Chaos Quarter: Imperial Ambitions Read online

  “Hmm, very true,” said Tertius with little feeling. “But on to the topic at hand. It seems the locals of this system, these “Magalasay” as they call themselves, have decided to contest our crossing of their space. They’ve assembled quite the fleet.”

  Tertius gestured to the vast viewscreen that made up the entire far wall of the bridge. On it an image of the surrounding space was projected. It was mostly black, with the exception of a small handful of ships in the center. The image was obviously magnified, for Aetius could make out the detail of the Magalasay vessels.

  They were insultingly small. The main fleet consisted of four frigate-sized ships, none of which looked like the one next to it. In fact they looked like passenger or cargo ships that had been inexpertly modified into vessels of war. He could see cannons in awkward locations, engines welded to place where they weren’t meant to be, and turrets in strange spots. It was all very ad hoc.

  Surrounding them were an equal number of smaller corvettes. These did have some similarity in design. They were clearly former cargo ships, given some armor and a half-dozen fighter-sized guns, probably thirty-millimeter weapons from the look of them. One seemed to have a pair of missiles, though they were small and of a design Aetius had never seen.

  Finishing off the Magalasay strike force was a dozen fighters. They were odd-looking fighters: diamond shaped except for stubby, winglike pylons extending from the main bodies. There were a pair of them on each side, and each sported an underslung gun, smaller even than the weapons of the corvettes.

  “Dear Thane, please tell me this…gathering is not the reason for calling me to the bridge,” said Aetius.

  “It is,” said Tertius. “Unimpressive as they may seem, it may be the only ‘battle’ you see this voyage. If you wish to command imperial forces, you must learn. So you will observe.”

  “All this will teach me is how to stomp on ants,” remarked Aetius.

  Tertius frowned and shook his head. He turned to a nearby tech.

  “Send word to the fleet. Bayham, Collier, and Ostend are to accelerate and attack. Ramsgate, Test, and Vrana are to remain in formation near the station. All deployed fighters and corvettes are to attack the enemy in support of the capital ships.”

  The screen image changed, the ships growing larger. Aetius realized that they weren’t seeing an image from Cannae’s cameras, but from one of the attacking ships.

  In front of him two smaller ships, Spathion-class frigates, accelerated toward the enemy fleet. The Spathions were shaped like discs with a half circle removed from one end—their fronts. They were armed with pulse cannons, missiles, and an array of defensive turrets. Each was easily twice the size of the largest enemy ships.

  By process of elimination, it meant that he was watching this battle from Ostend. That ship was a destroyer, one of two sent to escort Cannae to its destination. Ostend was more ovular, an elongated and enlarged version of the smaller frigates. It had at least twice the firepower, and twice the armor, of its companions.

  Small shapes zipped forward, the three-dozen fighters that had been flying defensive patrol around the Cannae when the enemy had appeared. Joining them were three heavier corvettes—each one, miniature, disc-shaped versions of the frigates.

  The fighters streaked ahead of the bigger ships, engaging with the enemy. The Magalasay, as expected, sent their fighters out to intercept them. Before they could get close enough to fire off a shot, the Europan craft let loose with a spread of missiles.

  A rippling chain of small explosions brightened the black void: the enemy’s fighters exploding as the missiles struck home. The enemy clearly had no comparable weapon available, and only one of their craft survived to close for a dogfight. As it did three separate Europan fighters let loose with rapid-fire pulse-cannon blasts. The single survivor was pounded by a hundred bursts in a matter of seconds, the beautiful diamond-shaped hull ripping apart under the punishments. It spiraled off into space in a hundred jagged pieces.

  In scarcely ten seconds, their enemy’s fighter cover had ceased to exist. The fighters streaked in on the main enemy fleet. An enemy corvette tried to turn and burn away, perhaps the smartest of the bunch. But his wits did him no good. The fighters opened up on his engines, tearing them up and leaving him dead in space.

  The enemy opened fire with whatever defensive weapons they had. A half-dozen streaks of cannon fire filled the air, coming from the turrets on the frigates. The fighters pulled back. One was caught by a handful of shells, exploding just above one of the enemy frigates. Its wreckage bounced off the larger ship’s hull, and tumbled into space.

  Aetius frowned at that. Fighters were piloted by lords. True, most of them were counts and other lower-level lords, but they were noble nonetheless. And one had just perished at the hands of filthy, feral serfs.

  The Europan corvettes bored in next. The fighters reformed around them, splitting up so there were two or three fighters flying alongside each corvette. They did not go for the enemy frigates; instead they honed in on the enemy corvettes. For a brief second, battle raged as the Europans and Magalasay clashed. Immediately one of their foes exploded, slammed by fire from a Europan corvette and three fighters. Then a second shattered before them, attacked from beneath by a similar force.

  Aetius did not see the third go up. Six bright streaks of light appeared from the Europan capital ships and shot for the enemy frigates. The capital ships had entered missile range and opened up with Slattern light antiship missiles. Another half-dozen blazes marred the void of space as a second salvo raced in.

  The first wave of missiles met with defensive fire, the enemy frigates redirecting their turrets from the fighters to the Slatterns. A missile exploded several thousand miles out, and then another a few seconds later.

  The last four hit home. Two slammed into the front of the lead frigate simultaneously, consuming it in fire. The ship’s hull snapped under the impact. The front half hurtled off into space as a thousand pieces of jagged steel. The back half hung in space for a moment, a ruined remnant. Then its engines blew, an incandescent explosion rippling forward, turning what remained to slag.

  A third missile hit the frigate nearest to the ruined lead ship. It struck the frigate astern, blasting a red hole just in front of the engines. The result was the same as the lead frigate. The ruptured fusion reactors within exploded and engulfed the ship in fire.

  The fourth missile hit its target amidships. For a moment Aetius thought it would break as the first, but it did not. Red fire flared, and an angry, jagged hole was torn in the vessel’s side. But it remained intact and kept moving.

  One of the enemy’s frigates remained unhurt, and moved to confront the incoming capital ships. From a great distance, far too great to be accurate, it opened fire with its forward guns. Moments later the second wave of missiles hit.

  And they all hit the unhurt frigate, dodging their way past its defensive fire. The ship broke apart under the impact, its hull and crew reduced to ruined debris in the space of a heartbeat. The Europan ships were close now, closing in on the final, wounded Magalasay frigate.

  “I suppose you think I should find it somewhat brave that one still tries to fight?” said Aetius.

  “Desperation can be as dangerous as bravery,” Tertius remarked. “Even if it is of no use for these particular foes.”

  Aetius shrugged, and watched the end. The wounded frigate blasted with its forward guns, none of which were big enough to do any serious damage. Small shells peppered the front of Bayham, scratching up the armor, but doing little else. Bayham replied with medium and light pulse cannons. Bolts of white light struck the enemy ship, the bigger blasts punching through its thin hull and into the decks within. The enemy stopped firing, crippled. Seconds later Collier joined in. The shots chewed into the Magalasay vessel. Fire billowed out of the hull and then vanished in the void of space. The ship went dead, floating lifelessly.

  By the time Ostend showed up the fight was over. It had lasted maybe three minut
es in total.

  “Our vessels are reporting the enemy destroyed, sire,” announced one of the techs.

  “Good. Pull the fleet back into formation. We proceed on toward Anglesey,” Tertius ordered.

  The techs went about complying, sending out transmissions to the ships. Aetius sighed, and turned to Tertius.

  “If this lesson is over…”

  Tertius frowned. “A soldier of the empire tries to learn from battle, even the most inconsequential ones. Many young lords would be grateful for the opportunity to learn firsthand.”

  “If the lesson is that the feral serfs of the Chaos Quarter are backward animals with no technology to speak of, then consider the lesson learned,” Aetius snarked.

  “Not all ‘animals’ you fight will go down so quickly, or easily,” said Tertius. “That you would do well to learn.”

  “Duly noted,” Aetius deadpanned.

  A dark look came over the thane’s face. Aetius glanced away, having no desire to get into a stare down with the man.

  “You are dismissed Baron,” Tertius finally said.

  Aetius swept his hand in an exaggerated arc.

  “As you wish commander,” he declared; then he turned and strolled out of the bridge. He heard Tertius mutter to himself as he went, and it made him smile.

  Among freed serfs living in the Commonwealth, the enlistment rate is a staggering 39 percent. And of those an astronomically high 37 percent go on to officer-training schools. The gun-ownership rate of civilian serfs is 99.3 percent, so much that it’s commonplace to assume that any freed serf living in the Commonwealth has a weapon concealed on their person. The reason for all three numbers is simple: they’ve tasted the lash, and they’ve tasted freedom, and they’re never going to let anyone take that freedom from them again.

  —Lecture given to students at New Michigan Institute of Technology by Professor Alejandro Ross, NMIT Recorded Lecture Series, Volume XXVIX, 2499

  The Reservation, Anglesey, Dominion of the Angleseyu, Anglesey System, Chaos Quarter, Standard Date 9/2/2507

  Kate’s flyer was a long oval with stubby, semicircular wings. It was an atmospheric ship, but in no way aerodynamic. Like Longshot a system of automatic maneuvering jets kept it airborne and stable.

  Rex kept his eye on it as it flew a few miles ahead of him. From Brynoer they had flown northeast, over a small ocean to a smallish continent, maybe one thousand miles across and eight hundred or so from north to south. Like all the others it had parallel ridge-and-valley patterns. Kate had kept well above them to avoid updrafts, until a few minutes ago, when they’d swept down into this particular valley. They were on the northern end of the continent, the ocean not twenty miles ahead of them according to the ship’s computer.

  Kate’s flyer began to descend, slowly dipping toward a small, local spaceport just south of town. Rex cut back on the speed, bringing his ship to a hover above the field. Longshot was nearly half as big as the spaceport below them. He nudged it gently toward the southern edge of the field, and rotated, orienting the cargo bay doors so they faced the town. Slowly he brought her down, a slight tremor running through the ship as the landing struts connected with concrete.

  The ship’s com crackled.

  “Hope you don’t mind some people here to greet you. We don’t get many visitors,” Kate said excitedly. “Much less somebody like you, friend Baliol.”

  “Alvadile,” Lucius corrected.

  “That’s fine,” said Rex.

  They spent the next few minutes making their way toward the cargo bay. Rex made sure to have his pistol on his hip, out and ready should anything not go according to plan. As he reached the cargo bay with the whole of his crew, he ordered the ship to lower the cargo bay doors.

  “Lock off all of the ship except for the cargo bay,” Rex added. “And under no circumstances are you to let Vermella out for anybody but me.

  “Understood,” said the computer.

  As the doors touched the tarmac, a blast of cool air rushed in, hitting them in the face. It was refreshing to Rex, reminiscent of home. Except the humidity wasn’t so ever present here, and the smell of salt had a crispness to it.

  A dozen people approached the ship, all dressed against the chill. From the left Kate’s figure dashed over, taking up a position in front of them. Rex and crew moved to the edge of the cargo bay, atop the ramp the doors had formed. The procession moved up, the faces becoming clearer.

  “Hello!” called Rex with a friendly voice. “Thank you for having us!”

  No response came. As the party drew closer, he noticed Lucius stiffening in surprise.

  “Oh shit,” Lucius said. Rex froze for a second. For Lucius to speak so coarsely was rare.

  “What’s wro—”

  “Here he is stepmother!” cried Kate. “Waiting and ready for your justice!”

  Rex’s hand flew to his pistol, but before it did all thirteen of the freedmen and woman had drawn their own weapons and pointed them at Rex and his crew. Even Kate had her gun out and pointed directly at Jake’s head. Second had her gun half-out of her holster, but had frozen. She looked toward Rex for guidance. He shook his head, and she slid the gun back down.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Rex demanded.

  Nobody answered. From the dozen, one woman stepped forward. She was a short woman, cute if not beautiful. She had brown hair and appeared to be in her mid-sixties, which meant she was probably in her early thirties. Her hands were filled with a large pistol, her stomach filled with the bulge of advanced pregnancy. She marched steadily at Lucius whose eyes were wide with recognition.

  Her gun hand flashed, whipping the pistol into Lucius’s temple. His gunner stumbled, but kept his feet. Her fist smashed down a second later, striking the same spot and sending him to the ground. Lucius made no move to defend himself.

  She stomped Lucius ribs, sending him into a fetal position. Hate marred her features as she lifted her leg up again. Rex leaped to his side, forcing himself between her and his gunner. He had his gun up and at the woman’s forehead.

  “I do not want to kill a pregnant woman, but if you strike him again—”

  “No!” Lucius cried, rolling away. “Don’t shoot Rex! She has reason!”

  “Put your gun down foreigner,” a new voice seethed. One of the party had stepped forward, a pistol in his hand, with a clear shot on Rex. He was a sandy-blond-haired man, maybe a few years older than the woman. His jaw was square, his face rugged and worn. The coldness in his voice left Rex with no doubt that he would end him, and made it very clear who had fathered the woman’s unborn child.

  “I want to, but no captain can let people beat on his crew,” Rex snapped. “We came here at Kate’s invitation, under the belief that we would be welcome. And now we find she deceives us? You can understand why I’m a bit irritated. Besides, you shoot me and my friend there will clip you.”

  The sandy-haired man glanced to his right. Second’s gun was out, and aimed at his head. Jake was the only one who still had his hands up.

  “She’ll die like the rest of you,” said the man.

  “Maybe. But my cyborg friend here is bulletproof, and more than strong enough to rip all of you apart with his bare hands,” Rex warned, glancing over to Jake.

  “Yeah,” Jake mumbled, unconvincing. Rex rolled his eyes, and continued.

  “So we can all die here, as you suggest, or little ol’ Kate can explain why she betrayed us—seems like just yesterday she went out of her way to save Lucius!”

  Kate stepped forward from the crowd.

  “I saved him so my stepmother could have the pleasure of feeling his throat crushed beneath her fingers!” Kate sneered, her young face as angry as the pregnant woman’s.

  “And all that crap about ‘Lucius Serf-Friend’?” Rex asked.

  “Friend!” roared the pregnant woman. “My children are dead because of this bastard, and you thought we’d consider him a friend!”

  Rex glanced over to Lucius.

 
; “So I’m thinking you two have a history?” he asked, not removing the gun from the woman.

  “She…she was my nanny—”

  “Helen!” she screamed, breaking for Lucius with no thought of the gun pressed to her temple. Rex jerked the gun away, focusing it on the sandy-haired man.

  “My name is Helen!” she screamed, pounding her fists into Lucius’s chest. He retreated back, doing nothing to stop her. “Helen!”

  “Fucking hell,” muttered Rex. “Jake, break them up! And don’t hurt her!”

  The cyborg darted over, a dozen guns trailing him but not shooting. He interjected himself between the woman and the retreating Lucius, catching her fists.

  “You bastard!” Helen yelled. “You know what they did to them? To my children! To your children! They’re dead! They’re all dead because of you, you bastard!”

  Jake slowly walked the woman backward, her struggles doing nothing against his mechanical strength. Lucius moved slowly forward, an eye blackened.

  “Tell your friend to let go of my wife,” the sandy-haired man growled.

  “Jake, let her go. Stay in front of Lucius,” Rex ordered.

  Jake complied. The woman looked ready to attack again but paused. She stalked back to her husband’s side, her gun aimed at Jake and never leaving for a moment.

  “You were a fool to bring a nobleman here,” said the sandy-haired man.

  “And a fool to trust a liar like Kate,” Rex added,

  “Kate is my daughter, and a lie like this is no sin,” the man declared.

  “I see. And who are you exactly?” Rex asked.

  “Keith,” he spoke. “Head of the Valley Town militia.”

  “And you expect me to believe you’re Kate’s father?” said Rex.

  “Blood means little to us,” Keith replied. “Though Baliol’s blood is something we’ll gladly shed.”

  “Alvadile,” Lucius insisted. He took his place next to Rex, pulling his gun from his holster but holding it at his side.