?” Gage used the slab bunk to help him back onto his feet. Whatever the Cathay had drugged him with was still percolating through his system.

“I told you the emperor wasn’t going to be happy with you,” the planetary governor of Lantau said. “Albion ships murdered Cathay sailors. You had your chance to piss right off and never return to Cathay space, but noooo, you just had to address your ridiculous point of honor with your 11th fleet. Then you came back here! You stuck your hand right back into the fire after I told you you’d get burned.”

“Shin,” Gage said, working his sore jaw from side to side, “your emperor has his justice. All the Albion officers that took part in that attack were killed rebelling against Daegon. This isn’t just about your dead, this is about the fate of all free human worlds! The Daegon are conquering stars left and right and your emperor’s worried about-about saving face before—ack!”

The cuffs on Gage’s wrists buzzed, sending shocks up his arms.

“The security system hears all. Knows all.” Shin wagged fingers at the ceiling. “Don’t besmirch the emperor’s character or the zaps will get progressively worse…but never bad enough to kill or maim you.”

“I…” Gage panted, “…I am the regent of Albion. This is not how we treat each other by the Treaty of New Paris. The rest of the League is here and—”

“See, that’s your problem.” Shin shook his head. “The emperor—his wisdom perfect and unquestionable—doesn’t accept your claim to the Albion throne. You didn’t bring back anyone he can execute for their treachery against us, so you took on all that guilt. As you’re in his domain, we adhere to his desires before we consider any foreign demands. Treaty or not.”

“We are wasting time! The Daegon are the threat, not me!”

“Stop being so rational.” Shin tapped on the glass once, eliciting a snap of static. He pulled his hand back, wincing. “Damn thing. Where was I? Yes, stop being so rational. You’re thinking like a naval officer with a battle to win, not like an emperor—who’s not even twenty—that has to keep nobles in line and maintain a great façade of strength over his loving subjects…who’ve been rebelling against his rightly guided policies more and more these past few years.”

“Excuse me if I’m not particularly sympathetic to his plight,” Gage growled. “My men. My ships!”

“Every last Albion that was on Lantau has been taken into custody. Alive. They’re elsewhere in this dungeon. As for your ships…I don’t have that information.” Shin shrugged.

“Then what are you even doing here?” Gage asked.

“Albion isn’t the place to promote criminals. Cathay officer commissions can be…a bit looser. As such, I doubt you’ve ever been in a shit pit like this. Solitary confinement can do a number on a person’s mind after too long. I’m here to tell you that your situation is being discussed.”

“Can’t say that fills me with relief,” Gage said.

“If we do let you out…you know what pai ma pei is? Doubt it; you Albion were so obsessed with merit and competence. It means to pat the horse’s ass. You see the emperor again, you better lavish him with compliments for his divine mercy. It’ll help. Maybe.”

“I am Albion’s regent and you expect me to kiss the emperor’s ass?”

“That boy—” Shin suddenly glanced up, then back at Gage, “—descended from heaven to guide our most glorious nation—has been in a bubble his entire life, Commodore. He only knows lavish praise for his every decision that he’s allowed to make. You’re in our house. You play by our rules. If you’d knelt before him during your audience, you might not be in here right now.”

“Albion’s light burns. Our kings kneel to no one,” Gage said.

“Keep up with that pride. See where it gets you,” the governor said and shrugged again.

“My ships. They won’t sit still for this. Tell your emperor—”

The panel slammed shut. An overhead light grew so bright that Gage had to shield his eyes with a hand. He sat down hard on the slab, the thin mattress providing little comfort. Gage took a deep breath and looked around his small abode. A cockroach skittered across the floor and crept down the toilet hole.

“Damn it…”

Chapter 3

“Fighters in the void—now!” Captain Price shouted from the Orion’s captain chair. A holo globe spun around her as more and more reports came in from Albion’s exiled fleet. “Supply shipments” from Lantau had delivered boarding teams to the Valiant and Ajax, the largest of the ships under her command. The wire outlines of the two pulsed amber. She’d lost all communication with them shortly after she’d broadcast a warning to the fleet.

“Kong battleships weighing anchor over Lantau’s northern pole,” the gunnery officer called out. “Both coming about to intercept us. Orders, ma’am?”

“Order all Kong ships currently within weapon range to return to Lantau immediately or be destroyed.” Price touched the Arjan Singh in the sphere around her and opened a hailing frequency. “Set battle stations across the fleet and lock down every deck. I don’t want another debacle of a Faceless running loose again.”

“Pretty sure the Kong don’t allow Faceless in their territory,” Lieutenant Vashon said from the helm.

“Yeah? Well, I don’t remember the Kongs trying to Trojan horse their way onto ships before. Surprises all over the place today. Where is—”

“Here.” Salis rapped a bloodied knuckle against the side of Price’s chair.

“You got anything else from the other Genevan dirtside?” Price asked. “You barge in here saying we’re betrayed and then you…handled the boarders.” She glanced up and down Salis’ armor, spattered across the front with dried and burnt blood. The armor had slid away from her face.

“The AI with Gage is limited, but capable enough. It was knocked off-line, but managed to remain functional long enough to send a broad EM spectrum warning. Are you doubting our effectiveness?” she asked.

“Not in light of the evidence. But is there anything else? Where is Gage and why the hell aren’t the Indus answering my hail?” Price slammed a fist against an armrest.

“Nothing else.” Salis shook her head. “The suit will not allow any harm to come to Gage while it still functions. I should have been down there with him. Aidan was safe enough aboard the Orion.”

“I doubt that,” Price muttered. “Damn Kongs would’ve taken my bridge without you here and then we’d be in an even bigger world of hurt—there’s something!”

The Ajax’s wire diagram switched from amber to pale green. A glowing line stretched from the ship, then rose to unveil a window with Captain Vult, a breather over his mouth and nose. Smoke rose in the background.

“Price? We got your warning just in time. I’ve got casualties on five decks and—”

“You have positive control of your ship or not?” Price snapped.

“Aye aye. What do you want me to do with the enemy dead?” Vult asked.

“I’m not particular. Get the Ajax into a shield wall before the Kongs can pick us off one by one.” Price closed the window and stared at the Arjan Singh, her lips pressed into a thin line. “We have exactly one ally here and she’s not answering me. I almost wish the Reich were still here. Almost.”

“Captain, more Kong warships vectoring toward us,” Lieutenant Vashon called out.

“Moving to the table.” Price unbuckled from the command seat and hopped onto the raised dais with the battle tank. The Albion ships moved slowly, aligning their flanks into a loose screen between Lantau and the Haephestus fleet tender and other support ships.

More Cathay warships had fallen into a cone formation around and behind a golden-hulled battleship at the tip. The lead ship disgorged a swarm of fighters from dorsal and ventral bays.

“Not good,” Price said.

“Which part? That they’re sending twice as many hulls at us as we have or that the Indus aren’t talking to us either?” the gunnery officer asked.

“The lead ship is part of the emperor’s bodyguard. Firing on it is considered a direct assault on the emperor himself…which is why you never see his personal ships outside Cathay territory.” Price zoomed in on the Valiant, the other ship that had taken on boarders but had yet to come back online.

“Makes me wish we had a Kong expert around.” Clarke, the chief Gunnery officer, raised an eyebrow at her.

“No,” Price said firmly.

“Ma’am, we’re not putting him back in command. We get Arlyss up here for advice. He speaks their language—”

“That asshole can sit and spin in the brig for all I care. Next time he’s let out, it better be for a quick court martial then a long walk out of a short air lock for treason…now the Indus answer me.” Price ran a hand through her short blond hair, then squinted at the incoming transmission. It wasn’t coming from the Arjan Singh, but from the Lantau palace.

Captain Birbal appeared in the tank. His uniform and turban gleamed white, though his beard was unusually less than immaculate.

“Price, I’m here to convey the Cathay emperor’s…request…that you stand down and surrender,” the Indus said.

“They asked for that before and our answer’s the same. No. Where’s Commodore—I mean Regent Gage? Is he safe?” Price muted the channel and covered her mouth to snap off a series of orders to her fleet.

“Gage is a guest of the Cathay,” Birbal said, the side of his mouth twitching. “I am unable to hail my ship, as the Cathay are in direct negotiations with my first officer. I want to tell them ga va panj ikk jha jha, but my hosts assure me that won’t be necessary.”

“That’s unfortunate.” Price snapped her fingers at the comms officer, then made a rewind motion out of Birbal’s line of sight. “I can’t reach your ship either. Have the Kongs given you some explanation for this treachery?”

A dashed green data line extended from the Orion to the Indus ship.

Price gave Birbal an exaggerated wink.

Birbal spoke in rapid-fire Indus and drew his kirpan knife. Still speaking, he pointed it to one side, swung at a Cathay soldier, and was tackled to the ground.

The channel went dead.

“That work?” Price asked. “Did the Arjan Singh get that?”

In the holo, the Arjan Singh accelerated forward, her course sending her between the forming wall of Albion ships and the approaching Cathay. She slowed, and the tank estimated that she’d match speed with Price’s ships, placing the Indus directly between her and the Cathay.

“What just happened?” Clarke asked.

“Arlyss may have an uncomfortable fascination with the Cathay, but I was raised on Indus musicals. I picked up enough of the language to recognize letters and numbers. Birbal gave us a command override code to access the Arjan Singh’s comms. Good thing the emperor’s guards aren’t Bolly fans,” she said.

“Attack sortie.” Clarke reached into the tank and touched several squadrons of Cathay fighters as they sprinted ahead of the lead golden ship. “They’ll be within torp launch range in…a hundred and nine seconds.”

“Send interdiction orders to what we have in space and ready point defense,” she said.

“Ma’am, if we don’t get torps over the wall or power up spine cannons—”

“Wait…just wait.” Price nibbled on her bottom lip.

Shields flared around the Arjan Singh as the fighters closed toward it. Price gripped the side of her holo tank tightly as the Cathay swooped toward the ship…then looped back toward their fleet.

Price ignored the whoops of joy and relief from the bridge crew. The approaching fleet slowed, then vectored away from the Indus and Albion ships.

“Commander, the Kongs are hailing us,” the comms officer announced.

“About time.” Price stood up and composed herself. “Put it through.”

A larger window opened in the holo tank. A stern Cathay man in a red naval uniform with many golden cords and woven plates on his shoulders and around his collar stared at Price. A bloody line ran up one side of his nose and between his eyes.

“I am Admiral Yishiha. Why am I speaking with you and not the Marine I sent to secure your bridge?”

“We’re mopping them off the walls now. If you want them back, send a bucket.” Price kept her face neutral.

Yishiha scrunched his nose and touched the fresh scar on his face. A Cathay noble with a long braid of dark hair leaned over and whispered in the admiral’s ear.

“The Indus’…tenacity…convinced the emperor to offer you free passage with the Arjan Singh out of his blessed realm. Sail for the out system nexus at—”

“You will return Commodore Gage to us immediately. Along with all Albion personnel on Lantau. We’re not going anywhere until you do.” Price swiped a finger across a screen, authorizing the gunners to charge up the spine cannon.

“Shift your aim off the emperor’s domain or we will snuff out your light for good!” Yishiha lowered his voice, half-growling through his teeth. “Your shell won’t get halfway to the planet before it’s destroyed, then there will be no mercy for you or any Albion we ever find.”

Price glanced at the helmsman and the ship shifted to port ever so slightly.

“Gage. Return him to us now.” Price’s heart beat faster.

“Your Commodore is our guest until the emperor decides otherwise. I would rather avoid any further unnecessary bloodshed if that’s acceptable with you,” Yishiha said. “There are several discussions happening in the palace.”

“What the hell does that mean? You’ve proven to be poor hosts. Gage. Now. What do you think we won’t do to get our regent back?” Price asked.

Yishiha tugged at his long dark beard, streaked with red.

“Price…is it? I am transmitting new anchorage permits to you and your fleet. Relocate to there or the Indus won’t be a deterrent. You may remain there at the emperor’s pleasure. I will not speak to you of this again.” Yishiha flicked a hand next to his ear and the channel closed.

“Sonofabitch,” Price muttered. A new message from the Lantau harbor master pinged in the tank.

“Orders, ma’am?” Clarke asked.

Price opened the message. Instructions for the Albion ships—and the Arjan Singh—to move to a slip transfer point farther away from Lantau. Slip codes good for another week back to Indus space were attached. No Cathay warships were near the anchorage.

“They’re giving us a free ticket out of here. They want us to leave.” Price rubbed a knuckle against her jaw. “No way we’re doing that without Gage…Helm, move the fleet to the new anchorage. Keep alert fighters in the void until further notice. Amber condition across the fleet.”

She put her hands on her hips for a moment, then double-tapped a red icon.

A woman in a heavier-than-usual void suit did a double take at the camera then raised her visor.

“Captain? Any issue on the bridge? Deck sweeps and head count continuing. Sorry I don’t have a full count yet, but—”

“Continue securing the ship, Lieutenant Cross. I need you to transport a prisoner to me. Get Arlyss up here. As much as I hate to admit it, I need his help,” Price said.

Chapter 4

Tolan walked down the narrow passageway of the Joaquim. The muscles in his left cheek and neck twitched, then pulled taut.

“Ah, damn it, not now.” He pressed fingertips to his cheek, willing them to relax. The muscles pulsed, then cramped up. He checked his watch and cursed silently. He should’ve been hours away from needing a stabilizer.

Tolan touched a small metal latch on a bolted door and hesitated. The man inside might be dead. Might be psychotic. Might be in need of help. He drew a small single-shot pistol from a holster and held it behind his leg, then lifted the latch and peered through a one-way glass.

Seaver sat in a corner, his arms wrapped around his stomach, rocking back and forth. Blankets and pillows were strewn across the floor. Tolan knocked twice then cracked the door open.

“Hey, champ…how’s it going?” Tolan asked, unwilling to open the door all the way just yet.

“I want to bitch at you for this piss bucket of a ship’s shitty environmental controls, but it ain’t your ship.” Seaver was hoarse, a rasp coming with every breath. His green skin looked paler than the last time Tolan had checked on him.

Tolan shouldered the door open slowly, the pistol still out of view. “We’re almost to Lantau,” he said. “We’ll get you the help you need there.”

Seaver’s laugh quickly degenerated into a dry cough.

“You think the Kongs know how to treat someone going through Daegon drug withdrawal? They’ll try and have me drink a broth of herbs, powdered turtle shells, and pseudo-rhino penis shavings, then poke me full of needles. I’ve had enough needles, thank you very much.”

“Hey, your sense of humor’s coming back,” Tolan said and stepped into the room. The smell of old sweat and ammonia assaulted his nose. “How about something to eat?”

Seaver lifted his head. His cheeks were sunken, eyes dilated, and a stream of drool hung from his lips.

“Doubt…doubt I can keep anything down. You have something else? I heard the others talking—you’ve got a pharmacy or something on board? Med combiner?”

Tolan sat on a cot attached to the bulkhead on the other side of the room.

“Your bloodstream’s a riot of hormones and trace amounts of whatever the Daegon pumped into you. Any idea how all that will react if I give you so much as an analgesic?” Tolan put one hand on his lap, the other holding the pistol behind his thigh and out of Seaver’s sight.

“Anything! Something to take the edge off or make the damn ants go away!” Seaver scratched at his forearms. “You’re a junkie too. Have some sympathy.”

Tolan sighed.

“Son, you’re not a junkie; you’re an addict. And not one by choice. The Daegon forced a poison pill down your throat and drip-fed you the antidote to keep you under their thumb. Not the first time that’s happened through history and I doubt it’ll be the last. Junkies see the downward spiral and jump right in, knowing exactly where it leads,” Tolan said as one eye began twitching.

“I can’t tell if you’re a hypocrite or you’re just trying to justify your own vices. Muscle relaxers? Maybe p-p-parcos di-ethels? You’ve got to have something I can take.” Sweat dripped down Seaver’s forehead.

“Tell you a story.” Tolan leaned back slightly. “First couple days after I had my Faceless treatment were pretty bad. Muscles on fire. My skin melted off and was replaced with DNA-neutral grafts. I lay on a shitty cot a lot less comfortable than this and I had to feel all of it, champ. My nervous system had to be burnt back in…”

“You…you asking for sympathy?” Seaver’s teeth began chattering.

“At the end of it all, I got my money’s worth and I was a discount Faceless. Had enough skills and capabilities to accomplish my mission and capture Ja’war the Black. But the transformation came with one hell of a monkey on my back. Regular pharmaceuticals—expensive ones—to keep my circus act going and then a healthy appetite for painkillers and other more recreational substances.”

“So you’ve got something…” Seaver gave him a hopeful look.

“I don’t know exactly how you feel, but I’ve walked the road you’re on. Even if you weren’t at risk of a bad drug combo, going for the next thing you can get in the hopes it’ll help will make things worse for you. You go for Bliss to take the edge off and then the Bliss will get its hooks in you. You know what it’s like to recover from that without the gene therapy that the rich and famous have? Six months cold turkey before you can even feel happiness again while your serotonin receptors recover.

“Maybe you think some designer stuff like Tree Top? You get one bad batch from your supplier and your head’ll explode because the veins in your neck constrict. Every heartbeat puts more and more blood pressure in your brain and skull. I’ve seen it happen. Ruins a night out every time,” Tolan said.

“You sound like one of the counselors from school. Funny. Bunch of friends of mine had never heard of cannabis before that presentation and then we went out looking for it. Didn’t sound too bad…till one of my buddies got arrested for asking around.”

“Harsh. Albion’s light burns, but they sure don’t blaze when they have the chance. You’re missing the forest for the trees right now, champ. You’re going through withdrawal right now and maybe, just maybe, we’ll get you through this and then you might go looking for something else to fill the void. It might seem like I’m here with nothing but platitudes and old-man stories to help you through, but I’m speaking from the voice of experience. It’s awful now. It’ll get worse later. But you have to fight through it and not trade one addiction for another.”

Seaver’s teeth clamped shut and he giggled. “You ass…you could help me right now if you wanted.” Seaver worked his jaw from side to side and looked up at Tolan, hatred behind his eyes. “Give me something. Give me something now!”

The muscles in his arms and shoulders constricted.

Tolan snapped to his feet and thrust the pistol out.

“Uh uh uh,” the spy said, shaking his head. “I’ve got platitude and sympathy aplenty for you. And a bullet if it comes to that.”

“Then send me back to the Daegon! This…I can’t live like this!” Seaver dug fingernails into his arms. Drops of blood welled up.

Tolan inched toward the door, never taking his eyes—or his aim—off Seaver.

“You’re in the abyss. Hold on and I’ll help you out, but I need you to not make any friends while you’re in that dark. You understand?”

“Motherfu—” Seaver sprang at Tolan, arms out, bloody fingers grasping for Tolan’s neck.

Tolan ducked under Seaver’s assault and shot his leg out, tripping the other man. Seaver went face-first into the bulkhead with a painful thump. Tolan bounded from the room and slammed the door shut. He slid the bolt in and kept his back to it as mag locks sealed it shut.

Seaver pounded on the other side, howling.

Tolan sank to the deck as Seaver kept beating on the door. The spy drew a small case from inside his shirt pocket. He unsnapped a small injector full of blue liquid, tiny gold flakes floating within.

“Hypocrisy ain’t too bad once you get used to it.” He pressed the needle against his neck and flinched as it shot a dose into his bloodstream. “I just hope you’re stronger than me, champ.”

He didn’t move as a muted sense of euphoria swept over him. His body tingled in all the right places and the colors of the Joaquim’s dilapidated interior became vibrant. Light from the working overheads broke into spectrums and he smiled.

Seaver’s rage sounded like it was far away, even though he could still feel the thumps of the other man’s fists and feet against the door. He wasn’t sure if time went faster or slower, but he was quite content to let it pass.

“Boss man?” A foot nudged his leg.

Tolan looked up, but there was no one there.

“Over here.” Geet nudged him again.

Tolan looked to his left. Geet’s clothes were stained and threadbare. His hands seemed to be permanently caked in grease and oil. Crumbs peppered a week’s worth of stubble.

“I’m high. What’s going on? No. I mean hi. What’s fine? I’m going on. Shit.” Tolan’s countenance shifted to match Geet’s features.

“Cap’n says we’re about to leave slip. Wants you on the bridge.” Geet jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “You OK, boss man? Maybe we need to get all our smugglin’ in order before we hit Kong ’specters?”

“Ha ha!” Tolan got to his feet and lost his balance. His waist hit a guardrail and he looked down into his ship’s empty cargo bay. “Tell you something ’bout Kongs; you can bribe your way past any of them. Best inspectors cost the most. What were we talking about?”

“Cap’n. Bridge.” Geet took Tolan by the elbow gently and led him toward the bridge.

Tolan wobbled from side to side and almost struck his head on the low entrance to the Joaquim’s bridge. Loussan was in the pilot’s chair, the smear of stars and slip space whirling ahead of the prow.

“Caishen be praised, are you high again?” Loussan looked over his shoulder at Tolan.

“It’s medicinal.” Tolan raised his nose and fumbled into the co-pilot’s chair. “So many buttons…you add some?”

“I fixed the malfunctioning—I’m not doing this with you.” The pirate reached into a center console between them and removed a small white nodule. He snapped it in half and shoved both pieces against Tolan’s nostrils.

“Ack! Stozz it!” Tolan’s head thrashed from side to side, then he froze, one hand slightly raised. “I hate you so much.”

“Oh no, how will I ever recover? We’re three minutes out from exiting slip space and I’m waiting for your next explanation as to why I can’t dump you and your meat shield off and go about my merry way in this ship. Just like we agreed!” Loussan whacked the center console with his fist.

“I hate trip killers. Anyway…we need to find the Orion and Commodore Gage. Soon as we’re with him, then you can go about your merry way. Stealth drive ready? I’m averse to official records of my arrival anywhere, as should you be. How many death sentences the Kong have waiting for you?” Tolan pulled up system reports and looked through maintenance logs.

“You take me from the Daegon frying pan and into the Kong fire. Just so you know, after your first death sentence, the rest are more for fun than anything else. Kongs won’t kill you and bring you back to life just to kill you again…” He flipped a switch and static whined from an overhead speaker.

“Dieter! What’s the word on our stealth drive? You fix that variable yet?” Loussan asked.

“The word is rechtsschutzversicherungsgesellschaften. I will issue an insurance policy for how well I’ve tuned the emitters. Ready to engage,” the Reichsman said.

“Of course, if he’s wrong and an oscillation rips my ship apart, I’d never be able to collect,” Tolan said.

“I heard that,” Dieter said.

“Oopsie poopsie. Let’s get this over with. At least we won’t have to deal with the Kongs if we’re all dead.” Tolan touched his shirt and felt another case in another pocket attached to a chain around his neck.

Within it, the Daegon’s own data showed that an armada was expected to arrive on Albion soon—enough ships to turn the tide of the war forever in the invaders’ favor and spell doom for the free star nations of settled space. He had to get the information to Gage. Had to convince the League to stop the next phase of the war before it was too late.

Lighting went dim and the bridge’s colors became muted.

“Stealth drive active,” Loussan said. “Everything’s working properly or we all died and this is purgatory. I’ll remind you of the famous French author that taught us that hell is other people.”

“And I thought you liked being aboard my spunky little ship.” Tolan swiped across a screen and a camera displayed his face. His features morphed into those of a pudgy, middle-aged man and his flight suit filled out as his midsection expanded. “Coming out of slip space in three…two…”

The swirl ahead of the ship burst and the Joaquim lurched forward into real space. Lantau hung in the distance, with bright spots of archologies tracing down the coastline on the night side.

“No incoming fire. No hails.” Loussan licked his lips. “Seems we have indeed arrived undetected. Small miracles.”

“All too easy.” Tolan’s voice jumped several octaves and he tapped the side of his throat. “Now all we need to do is find the Orion and Commodore Gage. Should be a cinch. This is one of the busiest planets in all of Kong space with thousands and thousands of ships—”

“Got her.” Loussan swallowed hard. “Whole flotilla of Albion IFF beacons within several light-seconds of the slip-space point. I’d say they were about to leave, but they’re anchored. No Kong ships nearby.”

A holo of local space appeared over the bridge console.

“Well, that was…you know what? I’m not going to jinx us.” Tolan pulled up a hailing frequency and entered in a code.

****

The smell bothered her the most. Ivor pushed an electro-mop against the flight deck, tiny sonic emitters rendering the smeared blood into particulates so that nozzles could suck up most of the organic material. Plenty went up her nose.

She gagged and turned her head away. A sleeve over her nose only made the heavy copper smell worse as her uniform was dusted by the viscera and life blood of many dead Cathay Marines.

Body bags containing most of the Cathay’s remains had been thrown into the back of the shuttle they’d arrived on. Crewmen worked feverishly to repair Typhoon fighters damaged during Salis’ brief massacre of the final boarders.

“I hate this. I hate this so much.” Ivor waggled the electro-mop over a red puddle with a darkening crust. “Why am I even doing this? I became an officer precisely so I wouldn’t have to do grunt work.”

“Can you hot swap the reactor core on your bird?” Wyman asked. Her wingman had made more progress cleaning up the assault’s aftermath than she had.

“I’ll learn.” Ivor’s voice rose sharply. “We’re cross-trained to pilot shuttles. We should be trained on big maintenance tasks too.”

“You keep talking like that and Commander Stannis will hear you.” Wyman knocked the edge of his electro-mop against the deck and dark clots fell out. “You’ll spend your free time with the maintenance monkeys and not in your rack sleeping.”

“Crew rest is crew rest. He won’t take that away from me or you.” Ivor accidentally caught a glimpse of armsmen dumping a Cathay Marine into a body bag. She choked down vomit and looked at her feet, eyes screwed shut.

“What’s the problem?” Wyman asked. “Squeamish all of a sudden? You’ve picked up how many kills since the Daegon invaded?”

“It’s…it’s different in the cockpit. I don’t see what they look like. They’re just targets on my HUD that turn into pretty explosions. I’ve never…never had to deal with this. Oh God, the smell. And the Genevan. Jesus Christ, did you see her? She caved in the skull of the Kong bastard guarding us and then just kept going…”

“If she was a pilot, I’d give her the call sign Mama Bear,” Wyman said. “Good thing she’s on our side.”

“They seem so passive most of the time. Like really expensive statues.” Ivor put a fingertip against a nostril and snorted. “She was just pure violence. You ever seen something like that before?”

“Yeah, when that Faceless took me dirtside to Sicani. If I’m going to be in a fight, I’d rather it be in my fighter, not this Marine stuff. Hurry up and get that smear on Vixen’s landing gear.” Wyman nudged her with his elbow.

“I still don’t know why we, extensively trained pilots in the crown’s service, are cleaning up this mess,” she grumbled.

“Because it takes almost no training to mop up blood. The extensively trained mechanics in the crown’s service are repairing our birds while we do this. Seriously, stop complaining or the techs will have an oopsie when they get to your ship,” Wyman said.

“Anything to get back in the dark and not have to deal with this. At least the only thing I have to smell in my vac suit is my own special musk.” She shined her electro-mop’s light on blood splatter on a Typhoon’s forward landing gear.

A pair of fighters came through the force fields across the open bay, each bearing a trident and crown squadron crest on the nose cone. They set down with barely a sound as the anti-grav emitters sent a rustle through the cuffs of Ivor’s flight suit.

“Oh boy.” Wyman pulled his mop handle up to his shoulder, like he was holding a guidon and about to salute with it.

Canopies opened and the two pilots got out, not even waiting for ladders to be wheeled up for them. One was a lean man with a helmet-crushed mane of gray hair, the other a pale wisp of a woman.

“It’s him,” Wyman whispered. “It’s Crusader.”

“You’d think someone with fifty confirmed kills would be…taller.” Ivor looked around for some other place to be. “Wait, who’s that with him?”

“Harpy.” Wyman’s eyes widened. “I had her Reach War trading card back when I was a kid.”

“You collected those? Nerd.”

“Piss off, you did too,” Wyman snapped.

“Only of the cute ones.” Ivor turned her attention to cleaning out the last traces of blood on the Typhoon.

“You there.” Crusader pointed at Wyman as he came over, tugging off black flight gloves. He bore captain’s rank and had a small light-blue circle with a golden crown on it over his name tape that read HOPKINS. “That lift go straight to the bridge?”

“Roger, sir…functions, but it’s a bit of a mess at the moment. Auxiliary access is on deck Charlie.” Wyman pointed to an access way on the other side of the bay.

Crusader gave him a curt nod and went to the lift, the inner walls still bearing the aftermath of Salis’ fight. Harpy gave Wyman a glance. One of her eyes was augmented, her hair just as gray as Crusader’s but cut pixie short.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Ivor said after the two were gone. “That’s the King’s Own squadron leaders. They were aboard the Heracles, but it was lost to the Daegon and I don’t think they’re going to stay cooped up on the destroyer that recovered them after that last fight.”

“Did you see his Hero of Albion medal? She had one too!” Wyman twisted his grip on the mop. “Maybe they remember us from that almost fight we had. Do you think they know who we are?”

“Wyman! Big swinging cocks like the King’s Own don’t play second fiddle to anyone. They’re going to relocate to the Orion, and best-case scenario, we get Crusader as our Wing Commander. Worst-case, the Cobras get shunted to some smaller ship in the fleet.”

“He talked to me. You heard him, right?” Wyman giggled.

“Oh my God,” Ivor said and rolled her eyes.

****

“Yes…escort him up.” Price had one hand to an earpiece. She turned her chair in the Orion’s ready room to one side and away from the only other occupant. “I don’t care what he’s unhappy about. Double the armsmen if he’s still a problem and drag him by the heels. Out.”

She swung the chair back to the main table. The man sitting to her side wore an Albion Navy uniform, but one bereft of all rank and insignia. His hair had grown almost beyond regulation length and his face had lost some of the tautness Price remembered.

“Problem?” said Arlyss, former commander of the Renown.

“None of your concern.” She smiled slightly.

“If you say so.” He lowered his gaze to the data slate in his cuffed hands. Even after being in the brig since his attempted mutiny, a hint of arrogance still tinged his voice. “I’ve reread the log of your conversation with Admiral Yishiha. Were you trying to ruin your relationship with him so quickly? Because what you said here was—”

Price slapped a palm against the table. “I brought you here for your knowledge of Kong culture and history, not for your well-practiced arts of criticism. Now you prove yourself value-added to this situation or it’s back to the brig with you.”

Arlyss opened his mouth to retort, but pulled back. His face went red and the slate quivered in his grip.

“I…I have studied the Cathay since I was at Sanquay.” He mentioned the academy for Albion nobles, not the inferior (in the nobles’ opinion) Portsmouth. “My first three assignments were along the Cathay frontier and I was the senior liaison officer between 4th Fleet’s joint piracy efforts with the Cathay Tiger Squadron. Whatever information with which I advise you comes from a place of knowledge. Remember that the next time you’re itching for a little extra revenge against your old skipper.”

“I never called you ‘skipper,’” she said with a smirk. “How do we get Gage off world without having to blast our way through the emperor’s bodyguard fleet?”

“I haven’t seen what’s on the scope, but the emperor normally travels with eight over-massed battleship equivalents and eight escort carriers, eight…etcetera etcetera down to eight gunship lighters. That correct?” he asked.

“It is.” Price narrowed her eyes slightly.

“We’d never get past the outer cordon. The emperor does not tolerate incompetence when it comes to his own security. Those of questionable abilities or loyalties are sent to the frontier in the worst ships the Cathay can keep space-worthy.” Arlyss swiped the screen and furrowed his brow. “Look at all these merchant transponders in the outer orbitals. If we had the latest crypto cracks loaded, I bet we’d see—”

“Get to the point,” Price said.

“The emperor’s presence is bad for business. Causes a huge bottleneck with shipping as security goes through the roof. Most of the bigger ships will cut their losses if their hulls are full enough and continue their route. That there’s so many likely means there’s a significant gathering of nobles on Lantau as well.” Arlyss rubbed his chin.

Price raised a palm. “And? There a ‘so what’ there? The Kong emperor doesn’t always travel around with a court?” she asked.

“Because he’ll have more liem to lose. Face. Reputation. He’ll normally have his most loyal people with him, as they won’t propagate any negative information on the emperor. He’s just turned nineteen and his father was considered a fool by most of the empire.”

“He did lose two wars with the Reich and died choking on soap he thought was fruit,” Price said, rolling her eyes.

“No, post-coitus heart attack after receiving a fresh concubine. The soap rumor was spread by the last noble family that were exiled to wild space,” Arlyss said. “This is good and bad. The emperor will be under pressure to show strength, but also to act as the true embodiment of heaven’s harmony. So the emperor’s hands are tied with several aspects of Gage’s…situation.”

“What do I have to do?” Price asked, exasperated.

“You’re not the ideal person. The Cathay are not as enlightened as Albion; there are no female officers or any women in senior positions. You trying to assert authority to them is like a cat barking. No…we need to do a little pai ma pei. Pat the horse’s ass.”

“A horse? I have to do what to a horse?”

“An expression. A bit of an obsequious display to help the emperor save face if he wants to release Gage but can’t because we didn’t hand over the Albion officers he thinks are responsible for the attack on Taisan. Not that we’d ever hand anyone over for summary execution.”

“I’m glad you don’t have to be persuaded otherwise. Back to the horse’s ass.”

“The Cathay expect us to abandon Gage and leave through the slip point they’ve given us. The longer we remain here, the less decisive we look. They won’t give us a second chance,” he said.

“We will not leave him. He just rescued the 5th and thousands of Albion from the Daegon. We—the whole kingdom!—will share his fate,” she said. “Back to the horse’s ass.”

“We need an audience with the emperor, and then we need to kowtow to his grandeur and beg for his mercy,” the former captain said.

Price stared at him for a moment.

“Why do I feel like you’ve dreamed of doing just that for years? I’m not sending anyone else down there to be thrown in jail. Our Commodore and regent, along with twelve officers and sailors are I-don’t-know-where on Lantau and feeding more hostages to the Kongs.”

The doors opened and Tolan walked in.

“Finally!” Tolan tried to scoop up a cup of tea, but he winced in pain and gripped his forearm. He squinted at Arlyss’ cut-down uniform. “Where’s Gage?”

“Armsmen,” Price said, motioning to Arlyss, and he left with the same guards that delivered Tolan. She brought Tolan up to speed.

Tolan sat down hard, his eyes wide. “But we need Gage,” he said with a small voice. He shook his head quickly. “Take a look at this.”

He placed the data drive from around his neck onto a reader. Albion logistics reports mixed with Daegon glyphs floated over the table, then exploded out into a star field. A slip connection stretched from Albion to a star perilously close to the Veil, a thick nebula hundreds of light-years wide.

“You saw the supply depots waiting over Albion,” Tolan said. “The Daegon have had plenty of time to move them to the front lines. That adds up with the Daegon expecting more ships to arrive at Albion soon, more ships than we’ve identified in their current assault. Something big is coming and it’s coming through the Veil.”

“Which is supposed to be impossible, but I’m willing to put that aside, given what we’ve been through with the Daegon.” Price leaned back. “By the light, how can there be so many of them?”

“Maybe we’ll get more out of young master Seaver if his mother can stabilize him.” Tolan rubbed his forearm again. “I had to give up a marrow sample so she could pull the right Daegon DNA that I sampled. Hurts, in case you don’t know.”

Price rubbed fingertips over her eyebrows.

“You called Arlyss up for his Kong knowledge? That was a shit idea. He go on and on about ‘face’ and nobles?” Tolan crossed his legs and laced his hands behind his head.

“How’d you know?”

“Lots of big merchies in orbit. They won’t linger if the emperor’s in town. Who you got feeding Gage and our people?” Tolan asked.

“Sorry, feeding them? They’re in jail. The jail feeds them.”

“Oh, my sweet summer child, you’ve never been around a Kong prison before, have you? Of course Arlyss wouldn’t have—he probably wants to go down there and kowtow as hard as he can. The richer and more foreign you are, the less likely the Kongs are to feed you. You have to contract with a local supplier and pay them directly. Kongs got sick of taking in foreign bigwigs who were on the outs with their home powers. They spent too much money to keep them in the quality of life they were used to. So the Kongs changed the policy so their ‘guests’ would have to provide for themselves. Deterred a lot of new arrivals.”

“I’d almost rather be fighting the Daegon right now. Is everything about the Kong just interesting tidbits or do you have something I can actually do?”

Tolan covered his face with both hands, then hinged them open, like he was playing peekaboo with a child. His face had changed to be more Asian. He covered his face again, then let them fall to his lap, his features back to normal.

“I can get him out of there and back to the Orion, probably,” the spy said. “We are cutting it close if we’re going to stop the Daegon armada from joining the war. Too bad Thorvald’s with the regent. I could use him.”

“His AI suit is on Lantau, not Thorvald,” Price said.

****

Dr. Seaver touched the isolation tube holding her son. She hadn’t recognized him when the medics first wheeled him into her sick bay. He was more muscular, taller and…green. He’d drifted in and out of consciousness as her nurses hooked him up to respiration and more life-support systems.

His organs had been shutting down and his blood work…

Dr. Seaver blinked away tears and called up the newest lab reports. Her son’s endocrine system had been replaced with artificial organs, the rapid changes putting enormous strain on his body. Bad enough that whatever the Daegon had put in him would burn him out like a candle under a blowtorch, but the organs were malfunctioning. Toxins had built up in James Seaver’s liver and through his spinal cord, resulting in persistent agitation of his pain receptors.

Her son was in constant agony and there wasn’t much she could do about it. The IV lines in his neck and arms were pumping enough tranquilizers and pain medication into him to kill a normal man his size, but his muscles still twitched and his eyes darted from side to side beneath their lids.

“What have they done to my boy?” she whispered, a hand over her mouth.

“Doctor? We’ve run the gene sequencing on the sample given to us by Mr. Tolan,” one of her nurses said from a few steps away. “We’ve synthesized the DNA isolate and the simulations we’ve run through the computer—”

“Give me that.” She snatched the nurse’s tablet away. “You think I’m going to trust what some degenerate Faceless tells me? This is my sick bay. My son. We are not taking any chances with him.”

She held the tablet at almost arm’s length to read it. She wasn’t sure if it was age or exhaustion that was affecting her vision.

“The gene biomarkers for the implants only correspond to a unique DNA sequence? The Daegon made my son’s life contingent on regular infusions from one—only one—of them? The sheer impracticality of it all…”

“I’ve been speaking with some of the wounded from 5th Fleet,” the nurse said. “The Daegon on their ships didn’t seem to care about anyone’s well-being but their own. Highly trained engineer mouthed off? Strangled by that torque thing around their neck. Crews not working as hard or as fast as the Daegon expected? Killed. They’re monsters, doctor. Maybe we shouldn’t think they’re like us.”

“The sims show that my son—the patient—will stabilize if we administer this serum?” Dr. Seaver asked. “Then synthesize a dose and prepare to administer it.”

“About that, ma’am, liver synthesis and exposure to the heightened levels of myoglobin from rhabdomyolysis will likely destroy the serum before it can reach his spinal column. We can’t give it to him right now. Someone…” the nurse paused and frowned, “someone will have to inject it into the port.”

“I’ll do it. Go get the serum ready.” Dr. Seaver slid an X-ray panel over the isolation tube and stopped it over her son’s neck and shoulders. She examined a small device implanted just over his collarbone. Thin threads ran from the port up and down his spinal column. The flesh around the port had gone necrotic—either the surgeon had been in a rush or was a butcher that didn’t care about their work.

“Huh…” James Seaver twitched inside the tube. His eyes fluttered open. “Momma…”

“I’m here,” Dr. Seaver said, pressing her forehead to the glass. “It’s me, James. I’m here to help you.”

“I’m so sorry…so sorry about your lamp,” he said, his tongue thick.

“That was such a long time ago, don’t worry.” She had to look away for a moment. “I never liked that old thing anyway.”

“Was…was great-great…so many great-granny’s. From Earth and I broke it. You said you’d never…never forgive me.”

“I do! I do, my boy. I’d take you over that lamp any day of the week. Just rest, OK? I’m going to give you some medicine and—”

“No!” James slammed a palm against the glass. “No, it hurts too much. It’ll always hurt. Just let me…Dad. Dad’s still alive. They made me do this so he could live. Made me kill all those people…”

“We’ll all go home together, I promise. Now you just relax a moment.” She looked over her shoulder as a nurse and a pair of armsmen with shock batons came over. The nurse handed her a hypo injector.

“Port size allows for three cc’s at a time,” the nurse said, backing away. “We don’t know what dosage he’s supposed to get or how often.”

“Good thing we’ve got him in a sensor suite and we’ve all had clinic time.” Dr. Seaver adjusted the dosage on the injector. “Record his vitals. We will adjust as needed. Open the chamber.”

The nurse gave James a wary look, then swiped off the magnetic locks for the hatch over the top third of his body. James’s head lolled from side to side, then he froze, his eyes locked on the armsmen.

The nurse lifted the hatch, his attention on the IV lines and not on the patient.

James’ hand shot up and grabbed the nurse by the upper arm. He jerked down, dislocating the shoulder with a loud pop against the open edge of the tank. The nurse cried out in pain and both armsmen rushed in to help. He shoved the nurse hard into the nearest guard, knocking them both to the floor.

The other armsman drew his pistol.

“No. No!” Dr. Seaver put herself between the guard and her son. She looked down at James. His eyes burned with rage and there was no recognition of her. He sat up as best he could and clamped a hand around her throat.

“Novis regiray!” he spat.

Dr. Seaver thrust the hypo injector against the port and injected the serum into him. Her son’s grip tightened and she felt blood stop flowing to her brain. She gagged, unable to breathe, as James punched at the tank with his other fist, his face contorted like a madman’s.

Her vision tunneled, but she didn’t fight against the death grip.

A heartbeat later and James’ eyes softened. He flopped back into the tube, as if all his muscles had gone to rubber. He coughed hard, his whole body flopping with each hack.

Dr. Seaver fell to her knees, her neck swelling and each breath a struggle. She didn’t care about the shouts from the armsmen or the agonized screams from the injured nurse. She clutched the injector to her breast and cried.

****

A fire team of armsmen unloaded their carbines as the holo firing range reset. Silhouette targets appeared next to each man and woman, red dots marking impacts. Most had several misses; only one had a concentrated glow at center chest and head mass.

“I will be goddamned.” Petty Officer Gersarch stood on his tiptoes to look over Thorvald’s shoulder to his score card. “I wouldn’t have believed it if I didn’t see it with my own eyes. You said you were Albion Marines?”

Thorvald released the lock on the carbine’s magazine and caught it as it fell out. Then he deftly switched his hand around to load a fresh mag in the same motion.

“It was a long time ago,” Thorvald said. “I can shoot better with a bit more practice.”

“Practice? You set an Orion marksmanship record on your second qual. They don’t teach Marines to shoot that good,” Gersarch said.

“I practice.” Thorvald shrugged.

“Attention to orders.” There was a banging at the open door to the firing range. A lieutenant with ordnance branch insignia stomped his foot. “Captain Price wants the detail guarding the sick bay with that Daegon freak to be reinforced ASAP.”

“Who are you, sir? I don’t see a tasking on my system,” Gersarch said, frowning.

“Schecker, reassigned from the 5th Fleet. It’s not on your system because Price doesn’t want any digital record of the freak in case there’s a Kong spy or another of those Faceless around. You want to go up to the bridge and confirm it for yourself or is the word of an Albion officer enough?”

“Aye aye, moving.” Gersarch motioned to the door and the armsmen team hurried toward it.

“Not you.” Schecker put a hand to Thorvald’s chest. “XO’s got something for you.”

“Sir?” said Gersarch. “He’s one of my best. I need him to—”

“He’ll catch up.” Schecker shooed the petty officer away with a wave of his hand.

Gersarch tensed up, then left, shaking his head all the while.

“That was pathetic,” Thorvald said. “I can’t say if I’m happy that you’re still alive, Tolan.”

“What gave me away?” Tolan pinched an earlobe and his features reverted to the face Thorvald recognized.

“Albion officers don’t…” Thorvald replicated Tolan’s shooing gesture, but even more prissily than before. “What do you want with me? I am not who you knew.”

“I’m not just here out of morbid curiosity, you Genevan weirdo. But perhaps you could explain how it is you’ve lost your AI suit…again! Seriously, Thorvald. Losing it once is unheard of. But twice?” Tolan put his hands on his hips.

“The AI rejected me after a disagreement,” Thorvald said. “Regent Gage…dismissed me soon after.”

Tolan pursed his lips. “You going to stay a sad sack or you want a shot at redemption? Because I need you for a dangerous secret mission,” Tolan said. “You’ve still got that stick up your ass and I need it.”

“You need the stick from my ass?”

“No. No! Walked right into that one, didn’t I? I need an obvious muscleman and you can’t ever be anything but a Genevan. Suit or no suit. You want to rescue Gage or not?”

Thorvald’s nostrils flared. “I serve the Albion crown to my last dying breath. That is my oath, AI or no AI. You’re in charge of the effort, aren’t you?”

Tolan smiled. “And don’t you forget it. Now…we have another person to recruit and your tall hunkiness may help.” He clapped his hands together then smoothed them over his face, pulling his skin tight.

“Peekaboo!” He lifted his hands away and his features were different.

“Are you under the influence of narcotics? Again?” Thorvald growled.

“What? No! Also we can’t be seen in the sick bay pharmacy again. They’re under lockdown until they find some missing stock. Come on, stick-boy. Gage ain’t gonna save himself.”

****

“You want me to do what?” Able Voidsman Emma asked. The silver tea set on her tray began trembling.

“You’re making it out to be a lot scarier than it needs to be,” Tolan said, raising his hands up to either side of his face.

Emma set the tray down on Gage’s desk and stared at Tolan.

“You want me to surrender to the Kongs so I can do what?” Emma glanced around, her gaze lingering on Thorvald standing guard next to the door.

“You just have to give Gage a little something and then tell him the plan.” Tolan shrugged. “I don’t see why this is so difficult.”

“Mr. Tolan, I am the Commodore’s steward. I fix up his uniforms. Cook his meals. Do all the easy tasks that would be a waste of his time. I’m not some dirty spy!”

“No offense taken, but all your reasons are exactly why it needs to be you. The Kongs won’t suspect you. Also, Kong officers don’t cook—they can barely wipe their own asses without a cheer section—so they’ll expect Gage to need someone to handle the essentials for him. I’ll arrange for your transfer down to Lantau and the Kong will take you right to him. Simple!”

Tolan removed a large pill from a pocket and set it on the tray.

“What do I do with that?” she asked.

“You need to deliver that to Gage. It’s keyed to his genes and it has vital information that he needs to know as soon as possible if we’re going to defeat the Daegon. There’s good news and bad news when it comes to the delivery vessel.” Tolan raised his eyebrows.

“Mister Tolan!” Emma put a hand to her mouth.

“What? You swallow it. It’ll bond to your stomach lining and it scans as a bile duct deficiency. Once you’re with Gage, you puke it up. Bob’s your uncle.” Tolan tapped the tray next to the pill. “What did you think you would have to do?”

“Why I…nothing. What else must I do?” She nudged the pill with her finger.

“Then I need you to make a scene when it’s time for you to leave Gage behind. Cry some tears. Tear some clothes. Ham it up. That’s what the Kong expect.” Tolan nodded.

“Abandon him? I thought this was a rescue mission.”

“It is, darling. You’re not actually abandoning him. He’ll be leaving with you and I will stay behind in his place.” Tolan opened a closet and lifted a sleeve from one of Gage’s dress uniforms. His arm stretched out a few inches to match the length. “Tall ones are the worst.”

“How are you doing that?” Emma gasped.

“I am a man of many talents, my dear. None of them very nice. You will get to Gage first, then I will arrive with another party, and while I’m in his residence, I will change spots with Gage and he will leave in a rather uncomfortable manner and return to the Orion. You’ll be summoned back to the Albion fold shortly afterwards and I will remain behind. You look so relieved. I still won’t take offense at you abandoning me to Gage’s fate.”

“No, no, you can’t stay there. The Kongs are barbarians,” Emma said.

“Again, I am a man of many talents. I’ve slipped back onto Albion—and escaped—right under the Daegon’s noses with a significant amount of damage along the way. I can do my vanishing act for the Kong with much less trouble. Probably. You ready to go?”

“Sorry, now? I need to help Mr. Bertram prepare Master Aidan’s breakfast and Bertram still can’t make the bacon just how the boy likes it.” Emma’s shoulders dropped.

“Don’t be afraid.” Thorvald stepped forward. “I’ll be with you.”

“I’ll do it for the Commodore.” She picked up the pill and stared at it. “He’d do it for me.”

“Wonderful! Now swallow that pill and report to shuttle bay C. Thorvald and I have different travel arrangements.”

“Wait, what do I tell the Commodore when I see him?” she asked. “How will he know when it’s time to leave?”

“Oh, he’ll know.” Tolan gave her a lazy salute. “He’ll know.”

Chapter 5

Emperor Yinghao leaned forward on his throne. A line of eunuchs and attendants hunched forward, as if waiting to catch him if he fell. The audience chamber was vast, with tall marble columns carved with scenes from Chinese mythology on one side and artistic depictions of the Cathay Empire’s accomplishments on the other.

Both sides, the emperor knew, were largely fiction.

Military officers, representatives from noble families, and bureaucrats from the highest levels of his empire were there, split by a wide carpet running from the grand double doors to the base of a golden staircase leading up to his throne.

A holo drone hovered over the carpet, projecting a video of a Genevan suit of Preservar armor pounding at a reinforced door. The motions were mechanical and identical with every blow.

“You say it’s empty?” The emperor leaned to one side to address Zheng, his chief advisor and the senior-most eunuch in his court.

“Empty of a man within, absolutely correct.” The elderly man bowed at the waist while addressing the emperor. “There is an artificial intelligence within. Not the most sophisticated and it is sanctioned by the Vitruvian Accords. The Genevans are quite fanatical about the terms of their contracts and the AI is programmed to remain dedicated, even if the Genevan within it is killed or incapacitated. This is not something we should ever desire. Machines are not to be trusted.”

“Many of my vassals employ such bodyguards, isn’t that true?” The emperor smoothed out the golden silk of his tunic.

“Some…yes. But no such mercenaries are allowed within your presence. We must tolerate foreign officials and their barbaric ways,” Zheng said.

The emperor raised a hand. A long, gold-and-platinum-inlaid pinky nail flickered in the light. “Who among you employs such a thing?” His voice boomed across the room.

The audience murmured and the emperor stifled a smile. Such a question could have lethal repercussions if he was displeased with the situation and he’d hid his emotions quite well up to this point.

He waited a moment, then turned his head slowly to Zheng, who already had the answer, scrolling up data screens embedded in his eyes.

A man in deep-blue robes with silver threading was shoved out of the crowd and onto the carpet. He let out a squawk of fear and prostrated himself toward the emperor.

“Forgive me, most merciful ruler! I inherited the contract from my father. I will banish the barbarian from my household—”

“Let him approach.” The emperor rested his chin on his knuckles. “I wish not to strain my ears to hear him.”

Zheng clapped twice and a pair of guards armed with tall guandao polearms shoved their way through the crowd and grabbed the man by the armpits, hauling him to a golden rod across the carpet several yards from the base of the stairs. They set the man on his feet and crossed their blades over his chest.

“Count Yang of Taisan IV. Exemplary tithe record,” Zheng said quietly to the emperor.

“Yang…tell me of these Genevan devices. Are you pleased with yours?” the emperor asked.

Yang began hyperventilating.

“Perhaps the proximity to your eminence is causing him some trouble,” Zheng said.

“Assure him,” the emperor sighed.

“Yang, your emperor bids you to answer. In his most gracious mercy, he will only punish lies. Speak the truth and your service to him will be recognized.” Zheng snapped his fingers at the noble.

Yang bowed his head, not looking directly at the emperor.

“Most glorious son of heaven,” Yang began, thrusting his hands into his sleeves, mimicking Zheng’s posture. “My family has had a contract with House Valais for the last two hundred and nine years after my ancestor…suffered an ill event.”

“Murdered by wild space pirates during a trade negotiation,” Zheng muttered to the emperor.

“The Genevans are excellent bodyguards—though completely inferior to the wise and brave warriors protecting your eminence. My family and clan have not suffered a similar ill event since we hired House Valais. What more of my wretched knowledge can I share with you?” Yang was still trembling.

“This contract you have with them. Under what circumstances will the specifics be changed?” The emperor chose his words carefully. Asking directly what would happen with the contract in the event of Yang’s death might’ve sent the man deeper into panic and the loss of bladder control. He didn’t want that carpet cleaned again.

“They swear to protect their principal, myself in this instance, to their last dying breath. The Genevans maintain a list of priority protection assets should anything…untoward occur. I give the list to them,” Yang said.

“Interesting.” The emperor kept his gaze on Yang, ignoring Zheng as the eunuch inched toward the throne for a private conversation. “You see this abomination that I seized,” said the emperor, flicking his inlaid pinky nail at the holo. “Why is it acting this way?”

“I would never disagree with your endless wisdom, your eminence.” Yang turned his head slightly to the holo. “I assume, from the depths of my ignorance and assume full responsibility for any—”

“Answer,” the emperor said and rolled his eyes.

“The suit is attempting to find the principal, the one it is supposed to be protecting,” Yang blurted out. “The AI does not have a last dying breath to give. They are more determined than that.”

“As this abomination has accompanied Gage, and is now fighting to return to Gage…” the emperor paused and looked over Zheng and his host of advisors near the throne. “Would this not indicate that Gage is indeed part of Albion’s succession plan? That he is the legitimate regent?”

“Your eminence,” said an elderly woman, shuffling forward, “this Gage is not of the royal line. Our sources indicate that he encountered a true member of the Albion royal family—a Countess Christina—and abandoned her on New Madras. He is a usurper.”

The emperor lifted a hand to the holo. “The incorruptible machine spirit of that device would indicate otherwise,” he said. “Would you agree with that, Yang? Can the spirit within be changed?”

“The Genevans specifically forbid any close examination of their equipment. Any such violation will result in the contract becoming null and void and…and the loss of the deposit.” Yang swallowed hard.

“The Houses require a significant amount of gold and other precious metals be deposited in Genevan banks,” Zheng said, his voice masked by sonic disruptors so no one but the emperor could hear him. “The banks invest the money, guaranteeing the principal and using much of the interest to pay the contract fees. The balance, plus a substantial amount of compound interest, is returned once the contract ends. Yang stands to lose…six point nine billion yuan if there’s a violation.”

“A good amount. Similar for others employing such bodyguards?” the emperor asked.

“Significantly more. The treasury would overflow if we outlawed Genevans and taxed the remittances,” Zheng said.

“You said that about the moutai tax and I had to put down rebellions in three systems.” The emperor kept a hand over his mouth. “Cost us more in the long run.” He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “And if I were to tear that thing apart to better understand its protocols…what then?” he asked the noble.

“Your eminence…your wisdom and intellect are far greater than mine…I would never disagree with any decision you make. But if I may…share part of the contract the Genevans insist on. They consider any action by a government to infringe on their patents as a class action issue. They will assess a penalty to all who employ their services to make up for the loss. The costs would be passed on to your loyal subjects with contracts and it would be…prohibitive.”

The emperor glanced at Zheng, who nodded.

“We can’t just let it out of its cage, can we?” The emperor leaned back and adjusted his pillows.

“It is too dangerous to be let loose,” Zheng said. “It may be programmed to seek revenge.”

“They do not bear grudges,” Yang said, raising a hand. “They protect first and foremost.”

Zheng’s eyes burned with anger and Yang yelped and prostrated himself again.

“My most trusted and loyal advisors tell me that Gage is a charlatan.” The emperor scratched at his chin with his overly long pinky nail. “The machine spirit within that contraption attests otherwise. The League are here and they are most displeased with Gage’s current situation. Would you all agree to that?”

He turned to one side of the line of advisors, who all nodded quickly.

“Albion’s crimes against us are known, but we have a long history of cooperation with the barbarians and with the League,” the emperor said. “Gage’s imprisonment continues, but I will adjust his circumstances to better reflect his alleged status. Zheng. Have him, and all our Albion detainees, moved to the guest residence beyond my walls. Should he prove to be anything but what he claims he is, we will execute him and send the bill to the Albion to pay right away or through trade tariffs with a hefty interest rate. Yang…one-tenth of one percent decrease on his next quarterly tithe.”

He put both hands on the armrests, signaling the end of the audience. His throne pulled back, rolling past thick, reinforced doors and into his private residence. Zheng stepped onto the edge of the platform and accompanied him.

The emperor removed his jade-encrusted crown and set it on one knee. The platform rotated around, revealing a party of more eunuchs, guards, and several concubines waiting.

“Zheng! Why must everything be so painful!” the emperor lamented.

“We must keep up decorum, especially during interesting times such as these,” said the elderly man as he made his way up the stairs, his knees shaking with each step. “But you handled everything very well. Reducing Yang’s tithe, though…”

“It shows the nobles that I’m not my father. Speaking the truth to me will be rewarded until they become eager to tell me the truth, then I’ll reward them with something for their ego and not their accounts.”

“They’d prefer fatter bank accounts, but that’s a problem for later.” Zheng leaned against the throne. “The League wishes to meet. I told them you will be available after your afternoon bath and other activities.”

“I need to come to the League with more than my esteemed presence…bring Gage to me. I will speak with him off the record.” The emperor stood and stretched his arms overhead.

“That could be dangerous, my emperor. I do not advise this.” Zheng’s hands fidgeted within his robes.

“I will grant him improved lodgings and judge his character. The Daegon are…an enigma. Their message is most concerning. Their actions even more so.”

“They are no more than a confederation of wild space bandits. Their offensive will collapse soon; such is the fate of every criminal enterprise.” One of Zheng’s hands turned slowly in his sleeve.

“Hmm. What was that?” The emperor looked around, confused. “Bath time? I want her,” he said, waggling fingers to one of the concubines then to another in the back row, “and that one. What’s the local specialty dish? Have some delivered to the pools.”

****

The dampener hood came off Gage and he blinked hard against a dull glow in front of him. Guards with halberds were on either side of him. His uniform was scuffed and torn, the stench of the dungeon still clinging to him.

A small shield wall projected up from the floor, obscuring what was on the other side.

“You should kneel,” Shin said from behind Gage.

“We’ve been over this.” Gage rolled his forearms against the mag-locked cuffs over his wrists. “Regents do no such thing.”

“Your meathead guards are pinging on adrenaline spikers and will beat you into paste if they hear the right word,” Shin said, shuffling over to Gage. “For your sake, for everyone depending on you not being paste, consider setting the ego aside.”

Gage raised a shoulder and scratched a cheek against it.

“Then let me get out of the splatter zone.” Shin flopped his long white goatee away from his chest.

The force field went semi-opaque, revealing several steps leading up to a golden litter. emperor Yinghao pushed away a concubine holding a bunch of grapes and swung his legs over the side, descending the stairs with plenty of youthful vigor. He leaned close to the force field and gave Gage a once-over.

“I thought you’d be taller.” Gage heard muffled Cathay through the energy wall and a louder translation from a speaker mounted to the chest of one of the guards. “You looked taller earlier.”

“Emperor…what have you done with my men? They’re not responsible for my decisions,” Gage said.

“Huh? You care for officers under the rank of admiral or general…how quaint.” The emperor plucked a finger against his lips. “They’re being moved to somewhere more comfortable. All of them are alive. They’re fine. But you…you’re a problem.”

“And just why is that?” Gage asked.

The butt of a halberd struck him in the kidneys. Gage reared back slightly, the pain intense from the precise strike.

“Your grace,” Gage said through gritted teeth. He saw a reflection of a guard moving to strike again in a reflection off the force field.

The emperor raised a hand and the blow never came.

“Eminence, please,” he said. “I do not understand you, Gage. You had the chance to leave. To avoid my wrath for the death of my soldiers. Why didn’t you run to wild space or back to the Indus?”

“I am not in this for myself…Eminence. Albion is under the Daegon’s control. They have murdered most of the royal family and the Daegon are strangling the life out of my people. We have the League. We must fight back with all our force. We stand together or we will fall one by one to these monsters,” Gage said.

“Nonsense.” The emperor shook his head slightly. “The Daegon are little more than a pirate clan. You can retake Albion with the ships you have now.”

Gage’s jaw dropped open. “What? What did you just say? The Daegon infiltrated an assassin onto my ship and murdered Admiral Sartorius and every shipmaster in my fleet. They have technology I still don’t understand and their fleets are capable enough to steamroll the Indus. Who has told you that they’re ‘pirates’? Who is lying to you?”

“My empire is all I need. It is all there is. The Reich have broken against our walls. The Mechanix fear us. These Daegon of yours will be no different. Albion has been my ally since the Reach Wars. It is the only reason I haven’t held you liable for the death your people caused at Taisan.” The emperor blew on the fingernails of one hand and rubbed them against his finely embroidered tunic.

“Your eminence,” Gage said, dipping his head slightly, then looking up, “you do not understand this situation. We have ship’s logs. The Indus will corroborate everything I’ve told you. The Daegon are a real threat to us all. We wouldn’t—”

“And it is because of that history and your…precarious status as regent that I am willing to grant you clemency until such time as your claims can be verified. I’m moving you from my dungeon to a guest facility outside the palace. You will not be allowed to leave. Your people will make arrangements for your comfort.” The emperor looked over his shoulder to a bored-looking young woman lounging on his palanquin.

“I don’t understand you, Gage. You have a marginally effective fleet under you. Why not carve out your own little empire elsewhere? It’s been done before. I’ve lost almost as many ships to desertion as to pirate raids in the past few years. Such is the way of things,” the emperor said.

“Your eminence, it appears that you do not understand Albion at all.” Gage shook his head. “Every minute we waste here is a gift to the enemy. We must act.”

“When and if it is appropriate. What is the Daegon’s battle cry? Something about ruling others? The peasants and merchant class of Cathay are used to my benevolent rule. They won’t invite an unknown ruler who might seize their assets—or worse…raise taxes.” He narrowed his eyes slightly. “These Daegon have a habit of executing the ruling class once they’re victorious? I give unruly nobles the chance to escape. Saves so much time and effort. If these Daegon come to my empire, they will find no support. No easy time of it. Why am I worried?”

“Because they are already here,” Gage said. “There were infiltrators embedded throughout Albion. The Daegon have their designs on every free world. They will be here as well. We have tests that can identify them. Contact the Orion—”

“My security is absolute. You are the least known quantity on Lantau. Enjoy your new accommodations with my compliments.” The emperor waggled fingers next to his face and the force field went solid white.

“Come on,” a guard said. “You’re going to the residence.”

“Am I still pissing in a hole there?” Gage asked.

“Yes…but it’s a much nicer hole.”

Chapter 6

Unter-Duke Klaven tapped an empty beer bottle against his knee, a finger stuck in the mouth of it. He clinked it against another bottle on another finger as the Cathay newscast ran on a loop. The AI-generated anchor (which would never accidentally release information the emperor would disapprove of) told of the vile Albion attack on the virtuous Cathay Navy and subsequent capture of the entire traitorous Albion Navy.

His stateroom aboard the Castle Itter was quiet but for the snap of a holo fireplace and the clink of glass on glass.

“This is bullshit.” Klaven entered a phrase search into the news report they intercepted during the ship’s last system transit. Nothing about the war the Indus were fighting against the Daegon. Nothing about the Daegon at all.

Klaven popped a bottle off his finger and hurled it through the computer-generated features of the news anchor. It shattered over the fireplace.

There was a slight breeze as Rapoto, his Genevan bodyguard, slid a door open to check on him.

“Did you hear me?” Klaven slurred ever so slightly from one too many drinks. “I said it’s bullshit!”

The door closed.

“Goddamn Kongs just turn around and-and…” He leaned forward and touched a coffee table to steady himself. “What would Gage do, right? He’s no Reichsman but damn sure he’s a man of honor. He’s back there dealing with Kong crap and I’m sitting on my thumbs before I…to hell with this. I’m already screwed six ways from Sunday.”

Klaven went to his liquor cabinet and opened the real mesquite wood panel and removed a small white porcelain bottle. He scrunched his face hard, then popped the cap off and downed the drink in one go. Sweat reeking of alcohol slipped from his pores as he sobered up in minutes. He changed into a fresh uniform, complete with low-slung revolver on one hip and ceremonial sword on the other. The pure silver spurs on his boots were inlaid with semiprecious gems, a hand-me-down from a distant uncle who once served about the Castle Itter.

Rapoto was waiting for him in the passageway. The Genevan was in full armor as usual, the T-shaped visor lowered over his face.

“Don’t you ever sleep?” Klaven asked as he made his way toward the bridge.

“No. That creates an opportunity for threats to act,” the other man said.

“Breaks? Hobbies?” Klaven gave the bodyguard a sideways glance. “Crapper? Can’t say I remember you ever excusing yourself for that.”

“I’m not paid to provide gaps in your protection,” Rapoto said.

“Not a denial.” Klaven wagged a finger at him. “What’re you watching under that visor? Is it telenovelas? You’ve been in Reich space for so long, don’t tell me you haven’t sampled our rich culture. What’s your favorite? You strike me as the Zorro type. Maybe the one with Sigismund as a pre-disaster Texas Ranger.”

Klaven leaned a shoulder against the bulkhead not far from the entrance to the bridge.

“Unless you’re into something a bit spicier…El Amor Escondido?” Klaven wagged his eyebrows.

“Degenerate entertainment. Just because she doesn’t know she’s his aunt doesn’t mean—wait. No. Shit.”

“Ah! Ha!” Klaven exclaimed. “You Genevans aren’t so different from the Reich. Germanic roots and all that. No shame in enjoying the same thing as the masses. I don’t judge. Come on then, time to make some awful decisions.”

“I will note that I am not paid enough for this,” Rapoto said as he followed Klaven onto the bridge.

Klaven clicked his spurs together twice, signaling to the crew that he was there to issue instructions, not for a simple breeze through for information.

“Mein Herr.” Captain Hernandez rose from the command chair quickly and joined Klaven at the tactical holo. “What can I do for you?”

“Status on our escort?” Klaven reached into the display with both hands and touched the wire diagram of the Castle Itter. He spread his arms out and the view shrank, revealing a half-dozen Cathay cruisers following behind the Reich ship. The convoy travelled within a few light-minutes of a ghost-gray nebula, pinpricks of nascent stars deep within.

“Like a pack of satiated dogs on our heels,” Hernandez said. “They’ll paint us with targeting lasers every few hours, but their weapons and shields aren’t charged. I don’t consider it hostile. They’re just reminding us how quickly they can attack should we opt away from the course they told us to follow.”

“It’s insulting. A grand Reich ship like ours being escorted like…like a naughty schoolboy sent to the principal’s office. Why wouldn’t the Cathay trust us to leave their space after being asked to do so?” Klaven zoomed in on one of the cruisers, noting its armaments.

Hernandez coughed into a fist.

“The Reach Wars were a long time ago,” Klaven muttered.

Hernandez coughed again.

“Yes, there were a number of Kong systems we liberated and chose to rule but only after those systems rebelled and begged us for help.” Klaven swiped to the next ship. “Well, not all of them did that. But they would have if they could have.”

“My duke, is there something I can do for you? We’re still eighty-four hours from the next slip point and five more star systems until we reach the neutral zone between the Reich and Kong space. We’ve effected all repairs after the battle with the Daegon. Crew cross-training to backfill casualties is complete. If we do nothing…”

“If we do nothing but keep our heads down and our tail between our legs, we’ll be home scot-free. Meanwhile, our Albion allies have been betrayed by the Kongs and we are effectively abandoning them if we slink back to Reich space.” Klaven rubbed his chin. “There’s a nebula tendril ahead of us. We may need to adjust our course to compensate.”

“Mein Herr,” Hernandez said and leaned closer to Klaven, speaking quietly, “it pains me that we even have to consider the Albion as allies, but if we so much as fart without the Kong stamping off on it, it could mean open conflict. We might win a fight against their cruisers if we had the maneuver advantage, but then there are still five more star systems between us and safety, all of them full of Kong bases.”

“For what price will we sell our honor, Hernandez? Isn’t the right thing worth fighting for? Besides, there’s more than one way between stars. Our drives mass enough that we don’t have to rely on Kong slip codes.”

“N-no, no, Mein Herr, fighting now isn’t the right thing to do. We try to eliminate our escort, we poke a bear—a big Kong bear that would love to exact some revenge on the Reich after decades of military defeat. Even if we could win without taking any damage, there’s still the matter of all the Kongs between us and the Albion. Don’t be…rash. For the good of this ship and the Reich,” Hernandez said.

“I hate it when you talk sense into me,” Klaven grumbled. “Doesn’t mean we can’t tease the bear a bit. Let’s hail the Kongs and—”

The tactical display went bright red as a beam of plasma erupted from the nebula and shot between two of the Cathay ships. The angle of attack left dark streaks across the hull of both ships, causing little more than cosmetic damage.

“Battle stations!” Hernandez called out. He lifted a cover and mashed a button. Alarms rang throughout the ship. Klaven stared dumbfounded at the holo as another massive beam tore from the nebula, leaving miles-long swirls of gas in its wake. The new shot went across the bow of a Cathay cruiser.

Rapoto tried to put a vac helmet over Klaven’s head, but the Duke fought him off with an elbow.

“Kong escort turning about!” a crewman shouted. In the holo, the Cathay ships rotated around, then their engines flared and they accelerated toward the system’s primary star.

“Sir, if it’s a Daegon ambush—” Rapoto pressed the helmet against Klaven’s side.

“It’s not.” Klaven’s head hung low. “It might actually be worse. Look.”

Klaven zoomed in on the point of origin of the attacks. Deep within the mists of the nebula, a dark shape took form. A ship emerged slowly, the black and red paint of a Reich warship standing in sharp contrast to the nebula. The twin forward spine plasma cannons glowed like evil eyes in the darkness. Warhead spikes jutted out of open torpedo bays. Massive turrets on the dorsal and ventral sides slewed smoothly, tracking the Cathay ships as they fled.

Shield emitters on low power crackled as nebula dust slid over them, blurring the hull and forecastle, the structure designed to emulate long-lost Gothic cathedrals from Germany. The new arrival out-massed the Castle Itter several times over. Considering it a battleship would have been an insult to its firepower and raw aggression.

“It’s him,” Klaven said. “It’s the Bismark.”

“Good.” Rapoto hooked the vac helmet to his thigh. “No danger.”

“Not for you.” Klaven rubbed a hand up and down his face.

A chime sounded at Hernandez’s station and the man’s face went pale. “Mein Herr, you’ve been summoned to the Bismark by—”

“I know who it is. Ready my shuttle.”

****

Klaven crouched to examine the model ship within a glass case. The wet navy ancestor of the Bismark had a brief but storied career, one told as a cautionary tale to young Reich officers about pride and strategic decisions.

He was alone in the flagship’s ready room, which was several times larger than his aboard the Castle Itter. The long table for hosting senior officer meals that should’ve been there was gone, replaced with holo emitters daisy-chained together.

Klaven heard a door slide open, then the slam of a gun belt against a small table. He winced, not wanting to turn around and face the new arrival.

“You…you idiot,” a man said.

“Cousin!” Klaven did his best to smile as he spun around, arms wide for a hug. He found a pistol leveled at his face. “Now now. Let’s not be hasty. Let’s not do something we’ll regret later,” Klaven said nervously.

“Idiot!” The man slapped the pistol against a small coffee table close to the model. A decade older than Klaven, he bore a dueling scar from an earlobe to his chin. George von Trapp’s chest was crowded with medals and ribbons, a blue Teutonic cross tucked close to the top of his collar.

“Idiot! You’d rather not do something ‘hasty’ now because you’ve already decided to put the entire Reich up to her neck in shit and you’re not sure how much more you want to pile on?” Trapp slapped his hand on the pistol again, then snatched it back.

“All my decisions were made according to my best judgment.” Klaven raised his chin slightly.

“And what judgment was that?” Trapp sat down hard on a wooden stool.

“It seemed like a good idea at the time.” Klaven sat down across from Trapp, his fingers interlaced. He glanced at the pistol, then took his hands down to his lap.

“You are such an idiot, Klaven.” Trapp shook his head.

“I think you’ve established that opinion quite clearly. So…what brings the Bismark so deep into Kong space?”

Trapp pounded a fist against the table and the pistol jumped up, then clattered against the wood. Trapp’s hand snapped out and steadied it before it could fall, turning the muzzle toward Klaven.

“You, Klaven. The Kaiserina sent me to collect you before you could blunder into a war with the Kongs, the Albion, Indus…everyone! Exactly how much damage have you caused? I have a shred of hope because your escort was more interested in surviving than being obliterated by my plasma destructors. How…how the hell did you turn your simple orientation cruise into a major diplomatic incident?” Trapp pinched the bridge of his nose.

“First off, lower your voice. Then, you should be proud to know that I have repaired nearly two centuries of acrimony between us and the Albion by saving the life of their regent and their future king. Aaaaand I’ve made nice with the Indus. Also acrimony. Also gone.” Klaven laid out how he intercepted Albion ships, hosted a claimant to the Albion throne, then participated in the battle at New Madras against the Daegon.

“Where is Diaz?” Trapp asked. “He was supposed to keep you from doing all the idiotic and stupid—”

“Murdered by the Daegon!” Klaven crossed his arms over his chest. “Shot down while in a shuttle squawking diplomatic codes. I became honor bound to avenge his tragic loss and strike back.”

Trapp tilted his head to one side slightly.

“I have all the sensor logs for you to look over if you like.” Klaven shrugged.

“You’ve had time to alter them,” Trapp deadpanned.

“What is with all this hostility?” Klaven turned his palms up. “I should be considered a hero of the Reich for all the good deeds I’ve done. Our stature in the eyes of other star nations will rise! The Castle Itter turned the tide at Madras. She kept the Kongs from declaring all-out war on Albion for a rather complex misunderstanding, but Gage addressed that point of honor and what did the Kong do? They threw that brave man into jail after I…”

Klaven looked to one side, his eyes narrowed.

“Kaiserina Washington is about to flip her damn wig because of what you’ve done,” Trapp said. “She’s incensed because you put the entire Reich at risk to fight some sort of pirate surge out of wild space—”

“Pirates? Pirates!” Klaven’s jaw went slack. “The Daegon aren’t a bunch of Francia diehards that remembered how to organize. They are conquerors a hell of a lot more ruthless than we’ve ever been, and there are a goddamn lot of them. Who the hell said they were ‘pirates’?”

“I admit there have been conflicting intelligence reports back at court,” Trapp grumbled. “Last I heard was about Albion, then you playing hero at New Madras. Intercepts while I was waiting for you to come through this system haven’t painted a better picture.”

“You can rub your face in my logs all you want. I’ve got all the proof you could need to see what the Daegon really are,” Klaven let his hands fall to the table, his eyes darting between the gun and Trapp.

“Hernandez sent it all over while you were waiting. I haven’t seen it yet, but my staff are looking through it…no doubt your crew will confirm everything,” Trapp said.

“Because I am telling the truth. The Kaiserina needs to know all of this as well. Pirates? Really?”

“We have an extensive network through wild space. There were rumblings of a new power far out on the fringe, but nothing to corroborate the barbarian horde hypothesis. There’s been quite the debate back at court.” Trapp smacked his lips together. “Idiocy makes me thirsty.”

He pulled a cuff back and muttered into a wristband.

“You were on a shakedown cruise, Miguel. The easiest first command we have in the Reich. Your mission was to observe and report, not get involved. You know why first commands are designed to be so easy?”

“I have a feeling my answer isn’t the same as yours,” Klaven said quickly.

“To test your decision-making skills! To see which young officers can function well without adult supervision. Not…not to go and write checks that the Kaiserina and the Reich have to cash.” Trapp drummed his fingers on the table.

“Checks?”

“That’s right—you failed classics back at the Academy,” Trapp said as a quick series of beeps sounded from a dumbwaiter right next to the coffee table. A door slid up and Klaven took out a silver platter with iced tea.

“As you come to a better understanding of all the decisions I made—which I believed were good ideas at the time—you might agree with another offer I made, but you probably won’t like it.” Klaven’s heart rate picked up.

“More? There’s more you haven’t told me? What did you do, send a picture of your ass to the emperor?” Trapp picked up his iced tea.

“No, though that would’ve—” Klaven’s hand shot out and grabbed Trapp by the wrist, stopping the glass just shy of his lips.

Trapp snatched up the pistol and pointed it at Klaven’s chest. “You got a problem with tea now?” Trapp’s face hardened.

“Infiltrators,” Klaven said. “By God, I forgot all about them. Gage was nearly killed by one aboard the Orion. You need to have your entire crew screened. Gage gave me the bio scans to do it.”

“You’re being ridiculous,” Trapp said, but he set the tea down.

“Rapoto!” Klaven called out. “Was this screened? You have a Genevan somewhere?”

“I’m on the Bismark,” Trapp said, rolling his eyes. “What is there to worry about?”

The Genevan bodyguard trotted over from an open door on the far side of the ready room. “Sir?” he asked.

“Paranoia.” Trapp waved a hand at the tea. “Convince my cousin that everything is just fine, would you?”

“Apologies, sir, I was unaware there’d be beverage service.” Rapoto put a palm over a glass and sensors lit up.

“At least you haven’t burned bridges with the Genevans as well,” Trapp said. “Did you even bother to read the contra—”

“Toxic.” Rapoto grabbed Klaven by the arms and hauled him out of the seat, setting him behind. “Don’t touch anything else.”

“Ridiculous. The steward that prepares my meals has been with me for years.” Trapp looked at the tea, then inched his chair back.

Lights beneath Rapoto’s armor plates lit up. The Genevan moved so fast, he was a blur, clutching the tray to his chest and then slamming himself into the bulkhead. His armor unfurled into a dome over the silver plate.

A muffled explosion sent Rapoto flying across the ready room. He slammed into the bulkhead, cracking the wall and leaving a good-sized dent where he hit. He fell to the ground on both feet, one fist against the deck, his chest smoking. A charred patch smoked just over the dumbwaiter door.

“Lock your ship down. Now!” Klaven knocked over his chair as he backed away from the spilled tea.

Trapp was frozen for a moment, then he shook his head and barked orders into his wrist transmitter. Lighting through the ready room went amber.

Rapoto marched across the room and punched the dumbwaiter hatch. He ripped out machinery and tossed it to the deck.

“You believe me now?” Klaven shook a fist in triumph. “Still think it’s just a bunch of pirates?”

“I need…I need those bio scans,” Trapp said.

“I already sent them to your chief armsman as soon as we boarded,” Rapoto said. “He wasn’t particularly concerned. Though he should be convinced now. Klaven…best you remain here until the sweep is finalized.”

“If the Kaiserina ever asks, I’ll be sure to tell her you’re worth every pfennig we spend on you,” Klaven said. “Cousin…I think it’s time I told you that last little part.”

Trapp had one hand behind an ear, nodding to himself. “Huh? Just get on with it.”

“I offered Gage and the Albion sanctuary in the Reich. Gage didn’t refuse the offer, then the Kongs betrayed him after I left Lantau. I—we—are honor bound to bring him to Reich territory.”

“You did what?” Trapp’s hands fell to his sides.

****

“You did not,” Rapoto said to Klaven as their shuttle ferried them back to the Castle Itter.

“Hmm?” Klaven leaned toward a porthole, admiring the view of the nebula.

“You did not offer the Albion sanctuary,” the Genevan said.

“I may not have said the words aloud, but I meant to. Trapp’s near-death experience has reoriented his view of the world. In only three hours, a half-dozen infiltrators were found before they could do any more damage to the Bismark. I’m on a roll.” Klaven smiled.

“Lying to him—”

“Now the Itter and the Bismark will weigh anchor back to Lantau and demand Gage and the Albion be turned over to us. You think the Kongs are going to put up a fight to keep them? No. We’re doing everyone a favor, and the best thing of all? It’s the right thing to do.”

“You tried to rationalize everything to Count von Trapp by saying ‘it was a good idea at the time.’ This strike you as a good idea?” Rapoto asked.

“You heard all that?” Klaven’s brows picked up.

Rapoto tapped the audio receptors over one ear.

“But you didn’t speak up to contradict anything,” Klaven said.

“It is not my mission to become involved in any internal or external matter. I question this decision because the Bismark’s slip drives are such that you could make a rough passage back to Reich territory now and be safe. Yet you are misleading Trapp to return to Lantau. If you thought the Kong were unhappy to see the Itter…”

“There’s no better show of force than the Bismark. He’s quite the deterrent, don’t you think?”

Rapoto grunted. “If possible, we should lobby to have Prince Aidan moved to the Bismark. The Genevan assigned to him, Salis, she is…returning her safely to our home world will come with a significant financial reward to the Reich,” the bodyguard said.

“That doesn’t sound very Genevan of you,” Klaven said.

“It isn’t. I ask that you keep that in confidence until such time as we can address it properly.”

“Or else what?”

“Nothing. I protect you to my last dying breath. That will never be in question.”

“We can both keep our mouths shut.” Klaven drew an imaginary zipper across his lips.

Chapter 7

Tiberian strode past chambers where Daegon Specters carried out interrogations. The screams never bothered him. Some prisoners needed more encouragement than others to speak.

A slab floating on anti-grav emitters slid out of a cell, a flayed body oozing blood onto the floor and into a drain. Tiberian stepped over the corpse and banged his newly reattached hand on a heavy cell door.

Inside were two Specters, one heavyset and bald, lights glinting off his green skin. The other was smaller and female, with a deathly blue pallor. She wore a once-white apron now splattered with blood; a pink hue had sunk through the fabric.

“Cleon…you asked for me?” Tiberian flexed his new hand.

“You can leave. Follow up with the rest of the crew of the merchant vessel,” Cleon said to the woman, shaking blood from a hand and scratching a pen against a paper notepad. The woman left, lowering her face out of respect and not looking upon Tiberian.

“Pen and paper…interesting.” Tiberian sniffed at the air. An odd aroma mixed in with the mélange of urine, blood, and feces. “Old ways are the best?”

“It is not in my nature to trust anything.” Cleon tucked the pad into a pocket of his great cloak. “What can be transmitted can be intercepted. Can be decoded. Can be used against us. You think our infiltration across feral space would have been so successful if we’d been sloppy with our communications?”

“Your Specters have done very well. Our initial assaults were perfection…though that’s not why you asked for me to come here.” Tiberian sniffed at the air again.

“You have a problem. Which means Baroness Asaria has a problem. Which means our entire House has a problem.” Cleon withdrew a turtle shell from his coat. Ancient symbols were scratched into the underside. The spy clicked his pen twice and Daegon writing lit up on the shell.

“Cute,” Tiberian said, bored.

“Message received from my agent in the Cathay court. Gage is on Lantau trying to stir up the League against us. Not unexpected and something we could mitigate, but there are two issues. First, Gage has a sympathetic argument before the League. Second, the boy is still alive.” Cleon smashed the turtle shell against a table edge. The Daegon writing hissed and snapped as it boiled away.

“No…no, we fished the servant out of the river. The princeling has to be dead.” Tiberian’s fists balled with rage.

“He’s not,” Cleon said flatly. “Which is a problem for you more than anything. But I’m here to offer a solution to several problem sets.”

Tiberian’s face twitched. Killing the spymaster to keep the information suppressed would accomplish nothing. Daegon did not share such information unless there were backups to ensure something so damning would be released in the event of an “unexpected” death.

“Go on,” Tiberian said.

“The Baroness gave you a new writ.” Cleon’s touch brushed over a golden box hanging from his own neck. “Yet your old one remains incomplete. Our House has a greater task: to keep the ferals from organizing a sufficient defense until the other Houses arrive from the Oculus. The greater task is in jeopardy.”

“Because of what’s happening on Lantau with this League of theirs?” Tiberian said.

“Yes…my agent there is in a most fragile position. There is more to gain by keeping him in play for a bit longer than attempting to sabotage the League. Which is where you come in. I need you to go to Lantau and cause havoc. Destroy the League if you can. Discretion isn’t as necessary this time, not like our operation at Reuilly.”

“That is not my writ,” Tiberian said. “Baroness Asaria expects me to depart for the Oculus later today.”

“I will have a dagger ship waiting for you aboard the Minotaur. It’s small, but exceedingly fast. It will take you to Lantau, where you will attempt to complete your writ—again—then return you to the Oculus. No one needs to be the wiser.”

“Why? Types like you never operate without an agenda,” Tiberian spat.

“I lack the resources to deal with the League. Albion figured out how to identify my infiltrators and too many of them have been uncovered. My writ is in danger, but I prefer to have it fulfilled without the appearance of too much difficulty.” Cleon smiled, revealing sharpened teeth.

“You will be judged well when the High Houses arrive,” Tiberian said. “Decent reasoning.”

“And you will be seen as a determined hunter and most able servant to the Baroness. Everyone wins. Some more than others. You’ll do it?”

Tiberian rubbed the fresh scar tissue on his wrist. “I will. You will not speak of this to Asaria?”

“Plausible deniability. You will have to address your current writ. I can’t solve all your problems.”

“Some things are easier than others, but I need another asset. Get it for me off the books,” Tiberian said and laid out his demands.

“Difficult but not impossible. It will be waiting for you on the dagger ship. Now…if you’ll excuse me, there’s a stubborn subject in another cell block. Good hunting.” Cleon swept past Tiberian and into the hallway.

****

Gustavus tossed his red cape over one shoulder as he strode off a shuttle and set foot onto the Minotaur. His slick hair was cut shorter than the last time he was aboard, and a heavy golden writ glittered against his chest.

The ship’s command staff went to one knee, each with one fist to the deck and the other pressed to their chest in fealty. Two Daegon wearing full-face helmets came down behind Gustavus, one with a heavy limp.

“Rise,” Gustavus said. He was younger than any of the other officers, but his authority was absolute.

“Sire, the Minotaur’s repairs are complete,” said Zeno, the chief bridge officer. “We have a fresh complement of slaves and we are ready to continue the war against the ferals.”

“Excellent. Though we have been given an honor guard assignment. We return to the Oculus to usher in the other Houses.” Gustavus ran a sharp fingernail down the side of his writ. “The rest of the fleet will be joining us.”

“Yes…as you command.” Zeno bent his head slightly.

“You have another question. Ask it without worry,” Gustavus said.

“Lord Tiberian will not be with us? The ship has a number of specifications unique to his desires that are…difficult to maintain.”

“He will not. His duties carry him elsewhere. Cease work on cosmetic repairs to the hull. The other Houses will see our scars and know our strength.” Gustavus looked over his shoulder to one of the guards.

The guard to his left raised her hands to her helmet. One hand was cybernetic, slightly larger than the other. She lifted her helmet. A chrome patch covered one side of Juliae’s face from her brow down to her jawline. Half her teeth were metal, and breath fogged through her permanent Harlequin grin.

“We serve at your pleasure and your mercy,” Zeno said.

“Prepare to weigh anchor in one hour. I will arrive on the bridge then. Brief Casshiok on the mundane.” Gustavus put a hand on the pommel of the sword at his waist and went to a commanders-only lift on the far side of the hangar, Juliae a step behind him.

They entered the lift and it rose up.

Gustavus twisted the pommel of his sword and there was a faint hum.

“We can speak freely,” he said.

“They don’t respect you. You’re too young,” she said, her voice raspy.

“If I must prove to be as efficient a commander as my father, I will. He had a habit of executing at least one person the first day he took power over a new unit…Eubulus was not particularly popular.”

The lift moved through decks.

“If this wasn’t a temporary command, I’d suggest following in his footsteps. He built a legacy for you,” Juliae said.

“This is Tiberian’s ship. He will likely return and I should give him back what he gave me with minimal differences. He is a particular man,” Gustavus said.

“As the Baroness appreciates.” She chuckled, an evil hacking sound through her artificial voice box. The affair between Asaria and Tiberian was a poorly kept secret. “But we cannot assume this boon of an easy assignment is truly a gift. Are we here to take the blame if something goes wrong?”

“I am responsible for everything that happens. All we must do is receive the other Houses and escort them to Albion to take on supplies for the final assault on the ferals. The Oculus is administered by all the Houses, not just ours. The Oculus failing would not be our fault.”

Juliae pressed at the edge of her facial prosthetics. “The new arrivals will outrank us. Will they be insulted when we receive them?”

“We meet them with battle scars. Their skins are pristine. Our deeds outweigh their words.” Gustavus ran the back of a finger down the damaged side of her face. “Concentrate on your recovery. I will handle the ship.”

“Yes, of course…how close to my old looks should I get?”

“I like you even more now,” Gustavus said and smiled.

Chapter 8

Gage stepped into a bright white vault and his manacles fell from his wrists and bounced off his boots. Jets of air smelling of iodine washed over him from nozzles in the walls and ceiling. Another door opened on the other side, revealing a hallway with wooden floors and wall panels, landscape paintings with thick frames hanging every few feet.

Gage glanced down the hallway. “Hello?” he called out.

Footfalls from several adults echoed through the hallway before Captain McGowan of the Sterling and several more Albion naval officers ran up to Gage. McGowan had a black eye and fading bruises on his neck. The other officers and a few petty officers wore a look between awe and relief at the sight of Gage.

“Commodore! Thank the Lord.” McGowan turned and spoke quickly to a chief who hurried away. “We didn’t know what the Kongs had done with you. We were all in particularly shitty cells—”

“So was I. The emperor had a change of heart about our living conditions. What’s the situation? How many personnel do we have?” Gage asked.

“Twelve of us. All the Albion personnel we had on Lantau.” McGowan motioned down a hallway. “We’ve been here for a few hours.”

He led Gage into a courtyard framed by the two-story building. Above was a false projection of Lantau’s sky. The buildings were of ancient design, with thick roof tiles and wooden walls, all done in Chinese style. Small tables and chairs were in the courtyard.

“There any way out?” Gage asked, looking around.

“We’re inside a box. Holo walls around the structure and overhead. Holos all have painful levels of current running through them, as Chief Tobias learned the hard way. He’s regained use of his arm, but his eyebrows will take weeks to regrow. Utility lines are too small to get in or out of and they’re rigged with anti-tamper electroshock. Reinforced steel plating beneath all the cobblestones. The vault seems to be the only way in or out. We’re in a very nice cell. There’s a kitchen with nothing but white rice and water. Also some jars of something that smells like old yeast. None of us can read the writing,” McGowan said.

“Anyone else injured?” Gage touched a cup full of small black stones on a table with a grid carved into it. A cup full of white stones was on the other side of the board. Wei Qi, or Go, as it was known back on Albion, might be his only distraction for a while.

“Bruises from when we were all captured. The Kongs are pretty good at hurting without injuring.” McGowan rubbed a knuckle against his black eye. “Are you well, Commodore?”

“No issues physically. Though I am no use as a commander while I’m in here.” Gage ran a hand over the lacquered top of a wooden chair.

“You’ve got us, sir. Good order and discipline will be maintained, at least. Shall we continue working for a way out?” McGowan asked.

Gage scratched his lips and his ears as he looked up, signaling that they were likely being monitored.

“Nonsense,” he said, nodding as he spoke. “We’re here at the emperor’s ‘invitation.’ He has his duty as host; we have our duty as guests. I imagine we’ll be right back in the dungeon if we don’t behave.” Gage looked to a single-story building opposite the main house across the courtyard. “That the kitchen? Maybe there’s tea somewhere.”

Gage mimed writing on his hand. There were still ways they could communicate and plan without the Kongs eavesdropping.

****

Tolan stuck his head into sick bay and looked around. Overhead lights were dimmed for the Orion’s night cycle. He crept down the passageway to Seaver’s isolation room. The young man was pacing back and forth, shirtless. The blue-green sheen to his skin had faded away, and his muscles weren’t as coiled as they had been aboard the Joaquim. Thick surgical scars marred his skin, and a drug pump was attached to the port over his collarbone.

Tolan flicked a speaker on. “Hey, champ, how you doing?” Tolan asked.

Seaver flinched like he’d been slapped, then did a double take at the spy on the other side of the window.

“I can’t sleep.” Seaver rubbed his head. “The edge is off, but my adrenal glands are-are-something’s wrong with them now. Tranqs won’t do because of everything Mom’s got me on. Bad reaction ‘in vitro’ or something.”

Tolan picked up a slate with Seaver’s chart.

“Mom’s got you on everything that doesn’t have dependency issues. Guess she doesn’t want to run you through a serotonin reset…ten cc’s of Novastorin? What is this, amateur hour?” Tolan shook his head.

“Yeah. Well, I’m not on a down slope to my heart exploding anymore. You here to doubt a board-certified physician with your wild space pharmacology degree or to make small talk as I make my eight hundred and fifty-fifth trip across my box? Fifty-sixth. Fifty-seventh.”

“I need someone for a secret and dangerous mission. You came to mind,” Tolan said. “Commodore Gage, our new regent while Prince Aidan remains so young, is being held hostage by the Kongs. I want you on the rescue team.”

“Ha…ha ha ha!” Seaver slapped himself across the face. “You that desperate? What am I supposed to do? You’re the secret squirrel who can change his face to blend in with the Kongs. I’m way too green and round-eyed to do that.”

“You can fight. You’re much stronger than you look, thanks to the Daegon’s…enhancements…and I need people who don’t look like Kongs to sell my cover. You ever heard of baizuo hou? Translates to ‘white monkey.’ Kongs hire non-Kongs for certain jobs that have certain associations with them. Real old practice, dates back to pre-disaster China. If I’m going to be a Kong businessman with foreign contacts, then it makes sense that I have non-Kong bodyguards and retainers. Adds to the mystique.”

“Normally, I’d be all offended, but damn, has my worldview been changing since the Daegon showed up. But I don’t know…sixty-eight. Sixty-nine.”

“There’s a better than excellent chance the Daegon are on Lantau,” Tolan said. “They’d be fools not to have agents around the emperor and his court. You’d get a shot at revenge. Plus, it’ll get you out of this room.”

Seaver stopped pacing. “You clear that with Mom? You really want me down there when my drip runs out?” He touched the box attached to his collarbone.

“Ask Mom if I can take her beloved boy away not long after I deliver him to her lifesaving care? Hell no, I didn’t ask her permission. Your drip’s easy enough to replicate. I’ll have plenty with us while we’re down there. You’ll be good for months if need be. You want in or not?” Tolan drew an injector box from his pocket and waggled it at Seaver.

“Gage…kill some Daegon…Mom will hate you forever if I go,” he said.

“She already doesn’t like me.” Tolan shrugged.

“How’re you going to get me out of here without alerting every armsman aboard?”

“Thorvald’s override codes are still good. I memorized them while he and I were dealing with another threat aboard this ship. I’d mention that to the other Genevan, but then that’ll turn into a pain in the ass the next time I need to do my little snoop and poops like this.” Tolan tapped a code into the control panel, his finger hovering over the “Execute” command. “You in or not?”

“Let’s go.” Seaver picked up a utility top from his bed. “I’d rather do something useful over nothing at all.”

“That’s my boy. Make up any story you want when you come back with Gage,” Tolan said and opened the isolation chamber.

“Aren’t you worried about what my mom will do to you?” Seaver asked.

“This works out the way I’m planning, I won’t be coming back with you right away. Gives Mom time to cool off—and I can always be someone she doesn’t recognize.” Tolan tapped the side of his face. “Head down, mouth shut on the way to the cargo bay. This next part’s a doozy.”

Chapter 9

Tiberian walked down the cargo ramp of a Cathay junk. The star port on the outskirts of Lantau’s capital was barely active, with only a few dozen ships coming in and out of a port that could handle thousands of simultaneous transfers. He wore the normal silks and tweeds of a Cathay merchantman, though he was several inches taller than the Specters accompanying him.

Tiberian frowned at his reflection. His skin was pale and his eyes were off. He scratched an itch on his nose and the holo skin pixelated at the touch.

“Don’t do that, my lord,” said one of the Specters named Wei. “Your façade isn’t as dedicated as ours.”

“How can you all stand to look like this? Like the ferals?” Tiberian ran fingers over a flexible blade hidden in his belt and down a thigh. “I feel polluted.”

“This is our writ, lord,” said a woman named Qui as she led a cargo pallet full of goods down the ramp. “We’ll revert back to our proper selves once the Kongs are under our heel.”

“I need to speak with your cell leader. Take me to him,” Tiberian said.

“Difficult, but we have a secure connection you can use.” Wei flipped through bills inside a purse, then stuffed it into his jacket.

“You think I came all this way to be told what to do?” Tiberian snapped a hand toward Wei’s neck. Wei slapped Tiberian’s hand wide then produced a snub-nosed pistol from his jacket.

Qui had another weapon pointed to the back of the hunter’s head.

“Perhaps Lord Cleon didn’t make things abundantly clear to you,” Wei said. “This is his operation. You are his asset. We will facilitate your mission, but you will not jeopardize the network that we have spent decades setting up through the Kong court. Hunters and warriors like you think in brute force and dead bodies. We are the hidden blade, Lord Tiberian. We are vulnerable and useless when exposed.”

“Get that gun out of my face before I—”

“We’re authorized to kill you should you put our own writs in jeopardy,” Qui said. “Did Cleon not mention that to you? Because he was very explicit about that with us.”

Tiberian growled.

“The dagger ship will only fly with one of us at the helm.” Wei slipped his gun back into his coat. “Only we have the slip-stream codes to return to Albion through the fastest routes. And if we suffer any kind of an ‘accident’ before we return you to the Baroness, Lord Cleon assures us that you will perish by means that won’t trace back to him. Are we clear on our duties and responsibilities to each other, Tiberian?”

“Crystal,” Tiberian sneered. “Make sure my special cargo doesn’t get loose. The Kongs will take notice.”

“It remains powered down.” Qui looked back into the cargo bay. “But I think it’s still moving.”

“I hate those things.” Wei shook his head.

“Your concerns are irrelevant. I need to speak with your cell leader. Now.” Tiberian pointed a knife hand to the cargo bay door.

****

Lantau was built layer upon layer. Walkways stacked atop each other, forming a giant stairway up the archology. The upper spires were lost to fog, running lights from air cars tracing pathways through the gloom.

Tiberian and Wei pressed through the throng of humanity on a commerce level. Neon signs and holo ads pulsed over storefronts offering an endless variety of things Tiberian couldn’t care less about. Smaller Cathay were shoved aside by Tiberian’s bulk as he and Wei went straight for a restaurant with several cooked birds hanging in the windows.

“You are too tall,” Wei said in a Cathay dialect. “You’ll be remembered.”

“I don’t care,” Tiberian deadpanned.

Wei got to the restaurant first and shook precipitation off his overcoat. He spoke to a cook wearing a stained sleeveless undershirt and dangling a real tobacco cigarette in his mouth. The cook slammed a butcher’s knife onto a wooden chopping block, sending the head of a roasted chicken tumbling off the edge. The head missed a fly-ridden trash can and bounced on the floor.

The cook’s eyes widened at the sight of Tiberian.

“There’s a table for us in the back,” Wei said. A chubby woman in a traditional red dress and too much makeup lifted a curtain for them both. A round table for four was in a small room; a steaming teapot and small cups were on a lazy Susan.

Wei sat with his back to the curtain and poured two cups of tea. He spun the turntable slowly to position a cup at Tiberian’s seat.

“I’ll stand.” Tiberian’s hands opened and closed, like he was warming up to strangle someone.

“I am aware that you are more used to direct action, my lord, but we need to keep up appearances while we wait.” Wei slurped the hot tea. “‘When in Rome,’ as we said then and now.”

The cheap plastic chair creaked as Tiberian sat down. He eyed the tea but didn’t drink.

“How can you stand this?” Tiberian asked. “Years upon years living amongst this filth. They’re packed together like animals. Poultry in laying racks. The stench…”

“Tolerance is not a virtue you need.” Wei shrugged, then snapped his fingers and shouted in Cathay. “Those of my order must have lower standards to do our jobs. We will return to purity once our rule begins again. Just as the good slave learns to love the lash, we learn what makes the slaves more obedient.”

A waiter deposited two plates of turmeric-yellowed noodles mixed with bits of scrambled egg and strips of ham.

“Singapore noodles, the best this place can manage,” Wei said. “Try some. The worst it will do is give you a bit of indigestion.”

“Once, the great Mongol Horde ruled over a feral people such as this.” Tiberian looked up and around. “Their subjects slowly ‘civilized’ their rulers bit by bit, tempting them with local customs and treats. With each step toward the lifestyle of their slaves, the Mongols lost who they were until one day they weren’t Mongols, but just another dynasty indistinguishable from those that came before and after.”

“We ruled all of humanity from behind a veneer. Each great family was integrated with their thralls. Who is to say that this dish wasn’t the favorite of the House over Singapore, wherever or whoever that was?” Wei ate a bite from the dish.

“It’s bad enough that I’m forced to speak this bastardized dialect,” Tiberian growled. “How much longer must I wait?”

“The owner is one of mine. He knows what to do every time I return here.” Wei sprinkled chili oil on his food. “Won’t be long. Depends on the Specter prime’s duties and engagements. He knows of your arrival.”

“I despise this.” Tiberian moved a heel and crushed a cockroach scuttling around his chair. “Albion was better. Those ferals were broken, spirits crushed. These Kongs…how much suffering will it take to break them down?”

“They are rather obedient. Most are debt slaves working to pay off worthless education degrees and their hovels. They believe themselves to be free because they go about their daily lives without a lash sending them to work, but they have no real control. Inflation and bank ‘failures’ rob them of any wealth accumulation. They toil about, watch approved entertainment, and numb the pain of their worthless lives away with narcotics that the state provides. The emperor and his nobles have prepared them for us without realizing what they’ve done,” Wei said.

“There won’t be the illusion of free will. Hope is a disease that can infect the ferals. Gives them cause. We won’t allow that mistake again.” Tiberian pushed his plate away from him.

“Do you know how many tens of millions there are in just this Arcology? Even when we are made whole, we will need tools to control so many.”

“We don’t need so many. Cut power and water to this hive for a month and that problem will solve itself. This is the final war, Specter. We aren’t leaving anything to chance once we reclaim our mantle over every last human being in existence. Perhaps you’ve been among them for too long…”

“Perhaps you lack perspective. A dead slave is useless. They’ve settled worlds far more habitable than ours. What we must do to survive on this side of the Veil isn’t nearly as drastic.” Wei smiled.

The same waitress returned with a single small pastry on a chipped plate. She set it in front of Tiberian and scurried away.

“He’s ready for you,” Wei said.

“Your cell leader is a baked good?” Tiberian raised an eyebrow.

“That you have to eat. And I suggest you chew it carefully. Don’t worry, it won’t make you grow, if you’re a student of ancient texts.” Wei smiled at him.

“This is why I prefer the company of hunters.” Tiberian sniffed the pastry. It had a few blackened sesame seeds and a honey glaze across the top. He bit into it and tasted chalky, vat-grown meat and a riot of seasoning. He gave Wei a mean look as he chewed again.

His teeth caught on something hard. The object buzzed in his mouth and crawled across the inside of his jaw before burrowing into the flesh behind his rear molar. Tiberian leaned over the plate and spat out a line of blood. Tiny tendrils wormed through his skull and connected to nerves behind his left ear and eye.

A pixelated silhouette of a man appeared on the other side of the table.

“Lord Tiberian…I’m honored,” the voice sounded in one ear, tinny and distorted.

“Not honored enough to bow before me in person. So noted.” Tiberian wiped a sleeve across his mouth. “Name yourself.”

“I think not. You’re a bull in a china shop here, Tiberian. You’re not the type for discretion or subtlety, which my profession requires. I can’t have you burn this identity. You have no idea how long I worked to establish myself in this system. Now…what do you want?”

“Gage. The Albion princeling. Where are they?”

“The pretender is in the emperor’s care. The boy aboard the Orion. Albion is already in compliance. I assume you’re here to tie up some loose ends. Correct?”

“Correct. But why stop there? I saw the ships in orbit. The ferals’ League is here. Why haven’t you killed them while they’re gathered in one place like the Specters did at Reuilly? You can throw their entire resistance into chaos.”

“Come for more than just personal reasons? The League is a dithering bunch of idiots. So long as they dither, they will not unite and that buys us more time. Don’t insult me with your attempt to read feral politics, hunter. I’ve been at this far longer than you.”

“The more our Baroness’ writ is complete, the more we will reap when it comes time to divide the spoils. Our House must ensure the ferals are weak and ready for slaughter before the rest of the Daegon arrive. That has not happened. What are you doing about it?”

“And I thought hunters had to be patient. Look…” The figure morphed into a very clear picture of two Reich warships transiting past a gas giant. “Sometimes the ferals can work together. Most of the time, they’re quite happy to tear each other apart. The Reich is coming to Lantau with two of their most important ships. Their arrival will be the perfect opportunity to destroy the League without showing our hand in the process.”

“And? I recognize the Castle Itter. There is blood between us.”

“And you must be patient, Tiberian. When the Reich arrive here, that is when you must strike at Gage and kill him. Kill all of them. I will send you assets so that the rest of the League will have plenty of evidence to hold the Cathay responsible for the murder. There will be all-out war between the Reich and the Cathay by week’s end. We can defeat the rest of the League’s nations one by one.”

“If you know the Reich is coming, then the Kongs do too.”

The image of the ships distorted as the other man laughed.

“This is our own intelligence, Tiberian. Not the Kongs’. Don’t insult my abilities with your low expectations. Normally, I’d tell you to go back to the ship and sit in the corner until I’m ready for you, but I need you and your unique skill set for something. Something you’ll enjoy. Interested?”

“You have my attention.”

Chapter 10

“I cannot believe we’re doing this again.” Ivor beat a fist against the inside of her canopy. Her Typhoon fighter was moored against the upper hull of the Joaquim as it flew toward Lantau. The ship’s stealth systems were fully engaged, draining the color and warbling the light coming in.

“What? This is easy street compared to last time. No Daegon on our six. No EVA through slip space.” Wyman was moored next to her. She could see him in his fighter, hands laced behind his helmet.

“Still, no one ever volunteers for a deadhead mission. Wait, did you volunteer us to Commander Stannis? Because if you did—”

“Nope. By name request from Tolan. I’d be mad at him, but…”

“But now you get to kiss ass with Crusader and Harpy. Thanks for dragging me along for the fun.” Ivor shifted in her seat. The thought of spending hours—even days—in her fighter became less and less appealing as time wore on.

“Why are you two on a ship-to-ship channel?” Harpy cut in, startling Ivor.

“Just wingman talk, ma’am,” Ivor said. Even though Harpy’s fighter was clamped to the underside of the Joaquim, she felt the eyes of an angry schoolmistress on her.

“That may be allowable under your normal squadron SOP, but we stay on the element channel only, unless you’re contacted by higher command. That clear?” Harpy asked.

“Aye aye, switching now,” Wyman said.

Ivor snapped a switch up and there was a click in her speakers.

“Deadhead element, prepare to unmoor,” Crusader said. “Grav anchors only. Emission suppression fields on. Ready for mark in five…”

Ivor grabbed a handle coated in black rubber and waited for the countdown to end.

“Mark!”

She hauled it back and her fighter drifted off the Joaquim. Tolan’s ship continued toward Lantau and the crowded merchantman vectors leading down to the planet. Ivor reached behind her headrest and pulled a control arm out on a swivel. She brushed fingertips against two balls on the panel and micro anti-grav thrusters nudged her fighter around. Wyman’s Typhoon tilted beside hers and the starboard indicator on a grav anchor turned from red to amber then almost to green…

Her fighter jostled as Harpy locked her grav anchor onto her port side.

Ivor cursed under her breath, then locked onto Wyman’s fighter.

Crusader was the last to join, forming their four fighters into a square.

“Deploying sensor array…line-of-sight laser comms with Orion established,” the colonel said. “Deadhead secured.”

“Rosy, the standard to secure grav lock with your wingman is ten seconds. When was your last qualification?” Harpy asked.

Ivor’s face flushed with embarrassment. “Last qual was during certs. It was never on the training calendar after I ended up on the Orion,” she said.

“Then I am at a loss to explain why you two were BNR’d for this mission. Deadhead surveillance ops are not a run-of-the-mill assignment,” Harpy said.

“Ma’am, I think I can explain why,” Wyman said. He outlined their escape from Albion during the initial Daegon assault.

“Difficult times,” Crusader said. “Though I’m not sure why Captain Price agreed to this operative’s request when better trained options were available.”

Ivor seethed inside her helmet, but held her tongue. How hard is it to just sit here doing nothing? she thought.

“Reminder that due to light scatter off our comms dish, we’re not receiving data or instructions from the Orion or any friendly element,” Crusader said. “Our mission is to collect Kong transmissions and beam them back to base. We’re an early warning outpost and collection activity. We’re not here to get in a fight or be detected. The Joaquim will collect us on its way back or Orion will send a recall pulse. Until then…ears open.”

Ivor felt a bit of relief. At least she could get some shut-eye while she wasn’t on active watch.

“You two were in the squadron we nearly fired upon when the 5th and 11th reunited, correct?” Harpy asked.

“Roger, ma’am. We’re glad we didn’t have to—”

“I wasn’t impressed with your flying. Both of you pull up combat sim Alpha 8-8. I want to see what you’re capable of,” she said.

“Aye aye.” Ivor turned her head to see Wyman on her right. Her wingman gave her a shrug, then his canopy went opaque as he began the sim.

So much for this being cramped and uncomfortable downtime. Now it’s cramped and uncomfortable days on end while getting bitched at, she thought.

Chapter 11

Gage poked a small bowl of rice with a single plastic chopstick. A chief petty officer sitting across from him fumbled with a pair of chopsticks, unable to grasp them correctly.

“How do they eat with these?” the petty officer mused aloud. “Damn Kongs should use a fork like civilized people.”

“Ancient Cathay philosophy is very sensitive about the use of knives at the dinner table, where families gather,” Gage said. “Something about damaging family ties. I assume there’s something about forks in that wisdom as well. I don’t know how to use chopsticks either.”

“Sorry, Commodore, I didn’t mean to bother you.” He put the bowl up to his face and shoveled rice into his mouth.

“Sir,” McGowan said, jogging over. “The door. The Kongs are calling for you.”

“Maybe some progress at last.” Gage pushed his rice bowl toward the hungry petty officer, straightened his uniform, and accompanied McGowan to the vault door. A camera mounted over the frame tracked them to the entrance. Heavy bars slid from the door and a gust of overpressure brushed past Gage as the vault opened.

Emma stood on the other side of a crisscrossing laser fence. A heavy metal coffin floated behind her. The coffin thumped, startling Emma.

“Commodore!” Emma waved at him. “Oh, thank goodness you’re alright. The Kon—Cathay! The Cathay want you to be together with this…thing.” She sidestepped away from the coffin.

“Let her in,” Gage said to a sensor ball on the ceiling. The laser fence switched off. Emma tugged at the coffin, but it was slow to move. She refused Gage’s attempt to help and pushed it out of the sally port.

“You have more guests after me,” Emma whispered as she fought to move the coffin into the residence.

The laser fence returned with a pop of hot air and the other door opened. A dark-skinned woman wrapped in brightly colored cloth and wearing a tall headdress entered. Along with her came Birbal in his usual white naval uniform and a man in an old-fashioned khaki uniform with a Sam Brown leather belt around his waist and a strap connecting over his shoulder.

“Commodore Gage.” Ambassador Waje of the Biafura Republic was stern. “Your treatment is unacceptable. Your status as a diplomat puts you beyond Cathay law and the Cathay know it.”

“They can most certainly hear you.” Gage smiled and motioned to the sensor ball on their side of the laser fence.

“Also a violation.” Birbal drew his kirpan, a not-so-ceremonial sword with a blade as long as his forearm. He stabbed the curved point into the sensor and popped it out with a twist of his wrist. He flicked the sensor into the lasers, where it danced against the beams like a drop of oil on a hot skillet until it disintegrated into smoke.

“Also, I have diplomatic immunity.” The Indus smirked as he sheathed his kirpan.

“No complaints from me, but let’s not pretend that’s the only monitoring device in here,” Gage said. “What news?”

The man in khaki took a pen from inside his jacket and clicked the end. The laser beams began oscillating slightly.

“Their tech is trash,” Deacon Meers said. “Now we can speak freely.”

“The Daegon advance has stalled,” Birbal said. “They overextended their lines to assault New Madras and my nation has won several small engagements in systems they blitzed through. Their forward fleets are formidable, but their supply lines are vulnerable.”

“Where have they stalled?” Gage asked.

“The Lagos system,” Waje said quietly. “That isn’t common knowledge. The Daegon crushed the fleets we scraped together before they got there. I don’t have many details, but several of our warships suffered catastrophic malfunctions right as the battle began…”

“Infiltrators,” Gage said. “I gave you the genetic markers to look for—”

“And I sent them back as soon as I could. The battle took place before my message could reach home. I can only hope that President Buhari listens and conducts a proper purge of his inner circle before they can do any more damage.” Waje looked down and shuffled her feet. “He likely will. It helps to have a scapegoat after a-a crushing defeat. There’s no way to sugarcoat it.”

“The Daegon haven’t moved on from Lagos?” Gage asked.

“The ground invasion did not go as easily for the Daegon,” Waje said. “My people can be quite truculent with each other, but we have even less kindness for invaders. But every time the Daegon assault falters…they withdraw their troops and annihilate the city from orbit. War zones started surrendering soon after that and there were…atrocities.”

“Why isn’t this common knowledge? Every star nation needs to know about this. Every free citizen of every—”

“It’s the fear,” Deacon Meers said. “To admit that there’s an unstoppable force rampaging through settled space would send populations into panic. Leaders are trying to manage the Daegon before they try and defeat them.”

“And then there’s the Kongs allowing the narrative that the Daegon are some sort of barbarian horde from wild space,” Birbal spat. “They know damn well that’s not the truth.”

“What I don’t understand,” Gage said, crossing his arms, “is why we’re having this conversation here and not in League chambers. Have the other nations arrived? The Deseret Confederacy? The Zion Enclave?”

“They’re on Lantau, but the Kongs won’t let the League meet formally. ‘Security concerns,’” Birbal said. “We’re in a holding pattern until the end of the week. In the meantime, the Daegon are still advancing, just not as quickly as before. Rumors are that several Kong frontier systems have gone dark. Systems on the main slipways to Zhongguo and the Forbidden Continent.”

“And the emperor is here. If he loses his capital, Cathay will fall apart as a nation,” Waje said. “You’d think he’d stop blathering and get on with League business.”

“Normally, I’d say to never attribute to malice what can be explained by stupidity,” Gage said, “but the emperor is insulated by his court. He knows what he’s told and his flappers can shape his decisions by withholding information or by feeding him alternate ‘facts.’ But the Cathay aren’t the lynchpin in the fight against the Daegon. It’s unity. Our unity to stand together as free nations and stand against tyranny.”

“Abandon the League?” Meers asked. “Try and create a parallel organization on the fly and in the middle of a war? As if this wasn’t hard enough.”

“We don’t have the luxury of waiting for things to be perfect. We need to do something useful and productive now before all opportunity is gone. Will Columbia join the fight?” Gage asked.

“We have quite the moat between our worlds in the Perseus arm and settled space. The Hierophant may be willing…but that would mean concessions from everyone else. Namely allowing missionaries—”

“This!” Birbal pointed at Meers. “This is why we are losing. A tiger is eating our leg and Columbia wants to preach to us about herbal remedies and exorcising ancient spirits from our souls.”

“If the Indus weren’t such bigots, we could have trade that would—”

“Whatever the Hierophant asks for can be considered. Within reason.” Gage held his hands up. “If the brave men and women are going to die to stop the Daegon, then hosting their missionaries isn’t much of a concession.” He stared hard at Birbal. “Is it?”

“It is not. Forgive me.” Birbal put a hand over his heart.

“No offense taken,” Meers said.

“If the Daegon have reached a strategic pause in their advance, there has to be a reason for it,” Gage said. “Time is a jewel beyond all price in war. We need to make the most of it and strike back while they’re vulnerable. Most likely reason is they need to better establish supply lines and repair and refit their forward forces. They’ve taken some hits between Albion and Lagos.”

“We need the League to meet. Formally,” Waje said. “But if our host, the emperor, isn’t interested…”

“Embarrass him,” Gage said flatly. “Make as much noise as you can through your own media outlets. The Cathay have a decent handle on internal information that gets to the peasants, but the nobles at court are too smart to buy the propaganda stories. Make them squirm and they’ll influence the emperor to get his act together.”

“We can do that,” Waje said. “And if there’s nothing in two days, we’ll declare a continuation League without the Cathay. And we’ll invite the Reich just to spite them!”

“Let’s not be too hasty.” Meers glanced around. “What about you, Gage? Your fleet is at high anchor far from Lantau. The Kongs want them to abandon you and leave.”

“The more you all do out there, the sooner I can get out of here.” Gage flapped his arms against his sides. “My fleet won’t leave without me unless I tell them to.” He looked over his shoulder to the open vault behind him. “Speaking of…will you excuse me? I believe Commander Price may have sent something with my steward,” Gage said.

“I paid a substantial bribe for us to see you,” Meers said. “A donation in kind to the Church of the Hierophant would be appreciated.”

“This guy!” Birbal’s hands shot up and steadied his turban.

“Once I’m able to. Certainly.” The corner of Gage’s mouth twitched. “Thank you all for coming.”

“Your magnanimity is appreciated.” Meers moved closer to the laser fence and the individual lines warbled even more. He tossed a small metal box through a gap and the box fell smoking at Gage’s feet. “A little something extra to help you keep your conversations private. Has a five-meter range. You didn’t get that from me and as such it is provided free of charge. Powers off body heat, so keep it on your person. Stomp it if you’re compromised and it’ll go to ash.”

“Very kind of you,” Gage said and slipped the device into his pocket.

“We’ll be back in two days,” Birbal said. “The emperor had better be off his ass by then or…we’ll have to do better than sending an angry letter, Ambassador Waje.”

“My angry letters are the stuff of legend.” She gave Gage a small curtsy and the three left. He returned to the guest house, where his fellow prisoners were gathered around the metal coffin.

“There’s a gene lock, sir,” McGowan said. “I assume it’s keyed to you.”

The coffin wobbled on the anti-grav suspensors as Gage approached.

“And I will assume that the Cathay haven’t packed a lethal surprise in here for us. Not their style.” Gage put his hand on a pulsing reader.

“They’re more inclined to let us rot in a box until we starve to death because we refuse to eat any more unseasoned rice.” McGowan inched closer to protect Gage as heavy locks unsnapped within the coffin.

The top burst open and the Genevan suit within sat up suddenly. The helm looked from side to side, moving jerkily like the neck servos were damaged. The T-shaped visor locked on to Gage. It reached for him, upsetting the delicate balance of the repulsors, and it tipped over.

The suit crashed to the ground, still bent at the waist. The coffin’s anti-grav system pushed off the suit, which was face-first in the courtyard in an unnatural position. It rolled to one side, then snapped up with a short hop. The many thin scales on its chest shifted to one side, revealing that it was empty of a pilot, but there was a cylindrical object in the shadows.

Gage took his flag officer’s sword out of the suit and held it across his palms.

“Huh, guess you’re the king now.” McGowan chuckled.

Gage and the suit did a double take at him. “Why…why would you say that?” Gage asked.

“You pulled a sword from a stone. Rather roundabout way, but the idea’s there. No worries, Commodore. No amount of titles or flair will change your authority in here. Does beg the question why the Kongs would give you back your sword and…it,” the captain said.

“Genevan AI are as dogged as they are single-minded.” Gage lifted the suit’s hand up, examining deep scratches and dents on the knuckles. “I imagine it was causing plenty of damage. Cheaper just to turn it back over. If they destroyed or attempted to futz with the AI, all the Cathay that also employ the Genevans’ services would get one hell of a bill.”

“Can it talk to the other suit? Salis?” McGowan asked.

“Not in here. That coffin’s made of lead and I doubt the Cathay built this box for it to be leaky anywhere in the EM spectrum. This is some progress at least. Where’s Emma?” Gage looked around.

“Went straight to the galley.” A petty officer pointed across the courtyard.

Gage took three steps toward the galley and locked the sword belt around his waist. The AI suit lifted one knee and froze in place.

“You coming?” Gage asked.

The suit started toward him with a jerk. It marched forward in a straight line and ran directly into a wooden column. It took a step back, then executed a parade-ground-perfect about-face.

“Commodore, didn’t you just say that the Kongs wouldn’t mess with the AI?” McGowan asked. “I don’t remember it being so…spastic.”

“It could be damaged.” Gage rubbed his chin. “The AI isn’t meant to operate by itself for too long. That would be a violation of the Vitruvian Accords. It’s supposed to have a Genevan that rebalances the programming. The limited autonomy is there to keep it performing its mission in case the man within dies. There aren’t any records of a suit functioning on its own for more than a week.”

“When did Genevans become your hobby?” McGowan flicked a finger against the suit’s helm and it rang hollow.

“Soon as I inherited responsibility for two of them.” Gage went into the kitchen building. Emma was in the middle of several prep stations, surrounded by stainless-steel bowls and cutlery.

“This is a fine mess, Commodore,” she said. “Look at all these tools, but not a single ingredient beyond rice, nasty-smelling vitamin powder, and water to work with. If they’d given me a stone, I could at least start a soup.”

“Emma, did Price send you down here with no instructions but to cook?” Gage asked.

“Beggin’ your pardon, m’lord. Must do something a bit unladylike.” Emma brought a wide bowl to her mouth and gagged. There was a tink as she coughed up a data stick. “Ugh, never wanted to be a smuggler. Shouldn’t be too chuffed. Getting it out the other way—” A hand covered her mouth and she went red.

She rushed to a sink and washed off the stick.

“Mr. You-Know-Who says if you squeeze it, it’ll read all your Gage-isms and turn on.” She patted the device dry with an off-color towel and handed it over.

“You can speak freely, Emma. Our friend from Columbia gave me a scrambler.” Gage turned the stick over in his hand.

“What? How’d he do that?” she asked.

“He passed it through the laser wall,” he said as Emma’s face went through a series of emotions. “Price. The fleet. Aidan. Tell me what’s happening.”

“Why didn’t that stuffed shirt—never mind, your lordship.” Emma brought Gage up to speed on where the Albion fleet was and its current disposition of doing little more than sitting at anchor and conducting repairs while they worked to free Gage.

“I’m to order food for our little embassy from one vendor in particular. That’s all they told me. That slippery one, Tolan, wouldn’t tell me anything else. Something about me being unable to share information that I don’t know,” she said.

“That sounds like him.” Gage sighed. “Then you’d best get to it.”

“As it is a Thursday, and the galley aboard ship typically serves surf and turf on Fridays, then I’ll need—”

Gage raised a hand. “Speed is more important than our menu preferences, Emma. Do what you need to right away so the next part of Tolan’s plan can begin. God help us all,” Gage said, looking over his shoulder.

The suit stood at the kitchen window, bent forward at the waist, its forehead tapping against the glass over and over again.

“I’ll be in my quarters,” Gage said and rolled the data stick over in his hand.

****

Tony Chung gathered his robes in his hands and shuffled past a long line of cargo containers. Two foremen followed close behind him, both sweaty and hyper-focused on Chung.

“How did you screw this up?” Chung asked. “You put my gene code on an inter-ship transfer? Are you two idiots?”

“No, sir!” one of the foremen snapped. “The container popped up in the customs lot at Starward Station. It was supposed to go to our mega hauler in orbit, but the files had too many red flags on them. Inspectors were about to seize the whole thing, but one of the supervisors is on our payroll and he diverted it back here. We normally don’t have this kind of problem, but with the emperor being here…”

“He’s screwing up commerce across the entire sector! This is why we keep him on the Forbidden Continent.” Chung stopped at a deep-blue cargo container with chipped paint. “This isn’t even the model we use! How. Did. My. Gene code. Get here?”

The foremen tried to answer, but they could barely manage vowels as Chung got angrier.

“This had better be some kind of a joke.” Chung put a palm to a reader and leaned close to a lens on the door. It popped ajar and a stench wafted out.

“Bad enough that I get pinged for this, but whatever’s inside has spoiled.” Chung sniffed hard and put a sleeve over his nose. “Doesn’t smell like rot. More like ass and body odor.”

The door flung open and Dieter seized Chung by the throat.

“Gutentag,” the big Reichsman said. His skin was crusted with dried sweat.

Thorvald and Seaver grabbed the foremen, locking an arm around their throats to keep them from calling for help.

“Get ‘em in the back,” Tolan said as Dieter slammed Chung against the next cargo container over. The spy clasped Chung’s hands and rubbed his palm against his. “There’s our guy. Been awhile, Tony.”

Chung managed a rasp.

“Dieter, he’s turning blue. Ease up on him.” Tolan’s face began to morph, becoming doughier and wide like Chung’s.

“You dead man’s head! You know who you’re messing with?” Chung asked.

“You remember hiring a wet-work specialist to kill the guy banging your girlfriend couple years back? On Vales Martinia in wild space? You really think a Faceless would work that cheap?” Tolan’s eyelids puffed up, then matched Chung’s. “You left a DNA sample on a teacup while we were negotiating terms. I kept it in my archive.”

“That was you! You stole my money, you sonofabitch!” Chung struggled and Dieter ripped a small pistol from out of his robes.

“And I passed it on to lover boy. It was plenty for him and your girlfriend to skip town.” Tolan’s voice re-modulated, rising slightly to mimic Chung’s.

“Do you have blind chicken eyes? That was…years ago!” Chung tried to push away Dieter’s arm pressing him against the cargo container.

“Do you have blind chicken eyes?” Tolan repeated, his voice matching Chung’s perfectly. “Still a scumbag. That’s who you are. But I’ll cut you a deal. You and your flunkies enjoy the next few days in that container,” he said and jerked a thumb over his shoulder as Loussan came out carrying a box. “And you won’t die. Try to break out?”

Dieter pulled a detonator out of his pocket.

“Container goes boom,” Tolan said. “Break the atmo seals on the place? Container goes boom. Banging on the walls and crying for help?”

“Container goes boom,” Dieter said, giving Chung an exaggerated nod.

“Be a nice and quiet scumbag? Container opens when we let it open. Don’t worry, you’ve got water recyclers and a month’s worth of Albion rations. And since I’m such a nice guy, I’ll leave the media stack we brought with us. Keep you from going too crazy.” Tolan plucked heavy gold rings off Chung’s fingers.

“What? But, sir, we haven’t finished watching the last season of Das Elfte Gebot,” Dieter protested.

“I’ll buy you another one! Now mug him like I taught you.” Tolan held out a hand and received Chung’s wallet. There was a high-pitched yelp and Tolan got another, smaller pouch. “Now…robes.”

Chung’s jaw dropped open.

“There is a very nice surgical smock in there. Hurry up. I can’t be walking around looking like you and smelling like a shrimp factory locker room.” Tolan clapped his hands twice.

“Boss man,” Geet said, dragging something heavy to the edge of the container, “what about the bucket?”

“They need a bucket, Geet. Put it back before you spill it again.” Tolan mashed the back of his hand against his nose. “Turns out that chemical toilet was only rated for three users at a time. Sorry…but not sorry.”

Tolan accepted Chung’s robes and Dieter threw the naked man into the container. Loussan locked it shut and applied fresh customs seals to the handles and bars.

“I can’t believe that worked,” Thorvald said, taking a set of dockworker’s overalls from Loussan’s box. “Now we need to find Gage and get him out of here.”

“Just so you know, Tolan,” Loussan said, spritzing his shirtless torso with perfume, “if it came down to it, we were going to eat you first.”

“Me?” Tolan feigned shock. “Why not Geet?”

“No muscle.” Seaver put a heavy hand on the skinny man’s neck and gave him a shake.

“Well, we’re here now, which means my brilliant plan is plenty brilliant, so let’s get to phase two…what would a bunch of gweilo sailors like you do as soon as you set foot on a Kong port?” Tolan asked.

“Booze and whores,” Loussan said.

“We common sailors prefer whores then booze,” Geet said.

“We are not here for booze or whores.” Thorvald loaded a small pistol and tucked it into his waistband. “We are on a mission.”

“Stick in the mud over there’s right about that: this isn’t shore leave. I need to get back to Chung’s office and wait for Emma’s order. We may need to acquire a few other things along the way. Loussan, you know anyone here?”

Tolan led his crew away from the container once they’d all changed clothes.

“If I do, I probably owe them money,” Loussan said. “The only reason I agreed to do this is so that Gage can owe me his life—again! The only thing better than a dead jackboot is a jackboot that owes you a favor.”

Thorvald turned his head to Loussan.

“Just an expression! The more I help, the sooner this disaster ends and Tolan will finally hand over the ship he promised,” the pirate said.

“I am a man of my word but not my face.” Tolan adjusted the fit on his robes. “I never understood why Kong insist on dressing in curtains. Come on, boys, let’s rescue the Commodore.”

****

Captain Price sat next to a sick bay bed in which Dr. Seaver lay, an oxygen line running to her nose, her vitals beeping on a screen over her head. A cuff on her elbow was connected to a bank of drug combiners. The room smelt faintly of vomit and excreted alcohol. Price checked a clock, then leaned to one side to speak with a nurse.

“Wake her up if it’s medically prudent to do so,” Price said.

The drug cuff flexed and a neon fluid filled a line.

Dr. Seaver groaned and her eyes fluttered open. She smacked dry gums then squinted at Price. “What’re you doing in my quarters?”

“You’re in your sick bay. You were found in the passageway outside the officers’ mess, drunk out of your mind. Your blood alcohol level was borderline toxic. If you’d finished the bottle you had in your hand, you’d likely be dead. Your staff pumped you full of some sort of binders to cancel out all the ethanol and acid—acetal…goddamn it, I’m a ship driver not a chemist.”

“Acetaldehyde binders.” Seaver put a hand across her forehead. “Did you find him? Where has my boy gone?” She started sobbing.

Price pinched the bridge of her nose and waved the nurse away.

“Tolan recruited him for a mission on Lantau to rescue Gage. Tolan assured me that the drug you synthesized works very well and that won’t be an issue,” Price said.

“He was gone,” the doctor said. “I thought he was dead on Albion along with my husband. My only son. The only man I ever loved. Gone forever and I wasn’t there to be with them, to help them. My husband has a condition and…the Daegon kept his treatment going so long as James was in their military.”

“They’re bastards, we both know that, Olivia. You’re one of the only people in the entire fleet that’s had family returned to them—”

“They turned my baby into a monster! His body was twisted into this…thing I can barely recognize. He had cancer in most of his organs. They lit him on fire so he’d burn out in months. I barely got to him in time to save him. That’s not the worst part. He escaped with that freak and that means a death sentence for my husband.” The doctor’s right hand flailed around on a desk until she found a clicker. She hit it twice and her cuff flexed.

“I’m not here to minimize what you’re going through,” Price said. “I am here to call you to account, Doctor. How is the Orion supposed to react to her chief medical officer drinking herself to the edge of oblivion in front of everyone?”

“We all grieve in our own way,” Dr. Seaver said under her breath.

“You are the chief medical officer! We depend on you to be able to save lives at any and all times. Your duties don’t stop because your life is crumbling. If this were peacetime, I’d have you stripped of your rank and position and on the next shuttle back to Not Here, but we’re in the fight for our lives, for the very future of Albion and every free nation.” Price snapped to her feet.

“Oh ho! You get a little bit more authority and now you’ve lost all your empathy.” Dr. Seaver clicked the button again and it responded with a short buzz. “Don’t think we didn’t know you were on the way to a shuttle to Not Here before the Daegon attacked. You can hide behind your rank—”

Price backhanded Seaver across the face. The doctor flinched, her eyes wide with shock more than pain or fear.

“I…I should not have done that.” Price turned away, her hands flexing open and closed. “Yet I don’t feel the urge to apologize. You’re a good doctor, Olivia. You’ve saved my sailors with your skills and abilities. Orion needs you functioning, not disintegrating into a bottle full of self-pity and excuses. Are you going to function, or am I going to see if the Indus can spare a doctor and send you over there for a courtesy visit and then forget to bring you back?”

“I need my baby,” Seaver said. “You don’t understand. You’re not a mother.”

“No, I’m not. I’m a commander. That puts the welfare of the entire fleet and our mission on me and no one else. I made the best decision I could for that mission. Your feelings weren’t a factor.” Price raised her chin slightly. “But that doesn’t mean your son’s expendable. Now, are you going to function or not?”

“Bitch.” Seaver sat up and shifted her legs over the side of the bed. “I spiraled down. It won’t happen again.”

“Good. I ordered the armsmen to search your quarters and they recovered your liquor stash. I’m sure those sailors will make good use of it. And I had a naltrexaline implant injected into your ass cheek. Emergency authority authorization signed by Gage gave me the authority to do so. Drink again and it’ll make you violently ill and counteract any of the effects most alcoholics are after.”

Seaver touched a patch on her rear end, her mouth agape. “That’s a violation of—”

“I don’t care. I just need a competent and functional doctor. Fuck up again and I’ll have you in the galley until the Indus are ready for you. Your staff care about your well-being a lot more than I do, and they understand their professional duties. Don’t think they’ll cut you any slack either. Fix yourself and there will be no official record. Good day, Doctor.” Price reached over to the drug machine and yanked out the tubes.

She gave Dr. Seaver a quick nod and left the sick bay.

Chapter 12

Tolan hunched over a computer screen inside a dingy office as the sound of loud conversations and the reek of tobacco smoke wafted up from the bar one floor below. Monitor banks flicked from one camera feed to another behind Tolan. Views of a bar, gambling tables, and each way in and out of the building changed regularly.

“Have you found him yet?” Thorvald asked as he watched the screens.

“My Kong is a little rusty and I’m looking through the imperial contract board…so not yet,” Tolan said, taking a sip from a small teacup.

Seaver was on a couch, fiddling with small but opulent pillows.

“Emma should have passed on the kitchen order to the Kongs by now. Soon as I find the work order with the right ingredients and the right restrictions…no, not that one.” Tolan swiped across a screen.

“Why are we still here?” Seaver kicked the couch and began pacing. Tolan sensed Thorvald change his posture to react to any potential violence.

“We can’t bust our way into Gage’s guest residence and expect to survive the attempt,” Tolan said, “and if we did survive by some miracle—even with meathead here to help—we won’t get Gage back to the fleet if the Kongs know he’s loose. We’re going to be quiet and subtle or we’re going to fail. Welcome to proper espionage work, boys.”

There was a knock at the door. Thorvald drew his pistol from his belt but kept it hidden behind him.

“Let me handle this. Jo ma ya!”

A young, sheepish Cathay woman stuck her head inside, speaking without looking directly at Tolan. He shouted back at her and the door shut.

“What’s got you so mad?” Seaver asked.

“Nothing. Cathay is a very angry language. Geet and Dieter are drinking too much at the bar, which I’m OK with. As I said, I’ll take the foreigner-adjusted price out of their paycheck. I make a decent profit on everything they drink. At least I would if I was actually paying them.”

“We’ve been here for two hours. How long until someone comes looking for the real Chung?” Thorvald asked.

“Depends on how many wives and mistresses he has stashed across the planet and if his Triad boss is due a tithe.” Tolan glanced at a different screen. “Nothing on his schedule and no calls yet. My guess is he’d blocked time out for a new mistress…eh? There we go.”

Tolan dragged fingertips over a screen then tossed a mote of light in front of him. The mote exploded into a holo screen with several fields full of Cathay script.

“Six cases of Twinings, Earl Grey, and Milima-Typhoo peach blends.” Tolan tapped the desktop.

“Albion don’t drink peach-flavored tea. That blend isn’t real either,” Thorvald said.

“Correct. No cultured Albion would ever drink fruity tea or drink it over ice; we are civilized. But contractors won’t bid to fulfill a contract if they can’t match the order. Emma did exactly what I told her to. Imagine that…mmm…” Tolan pursed his lips.

“What?” Thorvald put his hands on his hips.

“Delivery location is in the Yellow Phoenix district. It’s outside the palace, which is good, but it’s also close to several police and security garrisons.” Tolan frowned.

“I can take ’em.” Seaver cracked his knuckles.

“All that piss and vinegar you’ve got isn’t going to beat several battalions of Kong troops.” Tolan leaned back. “It means more possible layers of security. More chances to run into an honest man. I can’t stand honest men.”

“Why? Because they highlight your many moral and ethical failings?” Thorvald said.

“Because you never know when they’ll decide to stop being honest. Crooked men stay crooked. You can depend on them to stay that way until they retire or get caught. They know that and crooked men are determined to not get caught. We come across an honest man that we need to be crooked, we can’t predict how he’ll react.” Tolan drummed fingertips on the desk.

“What?” Seaver’s face scrunched up in confusion.

“Moral and ethical failings. Can you do it or not?” Thorvald asked.

“Submitting my bid now…adding the code for how much of a kickback I’ll give to the middleman…not many takers.” Tolan ran a finger down the list. “Good. She put in for the full-sized roasting pigs.”

“How’s she going to cook those?” Seaver asked.

“She’s…kid, I don’t think you quite understand what’s going to happen,” Tolan said. “I will escort all the goods into Gage’s residence. Gage will sign off on the delivery. Then I am going to swap this pudgy Kong exterior for Gage’s. I become Gage, the real Gage leaves as Chung, and then you all take a shuttle to orbit and abscond to the Joaquim. Back to the Orion. Bob’s your uncle. Old CIA trick. Got the KGB good several times, not that either of you care about the history of my craft.”

“I know plenty,” Thorvald snapped, “and it doesn’t take someone like you to know that Gage doesn’t look anything like Chung. He doesn’t speak Cathay either.”

“Which is why I am sending Loussan to get eyes on the location right about…now.” Tolan finished a text message on a small data slate. On the camera feed, Loussan got up from the bar and walked out. “Most Kong security is focused on keeping those inside…inside. So long as the Kongs see Gage inside, that means he’s not outside. Bob. Uncle.”

“Is it me, or is all this way more difficult than it needs to be?” Seaver asked.

“You want to go in guns blazing? I’m open to more suggestions.” Tolan leaned back and laced his fingers behind his head.

“Let me…I need to think about it,” Seaver muttered.

A burst of fireworks flashed across the holo screen.

“Whew…that’s going to be expensive,” Tolan said. “Let’s go, boys. Time for shopping. Thorvald, you pull Geet and Dieter away from the bar. No need to be nice about it.”

“Fine by me.” Thorvald smiled.

****

The emperor stretched out across his bed, the feel of fresh silk sheets amazing against his skin. He reached for the concubine that had been there earlier, but he felt only the warmth she’d left on her side of the bed.

“Hmm?” The emperor sat up and blinked in the low light. The eunuch that recorded all his couplings wasn’t in his usual place next to the curtains.

A shadow moved at the foot of his bed. A vise clamped down on an ankle and the emperor was hauled up with a jerk. The young man pressed a thumb against his left wrist, attempting to activate the emergency beacon on his skin.

He hung upside down for a heartbeat, then landed on the carpet, banging his shoulder hard. A leather boot pinned his chest to the floor and the solid darkness bent toward him. A knife lit up with a ghostly fire, illuminating Tiberian’s scowl.

“Pathetic,” Tiberian said. “Novis regiray, you little piece of shit, and not soon enough.”

The emperor opened his mouth to cry out. The blade flicked and the tip went into his mouth, the blade pressing his tongue down.

“You think I would have gotten in here if your guards mattered? You don’t understand your situation. I haven’t gutted you and stretched your entrails around the room because I don’t want to. Not yet.” Tiberian slid the knife from the emperor’s mouth ever so slowly.

“Pay you,” the emperor said between shallow breaths. “I can pay you more money than—”

The knife edge went to the corner of the emperor’s mouth and he squealed in fear.

“I am the Daegon. Allow me to make the first formal introductions with your throne. Do you believe in us now?” He flicked the knife away. “Good…good, I believe that you do. I am a hunter. My prey are pretenders like you, but I’m not here for you. Not yet.”

Tiberian looked around.

“You enjoy life. I can tell. Nothing but a steady stream of food designed to never make you fat and as many pliant and beautiful girls as you desire. In return, you keep nominal control over nobles who plunder as much as they can from their subjects and give you as small a cut as they can get away with. You’re no fighter. No leader. You are exactly what the empire needs to keep the great game of commerce going.” Tiberian shook his head slowly.

“I am the descendent of heaven. My rule is divine. What do you want from me?”

“You rule because your true masters had to abandon you animals to your own devices. Now we’re back to make things right. I have a very simple task for you, boy. You keep this League of yours as useless and divided as it has been for years…in return, I’ll give you something truly wonderful. Can you guess?”

The emperor’s eyes widened as the knife tip slid down his pajamas, slicing off buttons.

“I’ll give you a head start,” Tiberian said, smiling. “When the Daegon come to reclaim all of this, you can take an escort fleet and run, run, run away. But if I catch up to you, then you’ve lost the game.”

“Generous. Very generous!” The emperor swallowed hard. “It’s just that…my nobles don’t have the same-same respect for the Daegon that I’ve just learned. They don’t have the same gracious offer that I have. They’re plotting a coup if I don’t do…something?”

“I don’t care. You’ve held on to power this long, you can manage just a bit longer. Now, you will hand Gage over to me before the sun sets or I will be back for you,” Tiberian said.

“Gage? Yes, Gage! He’s the problem. That barbarian’s become a hero to many of the nobles. They—they think he can beat you. If anything happens to him while he’s my guest, then I’ll lose the mandate of heaven in their eyes. My own generals will behead me within hours.” The emperor’s bottom lip quivered.

“But not all the nobles.” Tiberian cocked his head slightly and the emperor heard a faint murmur. “There are nobles loyal to you that don’t believe that. Ones that wouldn’t mind seeing Gage disposed of.”

“Absolutely,” said the emperor, the tremor spreading into his shoulders and arms.

“Then I’ll need some of your more loyal troops. I’ll take care of your problem with Gage and with your nobles. Then you’ll start running and never look back. Understood?” Tiberian asked.

“Colonel Taishen. I’ll summon him here so you can—”

“I’ll deal with him.” Tiberian stood and removed his foot from the emperor’s chest. The Daegon looked at the growing wet spot on the emperor’s crotch and chuckled. He went for the door.

“Wait, how will I know?” The emperor rolled onto his stomach.

“Oh, you’ll know. Don’t try anything before then, because then I’ll come after you and you won’t get far.” Tiberian knocked an elbow against a jade statue of Guan Yin, the ancient goddess of mercy. It shattered against the floor. Then he swiped a curtain aside and stepped through a door hidden in the wall. It shut without a sound behind him.

The emperor squeezed his knees to his chest and sobbed.

****

Price leaned over her desk in Gage’s ready room. The slate with the fleet’s readiness report had gone mostly unread as she mouthed the speech she’d been rehearsing. A side door to the Commodore’s residence snapped open and Prince Aidan came running inside, Salis close on his heels, a bowl and spoon in hand.

“Master Aidan, you specifically asked for this cheese and pasta mixture.” Salis’ armor slid away from her face. “Why aren’t you eating?”

“It’s the wrong macaroni!” Aidan stomped a foot. “I want the twisty kind.”

“Pasta tastes the same. It doesn’t matter how it’s formed.” Salis fought to keep her anger in check.

“My Prince, the entire fleet is having trouble with supplies right now,” Price said. “Your many fine sailors are on reduced rations.”

“Like the starving kids in Biafura my mom used to tell me about?” Aidan asked. “She said they always wanted to eat my food.”

“It isn’t that bad. Not yet.” Price flipped over the slate with the report.

“Why are you in the fancy uniform? Isn’t it bedtime?” the boy asked.

“Important meetings. Important uniform,” she said as the main door opened. Salis moved to shield the prince as the Orion’s senior officers and the still rank-less Arlyss came in. “My Prince, I don’t think you want to be here for this. It is very boring adult matters.”

“But I could stay.” He raised an eyebrow at Salis. “I can sit and be quiet. I’ll have to know all this someday when I’m king. Right?”

“You can stay if you like, but…” Price said, glancing at the Genevan, “but you have to eat your dinner while you’re here.”

“OK!” Aidan ran to a chair against the bulkhead and jumped on it.

Salis mouthed “thank you” to Price.

The ship’s officers sat near the head of the conference table as more commanders from across the fleet called in as holos. Arlyss stood awkwardly behind Vashon.

“Senior staff meeting is called to order,” Price said. “I’ve read your reports, so we are going to brief by exception and by callout. First, Hephaestus, status on fabrication efforts?”

Captain Powell’s holo, her eyes sunken with exhaustion, appeared in the center of the table.

“Final repair parts for the Valiant were delivered nineteen hours ago. That takes our plasma magnetic formation reserves down to four units. My foundry can produce a new one every six days as the tolerances on those are razor-thin. As of now, I can produce one—I repeat, one—more. We’re critically low on tungsten alloys and we have no synthetic rhenium left. Zero.”

Price rubbed her forehead. “Supply, how long until we can get a resupply from the Cathay?” she asked.

“I have been attempting to contact every last seller and none are willing to do business with us,” Captain Ricci said. He’d been promoted to fleet Logistics Officer after the loss of the Muklos, a fleet supply vessel. “Our previous orders for foodstuffs and other raw materials have also been cancelled. There’s nothing coming from the Kongs, ma’am. I’ve asked the Arjan Singh if they’re getting any resupply or if they have anything to spare and they’re in the same situation as we are. Though they’ve insisted on sending food over if we need it. I have not pulled that trigger yet.”

“That is…awful news,” Price said. “Ajax is now reporting nominal slip drive function, so that is a positive, at least. Every ship in the fleet can leave the system should that prove necessary.”

“It will,” said Captain Vult of the Ajax from his holo. “No one wants to leave Gage behind, but the simple fact is that we are withering on the vine. Half rations can only go so far and our supply of critical components is only going to decrease. Our repair priority was for propulsion. I’ve got battle damage patched over with non-void-rated hull components. My crew have to move through half my ship in void suits in case there’s an atmo breach.”

“This is exactly what the Kongs want,” Vult said, tossing his hands up. “They want us to weigh anchor and stop being their problem. But we’re not going to budge without Gage.” The man had been growing more and more unstable since his older brother was killed by the Daegon at the beginning of the conflict. Price wished the Albion Navy had never changed the regulation about family members serving on the same ship, especially when there was a command relationship. Just what the Vults had done to arrange that situation remained a question.

“I will refer to our local Kong cultural expert, Mister Arlyss.” Price’s contempt came out as she refused to use Arlyss’ former rank.

“The Cathay have had issues with pretenders to their own throne throughout their history.” Arlyss cleared his throat. “They believe that if those loyal to a problematic individual are cut off from his or her patronage…those forces will withdraw to someplace that can support them.”

“They’ve never taken an Albion officer hostage before,” Vult said. “We can play the waiting game just as well as they can.”

Arlyss chuckled.

“You have something to add?” Price asked.

“Old joke, very old joke,” Arlyss said. “There is a mountain on old Earth where the road narrows so that only one car can pass a certain point. Two American drivers reach the point from opposite directions. The one in the smaller car yields to the larger. Two French drivers get out and shout obscenities at the other to let them pass until one gets too tired to go on. Russian drivers? Fistfight. Two Chinese reach the point and one gets out and sits against the bumper and begins reading a newspaper. The other Chinese comes over and says, ‘Can I read that when you’re done?’

“We are not going to out-Cathay the Cathay, especially not while the emperor is here. That’s likely why all our contracts have fallen through. No business wants to draw his ire and suddenly lose their operating license because some bureaucrat somewhere found an eighty-year-old error in their paperwork,” Arlyss said.

“Yes, fascinating. We’re not here for cultural learnings. If you don’t have something that will lead to a solution, then please don’t waste our time,” Price said.

“Commander,” said Clarke, leaning forward slightly, “perhaps you could share some news on what you’re doing to work toward a solution?”

Price rolled her tongue around her mouth for a moment, remembering what Tolan had said to her. He’d coached her on all manner of weaselly phrases.

“I cannot comment on any specifics. Rest assured we are working on getting our regent—and all our people—out of there as quickly as we can. While we are working that problem…something greater is upon us,” Price said.

“What’s more important than Gage?” Vult looked at her like she’d grown a second head.

Price keyed a code into her panel and Tolan’s Oculus data appeared in the center holo.

“The Daegon are bringing reinforcements in from whatever hellhole they come from beyond the Veil. If we don’t deal with this situation, then we will never liberate our home—League or no League on our side. We have to do something and soon. Time is running out,” she said.

“Where did all this come from?” Vult squinted at the holo as an armada came through on a loop.

“A member of the Albion Intelligence Ministry. He recently returned from Albion, along with one of our citizens who’d been drafted into the Daegon’s military. I have no reason to doubt this information,” Price said carefully.

“The Faceless? That pariah?” Vult asked.

“Mr. Tolan saved me.” Aidan’s feet wagged under the tall seat. “Took me away from the bad people on his ship and brought me here.”

“Yes. He’s a Faceless,” Price said. “There’s plenty of bigotry you can attach to his…condition. But his results speak for themselves. I believe him. We must act against the Oculus before we lose everything. Gage or no Gage.”

The commanders shifted uneasily in their seats, but none dissented.

“And where is…Mr. Tolan?” Vult asked.

“Conducting a security investigation through the fleet. You’ve all likely spoken to him without knowing it was him. He’s like that.” Price forced a smile. “I’m issuing you all a warning order now to make ready for an assault on the Oculus. It will be a hard-bore slip transit unless the Kongs wish to share the fast slip codes from here to the Xi’an System, which is a star that neighbors the Oculus in Eria Adani IV and the Veil.”

“We may not even make it there in time,” said the Orion’s navigation officer.

“We have to try,” Price said. “Even if we all die in the attempt, at least there will be hope for Albion. Her light burns.”

“Albion’s light burns,” the officers intoned.

“If we ask, I believe we’ll at least have the Amritsar with us,” Price said. “The fleet is on comms blackout as of now. Only the Orion will maintain external communications. The rest will be on point-to-point laser.”

Price answered a few more questions, then dismissed the now solemn meeting. They filed out, leaving her alone at the conference table.

Price buried her face in her hands, fighting back emotions.

“Ms. Price lady?” Aidan tugged at her sleeve. She pulled away, startled.

“Oh, Prince Aidan, I’m so sorry. I forgot you were there.” She wiped a hand against one side of her eye. “What can I do for you?”

“Are we really going to leave Mr. Gage behind?” the little boy asked, his eyes thick with tears.

“No! No…” She went to one knee and touched his shoulders. “We’re trying very hard right now to get him away from the Kongs. We will never give up on him, but we might have to go away for a while and then come back and pick him up.”

“But I like him. He’s like my older brothers, but nicer to me…” he paused, looking down and kicking at the carpet, “and not dead like them.”

“Oh, my sweet Prince,” she said, pulling him into a hug. “Gage won’t ever give up on us, and we won’t give up on him. But…but we have to be brave like him until he’s back. Can you do that? Be braver than me?”

Aidan nodded, his chin barely moving.

“Time for bed, m’lord.” Salis tapped the spoon on the macaroni and cheese bowl. “After you finish the dinner you promised to eat during the meeting.”

“Ugh! Gosh!” Aidan stomped to the side door.

“They did not train me for this on Geneva,” Salis muttered. “I’d rather take a bullet for him before we have to do another bath time.”

“You want to switch?” Price went back to her chair.

“Oh no,” Salis said and shook her head.

****

“Emperor?”

Emperor Yinghao snapped out of his reverie and looked around the throne room. The normal contingent of nobles and ministers were there, all paying the required rapt attention to his every word and gesture.

Admiral Yishiha and several of the Cathay’s highest-ranking military secretaries knelt before him at the closest golden rod before the throne. None appeared armed and all had been thoroughly scanned before they entered his presence.

They should have been scanned.

Though if any were about to rush up the stairs and stab him to death in front of everyone—

“The executions, your eminence,” Yishiha said, “of the captains who let the Reich ship escape their escort. Do you approve?”

The emperor glanced at Shin to his left, who did not signal a preference. Zheng on his right had his attention elsewhere. Neither of the advisors seemed to care about the fate of the officers.

“Is it confirmed…confirmed that the Reich brought the Bismark into our territory?” the emperor asked.

“Their sensor logs are consistent.” Yishiha nodded. “The superficial damage to the hulls is consistent with Reich spine cannons. The escort did not fire on itself.”

Was mercy the right option? Would that appear weak before the wrong factions or magnanimous to the right ones? Or weak to the right ones and magnanimous…The emperor shook his head quickly. Why hadn’t Zheng advised him to the right decision before this came to him?

“Would the escort flotilla have deterred the Reich’s incursion if they’d opened fire?” the emperor asked.

Yishiha’s eyebrows twitched up. “Our warriors are the greatest in the galaxy, our ships beyond capable compared to the barbarians’ attempts to match them…but a super-dreadnought such as the Bismark would not have fallen to our forces. Though they would have inflicted severe damage…should they have stood their ground,” the admiral said.

“And the intruding Castle Itter would have joined the fray.” The emperor crossed his legs, tracing a small circle with his raised flipper. “They would likely have all been destroyed and then a war with the Reich would be unavoidable. The sheer hubris of them violating our sovereignty to take back a ship that I had shown mercy toward…”

“A war with the Reich is not to our benefit. Not at this time, your eminence,” Zheng said.

“Then our captains have interpreted my will as I do not wish for war with the Reich.” The emperor turned a palm up. He watched as tension seemed to flow out of the audience chamber.

“The executions?” Yishiha turned his face slightly.

“Denied. Have the duty record of each captain marked as satisfactory for that assignment. The Reich appeared to have applied judicious aim when they fired toward my ships and not on my ships. They must not want a war either. Authorize our border patrols to seize the cargo of a single Reich-flagged merchant vessel in retaliation. No unnecessary violence.” He gave Zheng a sideways glance. The old eunuch seemed confused by the proclamation.

“As you wish.” Yishiha kowtowed to the emperor. “Forgive me for not anticipating your genius or benevolence.”

“We can’t go back to simply executing every officer when things don’t go as planned. What a mess that was.” The emperor chuckled and the audience broke into laughter.

Yishiha and the ministers shuffled off the carpet, careful not to turn their backs on the emperor and show him any disrespect.

“And where are the Reich ships now?” the emperor asked.

Yishiha froze.

“Where? Where—” He conferred quickly with the ministers. “Indeed, your eminence, we have had no further sensor contact with the ships. The Bismark carries the heaviest slip drives in known space. He can slip-bore straight to any star the commander desires. We have extremely high confidence that the barbarians returned home directly.”

The emperor dismissed him with a quick wave of his hand, which also signaled to Zheng to bring the next issue to him.

Shin shuffled down the steps backwards to the golden rod.

“Your eminence, the League is anxious for another formal session,” the old man said as he went to both knees. The tip of his long white goatee brushed against the opulent rug leading up to the throne. “I have pointed out that the current alignment of constellations above the Forbidden Continent portend that any such endeavors would be done under ill fortune. But the barbarians are not as wise as we are.”

“They do love to talk.” The emperor felt Zheng tense up next to him. Someone in the audience coughed.

“The League prefers to discuss before it acts. There has not been a gathering such as this since the Reuilly Incident many years ago. It is my observation that they are anxious as such a concentration of senior diplomats presents another target amid current…tensions,” Shin said.

Anxiety crept into the emperor’s limbs and his raised foot stopped moving. The terror that had come to him in the night felt like it was leering over his shoulder, knife ready to pierce his divine skin and—

“I am unable to see the constellations over the Forbidden Continent. What are the signs?” The emperor felt his face flush. Again, Zheng had not prepared him for this. These audiences were meant to be a formality, not a place where he had to actually think in front of the Cathay’s elite.

A trio of men, so elderly that two were in anti-grav chairs, approached the golden rod. One held up a holo projector and a star field appeared over their heads. Constellations pulsed one at a time and the only man able to stand of his own accord took a turtle shell from his robes and smashed it against the rod. He held it up and the three grumbled to each other as they discussed the cracks.

“Any gathering would be…auspicious,” a toothless soothsayer croaked.

The emperor’s rectum tightened in fear. He bent over, getting a lower angle to better see the star field.

“No. The Great Tiger’s claws reach over the Pearl Mountains. Wealth is in danger. And what is the life blood of the Cathay but trade? There will be no gathering for at least a week. Shin, see that there’s a pesky viral outbreak in the diplomatic quarter and restrict the League from leaving their quarters,” the emperor said.

“Your wisdom knows no bounds…but if the diplomats will not follow health guidelines, then their minders cannot physically restrict them without causing an incident…but the League can only make pronouncements from the Assemblage building—which is in dire need of plumbing repairs. Raw sewage from the pipes…which is linked to the health issues. Again, your wisdom is beyond reproach.”

“Then see to it. Done? Done.” The emperor tapped a key and his throne spun around—no concern about him presenting his backside to anyone—and the dais returned him and Zheng to his private chambers.

“Well done, your eminence,” the old eunuch said.

“Do you…do you believe everyone will be satisfied?” the emperor asked nervously.

“Who else is there to be pleased but you?” Zheng’s puffy mouth pulled into a smile. His oldest advisor, who’d been beside him every single day of his life, did not appear to grasp the emperor’s hint. Zheng must not be the one that let the monster slip into his bedroom.

“Then I am pleased. Certainly I am most content,” the emperor said quickly.

“A bath? I adjusted the attendants as you were less than interested in the last batch,” Zheng said.

“My room. I’ll take a meal there. Alone.”

****

Gage entered the only tunnel in and out of his “residence.” The laser wall was active, but no one else was there. He walked toward the lethal barrier, noting that the camera in the ceiling hadn’t been repaired or replaced. The vault door closed behind him.

“You all called me in here,” Gage spoke loudly. “There a reason?”

The door on the other side of the lasers cracked open. A hand reached in and forced it wide. A hulking figure entered, a hood obscuring his face, the top of his head nearly scraping against the low ceiling.

The visitor moved with confidence, shoulders adding to his swagger. Gage was nearly a head shorter. The figure tapped the back of a gloved hand against the lasers, burning an oblong hole across the glove. The smell of singed flesh wafted through the fence.

Tiberian tossed his hood back.

Gage’s hand went for his absent sword, but he held his ground.

“You recognize me even without my proper color,” Tiberian sneered. “Rest assured, I despise looking like this. Like you animals.”

Gage fought to control the emotions growing in his chest. This Daegon had hounded him across the stars, murdered his old friend Barlow in front of him. He was the personification of all the suffering the Daegon had inflicted on Albion and Gage.

“A mutual friend of ours tells me he delivered a surprise to you. Seems you survived,” Gage said.

“The Katar? A brief amusement. What did you do with Ja’war the Black? That toy was very interested in catching up to you and our ‘mutual friend.” Tiberian rotated his reattached hand slowly.

“Dead. Done far quicker than he deserved,” Gage said. “What do you want, Tiberian?”

“I don’t understand you.” Tiberian kept his gaze on Gage as he paced slowly along the laser fence like a caged predator. “Why do you keep fighting us? We swept your Navy from the void and crushed Albion and it was easy. You’ve already lost. Why continue to fight us?”

“Who the hell do you think you are? Albion is a peaceful nation. We never waged wars of aggression against anyone. Our worlds were wealthy, society in harmony with itself. And you ask why we didn’t bow to conquerors? Conquerors that twisted our people into slave soldiers and murdered our king!”

“You think you’ll ever get that back?” Tiberian chuckled. “Albion is lost, Gage. You are sinking into the abyss and no amount of struggling will save you. You ferals had your chance and look what you accomplished without us—chaos of nations nipping at each other like wild dogs. Your technology is pathetic. Wiser minds than yours accept their fate. But not you. Why?”

“The Daegon are so superior, yet you never bothered to understand us. Your hubris will be your undoing. Who…who even are you?” Gage considered his words carefully. The Daegon might not have known that Gage had information about the Oculus.

“We are your rulers.” Tiberian smiled. “We ruled you on Earth for thousands of years, until we had to save ourselves. We left you to your own devices and that was a mistake. There was a period of a few hundred years where some of you broke free. It took generations to finally bring you back under our heel…then nature gave you another chance.”

“Speak plainly. You don’t have the tongue for riddles,” Gage said.

Tiberian edged closer to the laser wall, his eyebrows and hair smoldering.

“Novis regiray. You will be ruled, mongrel. Our strength is evident. Our destiny will manifest. Surrender for the hope of mercy. I know the boy still lives and you’re not there to protect him…”

“That’s why you’re here? Because you’ve failed to murder a boy after you slaughtered the rest of his family? How can we not throw ourselves before your obvious glory? Get me back to my ship and I’ll proclaim your greatness,” Gage smirked.

Tiberian growled like a tiger, a deep rumble that triggered some atavistic part of Gage’s brain and sent a tinge of fear through the Commodore.

“Latin. ‘Novis regiray’ is derived from Latin. You claim to be some force of history, but I know some Latin as well. Ever hear of the Nordic rebellion against the last czar before the great disaster? They shouted ‘attero dominatus’ when they burned the czarists at the stake. Roughly translates to ‘destroy tyranny.’ You Daegon claimed dominion over all of humanity in the past? We’ve thrown you off before. What side were your kind on at the French Revolution? Something tells me your ilk got the people’s razor.”

Tiberian’s lips pulled back from his teeth. The hunter chuckled, a deep, evil sound that came from his stomach. He reached into a pocket and drew out a bit of bloodstained cloth. He wagged the rank epaulette of an Albion naval captain at Gage.

Barlow’s rank.

“His death was pathetic. If you let me take you alive, I’ll kill the rest of your officers right in front of you. I’ll let you judge if they die any better.” Tiberian tossed the rank down like it was trash.

Giving Gage a curt, mocking bow, Tiberian turned and moved to the exit.

“You’re not here from a place of strength,” Gage called out. “Else you’d have come straight for me. I’ll be waiting for you, coward!”

Tiberian didn’t pause. The vault door closed behind him and the entrance back to the residence unlocked.

Gage stayed there for a moment, staring at the bloody artifact from his old friend. He returned to a waiting group of officers.

“We have a problem,” Gage told them.

****

Loussan adjusted a small conical hat on his head, then wagged a pair of blue glasses at the waitress of a pho restaurant. He took a patio seat and slapped a couple coins on a sticky table.

“You eat too much.” The waitress put her hands on her hips. “You eat too slow.”

“Your food is too good. Number thirty-seven and coffee.” Loussan lowered his sunglasses to give her a wink. He brushed a hand over a small pistol in his pocket that he’d bought in an alley a few blocks away, then looked over the security surrounding the emperor’s guest residence.

The building holding Gage and the others was encased by a façade, a shell of another building over the prison within. Figures moved in the shadows and behind curtains. All fakes, Loussan knew. He’d been tracking their movements for hours to ID the number of actual guards. The external security was lazy, more interested in scoping out deals at the nearby market than spotting those with too much interest in the place. People like him.

A large figure came out of the building, moving with a purpose. Loussan laid a data slate against a small carafe of chili paste, angling the camera out to catch the approaching figure. He pulled up a local channel and Cathay music began playing. Loussan used his sunglasses to hide which way he looked.

A foreign woman materialized from behind a stall selling little cakes and fell in a few steps behind the larger man. Loussan tensed as the two strode right by him. He waited until his bowl of steaming soup arrived, then rewound the footage.

The way the man moved was off, his body language and gait nothing like the Cathay. The woman shadowing him was more relaxed and at home. Loussan attached everything to a message and sent it off to Tolan. A reply came in a moment later.

“RETURN TO BASE. WE HAVE A PROBLEM.”

Chapter 13

“It’s not,” Loussan said, though he didn’t believe what he was saying. More hoping.

“It is. That’s Tiberian and if he’s here, then that means…” Tolan tapped his fat lips.

“Why don’t we just kill him?” Seaver asked. He had a crude Cathay pistol disassembled on a white cloth on a table in front of him. “Maybe make it look like a robbery or an accident?”

“Not possible,” Thorvald said. “I’ve crossed blades with him before. He’s a beast in combat and he’s not going to be easy to kill. We try and interfere with him now, the rest of the Daegon in this system will know to look for whoever did it.”

“Smartest thing you’ve said in a long time.” Tolan wagged a finger at the Genevan. “We know he’s here. He doesn’t know we’re here. He can’t know we know he doesn’t know…or he’ll know.”

“What?” Seaver asked.

“It doesn’t appear that he got into the residence proper,” Thorvald said. “No blood on him anywhere. He moves like someone still angry. Shoulders. Hands. Distant look. If he’d killed Gage, we would see some sense of satisfaction in his body language.”

“So why’d he go in there? To have a chat?” Seaver asked.

“That is the best explanation,” Thorvald said and racked a shotgun.

“Which means he’s got top cover to move about Lantau without local security breathing down his neck.” Tolan opened a drawer in his desk and lit up what looked like a cigarette.

“The big Daegon asshole went there just to take the piss out of Gage?” Geet asked. “Some people just suck.”

“They do…” Tolan blew a plume of smoke into the air.

“That is not tobacco.” Thorvald glared at Tolan and sniffed.

“It’s medicinal. My Faceless chemicals are embedded in the strain. Local apothecaries are very crafty on Lantau…we need to speed up the timetable and we need more guns. Better than the crap some Kong made in the back of a machine shop,” Tolan said.

“I bought this crap,” Loussan said, deeply offended.

“Fine for the riffraff, not if we’re going to deal with a fully armed and pissed-off Daegon,” Tolan said, taking another puff.

“What’s it matter?” Dieter asked. “We’re here for Gage. We get Tolan in, get Gage out, get Gage and the rest of us back to the jackboot—the Albion fleet.”

“Our delivery window to the residence is on the schedule for six hours from now.” Tolan took a drag and offered it to Seaver. Thorvald pinched the lit end and smothered it with a hiss. Tolan considered the smooshed cigarette for a moment, then patted his pockets, looking for a lighter.

“So we have about five hours to improve our weapon situation…which means we need more money. Anyone know how to play Pai Gow?”

****

Tiberian swirled a small bowl of noodles around. The safe house wasn’t far from where Gage was being kept. He could see the residence from a window caked in pollution and grime. A talk show blathered on a wall. Wei reached a pair of chopsticks into an open container and dropped some fried hunks of fish onto his own plate.

Tiberian picked up his plate and hurled it against the wall.

“Dan dan noodles not to your taste, lord?” Wei asked.

“This sitting around doing nothing is not to my taste,” Tiberian sneered. “This wretched feral hovel is not to my taste either. My prey is there—right there! And I am forbidden from fulfilling my writ for Asaria.”

Wei tilted his head slightly and his eyes glazed over. “Qui is almost here…she’s with four others,” the Specter said.

Tiberian looked to a box in a corner.

“The primus sending assassins to deal with me? Poor form.” Tiberian pointed at the box and a data link in a ring connected to the heavy lock.

“No, lord, I recognize them.” Wei smiled. “And please extend some professional courtesy. If we wanted you dead, you’d be dead already.”

Tiberian huffed. “You’d try.”

“Do you really want to be on this planet all by yourself, lord? Especially after the local constabulary begins investigating all the grisly killings it would take for you to slip away from the primus? These ferals are incompetent, but they’re not that stupid.” Wei shoveled more food into his mouth.

There were three knocks at the middle of the door, then one more close to each side.

“No distress signal.” Wei touched a button on the frame and bolts in the door snapped open.

Qui came in, three Cathay behind her, all decently dressed in civilian clothes.

“Explain,” Tiberian said.

Wei pressed behind an ear and Tiberian’s own internal receiver buzzed. The obscured form of the Specter primus appeared in Tiberian’s vision. No matter where he looked or if he closed his eyes, the other man was there.

“We have an opportunity,” the primus said. “The Reich are coming here. Seems that Klaven’s stupidity is quite contagious.”

“I’m a hunter, not one of your daggers in the dark. Even I know that the more strangers that show up to a place, the more interest it will garner.” Tiberian looked at the new arrivals like they were street scum tracked in off his boots.

“I’m recalling Specters from across the system to assist you,” the primus said. “Well-placed operatives that have years of experience within the ferals’ military and government. Your deeds are legendary, but even you have your limits. Plus, I need Cathay on your team for the effort to have the desired effects. See this…”

A wire diagram of the League chambers moved across Tiberian’s vision.

“Every member state is here. All of them have ships in orbit. No bombing this time, finger-pointing is too easy. I need you to slaughter the League in their chambers and do so with Cathay soldiers and Cathay weapons. We need to hide our hand,” the primus said.

The sound of something heavy bumping against stairs echoed down the hallway.

“Doesn’t that pathetic child of an emperor guarantee their safety? Exactly how many Specters are you sending me?”

“A dozen, but that will be more than enough. Once the Reich arrive, there will be chaos. I’ll make sure of it. The emperor will panic and pull all his security to the palace. My people will infiltrate and guide you and your team into the Assemblage Hall and then you will massacre the ambassadors while wearing Cathay uniforms.”

“A false flag that will implicate the emperor,” Tiberian said. “Not bad, but it could still be glossed over as the act of a rebel faction.”

“Which is why your next task will be to kill the emperor,” the primus said. “I imagine you’d quite enjoy that. With the emperor dead and the League in disarray, the entire Cathay Empire will tear itself apart in civil war and the League will be useless. Our war against the ferals will be all but done.”

“That is…impressive,” Tiberian said. “But that’s not why I’m here. Gage. When do I get Gage?”

“Succeed with the greater operation first. Gage isn’t going anywhere. He has one foot in the trap. You can take his pelt at your leisure.”

“And the prince aboard the Orion?” Tiberian asked.

“I’ll see to it that his ship never leaves. The emperor’s loyalists will be looking for someone to blame after his death. Do I have your cooperation?”

Qui opened the door for another pair of Specters who carried in a heavy chest. They set it down and popped it open with a kick. Inside were Cathay internal security uniforms and a rack of weapons.

“I see wisdom in your plans,” Tiberian said reluctantly.

“Good. We will all return to Albion together once Gage is dead. I’ll note your flexibility in my report to Lord Cleon.”

The primus fizzled away.

“No doubt you will,” Tiberian said as he went to the window and stared out at Gage’s prison.

Chapter 14

The dealer spread seven cards in front of him. Cathay men at the table burst out in rapid-fire protest as the cards were ranked. A pair of kings were set ahead of a ten-high straight. Three out of four slipped their own poker hands under chips and shoved them at the dealer.

Thorvald stood next to Seaver and behind Tolan’s seat. The casino had enough ambient smoke to cast halos around the lights. The place smelled of tobacco and desperation. A humorless pit boss was behind the dealer. Tolan’s pile of chips had shrunk quickly since he’d sat down half an hour ago.

Tolan flipped over a pair of aces then waved his hand over the other small pile of five cards. He turned them over with a flourish, revealing two more aces and a joker. The table went ballistic with shouts and rapid-fire Cathay.

“What just happened?” Seaver shouted over the noise.

“Everyone hit the envy bonus,” Thorvald said, keeping his eyes on the pit boss, who’d gone quite pale. “Payday.”

A pair of bouncers shouldered their way to the table. The pit boss thrust a finger at Tolan and then to a camera dome in the ceiling. The mood shifted instantly with those at the table now very angry.

Tolan tapped hard next to his wager and shouted back.

A heavy hand grabbed Thorvald’s shoulder. He turned around and squared off against more bouncers, who did not look happy to be there.

“You come with us or trouble,” said a bouncer almost as tall as Thorvald.

“Get your filthy hands off me.” Seaver slapped a bouncer’s grip away.

“No problem.” Thorvald raised his hands slowly. “Boss won’t play where he’s not appreciated.”

“No, you come to back room,” the bouncer said. Thorvald felt something hard press into the small of his back. The goons led the three off the floor and into a door hidden in a hallway. A pair of grumpy Cathay men with thick arms and broad shoulders were waiting for them.

Tolan spoke at length, his tone swinging between accusatory and conciliatory. Thorvald and Seaver were shoved against a wall, small pulsers levelled at them.

“Was he cheating?” Seaver asked.

“No, they always bring you back here when you’re a big winner,” Thorvald deadpanned.

Tolan began sobbing and buried his hands in his silk cuffs. Thorvald’s eyes stung and he pressed his tongue against a tiny lozenge stuck to his gums. A bitter taste built in the back of his throat and the sting went away. The bouncer in front of Thorvald stumbled forward. Thorvald snatched the pistol out of his hand and stepped aside as the guard went face-first into the wall.

“Funny how the house doesn’t mind having an advantage with every hand you play, but you shift the odds in your favor juuuuuust a little bit…” Tolan rolled his eyes as he rummaged through the pockets of an unconscious security boss and took out a keycard.

“Got it.” He lifted the boss’ eyelid and leaned close to it, then rubbed his hand against the boss’.

“Ugh, what the hell is that stuff?” Seaver cleared his throat and spat.

“High-grade antidote for a low-grade nerve toxin.” Tolan produced a small metal ball from his sleeves, opened the door behind the unconscious security chiefs, and flicked the ball down a hallway.

“They going to survive?” Seaver nudged a guard with his foot.

“Depends on how pissed the Triad is about our little shopping expedition.” Tolan opened the door again and glanced into the hallway. “Hot feet, boys. Hot feet.”

They went into the back of the security area where everyone was slumped against monitor banks or sprawled out across the floor. Tolan went to a heavy door, slid the keycard into a slot, and leaned over a biometrics scanner. His face morphed to match the security chief and a gun vault opened.

Thorvald took a pulser carbine off a rack and checked the charge. He stuffed fragmentation and riot-control grenades and magazines into his pocket, then lifted a Cathay infantry rifle off the upper rack and flipped it over in his hands.

“Careful, you almost smiled,” Tolan said as he slipped a pulser with an extra-long magazine into his robes.

“What do we take?” Seaver asked.

“All of it. In for a penny, in for being dissolved in acid if the Triads catch up to us,” Tolan said. “Leave the cash behind. It’ll confuse the hell out of them.”

Thorvald tipped a cart loaded with bills and chips to the floor and they threw the entire arsenal onto it. They rushed the cart out the back and to a loading dock, where several casino employees had gathered for a smoke break.

Thorvald held them at gunpoint as a van backed up to a loading dock. Geet opened the doors and the guns and ammo went inside.

Tolan pointed up and gave a brief speech in Cathay, then they all loaded into the van and Dieter drove away.

“Faster! Drive it like you stole it,” Tolan said as he flipped down a sunshade and put on a new face.

“I did steal it.” Dieter frowned at the spy.

“The Reich is a real gift to comedy, did you know that? Back to the stash house, we need to load up the delivery.” Tolan teased his nose out and tiny air bladders puffed it up.

“Mr. Tolan, not that I don’t mind getting a Triad death mark put on me, but why so many guns?” Seaver asked.

“Tiberian and the Daegon are going to come for Gage and the rest of our boys and girl in there. He needs a fighting chance, especially if it’s me that’s going to be him. That make sense?” Tolan asked.

“Not really.” Seaver’s mouth pursed.

“Just shut up and color, kid. Helps not to overthink things. Makes you realize how insane it all is.” Tolan winked at him.

Chapter 15

Klaven rubbed his hands together as the slip field around the Castle Itter began to power down. The bridge was at full combat readiness, with crew in void armor and helmets on their hips, ready to go.

They’d arrive at Lantau in a few more minutes. The much larger Bismark dominated over the Castle Itter in the tactical holo table.

“How do you think we’ll do?” Klaven looked up at Rapoto.

“I’m not here to speculate,” the Genevan guard said.

“Well then…how likely do you think it’ll be that you’ll have to drag me to an escape pod and then we die together when the Kongs ignore all the laws of void combat?” Klaven asked.

“I’m not concerned about that. The Kongs will target this bridge at the earliest opportunity. We’ll never make it to the escape pods.”

The comms officer did a double take at them.

“Good talk, Rapoto. Good talk.” Klaven opened a direct channel to von Trapp. The other man appeared in a small holo over the control panel at the end of an armrest.

“Klaven…you understand your role here?” von Trapp asked.

“Mouth shut, head down, just like we’re at court,” Klaven said. “I just want you to know that—”

“You have put the lives of every single Reichsman on our ships at risk with your blatant stupidity. It is a mark of honor for the Kaiserina that we act in accordance with our highest ideals, even if that means the dumbest, most avoidable war with the Kongs in human history. We’re about to become a cautionary tale for officers across the galaxy no matter how this turns out,” said von Trapp, grinding his jaw.

“Then we should go into the fire with our heads held high,” Klaven said. “Setting alert condition one. Castle Itter is at your command.”

“Don’t fire unless fired upon…or if I tell you to. I’m patching you in so you can monitor my negotiations with the Kongs. You’ll speak if I need you to. The Bismark is the king of the void. He is a sign of power. The ultimate show of force. They’d better not forget it.”

****

Price kicked her boots off and lay out across the cool sheets of her bunk. The XO’s quarters weren’t much more than a bed, shower, and a bit more than ample closet space along with a work space, but at least it was all hers.

Her mind drifted from repair work to cross leveling the freeze-dried supplies that a logistics officer aboard the Hephaestus had “forgotten” to include in her ship’s manifest. “Chow thieves” had a harder time in the Albion Army, but such a thing in the Navy was unheard of. Then again, these weren’t normal days for the Navy.

Her eyes closed and a small muscle twitched in her foot as sleep’s release from troubles—

Alarm klaxons sounded and red light flooded her quarters.

“Huh! Wha—” She rolled off her cot and fell to the deck.

“Ma’am!” An armsman pounded on the other side of her door. She tucked a thought away to have her close security switched to female sailors so they’d be less hesitant to barge in if needed.

“Eh?” Price blinked hard as adrenaline chased sleep away.

“Bridge needs you. Sensors read a slip arrival on the other side of the system. Something big. Kongs are going berserk,” the armsman said.

Price stepped into her boots and rushed from her quarters, resetting her uniform as she went. She got to the bridge and went straight to the holo tank, where the night-cycle officer on deck was waiting for her.

“Kong navy’s moving at best speed to the tertius slip point from…Busan,” Commander McKinley told her. In the tank, half the Cathay’s warships in orbit over Lantau were accelerating toward a point in the outer system.

“Busan? What the hell’s at Busan?” Price rubbed sleep from her eyes and squinted at the holo. The rest of the Cathay’s orbital warships were congregating over the palace.

“Minor colony. Doesn’t even rate a permanent base,” McKinley said. “Sensor data of what just arrived is spotty, but the slip breach was enormous.”

“Daegon going for a decapitation strike? No, they wouldn’t come in from so far out. That’s not their style,” Price said. A sailor set a dark cup of tea on a saucer on the tactical ring for her. “Launch alert fighters but keep them close. Set battle stations.”

“Captain, we’re being hailed. No IFF codes and I can’t locate the origin location,” the comms officer said.

Price took a sip of her tea.

“Not from the Kongs? Fine, patch it through to me. Maybe Tolan’s jailbreak worked out,” she said.

A grainy image of Klaven came up in the holo.

“Oh goddamn it,” Price said, squeezing the bridge of her nose.

“Albion! Good news, I’ve come to reiterate my offer of the Reich’s sanctuary to Commodore Gage. We can leave now if you’re ready.” Klaven smiled a little too broadly.

“Jesus…look at the size of that thing,” McKinley said as the Bismark resolved in the holo field. He dwarfed the already impressive Castle Itter, launch bays ready and hundreds of torpedo tube hatches open.

“I brought some help in case the Kongs need some convincing. You do have Commodore Gage, correct?” Klaven asked, his voice rising a few octaves with the question.

“The Commodore is still a guest of the Kongs,” Price said. “Did you say ‘sanctuary’?”

“He did,” Count von Trapp cut into the channel. The scar tissue along his jawline stood out against the alert condition lighting aboard the Bismark. “Why is that a surprise to you?”

Klaven began speaking rapidly, but his audio was muted.

“Because Commodore Gage didn’t share that with me. He’s in command and not required to share every single detail if he doesn’t choose to. He’ll clear everything up once the Cathay release him.” Price’s eyes darted to McKinley, who shrugged at her. “What are your intentions here, Reichsman?”

“My cousin has placed the Reich’s honor in jeopardy. I am here to see that all parties have satisfaction. Your fleet is in an advantageous position as the Kongs move to intercept my force.”

“Trapp, is it? What…what exactly are you suggesting?” Price pulled up a tactical sim and set the Bismark and Castle Itter against the flotilla of warships the Cathay had on an intercept course. Several reruns showed the simulated battle was brief and the Castle Itter did not survive a single one. Just how much damage the Bismark would suffer before he was disabled or destroyed came with a low certainty score from the computer.

“You are the commander of Albion’s forces while Commodore Gage remains…indisposed? Tell the Kongs that you’re done with their hospitality and to return him to you immediately. Advance your fleet on Lantau to receive him,” von Trapp said.

“Which they will immediately take as hostile action and then—” Price shut her mouth. The effects of any decision she made spiraled out of control in her mind, to include doing nothing at all. She mouthed “Arlyss” to McKinley, unsure if that disgraced officer’s advice was what she needed.

“The Kongs are cowards,” von Trapp said matter-of-factly. “We show backbone and they’ll back down.”

“And if they don’t?” Price gripped the side of the ring around the holo. “You’re aware that the League is on Lantau, correct? All of them. A League formed to counter Reich aggression and you are here in this system…being aggressive!”

“We are here for your benefit. If you do not require Gage, then the offer of sanctuary remains for Prince Aidan. Weigh anchor to my slip point and we will escort you back to Reich space,” the Count said.

“And we will be your honored guests,” Price almost sneered. “How would you rate your hospitality on a scale of one to Kong?”

“I have placed my ship and my men in harm’s way for your sake, Albion,” von Trapp said, his voice hardening. “Are you that worried about offending the Kongs?”

“I am trying to stop this situation from spiraling more out of control than it already is. You’ve brought two warships—neither insignificant—to the Kong emperor’s doorstep. How did you think this would turn out?”

“Matters of honor explain themselves. I didn’t think I’d have to explain that to an Albion naval officer,” von Trapp said.

“Don’t you…it will take hours before the first Kong ship reaches your engagement envelope. Allow me some time to treat this situation with all the delicacy it requires. A little good cop, Reich cop, savvy?” She forced a slight smile.

“Fine. You know my position. Wait. Why am I the—”

Price cut the transmission.

“Arjan Singh also hailing us,” the comms officer said. “Nothing from Lantau.”

“Kongs just detached a flotilla of three battle cruisers and one escort carrier,” McKinley said. “They’re on an intercept course to our anchorage.”

“Indus are growing a bit irate, ma’am,” said the comms officer.

“I don’t—” Price swallowed hard. She couldn’t say that she didn’t know what to do out loud. But the truth was that she was absolutely lost. She scanned through the tactical plot again.

I’m in charge, she told herself. This is my responsibility. Gage would say to make the best decisions I could with the information I have available. There isn’t much else to do.

“Kongs are hours from us. We have time. Get Salis in here and patch me through to the Arjan Singh.”

A tired-looking Indus officer wearing a simple head wrap instead of the normal turban appeared in the holo.

“Captain Price, I am Commander Jammu. What in the hell are the Reich doing here?” he asked. “Why are the Kongs coming for us? What have you done?”

“I should not have answered this hail,” Price muttered to herself.

****

Tiberian switched between Cathay security frequencies. The Cathay were in a state of panic, unsure if the Reich ships were launching a full-scale offensive on the planet or if the dreadnought they brought was actually a Daegon attack in disguise. One thing was obvious: there were no instructions coming from the emperor.

“It’s time,” Tiberian said to Qui. The Specter regarded him with suspicion for a moment.

“The kill team is ready,” Qui said, “but it’s the middle of the night. The League won’t meet for at least another hour. Probably two.”

“They’re not the priority target. We take Gage’s scalp first, then the League.” Tiberian’s hand went to a pistol on his hip.

“By your command.” Qui bowed slightly and left the room.

“Three…two…one.” Tiberian pressed fingertips to the back of his left ear and answered a call from the Specter primus.

“I figured you were listening,” Tiberian chuckled.

“You’re putting the greater mission at risk,” the heavily modulated voice said. “Stand down until the League is gathered and then kill them all. I’ve summoned the ambassadors to—”

“I’m not your errand boy. My writ from Asaria supersedes yours and you know it,” Tiberian said.

“You’re not…you don’t appreciate the opportunity. Wipe out the League and the ferals’ resistance to us will crumble! Gage isn’t going anywhere. You can tear him apart at your leisure after you’ve dealt with the League and killed the emperor. Don’t put your ego—”

“Gage has proven too resourceful in the past. I will not lose him again. You do have this situation under control, don’t you?” Tiberian asked.

“I am trying to orchestrate the disintegration of the Cathay Empire and spark off a war between the remnants and the Reich. You think the life of one feral pretender is more important than that?”

“This is my operation now, primus. We have our writs. I will complete mine and then I will help you with yours. If your Specters don’t follow my every command from this moment forward, I will open up my insurance policy and set it loose. No League destroyed. No emperor slain during a coup and no Cathay civil war. It would be such a shame if we completed our conquest and you had your writ melted and poured down your throat. Wouldn’t it?”

There was silence for a moment.

“I will pull the guards off Gage’s guest house. Be quick and be discreet, Tiberian, else the League will hole up in their embassies. You’re supposed to kill them all at once with Cathay soldiers then deal with the emperor. Do you think all this planning is easy?”

“Let’s both respect each other’s abilities. I’ll signal you when Gage is dead. Tiberian out.” The hunter ended the call. He picked up a mass-produced Cathay bayonet and slipped it into a scabbard on his chest. It wasn’t the tool he wanted to use on Gage, but it would suffice.

Tiberian went to the large cube in the corner and put a hand on it.

“Soon, my pet. Very soon.”

****

Tolan shuffled forward, the hem of his blue silk robes hovering just over the ground as he led Thorvald, Seaver, Dieter and Geet to the entrance of the emperor’s “guest quarters.” In the guise of a Cathay merchant, Tolan didn’t have to bother with the heavy crates carried by the other men.

This part of Lantau’s capital city wasn’t as busy this late at night. Cars and trucks rolled by slowly, the drivers seemingly cheerful that they weren’t stuck in gridlock. Several shops were closed, but the bars and restaurants were just getting started. Figures lurked in alleys and doorways, a mixture of those looking to entice or take wealth from those too drunk or too ready to make poor decisions.

“I haven’t seen the sights is all,” Geet said as he adjusted his hold on an anti-grav sled. “First time ever in Kong space and all I see is the inside of a warehouse and one market. This is Peking, right? Ain’t it got the building with eighteen floors of whores?”

“We’re on Lantau, not Peking,” Loussan hissed. “And that building’s reputation is false advertising. There are two subbasement levels as well.”

“Both of you need to be silent.” Thorvald looked over his shoulder. He pushed a cart with actual wheels that wobbled against the sidewalk’s old concrete.

“We are the barbarian scum working for a proper Cathay merchant.” Loussan made a flourish with one hand and bowed to Tolan’s back. “We must act the part.”

“No one’s acting.” Seaver’s arms tightened against the other push-sled. “We’re his muscle,” he said, pointing between him and Thorvald. “That’s obvious. Loussan’s…I don’t know.”

“The good looks. A face man,” the pirate chortled.

Tolan shook his head, the long braid on his hat sweeping against his back.

“If the Reich-y’s the fix-it man…what am I?” Geet spat on the road.

“You’re pushing the cart with the last vegetables to be exported from Albion space,” Thorvald said. “Pay attention to what you’re doing or you’ll damage the persimmons. High-ranking Albion don’t like their plums bruised either.”

“We never talked much about how the jackboots took their fruit. Mostly we cursed them for blowing our ships up. Killing our crewmates,” Geet said.

“Just make nice for a little bit longer,” Loussan said. “We’re almost done with them. So close…”

“All of you just keep your mouths shut.” Tolan’s voice re-modulated to match his purloined Cathay identity. “Let me do the talking.”

“Do…do any of us even speak Kong?” Seaver asked.

“What did I say about talking?” Tolan walked up to a two-story wall and pressed an ident chip to a reader. An aperture spun open and a mechanical arm with a square camera node on the end popped out.

“Ni daodi xiang yao shenme?”

Tolan cleared his throat and switched to Cathay. “You know what the hell I want. I’m on the list for a delivery today,” he said.

“Piss off, foreigner lover. The barbarian assholes have enough rice and water.”

Tolan flashed a credit chip where the camera could see it. “They paid for all the crap they eat and they paid all the currency transaction fees, customs stamps, import duties, tariff adjustments and environmental impact assessments, and cultural disclosure taxes.” Tolan looked up and to the left and tapped on his fingertips.

“You have the district sales tax receipts?” the guard on the other side of the camera asked slyly.

“Oh dear, seems I’ve forgotten those. Perhaps we can clear that with you?” Tolan gave an exaggerated frown to the camera.

“Forty on duty. Double shifts. Wait right there.” The camera snapped back into the wall.

“What was all that?” Seaver asked.

“Bloody bunch of greedy bastards is what it is.” Tolan opened his robe and thumbed through a stack of bills. “Thorvald, your wad.”

The Genevan handed over a bound stack of Cathay currency.

“Oy, why’s he carrying around all that cash?” Geet asked.

“Why would I trust him with money while on a planet full of vices available at bargain-basement prices?” Tolan shoved the wad into his robes.

“’Cause Genevans have their peckers removed when they get their super suits and they can’t drink booze either…oh, that’s why.” Geet nodded slowly.

“They take your pecker?” Seaver’s eyes went wide. “Do they…give it back? Like after your contract is up?”

“Stop thinking about his dick and—” Tolan jumped an inch as tall metal doors slid open. A Cathay soldier in cut-down power armor was waiting on the other side, his arms folded over his chest. The Cathay was almost as tall as Thorvald, his suit a simple support frame that ran up and down his limbs to a waist ring and spine brace. It bore most of the weight of iron-shod boots and scale armor.

“Captain of the guard, I presume,” Tolan said, switching back to Cathay.

“Why do you presume? You made a delivery to me six months ago,” the guard said.

“Ah, too much time drinking barbarian firewater, my eyesight is going.” Tolan held out a data slate, the underside obscured by the long cuffs of his sleeves.

The guard took the slate and the stack of bills hidden underneath.

“Invoice there, you’ll make sure everything is in order?” Tolan winked.

The guard slipped the hefty bribe into the wide cloth of his belt.

“Scans will be done in the entrance tunnel.” The guard cocked a head behind him. A team of Cathay soldiers opened the vault door. “Things are a bit stricter than usual. You have ten minutes to get your signatures or we come in and get you out. You won’t like that. Only you go beyond the laser fence.”

“So many rules!” Tolan laughed nervously. “And here I thought I was just delivering food. Ha ha—oh!”

He tripped forward and bumped into the guard, their hands brushing past each other. The guard kept one hand clenched tight, his eyes bright.

“Ten minutes by regulation,” the guard said. “Our ledger’s been acting up lately.”

“We’ll hurry,” Tolan said and gave the guard’s chest a pat.

He and his team moved into the tunnel with their cargo. Tolan stopped very close to the laser fence and the vault door closed behind them. Thorvald’s knuckles turned white on the handlebar as a dull blue light swept over them.

Loussan cleared his throat loudly.

“Everyone relax,” Tolan said, waggling long fingernails next to his face as he examined the still-broken camera dome on the ceiling. “This is just business.”

The laser fence snapped off.

“Come come come.” Tolan shuffled forward as the vault door on the other side of the tunnel opened with a snap of retracting metal rods. He stopped and picked up a bit of cloth on the ground, then shoved it into his robes.

“Finally,” Thorvald said, pushing his cart forward, nearly hitting Tolan’s ankles. “No matter what happens, at least there’s a chance.”

“You people don’t know about jinxing, do you?” Tolan snapped over his shoulder, his voice back to normal.

“Oh, finally!” Emma jogged over. She fastened her uniform top over an undershirt, then pulled her hair into a ponytail. “You have no idea how hard it is to spruce up plain white—Mr. Mmmrppph.”

Tolan put a finger to her lip.

“Hello, Albion woman I’ve never met. Where’s that Commodore of yours? I have a very special delivery for him.” He kept the finger against her lips.

Emma looked at Thorvald, who gave her a nod.

“He’s…in his quarters.” Emma pointed across the courtyard. “I can have Captain McGowan escort you there.”

“You take me. Time is of the essence.” Tolan shooed her away from the crates.

“But the food! I need to catalogue everything, put the spotted dick in the chiller and—”

“There is no food. Hurry up,” Tolan hissed at her.

“No…food? But—”

“Gage doesn’t need a ninny right now.” Tolan brushed past her and went up stone steps to the master quarters. He slid a paper and wood door aside.

A hand grabbed him by the front of his robes and hoisted him off his feet. Grynau held Tolan in the air while the other gauntlet shifted into a long punch spike.

“No. It’s me! It’s me!” Tolan kicked at the air.

“Put him down. Now!” Gage shouted from a small desk. The Genevan suit lowered Tolan to a few inches off the ground, then released him. The suit marched forward stiffly and smacked into the wall. It stood there for a moment, then spun around and walked to the other side of the room and bumped into the wall again.

“Huh…that might be a problem,” Tolan said.

“Tolan?” Gage squinted at the spy. “Is that you?”

“Well, of course it is.” Tolan pressed both hands to his face and gave the flesh a jiggle, then popped his hands away to reveal his baseline countenance. “But there’s no time to compliment me on my brilliance. I need your clothes. Now.”

“You need to take some time,” Gage said. “I got your intelligence report about the Oculus and—”

“And Albion and the Cathay—hell, everyone that doesn’t want to be a Daegon slave needs you out of this rather well-apportioned jail cell and back on the Orion. Which is why I’m here and you’re leaving in a very nice box that I have waiting for you in the courtyard.” He jerked a thumb over a shoulder. “But you’re also not leaving because I’m staying and I’m going to be you. So the Cathay don’t know you’re gone and then Thorvald will get you off world. Yes. Yes? Clothes.” He clapped his hands.

“What about everyone else?” Gage asked.

“What about everyone else?” Tolan repeated in Gage’s voice. He jiggled his throat and switched back to his usual voice. “They stay, but they’ll have weapons because Tiberian is on this planet—”

“I know. We’ve spoken,” Gage said.

“Then you’re aware that you’re on borrowed time as—”

In the distance, a warning siren began to wail. It was faint and had to sound through the walls of the residence, but it was there.

Grynau stopped its pacing.

“Seems my escape won’t be that easy,” Gage said.

“That’s the planetary defense alarm,” Tolan said. “Which doesn’t make sense. Price knows what I’m doing down here. She wouldn’t try and—she’s not that stupid, is she?”

“Try and what?” Gage asked.

“Attack the damn planet with the emperor on it. No, she’s not that…” Tolan put his hands on his hips. “I should know what’s going on out there. I’m supposed to know everything. This is a bit of a professional embarrassment.”

“Tiberian knows I’m here and he wants me dead,” Gage said. “I assume there’s more to your plan than just swapping places with me.”

“Yes. Guns! Lots and lots of guns. That purple bastard’s in for one hell of a surprise when he comes in here and finds me and plenty of Albion officers armed and ready to…are the Daegon attacking? Doesn’t matter. I need your uniform. Sword. Also a DNA sample. Normally, I’d stick a finger in your mouth, but the big dummy over there will break me into pieces…Thorvald! Get up here!”

Tolan stretched his face and it snapped back, closely resembling Gage’s face.

“I didn’t think they’d give that back to you. I need it to stay here,” Tolan said. “Can’t have it boxed up like we did with Ja’war. No way I can get the energy signature past the scans.”

“Easier said than done…” Gage leaned to one side to look at Emma. “I can’t leave everyone behind and save myself.”

“Oh yes you can! I was on Albion. I’ve seen with my own eyes what the Daegon are doing. You’ve seen the data. This is our last ditch, Gage. Either you stop what’s about to come through the Oculus or there is no hope for Albion. For anyone. If I—a craven asshole of a spy—am willing to take your place and stay in this prison until that sonofabitch Tiberian comes back to kill you, then everyone here is willing to do the same so that you have a chance to save this war from turning from bleak to unwinnable. Hopeless. Finished.”

Tolan looked at Emma.

“You must leave, Commodore,” she said quietly. “Albion’s light burns and you must carry the torch for us all.”

“There. A spy, your steward and—” Tolan waited a beat as Thorvald entered the room, “—and the worst Genevan bodyguard I have ever heard of are telling the Albion regent what to do. Now get downstairs to the very nice box I have for you and toss me your coat and pants.”

“Sire,” Thorvald said, bowing to Gage. “I swore by my last dying breath to protect you. Please, we need to—”

“I’m going.” Gage unbuckled his sword belt and handed it over to Tolan. Tolan gave him a set of dockworker overalls from inside his robes.

“If you’re staying, then won’t the guards expect you to leave as well?” Gage shrugged off his uniform top.

“Smart man. The real Chung is in one of the crates and very unconscious. We’ll pull him out and then he’s about to suffer what looks like a heart attack because he was arguing with you over the price of all the food he just sold you.” Tolan stood up straight, then grew several inches to match Gage’s height. “He’ll be rushed to a hospital and the cocktail of drugs in his system will keep him unconscious for several days. Bob’s your uncle. Gage on the Orion.”

“As despicable as he is, he’s a good planner,” Thorvald said. He squared off against the suit and began speaking Genevan.

“Almost a straight compliment. I’m wearing him down,” Tolan said, untying his silk belt.

A rumble shook the floor.

“What was that?” Emma asked.

“Is Price firing on the planet?” Tolan slapped his face.

“That was no orbital strike.” Gage cocked an ear up and another rumble shook the guest house. “This building’s under attack.”

Thorvald and the suit snapped to the balcony, their movements eerily similar.

“Loussan! Arm everyone, now!” the Genevan shouted.

Loussan unsnapped the lock on a crate and tossed the lid open. He handed Cathay rifles and carbines off to Albion officers. Dieter opened another crate and pressed several magazines over to those passing by.

“Come on, Grynau, we can best protect him together,” Thorvald said.

The suit ignored him and vaulted over the railing, splintering the wood beneath its handhold. It landed with a loud clang of hollow metal and strode into the middle of the courtyard. Loussan tossed a carbine to the suit. The weapon bounced off its shoulder and clattered against the cobblestones. The suit’s arm shot out to catch it seconds too late, then flopped back to its side.

“Are we still paying for that?” Tolan asked.

“The AI is fragmenting. A fail-safe to keep our technology from being copied or co-opted,” Thorvald said. “If it would re-bond with me, my neurosystem would correct the errors. But it won’t because…”

Thorvald gave Gage a sad look.

“Because I am a fool,” Thorvald said. “A damn fool.”

“You’re a damn fool who can still use a gun.” Gage slapped him on the shoulder. “Come on. We’re going to give whoever’s out there a welcome they’ll never forget.”

Chapter 16

“Freak Show?” Captain Hopkins asked quietly over the deadhead’s comms.

“Sir?” Wyman glanced over his screens. “Nothing significant to report. Next data dump in eighteen minutes.”

“I see you’re on top of things. Well done. I wanted to ask you a few questions unrelated to the mission,” Hopkins said.

Wyman glanced at Ivor’s cockpit. She was asleep, head lolled to one side.

“At your service,” Wyman said.

“Did the Orion engage with any Kong ships when you entered their space?” Hopkins asked.

“Negative, sir. Commodore Gage diffused the situation before it could come to that. Then the bastards sent Marines to seize our bridge and they took him hostage…I don’t know what this galaxy’s coming to,” Wyman said.

“Nothing is easy for anyone these days. When the Daegon caught up to us.  Admiral Nix capitulated to them far too quickly for my taste. I wanted to fight. Retreat and link up with other free forces, not become the enemy’s pet warriors,” the colonel said. “You’d think surrendering to the Daegon would have made them treat us better, but all the officers got the yoke. My second-in-command was murdered right in front of me for protesting a Daegon kicking a crewman to death.”

“I’m…sorry, sir,” Wyman said.

“Then when we ambushed the Kongs, I had to pass on the order to destroy the escape pods to my squadrons. I assume that the Daegon force all their vassals to commit war crimes, makes the idea of returning to the fold all that more difficult once you have so much innocent blood on your hands.

“But Gage is made of sterner stuff. Nix redeemed herself at the end, but it doesn’t change what’s been done. Albion’s light burns. Well done saving Prince Aidan, though everything you did sounds most unorthodox,” Hopkins said.

“Gage isn’t Sanquay bred. He’s a bit more flexible than—”

“Than me? I went to Sanquay.”

“No, sir, I didn’t mean that. I mean—I meant—”

Hopkins laughed.

“Don’t worry about it, Freak. The King’s Own earned its reputation by having very high and very clear standards. That breeds a certain kind of rigidity. We’re going to need more unorthodox thinking if we’re going to…slip breach!”

A rattle sounded in Wyman’s ears and he almost powered his fighter up.

“Huh? It’s not time to…wha’?” Ivor mumbled as she woke up.

“Massive slip breach coming in at outer transition point Tertius,” Hopkins said. “Which connects to an unpopulated system.”

“Daegon?” Harpy asked.

“Can’t tell yet. Squat and hold,” the colonel said.

There was a flash in the distance and a dark shape occluded stars. The passive sensor cluster between the four fighters pulled in data and a pair of capital ships emerged from the noise of their slip stream arrival.

“Look at the size of that thing,” Ivor said.

“Cut the chatter,” Harpy snapped. “It’s…it’s the Bismark? What the hell are the Reich doing here?”

“Don’t know. Don’t care,” Hopkins said. “Sent a data package with a request for instructions from the Orion.”

More sensor hits filled Wyman’s HUD. A Cathay picket force was moving to intercept the new arrivals. Wyman gripped the emergency release on his grav anchors, his heartrate ticking up as his body shifted into combat mode.

“Torps!” Ivor cried out. “Kongs have a salvo in the void…targeting the Bismark. Power readings from that ship are spiking. How many spine cannons does that thing have?”

“Sir? Orders?” Wyman asked.

“You will get your orders as soon as the colonel is goddamn ready to give them to you.” Harpy’s retort was so sharp that Wyman flinched.

“The Castle Itter is there too,” Ivor said. “They fought beside us at New Madras. The captain’s a friend of ours.”

“We don’t need your speculation. Clear the net!” Harpy shouted.

“Their sensors are slip blind.” Wyman sifted through the node’s data. “They don’t know they’re under attack yet.”

“Break grav and cycle power,” Hopkins said. “Freak, do you believe the Reich is here to help?”

“They died beside us on New Madras,” Wyman said.

“This is now an interdiction operation. Bravo element target starboard, engage only unmanned targets. Execute!”

Wyman accelerated forward, fast enough that the gravitic compensators couldn’t compensate and he felt the press against his body. He activated his full sensor suite and painted the nearest Cathay missile.

“Freak, what the hell are we doing?” Ivor asked on their wingman channel.

“Ughh…saving Reich lives and pissing off the Kongs in the process. Kongs that have Gage in a jail cell and a squadron of picket ships about to launch their second salvo. It’s fine. Fine! Feels like the right thing to do, doesn’t it?”

“Normally, I’d say you’re just showboating to impress the brass…but at least we’re done sitting around getting henpecked by Harpy. Let’s hope we don’t kick off another Reach War in the process. You work in from the flank, I’ll take the fifth and work out,” Ivor said.

“Copy, good hunting,” Wyman said.

“Sure hope the Reich don’t try and blitz the incoming and take us out in the process. Kongs will be soooo upset,” Ivor said. “At maximum envelope. Engaging!”

“I swear you can find the darkest lining in any—engaging!”

Wyman flipped a trigger guard off his missile launcher. His eyes locked on to targets and his visor turned it into a firing solution. All five missiles in the internal launch bays dropped out and sped away, engines glittering like jewels.

A swarm of Albion missiles pounced on the much larger Cathay torpedoes.

Wyman’s jaw dropped open as four of his missiles corkscrewed away from their targets and exploded. One hit home and the torpedo erupted into fragments. None of Ivor’s missiles connected.

“What the hell?” Ivor asked.

“Kongs must be using better countermeasures,” Hopkins said. “Close and switch to guns. They can’t jam those.”

“Have the Kongs been sandbagging us?” Ivor asked. “Now they’re using the good stuff?”

“They really do hate the Reich. Less talk, more shooting.” Wyman changed a selector switch on his guns and fired. The targeting computer calculated the ballistics and loosed a swarm of bullets that threw out a volume of shells for the torpedo to run through. At such high relative velocities, it wouldn’t take much to destroy or disable the Cathay torpedoes.

Wyman fired off two more bursts.

The incoming torpedo rolled hard to one side, taking more gravities of acceleration than any human could and evaded the first attack. The second clipped the hull and the torpedo slowed as its engines malfunctioned.

Wyman let off a kill shot and shifted to the next target. He let off another trio of bursts and the torpedo evaded the first, but succumbed to the next two. The warhead exploded and a blinding flash caused his visor and canopy to darken.

He switched to instruments, but they were blinking with error messages.

“What the hell?”

“Freak! The Kongs are using dazzlers,” Ivor shouted.

“No kidding.” He thought for a moment, then swung his fighter around toward the Reich ships. “They should’ve overshot us. Engage from aft. The engine heat should mask our—”

“I’m already doing that!”

Wyman’s sensors reset and he spotted the last two torpedoes. He kicked his fighter forward, closing fast on the burning engines. He overcharged the magnetic acceleration vanes in his cannon and fired.

The recoil rattled him in his restraints. A torpedo fragmented, the bits and pieces still on course for the Reich, but with the warhead disabled, it would barely scratch the paint of the dreadnought.

He targeted the final Cathay attacker and pulled the trigger.

Nothing.

Wyman fought down panic as his cannon went off-line.

The missile ran away from him as it entered its final attack vector straight at the Bismark’s bridge.

“No no no!”

Hopkins’ Typhoon slashed over the torpedo and its engines spewed plasma. The torpedo angled down, its engines sputtered out, and it continued on a long, steady velocity into the void.

“That was the last of them,” Hopkins said. “Form up on my wing and return to the Orion.”

Wyman swallowed hard as the point defense turrets on the Bismark slewed from side to side, then locked on to him. He executed an Immelmann turn. It felt like a heat ray was against his neck as the Albion pilots flew away.

“Interdiction element,” Count von Trapp said over an open channel. “Who does the Bismark have to thank for the assistance?”

“Colonel Hopkins. Crusader.”

“Lieutenant Colonel Yvez. Harpy.”

“Lieutenant Ivor. Rosy.”

“Lieutenant Wyman. Freak. Show. Freak Show.”

Wyman slapped a hand against his visor.

“Call sign Crusader…the Crusader?” von Trapp asked.

“That’s a good copy, Bismark.” The colonel spoke levelly and evenly. A lightbulb went off in Wyman’s head. Hopkins had scored all fifty of his confirmed kills against the Reich during the last year of the Reach War.

“I will include you in my dispatches back to the Kaiserina. There is a prize of title and land for any Reich pilot that defeats you. She may reduce the reward. Bismark thanks you. Von Trapp out.”

“I know that bastard,” Hopkins said on their internal net. “If I knew he was on the bridge…I still would’ve done the same thing. Just would’ve let him sweat a bit more.”

“Sir, were we even authorized to do that?” Ivor asked. “The Kongs aren’t shooting anymore…”

“Captain Price ordered us to do the interdiction within seconds of my authorization. Doesn’t matter who had the bright idea. Matters that it was done successfully. I’m tapped into some Kong admiral apologizing for the attack. Seems the picket force commander was a bit of a hothead. Now he’s switched to threats if we come any closer to Lantau…well done, team.”

“Thank you, sir…means a lot,” Wyman said.

Ivor flew closer to his wingtip. She raised her visor and kissed the back of her hand.

Wyman waved her off, a smile on his face.

Chapter 17

Tiberian paced like a caged predator outside the residence. Dead Cathay guards had been tossed into a corner, their blood leaking from knife and bullet wounds over each other and pooling on the ground.

Specters in Cathay Internal Security uniforms and light armor formed a perimeter inside the outer wall and were inside the tunnel setting explosives around the inner vault door.

Tiberian rubbed bloody fingers together. The box he’d brought from Albion was against the open outer vault door. Useless.

“This is taking too long,” Tiberian said to Wei. The Specter had an opaque patch over one eye that attached to a large earpiece. “Let me do this my way and it will be over!”

“The entire system is on high alert. Every single warning alarm in this city is being scrutinized by the real Internal Security, and if we’re too obvious about what we’re doing, we’ll have to fight our way out of here. These ferals don’t do much right, but after centuries of coups, they’ve managed a decent job at locking down around their emperor,” Wei said. “I’m burning out warning systems as fast as I can. Another amateur explosion like the one that took off the outer door and we’ll be noticed.”

“What is your primus doing? He’d make this easier for us if he wants me to kill the emperor afterwards.” Tiberian touched the box for a moment, then pulled his hand away.

“Our primus does as he needs,” Qui snapped. “Now let us do our jobs and then we’ll let you off the leash.”

Tiberian advanced on the Specter.

“Ah ah ah,” Qui said from behind Tiberian. He heard a pulsar’s whine as she switched her pistol from SAFE to FIRE.

“Hurry. Up,” Tiberian said, turning toward her slowly.

He smiled at him and tilted his head back, a pistol leveled at Tiberian’s heart. A pair of Specters jogged past him and one slapped him on the back.

“Now we’re ready.” He raised the pistol up next to her head and moved to put her back against the inner building.

“Assault team, stack on me,” Wei said, going to the other side. A handful of Specters formed a line just behind her.

“Don’t touch Gage,” Tiberian said. “He’s mine and mine alone.”

Tiberian drew a pistol and the Cathay bayonet and shifted his weight to the front of his feet, crouching slightly.

The shaped charges on the inner door exploded with a crack and the blast wave slapped Tiberian with a single gust of air. There was a thunk as the vault door fell from its hinges to the ground.

Wei and his team charged into the tunnel without a word, moving lightning fast and bursting out of the smoke and dying flames at the doorway and into the residence.

Pulsars within opened fire. Rounds perforated Wei and punched into the Specter behind him. Bullets tore through the lead team and ricocheted down the hallway, snapping past Tiberian’s head.

Tiberian spun around and slid next to the box. Qui’s face was a mask of shock. The rest of the Specters outside were caught flat-footed as the first team was quickly massacred.

“Now we do it my way.” Tiberian pressed his palm to a biometric reader on the box and tiny needles pricked his skin. There was a hiss as freezing nitrogen gas vented out of the seams. The top popped open and Tiberian smiled.

****

“Reload! Get cover in place!” Thorvald threw a table onto a makeshift barricade behind which several Albion officers had formed a firing line. Grynau stood impassively in the middle of the courtyard. Dead Specters were piled up in the doorway.

Seaver gripped a carbine so tightly that Thorvald worried the young man would break it. He ground his jaw so hard that the Genevan heard his teeth clicking.

“Calm is better than fury in battle,” Thorvald said, putting a hand on Seaver’s shoulder. “Conserve ammo and—”

“Kill them! I have to kill them kill them kill them. If I don’t, then my father…those weren’t Kongs. They were Daegon. I’m not supposed to kill them or my father—”

Thorvald tried to take the weapon from Seaver, but he pulled away with a snarl.

“You’re not doing anyone any good if—”

“Prepare to repel—no.” McGowan shook his head. “We’re not aboard ship. I think I see something coming through the tunnel!” He aimed a rifle over the barricade.

A rumble echoed through the tunnel, its pitch modulating higher and higher until Thorvald had to press his hands to his ears to stop the pain.

“No! No no—” Seaver fell back from the barricade, abandoning his weapon.

Heavy footsteps boomed through the tunnel and a dark shape emerged in the smoke.

“Fire!” McGowan shouted.

Pulsers snapped and sparks sprang off the form as it came out of the tunnel. A massive humanoid shape with thick limbs and rounded shoulders burst out, a boot splattering a Specter’s corpse as it charged toward Grynau. The helmet was a single hemisphere, a pair of burning eye slits the only marks on the smooth dome.

The golem lowered a shoulder and plowed into Grynau, knocking the suit aside and sending it sliding across the courtyard and into a wooden fence, shattering it. The battle construct didn’t break stride as it slammed into the barricade.

Albion officers were crushed to death instantly. Pulsar shots from McGowan and others careened off the suit, useless. The golem slapped a meaty mechanical hand onto the ankle of a logistics officer and swung her face-first into a wooden column.

Blood and bits of bone spattered across Thorvald’s face. He ducked under a slow swipe from the golem, using what little time he had to assess the thing for any weakness. The massive pauldrons on the shoulders shifted as it brought both hands up to smash Thorvald into paste.

He jumped back, feeling the rush as the giant fists barely missed him. The golem shifted forward, off balance. Thorvald looked straight into its eye slits, jammed the muzzle of his carbine into one, and pulled the trigger.

The golem’s head dome spun on neck servos and the bullets bounced off the angled metal. A wild strike from the golem grazed Thorvald’s ribs and knocked him into a handrail. Thorvald flipped feet over head and landed hard on the other side.

Fighting to breathe, Thorvald crawled away from the golem. The monstrous construct set a foot atop an injured officer and crushed him to death with a quick press of its foot. The dome spun toward Thorvald.

“Gage! Get Gage out of here!” Thorvald shouted as he picked up a fallen pistol. He propped himself up against a column and aimed for the thing’s eyes again.

The golem stalked toward him.

Grynau stepped between the two, the suit’s posture almost calm. It held up a hand to the golem. The Genevan AI was a head shorter than the other, the many scales pressed flat against the frame to give it a smooth appearance.

“What are you doing? Fight it! Battaglia!”

The golem swiped at the suit’s hand. Grynau’s forearm spun at the elbow, dodging the thing’s big hand and grabbing it by the wrist. Grynau stepped toward the golem and thrust its hips under the Daegon weapon’s waist, slamming it dome-first into the cobblestones.

The golem wrapped an arm around Grynau’s leg and swept the suit off balance. The AI fell onto the golem and punched it hard in the dome, a hollow ring echoing off the walls.

Thorvald pulled himself up, every breath painful from broken ribs. He waved a hand at Loussan and McGowan in the doorway to the master quarters.

“Fall…fall in around Gage! Get him out of here while that thing’s—”

There was a sharp retort of a pulsar firing and hammer blows struck him in the outer thigh, flank, and the inside of his arm. Thorvald collapsed forward, blood spattering the ground. He tried to drag himself forward with one arm, but his grip slipped over his own blood.

“Get him…get him out of here,” Thorvald said and kept crawling.

****

Gage ducked behind a dresser as bullets tore through the walls. Tolan had ditched the robes and was in a simple linen tunic and pants that stopped at his knees. Gage’s sword belt was against the wall behind him. Seaver was huddled in a corner, hands over his head. Loussan and the rest of Tolan’s crew were in the room next to the master bedroom along with several more Albion officers.

“What the hell is that thing?” Gage asked.

“A golem,” Tolan said. “Saw them at a distance. Never got too close because obviously.” The spy looked at the smallish pistol in one hand and rolled his eyes. “Kid might know how to fight it.”

“Incoming!” came from another room and pulsar shots rang out.

Gage peeked around the side of the dresser and through a hole punched out of the wall by a bullet. More Specters had entered the residence from the tunnel and two more lay strewn out on the ground, shot by the defenders.

The crash and bangs of the golem and Grynau’s fight rang across the courtyard.

Bullets shot up through the floor, striking an officer who jerked once then rolled over to never move again.

Gage unloaded his pistol magazine through the floor at his best guess where the attack had come from and slid next to Seaver.

“Hey. Hey!” Gage slapped the young man upside the head. Seaver looked up, startled. He focused on Gage’s rank pips then his face.

“S-sir? What am I doing here?” Seaver asked.

“That thing down there,” Gage said, covering Seaver with his own body as more bullets destroyed vases and china plates arrayed around the room. “You’ve fought it before, right?”

Seaver nodded.

“How do you kill it?”

“Need…you need anti-tank weapons. Grenades maybe.” Seaver came out of his corner, looking around like he was seeing the place for the first time.

“Tolan! Did you bring anything with more punch than pulsar?” Gage shouted over more gunfire.

“Sure! But it’s all in the crate downstairs by the tunnel.” Tolan wagged the barrel of his pistol in the general direction. “It’s still locked up.”

“Loussan!” Gage shouted at the pirate. “Get down there and get it open. We’re not doing any good up here.”

“I am tired—” a bullet shattered a bedpost and sent wooden shards across the pirate’s face, “—tired of almost dying because of you!”

“If we don’t find a way to stop that thing, we’ll all die!” Gage shouted back then shook Seaver by the arm. “Son, go with him. You’re our best hope right now.”

“Albion…” Seaver looked far away.

“Albion’s light burns, now go!” Gage hauled Seaver up and pushed him at Loussan. The Commodore ducked low and ran to a wide column that had taken several hits from the Specters. He swiped up his sword by the hilt and took cover behind the pillar. He did a quick combat peek high on one side, then spun around and fired off three quick shots at a Specter hiding behind one of the crates. The Daegon operative crumbled to the ground.

The golem slammed its arms onto Grynau’s shoulders and the two braced against each other. The golem pushed forward, like it was driving a plow, and the two crashed into the kitchen with a clatter of pots and pans.

Gage ran to the next column, farther away from the defenders.

“Come out!” Tiberian’s voice echoed through the complex. “Come out and accept a quick death, Gage.”

Gage opened his mouth and drew in a deep breath to respond.

“Why don’t you suck a fart out of my ass?!”

Gage heard his voice, but he wasn’t the one who said it. He got down to his hands and knees and peered through the gaps in the railing on the second floor. The Specters were inching toward the master quarters and they were using the weapon crates as cover.

Tiberian emerged from the tunnel, a look of satisfaction on his face.

Gage sidestepped and thrust his pistol at Tiberian. The Daegon reacted with shockingly fast reflexes and snapped off two shots at Gage before the Commodore could even pull the trigger. One bullet shattered against the pillar and Gage’s ear and neck went hot with pain.

Gage stumbled back.

A device a bit larger than an egg sailed up from below and landed a few feet from Gage. Gage kicked out and knocked it away. It tumbled just over the edge and exploded into a gout of flame that licked the tile roof overhead.

Gage choked on smoke and went out the back of the room to another balcony. The holo walls malfunctioned, landscapes and city vistas fizzling in and out. Smoke grew thicker as the fire spread on the lower level.

He heard a sudden storm of pulsar fire and moved to the outer balcony, looking up where black smoke pooled against the ceiling of his enclosure. Overhead fans spun to life, sucking out much of the smoke.

Gage grabbed a chair and set it against a column, then climbed onto the roof. He crawled back toward the master quarters, hoping that Tiberian and whoever else was searching for him would be distracted just long enough to give Loussan and Seaver more time.

The golem was bad enough. Tiberian and the golem…that wasn’t a fight he could win.

He felt smeared blood against his neck, but it didn’t seem that bad. He pulled himself along the clay tiles.

A fist punched through the roof just ahead of him. Gage rolled up to the flat top of the ridge and stopped. Tiberian’s arm slunk back down.

“You can’t run from me!” the Daegon called out.

****

Tolan hurried down a set of stairs to the bottom floor and almost ran straight into a pair of Specters. He shot one in the chest and jumped back up several steps as the other fired wildly. Bullets shattered the stairs and almost amputated his toes.

There was a heavy thump followed by grunts and cursing.

Seaver had jumped off the upper floor and landed on one of the Specters. He stomped a heel onto the Daegon’s sternum, knocking an ugly cry out and cracking the breastbone. The Specter still had fight in him and thrust his pistol up at Seaver’s face. Seaver reared back as the Specter fired, the muzzle flash searing a swath of flesh under one eye. Seaver seized the foe by the wrist and yanked hard. The Daegon’s arm popped out of the socket and the pistol fell out of his hand.

Seaver fumbled with the weapon and fell atop the man. He pressed the barrel against the side of his head and blew his brains out across the cobblestones. Seaver looked to his left and spied the feet and ankles of another Specter on the other side of a crate floating on anti-grav cushions.

He aimed carefully and put two rounds into Qui’s foot. She went down with an angry cry, her head landing level with Seaver’s. He shot at her again, but the pistol clicked empty. The Specter snarled at him and brought her own weapon to bear.

“Oh no you don’t!” Loussan planted a foot near her and punted Qui in the face. Her head snapped back with a loud pop as her spine shattered just below her skull.

“Cover me!” The pirate ran his fingers over the biometric readers on the crate and tossed the lid open. He picked up dark plastic canisters and shook them in despair.

“Hurry up and get a grenade out!” Tolan yelled.

“All the writing is in fucking Kong!” Loussan shook a pair of canisters up at the spy.

“It doesn’t matter!” Tolan ducked as the golem and Grynau burst out of a wall, both covered in dents and pulverized rice. “Pull pin and throw!”

Loussan tossed the canisters up at Tolan. One rolled over to Emma, who hadn’t bothered to get a weapon in all the confusion. Loussan drew out more and dropped one in front of Seaver. He twisted the top off the last grenade package, shook out the spherical device, then shut the lid to the crate.

The golem had Grynau by the neck and was punching the Genevan suit in the stomach over and over again. Grynau’s legs flopped about with each strike.

“Ready?” Loussan pulled the pin on his grenade. “Throw!”

His grenade arced through the air, the spoon flew off, and the explosive came down at the golem.

The golem snatched the grenade out of the air and pressed it to Grynau’s chest. The explosion sent the Genevan suit flying back. It crashed against the ground and slid up several stairs, coming to a stop near Thorvald, who was bleeding to death on the lower floor.

The golem looked at its ruined hand. The wrist was twisted metal, exposing the hollow forearm. Seaver’s grenade blew into white smoke and Tolan’s didn’t function at all as it rolled to the construct’s feet.

“Ah…shit,” Tolan said. “We’re all out, aren’t we?”

“Not yet.” Emma pointed a hand out to guide her throw then threw the last grenade at the Daegon war machine. The golem didn’t bother to look up as it hit square between the eyes. The device blasted blue goo all over its dome and upper torso. The golem tried to wipe it way, but its remaining hand slipped right off.

Tolan’s lower lip thrust out, and he pointed at Emma. “Did you know that was a riot control agent?” he asked.

“I have no idea what I’m doing!” the steward snapped back.

The last two Specters fired on them and Tolan tackled Emma to the ground.

“You just keep on doing that,” he said and gave her head a pat.

The golem began shrieking as it fought to remove the super-slick goo from its optics.

****

Thorvald’s vision swam in and out of focus. Grynau was next to him, a smoking crater in its chest. The light within the T-shaped visor flickered on and off.

“Gry…Grynau, I know you can hear me.” Thorvald gripped it by the arm with a blood-soaked hand. “Gage…he needs me. Us. I am dying…please…please, let my last breath be for him.”

Grynau’s helm fell to one side and Thorvald saw his reflection in the visor.

Armor plates shifted off Grynau’s arm and flowed up the Genevan’s hand.

****

Gage unsheathed his sword as Tiberian climbed onto the roof. Low flames sprang up from holes in the roof.

Tiberian drew his bayonet and spun it in his grip. A slow smile spread across his face as he joined Gage on the flattened apex of the roof.

“Trying to run away? There’s no escape from me.” Tiberian stood up straight and walked toward Gage with contempt.

Gage reached back with the sword belt and chucked it at Tiberian’s face. The Daegon knocked it aside, but he lost sight of Gage for a split second. Gage lunged forward and stabbed the tip of his sword into the meat of Tiberian’s thigh just over his knee. Gage swept the blade up and caught Tiberian’s forearm, then he snapped his sword back and scored another cut on the Daegon.

Blood dripped down Tiberian’s hand. He shook drops away.

“At least you bastards still bleed red,” Gage said.

Tiberian swiped his knife at Gage and rushed at him, trying to close the gap between the two. Gage pulled his sword close to his chest and sidestepped onto the smoking tile. He stabbed out as Tiberian passed and his sword scored another hit.

Tiberian snapped his knife back and sliced Gage across the chin. The blade cut down to the bone and left a flap of skin hanging from his face. Gage fought through the pain and thrust his sword out again, catching Tiberian by surprise.

The blade pierced through the Daegon’s hand. Tiberian wedged the flat of the sword against the bones in his hand and wrenched it aside, leaving Gage open and exposed.

Gage let go of the hilt and flung himself back. Tiberian’s knife slashed across his uniform, splitting fabric and leaving a bloody line across his chest. Gage fell onto a burning gash in the roof and flames danced over his side and arm.

Tiberian pulled the sword out of his hand and dropped it on the roof. He stomped down where the blade met the hilt and broke it in two. Gage crawled off the burning section of the roof and away from Tiberian, one hand pressed to his chest. Blood dribbled from his chin onto the tiles.

“I won’t let you die on your feet,” Tiberian said, spinning his knife into a reverse grip. “But I will look in your eyes as I cut out your heart!”

He grabbed Gage by the shoulder and pushed him flat against the roof.

Gage swung up the pistol he’d had hidden in his belt and shot at Tiberian. The bullet nicked the Daegon’s collarbone. Tiberian slapped the pistol out of Gage’s hand, breaking several bones in the process.

Tiberian roared and raised the knife high. He plunged it toward Gage, but it never struck home.

Thorvald, clad in his damaged suit, held Tiberian by the wrist. The Daegon’s face twisted in anger and surprise. He bashed an elbow into Thorvald’s midsection, but the armor plates didn’t budge.

On Thorvald’s other hand, plates straightened to a punch dagger.

Tiberian pulled with all his might against the weak point of the Genevan’s hold on him, right where the thumb met fingertips, and freed himself. He ducked under Thorvald’s strike and kicked him in the knee. Thorvald stumbled forward, but stopped himself between the Daegon and Gage.

Tiberian backed toward the burning part of the roof and snapped his head back and forth, looking for an escape. He put two fingers in his mouth and whistled shrilly. The roof bucked up, then collapsed between the two parties. Thorvald and Gage slid toward the golem standing in the flames like a demon of hell.

Thorvald pulled Gage against him and rolled hard to one side, the plates shifting into a cocoon around Gage as they struck the ground. Gage had the wind knocked out of him, but nothing worse than that.

Thorvald’s armor reformed around him as he ran a palm over Gage, scanning him. A tiny line came out of the armor’s wrist and pinched Gage’s neck.

The golem stomped out of the burning building. The goo on its dome had burnt away, leaving a malevolent glow around the eyes.

“All right, ready to go again?” Thorvald crouched, his front foot grinding into the cobblestones. The golem lurched forward, both arms out. Thorvald sprang up and slammed a knee into the construct’s dome, leaving a deep dent in it. He slapped one hand under the edge of the thing’s head and swung onto its back.

The golem beat at Thorvald, but the Genevan held on like a bull rider. Thorvald wedged a punch blade under the back of the dome and used it as a lever to pop the dome off the golem’s shoulders. The head went flipping up into the air, ringing like a gong when it landed.

The headless golem wavered on its feet for a moment, then fell forward. Its outer shell broke apart, revealing a hollow interior.

For just a moment, Gage thought he heard a voice wailing.

For a moment, Thorvald’s attention was on the burning building, then he went to Gage. “How badly are you hurt?” he asked.

“The others…” Gage tried to speak, but his lips were fat with whatever numbing agent Thorvald had hit him with. “Help them…”

“Tiberian’s gone,” Thorvald said. “The rest of the attackers are dead. We need to get you out of here before this place burns to the ground.”

Gage accepted Thorvald’s help to his feet. There was the smell of burnt fabric and hair about him.

“How do I look?” Gage asked.

“Awful, but none of your injuries scan as serious.” Thorvald guided Gage to the open tunnel where surviving Albion officers and Tolan and his team waited for him.

“Good…I have an idea,” Gage said and limped toward the door.

****

The Albion clustered around the entrance through the outer wall of the guest residence as flames and smoke rose from the burning building. Cathay fire engines and security teams rolled up. Several Albion dead were laid against the wall, a pair of dead Specters were farther away. Tolan rummaged through their pockets.

Thorvald shifted from side to side in his suit. The charred plates on his chest fluttered, dropping dark flakes down his front.

“You alright?” Gage asked him. His lower face was swollen around the cut on his chin and he pressed a bloody bandage against his chest.

“My suit has stabilized my wounds…but I’m hurting,” Thorvald said. “I will not die. I will not leave your side again. If you’ll keep me.”

“Have you kept certain things discreet?” Gage asked. Thorvald had revealed Gage’s true parentage to him before he was captured by the Cathay, a violation of the suit’s programming, which caused the schism between the AI and Thorvald.

“Yes, Regent Gage…I talked too much in the past. I’m not here to make things right. I’m here to protect you and Prince Aidan. Nothing more. Nothing less,” Thorvald said.

“Good. Keep it that way. Don’t suppose you have another dose of what you gave me earlier? My chin aches and I need it to speak.” Gage winced.

“Your liver cannot process another dose of my suit’s painkillers without damage. May I suggest the ancient remedy of ibuprofen and water?” Thorvald asked.

“Huh? Do maow ye?” A shirtless Chung—the actual Chung—sat bolt upright from a crate. Tolan shouted at him in Cathay and the merchant fell out of the crate and onto the sidewalk. He wore nothing but a tight loincloth and black socks.

Tolan kept shouting at him and beat the confused man about the head and shoulders until he ran off.

“What was that?” Gage asked.

“Told him he’s got about twenty-four hours to skip town before the emperor’s personal security service tracks down all details of this disaster.” Tolan stretched his chest out and leaned forward. His spine elongated a few inches and he stood up taller than he’d been a moment ago. “Sure hope he remembers to get his employees out of that cargo container before—aaaaand here we go.”

An Internal Security vehicle skidded to a stop, the headlights illuminating Gage, his face bloody and his clothes singed, next to Thorvald, whose suit gleamed in the night. A crude splint braced Gage’s broken fingers.

A Cathay officer got out of the front passenger seat. He kept one hand on a holstered pistol but didn’t draw it. He saw the dead Specters in uniforms matching his and he stayed next to the open car door.

“It seems the emperor’s hospitality is in question.” Gage tilted his head toward the fire. “Take me to the emperor. Now.”

The officer touched an earpiece, then opened the rear door and motioned for Gage to get in.

Chapter 18

Gage walked with a slight limp into the League chambers. Smoke clung to his uniform and a swath of dried blood formed a long bib down the front of his tunic. Thorvald was on his left, the Genevan suit to his right.

The Cathay emperor sat on a platform raised slightly above the tiers of assembled ambassadors. Shin and Zheng huddled close to the emperor, both whispering to him constantly.

There were gasps from the crowd as Gage walked up to a lectern. Tiny camera drones swooped around him, broadcasting close-ups of his injuries and scorched clothes. Thorvald and the suit stopped a few feet behind him.

“Regent Gage.” The emperor’s voice was reedy with uncertainty. “I must apologize to you for the conduct of my soldiers. Some proved to be…overzealous when the Reich ships appeared in orbit.”

“No apology is necessary,” Gage said. “It wasn’t your men that attacked me while I was under your protection. It wasn’t your men who murdered Albion officers while I was your guest.”

Gage paused as the ambassadors grew restless. Most cultures across settled space held the duties of a host to be the hallmark of a respectable culture.

“It was the Daegon,” Gage said. “They were here on Lantau…and they are still here.”

The ambassadors shifted nervously in their seats.

“Preposterous,” Zheng said, shuffling forward. “Our security against foreign infiltration is absolute. Your attackers were known associates of a disgraced warlord that the emperor—in his wisdom—exiled from Cathay years ago. It was the first stage of a coup, one we have already stamped out.”

“Our apologies for any inconvenience to you all,” Shin addressed the chamber. “We live in interesting times.”

“The Daegon are still here,” Gage said. “One is in this room with us. That is the only explanation for the attack on me and my men.”

“Your paranoia is excusable but not believable,” Zheng said, shaking his head.

Thorvald narrowed his eyes slightly and scratched the left side of his nose, matching the side that Shin had near the emperor.

“Emperor Yinghao, how well do you trust Shin? Perhaps your favorite eunuch is not who you think he is,” Gage said.

“Shin is not part of my sacred order!” Zheng shouted.

“Got it,” Thorvald said. His throat rippled and his voice adjusted to be eerily similar to Zheng’s.

“Shemalge,” Tolan—posing as Thorvald—spoke loudly. He said the word again, his voice modulating closer to Zheng’s.

Zheng froze, his eyes widening with shock.

“Shemal—”

“No!” Zheng cried out. “Don’t say that!”

“That’s our guy. Shell head?” Tolan pointed at Zheng.

Thorvald’s armor rippled and a tiny flying drone zipped out from beneath his plates. The crawfish swooped over Zheng’s shoulder and clamped to the back of his neck. Shocks sent Zheng to the ground, twitching and convulsing.

“This is outrageous!” the emperor shouted as guards rushed in.

“The word ‘shemalge’ activates Daegon infiltrators’ suicide switch,” Gage said. “We’ve encountered it before, but it must be said in their own voice. Scan Zheng. Do it right now and you’ll find an implant in his spine. They’re almost impossible to find, but once they’re burnt out by a crawfish, they’re obvious.”

Shin pushed a bodyguard aside and conferred with the emperor.

“Scratch a Cathay and find an opportunist,” Tolan said, shaking his head.

A rumble began among the ambassadors. Some went for the doors but found them locked.

“Albion has dealt with Daegon infiltration,” Gage’s voice boomed through the chamber. “We have ways to find them. Ways we are eager to share with you. Destroying their spies is vital to this war, but there’s something else. Something much more immediate and dangerous this League needs to know.”

Gage pressed a data wafer against a reader and a star chart of settled space appeared in an overhead holo. The Albion system flashed, then a straight line connected it to a shoal of stars bordering the Veil, a light-years-long nebula.

“This is where the Daegon came from,” Gage said. “The Veil has always been a moat separating the stars on the other side from our worlds. We believed slip space was impossible through there, but the Daegon found a way. There is a gate they call the Oculus at Eria Adani, and the Daegon are about to bring another armada through.”

Tolan’s logistics data populated the holo. Gage swiped across a screen and transmitted the entire contents of the wafer to the ambassadors.

“Albion is the Daegon’s logistics hub that supports their entire invasion,” Gage continued. “Their blitzkrieg through free space was done solely to buy time for the next force to arrive. While we are scrambling to slow them down, the death blow to all our worlds, all our people, is being prepared.”

A Cathay doctor examining Zheng fell back, his face pale. He pointed at the lenses of his glasses then to the disabled eunuch and began shouting. A guard raised a guandao polearm high for a decapitation strike.

“No!” Tolan called out. “What are you doing? We can’t interrogate him if he’s dead!”

The emperor raised a hand and the guard lowered his weapon.

“Amateurs.” Tolan shook his head.

“I am telling you all the truth,” Gage said. “There is not enough time for us to train soldiers or build enough ships to counter the coming assault. But there is time to stop the Daegon armada before it even arrives.”

“What are you proposing?” Deacon Meers of Columbia asked.

“I need the Cathay to give me slip codes from Lantau to the Xi’an System, a star near the Oculus system. I need it now and I need every warship that can come with me in the next twelve hours to join the Albion fleet for this attack.”

“If we give you those slip codes and the Daegon get ahold of them,” Shin said, twisting the end of his long white goatee, “they can use it to attack straight into the Cathay home stars.”

“Then you’d best hope I succeed,” Gage said. “The evidence is here. The Daegon threat is in this room. This is…” he glanced at Tolan, “this is our last-ditch hope to turn the tide of this war.”

The League settled down and went silent.

“Albion’s light burns. For generations, we have stood against the darkness, against injustice. Now this League must act. I am leaving to destroy the Oculus no matter what you decide, but we must stand united against the Daegon or our history will end in darkness.”

Ambassador Waje stood up and a floodlight illuminated her.

“The Biafura Republic calls for an immediate declaration of war on the Daegon.” She mashed a button and a green light appeared below a screen with her motion. Captain Birbal stood and cast his vote. Another green light.

More and more green lights appeared until there was only one vote left. The Cathay.

The emperor fidgeted in his seat, his mouth working as if he wanted to speak. Shin presented a small, ornate data slate to him. The emperor licked his lips then whispered to Shin.

A small speaker clicked on at Gage’s podium.

“You’ll share how to catch the infiltrators with us?” Shin asked.

Gage nodded.

The emperor touched the slate and the final vote was cast. The League was now at war with the Daegon. There was scattered applause from the ambassadors, but it was hushed down.

“Thank you, emperor Yinghao, for your wisdom,” Gage said. “Now…as to the rest of my needs. Slip codes. Ships.”

“Codes, yes. You will have every one of my warships that’s in system,” the emperor said. “But not from my body guard fleet. And only on one condition.” He leaned forward.

“Name it,” Gage said.

“You take the Reich with you.”

Chapter 19

Gage looked at himself in the mirror of his stateroom aboard the Orion. Dr. Seaver had treated his cuts and burns, but there’d be a permanent scar across his chin unless he had proper plastic surgery work done. The bones of his hand had been repaired, but the fingers were stiff.

His injuries still stung. A small jar of pain pills beneath the mirror were a temptation, but he needed a clear mind.

There was a knock on the door.

“Commodore Gage,” Emma said, sticking her head into his quarters. She had his folded, battle-damaged uniform in her arms, the two pieces of his sword lying on top. “What would…what would you like me to do with these?”

“I’d rather not have to wear them again. Burnt pants aren’t especially comfortable and I’m not much of an exhibitionist. Incinerator is fine,” Gage said.

“As you like, lord regent, but I thought…thought perhaps we’d keep it. For posterity’s sake, mind you.” She smiled slightly.

“Posterity? You think that mess is worth remembering? Good men and women died defending me.” Gage sat at a chair next to his bed. Emma hurried into the room, set the clothes on a dresser, and pulled Gage’s tall boots off.

“We won’t ever forget them, Commodore, but do you know how many times I’ve had to tell shipmates about what happened? Your duel with that monster atop the burning roof? It’s not…it’s not wrong to be proud of who we are or what we’ve done. I-I’m sorry, lord, I overstepped my place. Can I fix you a bite to eat? Proper tea and biscuits, perhaps?”

Gage flexed his toes inside a pair of grimy socks.

“I heard you saved the day when you blinded that golem,” Gage said, settling into the chair. “I don’t deserve brave stewards like you and Bertram.”

“I’m no Genevan, but my duties don’t end at laundry and vittles. I’ll have a talk with Mr. Bertram, make sure he knows we can’t let our heads get too big. Something to eat?” She folded her hands over her stomach and smiled at him.

“Anything but plain rice. Thank you, Emma,” Gage said.

“As you like, lord.” She mimed a shallow curtsy and took up the damaged clothes on her way out.

Gage ran his hands down his thighs and felt something in a pocket. He drew out Barlow’s rank epaulette that Tiberian had used to taunt him.

He frowned, unsure where it had come from. Had he picked it up when he left the residence? Maybe Tolan slipped it in his pocket when he wasn’t paying attention?

He thought of Barlow’s final moments. Murdered right before his eyes by the Daegon hunter.

“I almost had him, Michael. It’s not over…I’ll kill him out of principle and to avenge you.” He opened the top drawer of the nightstand and set the rank down gently next to a class picture of Gage and Barlow and many others at their academy.

The pitter-patter of little feet sounded down the passageway. Prince Aidan slid into the room, still wearing pajamas.

“Mr. Gage?” Aidan rubbed sleep from his eyes. “Where have you been? Why are you all purple and stuff on your face?” He ran into the room and jumped onto the bed.

Gage saw Salis’ shadow over the threshold, but she didn’t come in.

“Ah, my Prince…it’s been a rough couple days,” Gage said. “Had a little fight on Lantau, but that’s over with.”

“Did you win? You don’t look like you won,” Aidan said.

“Actually, I think we’re winning now, but only by just a little bit, and we’ve got a long way to go.” Gage rubbed the back of a hand against his chin, feeling all the bruising that Aidan was fixated on.

“Did they hurt you?” Tears welled up in Aidan’s eyes.

“Just a little, but not as bad as some. It’s OK, my Prince, it was a fight where you had to get hurt to win. That’s just how some things are.” Gage smiled and that hurt too.

Aidan hopped on his lap and hugged Gage around his neck.

“Don’t get hurt anymore. I missed you and I don’t want to lose you too.” The little boy squeezed so hard that Gage struggled to breathe as he hugged his half-brother back.

“I can’t promise you anything, but I’ll do my best. Cuts and bruises can always heal, so don’t worry about me,” Gage said.

“OK.” Aidan went back to the bed and started jumping on it, wrecking the fine hospital corners that Emma had made with the sheets. “Where are we going now? Home?”

“Not yet. We have to go someplace first…then home.” Gage huffed. Liberating Albion actually felt possible now that the League was fully invested in the war. “Prince Aidan. Isn’t it past your bedtime?”

“No,” Aidan said meekly.

“Yes!” Salis snapped from the passageway.

“OK, bye bye!” Aidan jumped off the bed and raced down the passageway. Salis, caught flat-footed, hurried after him.

“Maybe I can take a little nap for a few…” Gage reached for the bed.

A comms chime sounded overhead.

“Commodore? The Reich are hailing us,” Price said through a speaker. “This von Trapp has some concerns over the assault plans against the Oculus.”

Gage’s hand flopped to his side.

“We’re three days away. We don’t have a plan yet,” he said.

“Yes, sir. That’s his main concern. Isn’t there some old saying about how the Reich won’t visit the head without a plan?” she asked.

“I don’t think it was the Reich…I’ll be right there,” Gage said with a sigh.

****

A bucket of cold water hit Zheng and the eunuch jerked awake. His wrists and ankles were shackled to a chair on short chains, the cuffs and links far heavier than usual for a prisoner. Zheng blinked hard against a bright light shining on his face.

“Well, hello there,” Tolan said, angling the light away. “I have questions.” The spy waggled his eyebrows at Zheng. Dark figures stood against the wall behind him.

“Shemalge,” Zheng spat.

“Yeah, that won’t work. We burned out your kill switch. Also found that poisoned tooth, the venom injector under your left pinky nail, and the aorta spike. That’s a new one. How would you activate it? Just hit yourself in the chest hard enough? Seems a bit too risky, but then who’s ever going to assault the emperor’s top eunuch?” Tolan asked.

Zheng tightened his midsection and bore down.

“And the bio explosive that replaced a few inches of your lower intestine. Hell of a way to go!” Tolan smiled at him. “You entered the imperial family’s services almost twenty-five years ago. Quite the dedication to gaining excellent placement and access. I went the knock-off Faceless route to accomplish my mission, but even I don’t have the same level of dedication that you’ve shown.” Tolan glanced at Zheng’s crotch.

“Just kill me and get it over with. I have nothing more to say to you,” Zheng said.

“That’s unfortunate. You’re a smart guy. Why do you think you’re here with me and not in a Kong cell?” Tolan grabbed a chair and spun it around so the back faced Zheng. He sat on it and drummed his fingers against the top.

“Because that little shit was worried what I’d tell his own interrogators…who I trained.” Zheng smacked his gums. “So he passed me off to you while he purged anyone and everyone in my sphere of influence. Maybe he did learn something from me.”

“Actually, it was all Shin’s idea. Looks like he’s the emperor’s new flapper. We’ll see if he goes all the way.” Tolan mimed a pair of scissors.

“Decades of work…gone.” Zheng leaned forward, testing the strength of his chains. “I’m not the first of my kind that you’ve dealt with. Obviously.”

“Information is going to flow one way. Though I do have another tidbit for you…care to guess?” Tolan asked.

Zheng looked at him like Tolan was an idiot.

“‘And reveal something to you’ you aren’t going to say, but you’re thinking it. I can tell.” Tolan tapped the side of his head. “I’ll tell you anyway just so we know how we stand with each other: the Kongs want you back. At least, they want your body back so they know you’re dead. But they did give me the option to return you alive…” Tolan made a frightened face.

“I’ve heard all about Kong torture techniques. I bet you have too. How many innocent men and women did you send to the dungeons while you were undermining the entire Cathay empire?” Tolan asked.

“Enough.” Zheng looked up at the ceiling. “And I was so close…”

“But no cigar.” Tolan glanced at the eunuch’s crotch again. “I’m actually a lot nicer than that very angry emperor and so is Albion. Here’s the deal, and it’s the only one I’m going to give you. Ready? You tell me everything. Answer every single question I have and I won’t hand you over to the Kongs and their not-so-tender mercies. They ask, I’ll tell them you found a way to burn yourself out and we gave you a void burial. So sad. No one will complain.”

Zheng looked at him askance. “You’ll let me go?” he asked.

“Whoa whoa whoa, let’s not be silly. We can do the whole I strip you of every single comfort, chain you to a ceiling with your toes barely able to touch the floor, no sleep for weeks, and all that jazz until you start talking…or you start talking now and I’ll tell the Kongs you died. I have other things to do, Zheng. If you’re going to waste my time being coy, then I’m not going to bother with you.” Tolan rested an elbow on the chair then set his chin on his palm. “So what’s it going to be, sparky?”

“I had everything under control,” the Daegon said. “The empire was about to fall into civil war. The League destroyed. Our House’s writ fulfilled…but that fool Tiberian. One intelligence professional to another, do you know what’s happened to me?”

“House of cards.” Tolan puffed hard. “Must sting. Back to me not wanting to waste time. I could just chuck you over to the Kong ship Shashou Jian that’s in slip space with us. Didn’t you have the captain’s father executed a few months ago?”

“I talk, and then I’m trusting you not to hand me over anyway,” Zheng said.

“I’m a Faceless, you can trust me. Or you can accept the reality of your situation and choose the course of action that ends with you breaking large hunks of ice into small hunks of ice on an Albion prison moon in the future. No one will know who or what you really are there.” Tolan stood and stretched, then went for the door.

“Stop,” Zheng said. “Ask your questions.”

****

“The Daegon are human,” Tolan said to the Albion fleet’s senior officers. Most were in attendance via holo in the Orion’s ready room. Captain Birbal, von Trapp, and Yishiha were also there by holo proxy. “Just as human as we are with some gene editing along the way. Hence the green and purple skin.”

“This isn’t exactly breakthrough information,” Captain McGowan said.

“Brass tacks it is.” Tolan touched a button and a holo of Earth appeared. “The home world in the late twenty-first century. Before Mount Edziza erupted and covered most of the planet in glaciers. Not many records survived from just before the disaster, and that was no accident.”

The holo changed to a void shipyard over Saturn. An empty construction dock floated over the rings, derelict.

“The Anomaly, as historians called it. It took centuries before human civilization regained the ability to travel between planets and no one could explain the Anomaly when it was sighted just before it fell into Saturn. Best guess—at the time—was that it was an abandoned project of some megacorp before the eruption. Turns out that was mostly correct. Zheng says that Earth’s ruling elite knew Edziza was going to blow and they weren’t interested in weathering the storm with the rest of humanity.”

“What kind of ‘elite’?” von Trapp asked. “And what kind of ship did they build?”

“Zheng claims that there has always been a ruling cabal on Earth—at least until they left—be they established royal families, business oligarchs, secret societies that controlled what the masses saw in the news, what they learned in school, what drugs they had put into their bodies, wittingly or unwittingly. While this elite was in control, humanity was stifled. No growth without the elite’s consent. No new tech innovation that they couldn’t profit from or keep under their thumb. This elite eventually organized themselves into Houses to better divide the spoils of controlled or slave labor,” Tolan said.

“He’s peddling you old conspiracy theories,” Yishiha said. “Did he tell you to put a tinfoil hat on to block his mind-control rays too?”

“Zheng—he’s green now, in case you want to go see him au naturel—his story is consistent with all the physical evidence we’ve recovered.” Tolan put a broken piece of a gauntlet on the table. “We got this off a Daegon boarder. A Martian confirmed that it’s an iteration of ancient Earth tech. I didn’t mention to Zheng that I had this, but he told me about the corporation and how it was part of the Houses.

“Back to our history lesson. These elite weren’t going to stay in the solar system and fight with Mars for living space. There were too many of them. So with a few years of foresight and unlimited resources, they built themselves an ark…one with an early prototype of the slip drive engine.”

“Slip drives weren’t invented until almost two centuries after Edziza,” von Trapp said. “This is hard to believe.”

“Invented after a Martian ‘found’ a partial design deep in a Dubis Vallis cave,” Tolan said. “These elites—I’m just going to call them the Daegon from here on out—loaded up into their Ark to settle Luyten II. But…seems there was a bit of a malfunction in the drives and they weren’t able to leave slip space until they arrived at a star system they named Elysium. Ice ball of a planet, barely habitable and with horrific radiation spikes, but that was where they ended up.”

“And where is this Elysium?” Gage asked.

“On the other side of the Veil,” Tolan said. “Seems they took the long way around. The initial colony had several failures, but the Daegon had Earth’s greatest scientists and engineers with them, so they found ways to modify themselves. They didn’t forget that they used to be kings, or that once upon a time, they had the rest of humanity as their slaves. That eventual return to dominance became the touchstone of their civilization.”

“This is consistent,” Birbal said. “The Daegon do not tolerate any other rulers.”

“One colony ship spawned all of them?” McGowan asked. “I don’t think that math works, even if they had a century head start on the few dozens of millions that survived Edziza.”

“The Daegon used some eugenics methods that we would find…distasteful,” Tolan said. “Artificial wombs producing babies like a factory. Children raised by bots and holo stand-ins instead of parents. Then the use of golems for dangerous tasks and hazardous conditions. There’s no AI in there…they found a way to implant a consciousness into those machines. The process is far from perfect and it’s considered a fate worse than death to the Daegon.

“They eventually refined their slip engines and began settling nearby planets, but none of them were as idyllic as Old Earth or Albion or any other planet we can walk on without a suit or environmental gear. Seems there was a series of supernova in the distant past on their side of the Veil that sterilized planets in the Goldilocks Zone.”

“The self-anointed lords of humanity struggling to survive,” von Trapp said. “Must have really chapped their ass when they saw how we were living.”

Tolan touched his nose and pointed at the Reich admiral.

“They sent scout ships around the Veil to see if Earth was ready for their ‘glorious return’ and found us spreading through the stars,” Tolan said. “That’s when the infiltration began. That’s when the Daegon decided to return all of humanity back to their control by force.”

“The Veil? The Oculus?” Gage asked.

“They built the Oculus, a self-contained slip highway through the Veil. Reduced the time to get from Elysium to free space by decades. They’ve been preparing for this total war against us for centuries,” Tolan said.

“You say they were some old dynasty?” Yishiha asked. “From which culture?”

“All of them. Zheng mentioned that we were able to throw off their yoke a few times. The American Revolution. The end of Communism. The Peterson-Rogan Autonomy Revolt in the mid-twenty-first century. But these elite just went underground until they found a way to retake control. But what they had for breakfast isn’t as relevant as what they’re doing now. The Oculus is fragile. They can push only so much through at a time, then they have to wait for the highway to stabilize again.”

“What happens when we destroy the Oculus?” Gage asked.

“It cuts off Daegon reinforcements. They’ve reached the limit of what they can hold now,” Tolan said.

“They’ll never stop,” von Trapp said. “We stem the flow at the Oculus or they’ll wipe us all out.” He looked at Gage. “We owe you a debt.”

Tolan raised his palms and looked around.

“Don’t thank me yet,” Gage said. “We could come out of slip and right into the teeth of the Daegon armada and then your opinion will change. Tolan, anything else we should know?”

“The Daegon are responsible for the bombing on Reuilly. They hired Ja’war the Black to carry out the attack. We’ve spent years pointing the finger at each other when it was those bastards all along,” Tolan said.

“More infiltrators?” Birbal asked.

“Intelligence operatives are easy targets to take out, if you can find them. That’s always the hardest part. But we have their biomarkers and we can find them. League members have the tech. Some cells might try to inflict as much damage as they can before they’re run to ground, but if they don’t know we’re looking for them…” Tolan rubbed his hands together.

“The Daegon are too confident in themselves,” Birbal said. “They conquer with only the promise of slavery or death for everyone. They’ve made no attempt to win over any population. They must occupy every world instead of ruling through vassals. Their whole plan has depended on reinforcements from the Oculus to continue the war. They will have no converts. Holding planets will only become more difficult for them.”

“The Daegon have other ways to persuade people to fight for them,” Gage said. “Not sustainable by any means, but enough to bleed us white in the process. If Columbia commits its fleet as Meers promised, it may be enough…”

“The big if being destroying the Oculus before it’s too late,” von Trapp said. “May our mighty guns never tire.”

All the Albion officers there and in holo turned to look at von Trapp.

The Reichsman blushed, mouthed words, then tapped one ear and his holo fizzled out.

“Did I miss something?” Birbal asked.

“He gave us the traditional Reich Navy cheer. They used to say it during the Reach Wars before battle with Albion. Before they killed us,” Gage said. “It’s alright, we killed them right back.”

“I doubt he meant to offend anyone,” Birbal said.

“I agree, but if a little sting to his pride will keep him more cooperative, I’ll take it. Especially if that sting was self-inflicted.” Gage swapped the holo for a star chart of the Oculus system.

“We have an operation to plan,” Gage said. “Tolan? What did our guest say about their defenses?”

****

Tiberian was alone in the Specter Dagger-class ship as the vessel coasted along the queue to enter the slip transfer point and leave the Lantau system. The Specters’ claim that he couldn’t fly it on his own had proven untrue, as he had enough of their blood on his uniform to bypass the biometric lockouts. Things had gone interminably slowly as Cathay security dealt with the sudden desire for exodus after the Reich had shown up. The cockpit was unusually quiet, accentuating an emotion growing in his chest. Failure was not accepted among the Daegon. Failing after taking an unauthorized risk that would have excused the risk away…was an order of magnitude worse. His special relationship with Asaria would not survive once she learned the truth.

Neither would he.

That all the Specters on his kill team had fallen in the assault was something of a silver lining. There would be no one to contradict his lies once he returned to Albion. He leaned back in the pilot’s chair, hands steepled, tapping the tips of his pointer fingers against each other as he thought.

A sensor alert flashed onto the cockpit window. A mongrel fleet of Albion, Reich, Indus and Cathay warships accelerated from their anchorage—not toward one of the established transfer points, but farther out in the system.

“What’s this?” Tiberian shifted forward. He plotted their projected course and his confusion grew. The outer system had nothing but comets and icy dwarf planets. He accessed a heavily encrypted Specter database and waited as files populated the holo.

The Specters’ first mission had been the deep slip space scan of every target system in the feral worlds. Daegon faster-than-light travel was generations ahead of the best Albion or the Reich could build. Fleets appearing where the ferals hadn’t expected them to arrive was a decisive advantage during the initial strikes against Albion and the Indus.

A slip point appeared ahead of the coalition fleet. One that connected to Eria Adani IV.

Tiberian’s mouth went dry as their intent became clear. They were moving to attack the Oculus.

“Cleon, you fool. How do they know…” Tiberian’s upper lip pulled into a sneer. “Though this is an opportunity.”

If he made it to the Oculus before the ferals…if he could warn the other Houses and stave off disaster, he might just survive the consequences of his misadventure in Lantau.

Tiberian turned out of the slip space lane and set a course for the same transfer point as the coalition fleet. Lantau orbital control sent him several fines and ordered him back into the queue.

The hunter activated the ship’s stealth systems and the light coming into his cockpit took on sepia tones. Using the stealth systems while the enemy had a sensor lock on him would have sent the Specters into conniptions. The data could be used to break their sensor scrambling suite, but their concerns were irrelevant.

The Specters were dead and the Daegon’s key supply and reinforcement nexus was under threat.

Tiberian smiled as he realized that he might still win the day.

Chapter 20

Klaven was stiff as a rod as von Trapp and Gage conferred around the Castle Itter’s holo tank, both men attending as projections from their own vessels. Slip space travel made moving from ship to ship exceedingly dangerous. Klaven had been summoned to attend the off-line strategy meeting by von Trapp. While Gage was the nominal commander of the operation to destroy the Oculus, this went against most void navies tradition of command going to the captain of the largest vessel in a fleet.

The Bismark out-massed the Orion by nearly a factor of four. Von Trapp ceding command was either the mark of a coward or of one very wise in diplomatic ways. Klaven was inclined to believe the latter.

Gage turned a mock-up of the Oculus around in the tank.

“If there are mine fields, they would be on this approach vector.” Gage drew a circle in the 3D map between the slip gate and their arrival point in the outer system.

“Have the Daegon ever employed defensive obstacles like that?” von Trapp asked.

“They’ve been on the offense this entire time, but that doesn’t mean they won’t have area denial mines in place.” Gage scratched the long scar across his chin.

“Not bad,” von Trapp said, brushing a finger down his own dueling scar. “I got mine from a master saber fighter. What I gave in return wasn’t much in comparison.”

“The Reich take a much different view of fencing than Albion,” Gage said. “I wasn’t trying to get mine.”

“But if you’re ever before the Kaiserina, it helps to show you’re willing and able to face danger. Perhaps that old peacetime tradition is about to change. Our quality will always precede us,” von Trapp said, giving Klaven a mischievous look. “Not to bury the lede on the life-and-death struggle before us, but have you considered Klaven’s offer?”

Klaven felt an icy grip around his heart. His entire ruse was about to be exposed. He hadn’t had a chance to send a message to Gage—or anyone beyond the Bismark—since they arrived in Lantau. Von Trapp had insisted on tight operational security, but Klaven was sure that he’d done it to set up this exact moment.

“I’m afraid that I and my fleet cannot accept sanctuary within the Reich,” Gage said.

Von Trapp and Klaven both looked at him in shock.

“The offer is very generous, especially given our nations’ histories. We must liberate Albion from the Daegon’s control, and if we are guests of the Reich, we are not fighting the correct battle. Besides, the Cathay have soured me on accepting anyone’s hospitality for the time being.” Gage smiled.

He zoomed in on the Oculus system and considered a swath of asteroids between the orbit of two gas giants.

“The relic light we have on the system is decades old, but this planetoid that was shattered by gravity sheer should still be there…”

“Wait,” von Trapp said, raising a finger. “So Klaven offered you the Kaiserina’s sanctuary. Correct?”

“Yes. Obviously. I must still refuse, though I appreciate the spirit of cooperation in which it was given. How large is the Bismark’s fighter complement? I’m aware of your capacity but not your actual number of Ranger void superiority craft.” Gage flicked two fingers up and a wire diagram of the Bismark appeared.

“Obviously, I made the offer,” Klaven said, slapping a palm against the control panel. “Could you imagine the gall it would take to-to fib about something like that?”

“Oh, I can imagine,” von Trapp said, narrowing his eyes at Klaven. “Once we destroy the Oculus, perhaps Prince Aidan would accept the offer. You have my personal guarantee of his safety.”

Gage did not respond right away.

“I do not want a child in harm’s way, no matter who it is. Let’s revisit the decision after the coming battle, agreed?” Gage asked.

“Agreed. Your answer, no matter what it is, will be accepted without offense or judgment,” said von Trapp, double-tapping a button on his own screens aboard the Bismark. New data populated the wire diagram.

Klaven’s breath caught in his throat as top secret information about the Bismark’s true capabilities were shared with the Albion officer.

“I wasn’t…I wasn’t aware your ship could do that,” Gage said.

“We prefer to keep some things as a surprise for our enemies. The Daegon will be the first to witness his true capabilities. Now, as much as I’d like to destroy the Oculus from extreme range, we need an option to engage it at knife-fighting range. Figuratively,” von Trapp said.

“Sirs?” Klaven raised a hand. “The Daegon have been in this system assembling the Oculus for…years. According to the prisoner. We should plan like they’ve used that time to fortify and protect their only supply line from Elysium.”

“The more courses of action we plan, the weaker each plan will be,” von Trapp said.

“The enemy does get a vote.” Gage knocked on his panel. “Our intent is clear. How we go about accomplishing it will be flexible. Let’s war-game fixed defenses at each Lagrange point and on the planetoid the Oculus orbits…”

****

Klaven sat down, his legs sore from standing for hours during the planning session. He had several drills for the Castle Itter’s crew, none they’d enjoy, but void sailors understood that the better prepared they were for battle, the more likely they would be to survive.

Rapoto unlocked the door to the ready room.

“Huh? Oh, I forgot you were there,” Klaven said. He did a double take at his Genevan bodyguard. “Rapoto…question.”

“Yes, Duke?”

“I didn’t have the chance to tell Gage to ‘remember’ my offer to him. Yet…he did. Without my input. Am I going crazy? Did I suffer a head injury that futzed with my memory?”

Rapoto shifted his weight from side to side.

“My contract is to keep you safe. If Count von Trapp had realized that he placed his ship in danger because of a fabrication…the consequences would be drastic,” the Genevan said.

“And then…”

“I sent a quick message to the Albion’s Genevan complement suggesting that Gage save your ass from the fire. Don’t thank me. In fact, I’d rather you never speak of this with me or anyone else ever again,” Rapoto said.

“Speak about what?” Klaven shrugged.

“What?”

“There’s a no-tipping clause in your contract, but you’ll get a nice parting gift from me once this is all over with,” Klaven said. “Now…time to pass on some unpopular news to the crew and I need you behind me when I do it.”

****

Gage tightened the seal over his void boot and tested the feel as he rocked from heel to toe. Wearing proper void armor felt good. Albion was on a proper offensive for the first time since the Daegon attack and subsequent military disasters.

There was a sense of control now. No more scrambling for safety, hounded from star to star by the Daegon. There were some theories that defense was the stronger form of war, but those on the offense set the tempo of war. Those on the offense forced reactions. The attackers won wars more often than defenders.

He picked up his helmet and clicked a button along the bottom rim. The inner holo screen lit up.

“Is Prince Aidan secured?” he asked Thorvald at his door.

“He and Salis are loaded in a shuttle to relocate to the Hephaestus once we come out of slip space,” Thorvald said. “They won’t launch if there’s any immediate threat.”

“Good.” Gage went to the door and it opened. Price was on the other side, fist raised to knock.

“Commodore.” She bowed slightly and shifted the helmet she held in the crook of an arm. “I’d like to speak with you before we take to the bridge.”

“Certainly.” Gage left his quarters and she walked beside him.

“Sir…this may not be the time, but I’m not sure if I’m qualified to remain your second-in-command. My decisions while I had the conn in Lantau are questionable. The more I think about it, the more I realize that Captain Simpson was right about me and—”

“Then stop thinking about it,” Gage said. “We are facing the gravest threat to Albion—to all of free space—in history. It is impossible to make perfect decisions at every moment. What matters is if you’re making the best possible decisions when they must be made.”

“I agree with you, sir,” Price said as they entered a lift. “But I just…sat there at anchor while you were thrown into that box.” She reached for the control panel, but Gage held up a hand.

“You sent Tolan to break me out, correct?”

“Well, yes, but it was his idea, and if he was caught, I had plausible deniability.” Her head teetered slightly from side to side.

“Which proved fortuitous, as I and my fellow prisoners would’ve been helpless when the Daegon attacked if Tolan hadn’t utilized his…talents. Then there was the interdiction that stopped a shooting war between the Reich and the Cathay. I don’t understand why you’re so concerned. You did great.”

“But, sir, I didn’t order the interdiction. Not right away. That was Crusader acting on his own initiative. I sent approval after he was already engaged.”

“You sent them out there as a deadhead?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then your decision was correct. Commanders are responsible for everything they and their sailors do and fail to do. You made the best possible decisions you could with the information you had available. I’m not faulting you. And sometimes the best decision is to do nothing. You saw what happened when the Reich decided to force the issue of our sanctuary with the Cathay,” Gage said.

“If I had command of the Bismark, I might’ve done the same thing. Just the size of that thing…” she said.

“The more I learn about him, the more I’m glad he’s on our side. Now…what do you suggest we do with Arlyss?”

“Oh. Him. He was a useful subject-matter expert on the Cathay, but I’m unwilling to forgive his mutiny,” she said.

“Nor am I, but he does have his heart in the right place.” Gage raised an eyebrow slightly.

“We could—we could dump him on the Kongs as some kind of attaché with no diplomatic powers. Like we did with that stump Countess Christina and the Indus!” Her eyes lit up with excitement.

“There you go. See, the ankle biters of command aren’t too hard. Just takes a little imagination and the willingness to have those that need to walk the plank to…walk the plank. Now to the harder part.” He tapped the button for the bridge and the lift rose a deck.

The doors snapped open.

“Commodore on the bridge!” The gunnery officer popped out of the command chair and went to the tactical holo.

“Conn, time to exit slip space?” Gage asked.

“T-minus nine minutes.”

Gage set his helmet down and entered his override code for an Albion fleet-wide transmission. A boatswain’s call for “word to be passed” sounded through the ship.

“11th Fleet, this is Commodore Gage. As you’re aware, we are embarked on a mission vital to Albion, to our families, to our future. We must destroy the Daegon facility code-named Oculus. We have planned and war-gamed extensively with our League and…other allies. Despite our history, they are on the side of the light with us, and Albion’s light burns.

“If we do not destroy the Oculus, then there is little to no chance we will ever return home. Our lives come second to the future, second to our oath to defend our loved ones and the crown. Our duty is clear, let no one doubt it. Gage out.”

He closed the channel.

“Well said, sir.” Price donned her helmet. “Brief.”

“Not that I’m in the same company, but I believe it was Napoleon who said long speeches before a battle are useless. The raw recruits are too scared to remember it and the veterans don’t care what’s being said. They’re more concerned about doing their job.” Gage set his helmet on and engaged the seals.

“XO, signal battle stations. Our duty is clear,” Gage said.

****

Ensign Jacobian rubbed his face, then peered between his fingers with one eye at the sensor loop playing on his screen. He looked up at the Sterling’s front view screens, then back at the loop.

“There a problem, conn?” Captain McGowan asked.

“I’m not sure, Skipper. Prow sensors keep picking up a contact ahead of us in the slip tunnel. It shunts to me as a navigation hazard, but the contact ghosts out every time we try and get a better picture of it,” Jacobian said. “It’s barely bigger than a shuttle—if it’s even real—and accelerating faster than any ship should be able to in slip.”

“Hmm…” McGowan took a sip of tea. “What do you think it is?”

“A calibration error in the forward suite, sir. That’s what it should be, but the Valiant and Dearborn are getting the same ghost, but it reads different for them.” He flicked a finger against the screen.

“Have you pinged the Bismark? She’s got the wide aperture suites across her prow. Him. I meant him. Damn Krauts and their damn silly traditions. Normally, I wouldn’t care about offending them, but they’re on our side at the moment,” McGowan said.

“Negative…I didn’t want to admit a problem to them. I lost two uncles in the Reach War. Not sure I could be as diplomatic as Commodore Gage,” the ensign said.

“I doubt they’d even bother responding. Is this sensor ghost any sort of navigation hazard?” McGowan asked.

“Not right now. It does appear to be getting further ahead of us. Maybe there’s a slip space irregularity on this route that the Kongs didn’t share with us. Phenomena like that aren’t unheard of, but more on well-traveled routes, not out here in the boonies.”

“Then monitor and record your findings. We’ll update our star charts when things calm down from full-blown crisis to SNAFU,” McGowan said. “Alert me if there’s any significant change.”

“Aye aye,” Jacobian said, rubbing an eye and wishing coffee was an option.

****

Dr. Seaver groaned, her headache growing stronger as she emerged from sleep. She reached into the small nightstand next to her bed and fumbled around for the bottle that should’ve been there. She rummaged through slates and hair clips. No bottle.

Opening her eyes, she saw a man sitting on a chair near the foot of her bed.

“Hi, Mom.” James Seaver’s shoulders were hunched forward, his arms extended and held between his legs.

“If I’m sleeping…then I don’t want to wake up.” The doctor sat up. “Son?”

“I’m back.” Seaver’s head bobbed slowly. “But I’m not really back. I’m not right anymore, Mom. It’s like…like I don’t know who I am.”

“Oh, my boy,” she said as she slipped out of bed and lifted his face.

Seaver’s face was pale with a slight blue sheen to it. His cheeks were sunken and his eyes focused on some point far, far away.

“What happened? Are you alright?” she asked.

“I thought I was good to go, but they messed me up, Mom. When the Daegon were there…I just started falling apart. Maybe they did something else…” He tapped the side of his head. “Something to keep me from fighting them.”

“You’re with me now, James. I’m so…so blessed to have you back. Don’t ever leave again, please?” She ruffled the top of his head, just like she did when he was a boy.

He shook her off.

“I’m not a kid anymore. I’ve done things, Mom, to people who weren’t bad. People who were just trying to be free, like Commodore Gage is doing. I didn’t used to be like that, but they changed me…and I don’t know if I can ever go back.” He scratched at his bare forearms.

“As a doctor and your mother, I will find a cure for you. Your skin, the pigmentation shift’s a symptom that your DNA resequencing isn’t optimal. Let’s get you back to the lab and adjust your meds, OK? We’ll do something constructive right now toward improving your condition.” She touched his cheek.

“You sound like the time I got bit by that spider.” Seaver smiled a little bit.

“And you never went playing in that forest again. Come on, let’s go.” She tried to stand, but her thighs went rubbery. She sat down hard with a sudden bout of lightheadedness.

“What happened?” Seaver asked.

“You’re not the only one that hasn’t been right. You’re still friends with that Tolan person?” she asked.

“Oh sure. Best buds. Why?”

“I’ll need you to let me talk to him later. Sick bay. Let’s go.”

Chapter 21

Tiberian pressed the flesh of his thumb against a pinprick on the control panel. His DNA unlocked a wide-spectrum band and began broadcasting his identity before his ship even left slip space.

The slip tunnel tore apart and he rocked forward as momentum returned. Warning sirens blared as a dozen missiles launched the instant he arrived. Tiberian kept broadcasting his identity code as the missiles converged on him.

In the distance, the bloodred nebula of the Veil stretched across everything. A cored, slightly oval asteroid miles wide was a dark mark against the Veil. He picked out a mass of warships arrayed in squadrons ahead of the long tunnel through the asteroid. Light burbled and popped as another squadron of warships came through.

“You know who I am,” Tiberian growled. The missiles accelerated to their attack vectors and Tiberian’s face hardened.

The missiles detonated prematurely, bits of debris skittering across his hull as data links connected to his ship. An icon for the Minotaur appeared on screen. A hail came a few seconds later.

Gustavus, his new rank freshly polished and gleaming on his collar, did not appear happy to see Tiberian.

“Uncle…you’ve wasted several perfectly good missiles,” Gustavus said. “I didn’t expect you here so soon, and certainly not vectored in from Cathay space. Explain.”

“I owe you no explanations. Which House has arrived? Have they gone on to Albion?” Tiberian asked.

Gustavus fizzled out. A wider screen took his place, and a triumvirate of three men in archaic armor sat on a raised dais, their feet tucked in, swords laid across their laps. Shadows obscured their faces.

“But you will answer to us, hunter,” growled the one in the middle.

Tiberian went to one knee and bowed his head low.

“Forgive me, House Yasuda, I did not know you had arrived in person,” Tiberian said.

“Rise. Imagine our shock at the insult of being welcomed to feral space not by one such as you, but by a whelp sent in your place,” another said.

“I…I was on a mission of significance. The ferals have learned of the Oculus. They’ve sent a fleet to attack the installation. They’re on the same slip channel that I took and are mere hours away,” Tiberian said.

“You led them right to us!” one of the warriors shouted. “I will have your skin and gift it to Asaria!”

“No. No! They’re coming in from Lantau. My ship is far faster in slip space than theirs. I overtook them to bring you this warning.” Tiberian’s voice quaked just a bit.

“Barely ten percent of our House is here,” said the man in the middle. “The rest are still in transit. Do you know what will happen to them if the slip tunnel is disrupted?”

“I do, my lords, which is why we must prepare to meet the ferals. Once they’re destroyed, there will be nothing to stop us.” Tiberian gave them a confident smile.

“Your House was tasked with guaranteeing the safe arrival of our armada,” the Yasuda House leader said. “This failure will be laid before the other Houses once they’ve transited from Elysium.”

“My lord, if we do not whip these feral dogs here and now, we will never see our fellow Houses again. Now…may I suggest you unmoor from your convoy anchorage and prepare for battle? They’re right behind me.”

“Take command of the Minotaur. Our ships are ours to command.” The trio vanished, replaced by Gustavus again.

The young officer had a very un-Daegon look of worry on his face. “Tiberian…there’s a significant slip space bow wave coming in behind you. How many feral ships are coming?”

Tiberian pushed his shuttle forward as fast as the engines could manage.

“The number of ships isn’t the problem—it’s which ships are behind me,” Tiberian said. “The Albion are…tenacious. And they’ve made allies. I want my armor waiting for me as soon as I dock. How many ships have moved on to Albion?”

“None.” Gustavus shook his head. “The Oculus was destabilized by our initial arrival. The engineers on both sides are working as fast as they can, but only so many ships can transit at a time.”

Tiberian’s lips pressed into a thin line.

He cut the channel as his shuttle flew past the Oculus’ opening. Rings the size of orbital docks spun within the cored-out planet killer of an asteroid. Gasses vented out from the surface dotted with military installations and crowned by a control center the size of a small city. He looked through the center. On the other side was a star field, not the Veil. The view swam in and out of focus, resolving into Daegon ships then back to stars again.

The rear void deck on the Minotaur opened to receive him. Not the position of honor where the shipmaster should have landed.

Gustavus was either ignorant as to proper procedure, or signaling to the newly arrived House that he didn’t have absolute fidelity to Tiberian. Neither explanation was a good indicator for Tiberian’s continued existence.

“All I have to do is win here,” he said to himself. “Just win one more battle…”

An alert shrilled from his control panel. Ships materialized on his sensors as they came out of slip space.

The Exiled Fleet was here.

TO BE CONCLUDED

You won’t have to wait long for the final book, Liberty or Death. Coming soon!

From the Author

Hello to you, dear and gentle reader. My sincere thanks for all of you who waited so patiently and for so long waiting for the book. Fear not! There won’t be much of a wait for the last book, as I’m writing it right now.

It feels good to return to Gage and Tolan and their fight against the Daegon. Thank you for continuing the story with me. The final chapter is going to be one hell of a blast!

I do enjoy hearing from readers, drop me a note at richard@richardfoxauthor.com if you like.

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Also By Richard Fox:

The Ember War Saga

1. The Ember War

2. The Ruins of Anthalas

3. Blood of Heroes

4. Earth Defiant

5. The Gardens of Nibiru

6. The Battle of the Void

7. The Siege of Earth

8. The Crucible

9. The Xaros Reckoning

The Ember War Saga Volume II: Terran Armor Corps

1. Iron Dragoons

2. The Ibarra Sanction

3. The True Measure

4. A House Divided

5. The Last Aeon

6. Ferrum Corde

Terran Strike Marines

1. The Dotari Salvation
2. Rage of Winter

3. Valdar’s Hammer

4. The Beast of Eridu

5. Gott Mit Uns

The Ibarra Crusade

1. Ashes Fall

2. Steel Sworn

3. Soul Invictus

4. Valdar’s Legacy

5. Legends Rise

Terra Nova Chronicles

1. Terra Nova

2. Bloodlines

3. Wings of Redemption

4. Hale’s War

Ember War: Pathfinders

1. Light the Way

2. Belisarius

The Exiled Fleet Series

1. Albion Lost

2. The Long March

3. Finest Hour

4. Point of Honor

5. The Last Ditch

6. Liberty or Death (Coming soon!)

Also By Richard Fox

Til Valhalla

Hell’s Horizon

The Queen of Sidonia

The King of Sidonia

Through the Nether (Galaxy’s Edge Order of the Centurion)

Read The Ember War for FREE

The countdown to the invasion of Earth has begun.

A merciless alien race bent on human extermination has pointed its armada towards Earth. The countdown to their arrival begins.

A mysterious intelligence warns only a young scientist, Marc Ibarra, of our impending doom. Together, the two create a plan for humanity to survive the invasion. Even with the aid of advanced new technology, Marc is faced with a major problem. The plan—if it works—can only save a fraction of us.

Who survives? Who dies? How can humanity win the battle against almost certain annihilation?

With what will only be an ember of humanity left, will it be enough to rekindle our chance for survival and strike back at the Xaros?

The Ember War is the first novel in an epic military sci-fi series. If you like The Legacy Fleet by Nick Webb or Omega Force by Joshua Dalzelle, then you'll love this explosive adventure with nail biting sci fi battles across the stars. Read this now!

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Here’s a sample for you:

THE NEAR FUTURE

Humanity’s only hope of survival entered the solar system at nearly the speed of light. The probe slowed as the sun’s heliosphere disrupted the graviton wave it rode in on from the abyss of deep space. Awakened by the sudden deceleration, the probe absorbed the electromagnetic spectrum utilized by its target species and assessed the technological sophistication of the sole sentient species on Earth.

The probe adjusted its course to take it into the system’s star. If the humans couldn’t survive—with its help—what was to come, then the probe would annihilate itself. There would be no trace of it for the enemy, and no chance of humanity’s existence beyond the time it had until the enemy arrived. The probe analyzed filed patents, military expenditures, birth rates, mathematical advancement and space exploration.

The first assessment fell within the margin of error of survival and extinction for humanity. The probe’s programming allowed for limited autonomous decision making (choice being a rare luxury for the probe’s class of artificial intelligence). The probe found itself in a position to choose between ending its mission in the sun’s fire and a mathematically improbable defense of humanity—and the potential compromise of its much larger mission.

Given the rare opportunity to make its own decision, the probe opted to dither. In the week it took to pass into Jupiter’s orbit, the probe took in more data. It scoured the Internet for factors to add to the assessment, but the assessment remained the same: unlikely, but possible. By the time it shot past Mars, the probe still hadn’t made a decision.

As the time to adjust course for Earth or continue into the sun approached, the probe conducted a final scan of cloud storage servers for any new information…and found something interesting.

While the new information made only a negligible impact on the assessment, the probe adjusted course to Earth. It hadn’t traveled all this way for nothing.

In the desert south of Phoenix, Arizona, it landed with no more fanfare than a slight thump and a few startled cows. Then it broke into the local cell network and made a call.

****

Marc Ibarra awoke to his phone ringing at max volume, playing a pop ditty that he hated with vehemence. He rolled off the mattress that lay on the floor and crawled on his hands and knees to where his cell was recharging. His roommate, who paid the majority of their rent and got to sleep on an actual bed, grumbled and let off a slew of slurred insults.

Marc reached his cell and slapped at it until the offending music ended. He blinked sleep from his eyes and tried to focus on the caller’s name on the screen. The only people who’d call at this ungodly hour were his family in Basque country…or maybe Jessica in his applied robotics course wanted a late-night study break.

The name on the screen was “ANSWER ME”.

He closed an eye and reread the name. It was way too early—or too late, depending on one’s point of view—for this nonsense. He turned the ringer off and went back to bed. Sleep was about to claim him when the phone rang again, just as loudly as last time but now with a disco anthem.

“Seriously?” his roommate slurred.

Marc declined the call and powered the phone off. He flopped back on his bed and curled into his blanket. To hell with my first class, he thought. Arizona State University had a lax attendance policy, one which he’d abuse for nights like this.

The cell erupted with big-band music. Marc took his head out from beneath the covers and looked at his phone like it was a thing possessed. The phone vibrated so hard that it practically danced a jig on the floor and the screen flashed “ANSWER ME” over and over again as music blared.

“Dude?” said his roommate, now sitting up in his bed.

Marc swiped the phone off the charging cord and the music stopped. The caller’s name undulated with a rainbow of colors and an arrow appeared on the screen pointing to the button he had to press to answer the call. When did I get this app? he thought.

Marc sighed and left the bedroom, meandering into the hallway bathroom with the grace of a zombie. The battered mattress he slept on played hell with his back and left him stiff every morning. Dropping his boxers, he took a seat on the toilet and answered the call, determined to return this caller’s civility with some interesting background noise.

“What?” he murmured.

“Marc Ibarra. I need to see you.” The voice was mechanical, asexual in its monotone.

“Do you have any frigging idea what time it is? Wait, who the hell is this?”

“You must come to me immediately. We must discuss the mathematical proof you have stored in document title ‘thiscantberight.doc.’”

Marc shot to his feet. The boxers around his ankles tripped him up and he stumbled out of the bathroom and fell against the wall. His elbow punched a hole in the drywall and the cell clattered to the floor.

He scooped the phone back up and struggled to breathe as a sudden asthma attack came over him.

“How…how…?” He couldn’t finish his question until he found his inhaler in the kitchen, mere steps away in the tiny apartment. He took a deep breath from the inhaler and felt the tightness leave his lungs.

That someone knew of his proof was impossible. He’d finished it earlier that night and had encrypted it several times before loading it into a cloud file that shouldn’t have been linked to him in any way.

“How do you know about that?” he asked.

“You must come to me immediately. There is little time. Look at your screen,” the robotic voice said. His screen changed to a map program, displaying a pin in an open field just off the highway connecting Phoenix to the suburb of Maricopa.

“Come. Now.”

Marc grabbed his keys.

****

An hour later, his jeans ripped from scaling a barbed-wire fence, Marc was surrounded by desert scrub. The blue of the morning rose behind him, where his beat-up Honda waited on the side of the highway.

With his cell to his ear, Marc stopped and looked around before deciding how to continue. Spiked ocotillo plants looked a lot like benign mesquite trees in the darkness. A Native American casino in the distance served as his North Star, helping him keep his bearings.

“You’re not out here, are you? I’m being punked, aren’t I?” he asked the mysterious caller.

“You are nine point two six meters to my east south east. Punk: decayed wood, used as tinder. Are you on fire?” the caller said.

Marc rolled his eyes. This wasn’t the first time the caller had used the nonstandard meanings of words during what passed as conversation between the two. Marc had tried to get the caller to explain how he knew about his theorem and why they had to meet in the middle of the desert. The caller had refused to say anything. He would only reiterate that Marc had to come quickly to see him, chiding him every time Marc deviated from the provided driving directions.

“If you’re so close, why can’t I see you?” he asked. He took a few steps in what he thought was a northwesterly direction and squished into a cow patty.

“Continue,” the caller said.

Marc shook his foot loose and tried to kick the cow leavings from his sneakers.

“You know what this is? This is exactly what’s all over my shoes, you monotone bastard. Forget it!” Marc shoved his phone into his back pocket and limped back toward his car, his right foot squishing with each step.

The route back to his car was comparatively easy; he just had to walk toward his headlights. That was the plan, anyway, until the lights on his car shut off.

“Marc, this is important.” The muffled words came from his pocketed cell.

“How are you doing this?” Marc shouted into the night.

“Turn around, please.”

Marc did as asked and a silver light like the snap of a reflection from a fish twisting just beneath the water flared on the ground ahead of him. No one was there a moment ago and Marc hadn’t heard any movement.

“I swear if I get my kidneys cut out I will be so pissed about this,” Marc said as he made his way to where he saw the light. He stood for a moment, then flopped his arms against his sides. “I’m here.”

“You’re standing on me.” The voice came from beneath Marc’s feet.

Marc skipped aside like he’d just heard a rattlesnake’s warning.

“Holy—did someone bury you? Why didn’t you tell me to bring a shovel?” Marc went to his knees and poked at the ground, which felt solid. “How deep are you? Do you have enough air?” Marc asked, using both hands to shove earth aside.

“Two inches ahead and three down.”

Marc’s face contorted in confusion as he kept digging. He moved a mound of gray dirt and pebbles aside and a silver light washed over his face.

A silver needle no more than three inches long rested in the dirt. Tiny filaments of lambent energy crept from the needle and undulated through the air like a snake in the ocean. Marc was frozen in place, his jaw slack as the filaments extended away from the needle, shades of white swimming in and around it.

“We don’t have much time.” The words came from the needle in the same mechanical voice as his mysterious caller. A point of light appeared in the air above the needle, sparked, and then lit into a flame no bigger than he’d seen on a match head. The white flame, which gave off no heat, rose and grew in size. A flame the size of Marc’s head came to a stop a few feet in the air.

Marc, transfixed by the flame until now, got to his feet. The filaments from the needle had extended past him and formed a perimeter ten yards in diameter. Tendrils of energy writhed against each other and against an invisible boundary. His heart pounded in his ears and his innate fight-or-flight instinct made a decision.

“This is a different experience for you. Let me—”

Marc turned and ran away. He got to where the tendrils had stopped and ran into what felt like a wall of water. Air thickened around him as he tried to push through and find purchase on the ground ahead. It felt like he was moving through clay.

“Marc, you’re being ridiculous.” The air hardened and spat him back toward the flame. Marc tripped over his own feet and tumbled to the ground. He snapped back to his feet and looked for a way, anyway, to put some distance between him and the flame.

The flame, white on silver or silver on white—Marc couldn’t tell as it morphed in the air—floated toward him slowly.

Marc made the sign of the cross with two fingers and looked away. He heard a sigh.

“Look at me.” The flame, again.

Marc opened an eye. The flame was a few inches from his hands but he still felt no heat.

“I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to help you. Understand?” The flame bobbed in the air gently until Marc nodded. “I am an emissary from an alien intelligence sent to save your species from extinction and I need your help to do it.”

Marc pointed a finger at the flame and tried to touch it. His fingertip passed into the flame’s surface without sensation.

“I thought unsolicited physical contact was against your species’ norms,” said the flame, the tendrils rustling with the words.

Marc snapped his hand back.

“Did you say something about…extinction?” The flame bobbed in the air. “How? Why?”

“An armada is coming.” The flame morphed into an oblong shape with a half dozen tendrils sticking from it, like a misshapen spider. “They are the Xaros and they will annihilate your species with ease. Unless you and I work together, your extinction is assured,” the flame said, floating closer to Marc, who stood dumbfounded. The flame came so close that he could see his reflection on it. Deep blue motes of light sprang from the flame and evaporated in the air.

“Why me? What am I supposed to do about an alien armada? I’m a B-minus grad student with a mountain of student loans, not some…some world leader!”

The probe returned to flames and a hologram of a white paper popped into the air next to it. Pages flipped open from the book, the mathematical proof he’d finished the night before.

“We expected that your species would have progressed to the edge of your solar system by now. To see such potential squandered on wars and Internet cat videos was disheartening, but this is well beyond what you should be capable of. The advancements you discovered in material science and energy storage are a springboard to technological advancement that will give you a 27 percent chance of survival, provided everything goes as planned. We can start here.” The proof stopped with the picture of a lattice of carbon atoms. The last page had the words “No way!!!!” scrawled next to the diagram.

“I don’t understand,” Marc said.

“You will, but we need to get started right away.”

“How much time do we have?”

“Sixty years.”

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