Chaos Quarter: Imperial Ambitions Read online

  And just because this woman had once been enslaved didn’t mean that she was now a person they could put their faith in. Rex was well aware that something that traumatic could warp a person, make them adopt some of the less-than-savory tactics of their former masters. It had happened occasionally with serfs who had made it to the Commonwealth. Serfs were human as any other person, and that meant a small percentage of them were psychopaths or sociopaths or any other type of -paths who just had something physiologically wrong with their brains. And with the repression they’d suffered at the hands of the Europans serving as an example, those rare, evil nutjobs knew everything they needed to be assholes to society.

  But his suspicions were getting the better of him. The woman had shown no signs of being a sociopathic asshole, and had saved his friend from capture. She deserved to be heard.

  “It’s big,” Kate said, her head craning around the vast space of the cargo bay.

  “It is that,” Rex concurred. “Ship, close up the bay.”

  Kate spun on him suddenly, her hand going toward her gun. Rex held up his hands.

  “Just for privacy,” Rex informed.

  She eyed him warily, but slowly moved her hand from the butt of her pistol.

  “Now, Lucius tells me you were once…enslaved by the empire?” said Rex. He motioned her to the chaise and tables set up at the far end of the ship.

  “‘Enserfed’ is their word,” said Kate, taking a seat on a folding chair.

  “I’m sure it is,” said Rex sarcastically.

  “My friend does not care much for euphemisms,” added Lucius, sitting on one of the chaises.

  “Well, not for the evil ones,” Rex informed. “Ask me about the time I reached third base with Nancy in a cockpit.”

  “Why would you play baseball in a spaceship?” asked Lucius.

  Rex smirked and then turned his attention back to Kate. “So, you escaped?”

  She nodded.

  “But not to the Commonwealth?” Rex asked.

  She shook her head sadly, saying, “It is every serf’s dream to reach Terran worlds. Word of what you did for the serfs of Thrace had reached us, despite the nobles’ best efforts to silence such talk. But the ship we stole was on the opposite side of the empire, far from the Anatolian Reach and the Commonwealth border. So we fled to the Quarter.”

  “Dangerous place to flee,” Rex remarked.

  “Not if you grew up where I did,” Kate said, voice darkening.

  “Granted,” Rex replied. “And am I to understand you’re not the only, uh, freedwoman on this planet?”

  “You are correct,” said Kate.

  “I see, so—”

  The heavy clomping of feet above them got their attention.

  “So I didn’t see anybody on the cameras following you or staking out the ship. Can I meet the newbie?” Jake’s voice boomed.

  “Might as well,” Rex shouted back.

  “Her name is Kate, not ‘Newbie,’” Second proclaimed.

  A whoosh filled the air, followed by a hard clang as Jake vaulted the railing and jumped down. He nailed the landing perfectly.

  “Show-off,” Rex quipped.

  “You have your gifts, I have mine,” said Jake with a lopsided grin. His eyes locked on Kate. Kate’s eyes went wide at the sight of the cyborg, her hand creeping back toward her gun.

  “Don’t,” said Rex, seeing the motion. “He’s friendly…ish; may try to hit on you though.”

  “Wh-what is he?” Kate asked uneasily.

  “He’s Jake,” said Second, confusedly glancing from Jake to Kate.

  “I’m a cyborg from Cyberdan,” Jake said with a sweep of his arm.

  “Cyborg? Is he, uh…”

  “Yes, he’s human. Yes, he’s part of my crew. No, you don’t have to worry about him going berserk and killing us all,” Rex explained, and then waved his hand casually. “We get this regularly.”

  “Oh, uh, sure,” Kate managed.

  “So, you were saying that you’re not alone?” Rex said.

  “No. No, there’s a small village of us,” said Kate.

  “Dangerous things to say. For all you know, I could be on the emperor’s payroll,” Rex mentioned.

  Now a smirk appeared on her lips.

  “You expect me to believe that a Terran would lower himself to work for the Cheseworths?” she said, shaking her head to emphasize her disbelief.

  “Money can do things to a man,” said Rex.

  “Are we being paid by the emperor?” Second asked.

  “No,” Kate answered. “No, I’ve heard about you Terrans. For all your wealth and trade, you value your freedom more. If the emperor offered you a cargo bay full of gold to serve him, you’d still say no.”

  “Reputations don’t always live up to the reality,” said Rex. “And I’m a long way from the Commonwealth.”

  “Are you trying to get her to distrust us?” Lucius asked.

  Rex remained quiet for a moment, watching the girl. She met his gaze, defiance in her eyes.

  “No,” Rex finally said, relenting. “No, I was probing. It seems odd to me she would be so free with this information.”

  “Why wouldn’t I? It’s no great secret. The Reservation has been here for fifty years.”

  “Wait, what?” asked Lucius.

  “You did not know? I thought for sure the empire knew of it,” said Kate.

  They do, Rex realized. The empire’s interest in this planet had just become remarkably clear. An entire colony of freed serfs, surviving for decades on end? It was considered the Law of God in the empire that serfs were subhuman livestock, unable to exist without the “order” nobles provided. The idea that they might be living well, without noble “guidance,” was anathema—an insult to their beliefs, an insult that could inspire serfs still in the empire to try to escape. Kate and her people were a living, breathing rebuke.

  Another dark thought entered his mind. The world of Thrace and the thousands of serfs who had escaped to the Commonwealth were beyond the power of the empire. The Europans could not get at them without risking a full-scale war with the Commonwealth, and given the mass slaughter of the last war, that was not something they would risk lightly. Not over some “subhuman” serfs. But the Chaos Quarter was a mess of competing thugs, with little order and no force capable of resisting the empire. Here the empire and its spies had free reign to play.

  “No, I didn’t know,” said Lucius. “I’d never heard of Anglesey, much less your ‘reservation.’”

  “That is…amazing. We thought for sure the empire knew of us,” said Kate, a note of sadness coming into her voice. “I kind of liked the idea of all you bastards knowing that we were out here, free, and you couldn’t do a damn thing about it!”

  Lucius shrugged, holding up his hands in surrender. Kate laughed and shook her head in disbelief.

  “Well, Serf-Friend, you must come to Valley Town,” Kate declared. “What better place for the noble defector than a village of freedmen and freedwomen?”

  “Thanks, but I have a home,” Lucius said. “And a wife, remember?”

  “Just for a visit then?” Kate offered. “I was not kidding about the things they say about you. The noble who fought for a serf…it’s kind of a local legend.”

  “Really? Lucius is a legend?” said Jake.

  “Legends are not real,” Second added. “Lucius is real. He’s right there.”

  “Umm…yeah…” Kate said, giving Second the same confused look she had been giving Jake.

  “Legend or not, we’ll go,” said Rex.

  They all looked at him.

  “We’re here to trade, and this city is a corrupt shithole. I’d much rather be dealing with people like Kate than a thug like Lako,” Rex explained.

  “Great!” Kate said, an excited smile breaking out across her face. “Excellent. We have mines, ranches, and fishing ports. We have things to trade. And the whole town will be excited to see Lucius Baliol—sorry, Alvadile.”

  “Gr
eat,” Lucius said, clearly less excited.

  “Oh, but I’ll need a day. I actually came into town for supplies. My flier is on the other side of the spaceport,” she explained.

  “Take whatever time you need,” said Rex. “Besides, famous as Lucius may be in your hometown, I don’t think we’re gonna fly into a village of freed serfs with a former Europan lord uninvited.”

  “No, no. That might not be good,” laughed Kate. “All right, tomorrow, two o’clock tomorrow afternoon. I’ll fly over to your pad and show you guys the way.”

  “We’ll be looking forward to it,” Rex said.

  They lowered the vast rear doors, and watched the young woman bound down them, out onto the tarmac. As she disappeared into one of the terminals Rex turned to Lucius.

  “I don’t care how many folktales they tell about you,” Rex said, “it only takes one of them with a grudge to ruin your entire day. You don’t take that body armor off, understand?”

  Lucius nodded, and said, “You don’t have to tell me.”

  “Good. Jake, take Lucius to the medical bay and make sure that gunshot he took didn’t break anything—”

  He paused midsentence. Second had walked over to Lucius and was poking him softly in the shoulder.

  “Not a legend,” she said firmly.

  First to bring the fight! First to bring the fury! We break the world so that Order may follow!

  —Motto of the Europan Imperial Forlorn Hope Brigades

  A young man with a powerful title is a unique form of hell that I would not wish upon even my worst of enemies.

  —The private journals of Thane Horatius Sverker-Crovan, published on order of Emperor Magnus III Cheseworth, following Crovan’s death in the Anatolian Reach War, 2455

  Bombardment Station Cannae, Lavit Antrano System, Standard Date 9/1/2507

  When Aetius stalked into the projection chamber, he wasn’t sure what to expect. He knew, obviously, that the proper respect and subservience would be shown by the warriors of Count Bentham, but he did not know if that would go far beyond surface-level compliance. He had put their lord in the sick bay, leaving them without a noble commander, only their own subcommanders, who were all warriors. That was not a good thing, and he did not doubt that resentment lingered.

  The simulation they were running, an urban combat drill, paused at his entrance. The warriors were in full combat dress. Body armor covered their backs and chests, with protective flaps, reminiscent of old ancient brigandine armors, stretching down to cover their groins and thighs. It reminded Aetius somewhat of the gear Old Earth Roman legionnaires had once worn. Under the armor were dark-gray fatigues, so dark they looked black from a distance. Similar dark-gray helmets covered their heads, each emblazoned with the family crest of the lord they were bound to. Each carried an SB battle rifle. Officially they were called “Imperial Battle Rifles, Version Seven.” “SB” had been adopted as a short name because it stood for “Serf-Breaker,” which was the task such weapons normally found themselves employed in. The guns they carried now were done up to shoot holographic bullets for the purpose of the simulation. They had similar dummy grenades and even a dummy, shoulder-fired rail-gun, the real version of which was used to fire large, antiarmor projectiles.

  Aetius stomped in. He was wearing full-powered armor again, and just the sight of it should have been enough to signal to the warriors that he was here for something serious. As he moved into the projection bay, they all turned to him. None would stare directly at his eyes, of course, but he could still feel their gaze.

  Their acting commander made his way through his men, toward Aetius. According to the files he’d read, he was an older warrior named Proeliumira. It was a good name for a warrior, done in Latin according to imperial tradition for half humans. “Battle rage” it meant in English. Looking at him now as he drew near, Aetius could see that he looked to be in his late thirties. He had a scar across the top of his forehead and another on his left cheek. They were hard to miss.

  “My lord-sire,” Proeliumira said, dropping to one knee. “We are honored by your presence. What brings you to our training today?”

  “Duty,” said Aetius. “We have a hard battle ahead of us, and because of my actions, your lord and commander is absent.”

  “We understand matters of honor, lord-sire,” Proeliumira said, a little hesitation creeping into his voice. “We would dare not think less of you for demanding what is due to one God has placed so highly in the world.”

  “Nevertheless, my brother the emperor demands success. A unit without a lord has little hope for that, so I come to do what I must. During your training I shall act as your lord, so that when the battle comes you are as prepared as is necessary,” Aetius explained.

  Proeliumira nodded his head formally, saying, “If that is what my lord-sire wishes, we would be honored by your presence.”

  “It is what I wish,” said Aetius. He glanced around at the rest of the platoon. It was only a small part of Bentham’s brigade, maybe thirty or so. They stared uneasily at him, occasionally flicking their glances to Proeliumira, as if asking for his assurance.

  “Now, since many others have need of these rooms from training and time is limited, what is the nature of the simulation you are running?” asked Aetius.

  “A simple village clearing, lord-sire,” replied Proeliumira.

  “Excellent,” Aetius said, pulling shut the helmet of his battle suit. “Let us get to the task at hand then!”

  ***

  A half hour later he crouched behind a simulated building, bathed in sweat. Even the augmented abilities the suit provided had not stopped him from perspiring, and he had reason to. The warriors of Count Bentham’s Forlorn Hope Brigade were not what he expected. He’d heard of the Forlorn Hope Brigades before; they were well known within the empire and without. They were the highest praised warriors of the empire, for they did the most dangerous task.

  And, as Bentham had learned, they were fast. Recklessly fast even, constantly moving. Theirs was not a slow and integrated way of war. Like Europan warships, they focused on speed, ferocity, and maneuver. It fit with their task, after all. They were the first wave of an invasion, sent ahead not to conquer, but to raise chaos, to disorient and confuse the enemy so they would not be organized when the crippling blow came.

  He saw a group of four across from him, sprinting for a house, one firing wildly to cover them. That man was hit, and “fell” to the ground, “dead.” The others did not stop or try to pull him to safety; they kept on, another firing cover shots. Streaks of light came down and struck him too, “killing” him moments before the other three reached the door of their target building. The lead hurled a grenade through a nearby window, the three crowding into a doorway for shelter. The grenade exploded, gutting the inside of the house. Then the lead soldier hurled his shoulder against the door, smashing it in. A roar of gunfire filled the air as the three dashed though the insides. Aetius heard several grenades explode, no doubt thrown at point-blank range in the tight confines of the house.

  Only two warriors emerged, again sprinting. Their decreased number did not stop them. They darted down the street for the next building. Nearby a sole warrior, apparently the last “survivor” of his own team, dashed over and grouped up with the two, not a single word exchanged. They repeated the procedure on the next building, tossing a grenade and then running inside.

  Aetius shook his head in disbelief, and then ducked around the corner from his hiding place. Above he saw a simulated machine gunner spraying fire into the building the warriors had just entered. He took aim with his grenade launcher and blasted three shots into the gunner’s window. It “exploded” outward in flash of orange light and shattered plaster.

  Then it froze, the entire simulation. The warriors looked about curiously, the “dead” ones sitting up to see what was happening.

  Overhead an intercom crackled.

  “Baron Fitz-Titus, your presence is required on the bridge promptly,” a voice declar
ed.

  Aetius frowned, unlatched the helmet of his suit, and turned to Proeliumira.

  “I’m afraid I shall not be able to lead you to the end of this simulation,” said Aetius. “Though rest assured I will be present for all others that are scheduled for your men.”

  “We look forward to your leadership, lord-sire,” said Proeliumira. He knelt respectfully. “We thank you for taking command this day.”

  “As you were then,” said Aetius.

  He turned and walked out of the projection room. Behind him the sound of battle picked up once more as the men resumed their training.

  ***

  When Aetius stepped onto the broad bridge of Cannae he still smelled of sweat. His active-duty uniform did little to hide it. Tertius noticed this and drew back a little at first, instinctively. But then he nodded formally and regained his composure.

  “You were slow getting here Baron. I feared you might miss the opportunity to observe the fleet in action,” Tertius spoke from his command chair.

  “I had armor to remove, Thane Hohenzollern,” said Aetius grimly.

  “Ah yes, I heard you were training poor Bentham’s brigade,” said Tertius, fighting to hold back a smirk. “Or did they train you?”

  Aetius glowered, but said nothing.

  “Honorable as it is to step in Bentham’s place after your wounding of the man, I strongly advise that you do not go getting any ideas. There is a reason Barons do not lead such units, and I don’t believe you brother would approve of such a “high-ranking” noble deigning to do a count’s work,” Aetius explained.

  “It is arrogance to presume you know the thoughts of an emperor,” Aetius responded. “They are known by God only.”