Chaos Quarter: Imperial Ambitions Page 29

  But they were of no interest to him now. He had already found what he was looking for: the Austia-class birds. Smaller than the Trebiants, but much larger than a landing pod, the Austias were an intermediate class. They were ungainly craft, looking like ovals that had somehow been made hard and angular. That odd appearance was essential though. The angled surfaces were a classic design for deflecting radar away. Still, it did make the ships look like some sort of miscarried, mechanical fetus.

  Several dozen of the ships were stretched in a line. He moved quickly down the line of them, looking for Bentham’s insignia on the helmets of the warriors. About halfway down he found it. Proeliumira was there, ordering his men onto two different transports.

  “Warrior,” said Aetius as he paced up next to the man. Proeliumira glanced up at his massive, armored form.

  “Lord-sire?” he said.

  “It is I, Lord Fitz-Titus. Tell your men to make some space for me,” Aetius declared.

  “You intend to accompany us, lord-sire?”

  “I do. Thane Hohenzollern has decided that since I trained with you, I might as well fight with you,” Aetius lied. “I cannot say he has the best intentions in doing this. He probably hopes it will scare me…or kill me. But who am I to question his reasoning?”

  “Lord-sire, I doubt he thinks such things,” said Proeliumira.

  “Perhaps, but as I said, I am not going to argue. I have the chance to serve my God and emperor. I mean to do just that,” said Aetius. “I would gladly fight in Bentham’s stead to ensure leadership among your brigade.”

  “As you wish, lord-sire,” said Proeliumira, an uncertain expression coming to his face.

  “Something wrong commander?” asked Aetius.

  “No, ah, no, my lord-sire. It is just…I have never heard of a baron commanding one of our brigades,” he explained.

  “Do you doubt the orders of a thane and a baron?” asked Aetius, with just a hint of malice in his voice. “Do you doubt the words of an emperor’s son?”

  “No, of course not, lord-sire. It is…it is unexpected, that’s all. We would be honored for one of your station to lead us,” Proeliumira said, bowing deeply.

  “And it will be an honor to lead you,” Aetius replied charitably. “Shall we waste no more time then? We would be remiss in our obligations if the mission was delayed by our chatting.”

  “As you wish, lord-sire,” said Proeliumira, gesturing toward the nearest transport.

  Aetius smiled and then clomped onto the ship. By the time Tertius Hohenzollern realized he was gone, this ship would be away and jumping to Anglesey. The damned thane had been a fool to think he would sit quietly by and let this opportunity slip through his fingers. Hard problems demanded hard solutions, and after this he would see how many nobles dared whisper about him when they thought he wasn’t listening. How many barons would put themselves at such risk for the empire? Few, if any. They sat in their vast palaces, governing vast estates, eating, drinking, and fucking their days away. A few would deign to command a fleet, provided they were safe in the flagship, away from any real danger.

  Soft, decadent fools!

  He did not have that problem. When this was over, his name would be known; the whispers would be gone; and all the other men of his station would be shamed by comparison. He would start his public life as a champion whose deeds would be talked about for years to come.

  Pleased at the thought, he moved to the head of a long row of seats, where the warriors had strapped themselves in. He didn’t bother to strap in himself; the seats would not have supported the weight of the armor suit. He simply sat down on the floor, wedging himself between the end of one row of seats and the bulkhead behind it. Proeliumira came in last, stepping over him, and then moving to the last empty seat.

  “We’re all in pilot!” the commander cried. “Take off!”

  ***

  Tertius drummed his fingers idly, watching the dots on the hologram wink out as the Forlorn Hope Brigades jumped to Anglesey. He felt the calm he usually did before battle. His subordinates did not share that emotion. The tension was clear on their faces. But to Tertius the actual moment of commitment was something of a relief. It was the buildup that wore him—the constant planning and replanning, the endless shifting of people and material to optimize combat effectiveness.

  He supposed he needn’t have worried so much on a mission like this, given their foe. Chaos Quarter rabble were unlikely to be much of a threat. It was a bit different from what he was used to, given his prior deployment to the Anatolian Reach. Out there, on the frontier with the Terrans, things were different. There you had to plan carefully, because the Commonwealth rabble could actually fight back. And though no noble would dare admit it, there was an unspoken rule that no action should be taken that could trigger a full-scale war. Fifty-odd years after the fact, the memories of the Anatolian Reach War were still strong. He doubted they would die until the last of the old veterans did. Part of him worried about that, though he would never say so publicly. When the gray-haired survivors were gone, and none remained who had seen the carnage, who would be left to stop the young nobles from doing something stupid?

  He frowned, feeling a bit of the unease creep into him. Rather than fight the unease, he decided to go with it and turned to Cannae’s captain, Earl Marianus Khosroviani. The earl was a stocky man with a bald pate and a surly countenance.

  “Please summon Baron Fitz-Titus. I think’s it’s time we let him know how he’s to win his spurs,” said Tertius.

  “Of course, my lord,” replied Marianus, moving away to relay the message to a tech. Moments later he returned, looking a bit more surly than usual.

  “My lord, Baron Fitz-Titus is not in his room. And his whore does not seem to be in a speaking mood,” Marianus informed.

  “And what would keep a bed serf from answering one of her betters?” asked Tertius warily.

  “Only orders from a master of higher rank,” Marianus replied matter-of-factly.

  Tertius groaned, not liking the direction this was going in. “Find him.”

  Marianus nodded promptly and turned. Tertius grumbled, his unease growing more still. The damned boy had a way of doing that to him. He expected Marianus to report back promptly, but the earl spoke with the techs for a long time, several minutes in fact. Across the large bridge of Cannae, Tertius couldn’t make out the words, but the expression on Marianus’s face wasn’t one usually associated with good news.

  What has the idiot man-child done now?

  Finally Marianus returned to his side.

  “My lord, Baron Fitz-Titus is not on the station,” he informed.

  Tertius’s fist balled, his voice darkening. “What do you mean, Earl?”

  Marianus showed no fear, just a blunt acceptance of the situation.

  “My lord, surveillance cameras in one of the launch bays recorded an image of a man in powered armor boarding a transport,” Marianus explained.

  Tertius slammed his fist down hard on the arm of the chair. The techs around him jumped, and several of the nobles commanding them cast frightened glances his way.

  “So you’re saying the emperor’s own brother stole an armored suit and stowed away with the Forlorn Hope Brigades?” Tertius surmised.

  “It appears that way, my lord,” said Marianus.

  “The same brigades that just jumped away to battle, several hours ahead of us,” Tertius continued.

  “Yes, my lord,” Marianus confirmed.

  Tertius sighed, slumping back in his chair and rubbing at his brow. What had the One True God been thinking sending an idiot like this to the royal family? And why the hell had he saw it fit to dump that brat on him?

  “Foolish boy…” Tertius grumbled under his breath.

  “My lord?” said Marianus, no doubt wondering if he’d just heard his commander insult the emperor’s favorite brother.

  “Contact Earl Piast aboard Vrana. Tell him he is to proceed ahead of the fleet with all speed and make the ju
mp to Anglesey. Upon arrival he is to ascertain Baron Fitz-Titus’s location and provide any fire support that he can,” ordered Tertius.

  “Right away, my lord,” said Marianus, nodding at one of his techs to relay the orders. The serf ran off to do so. Marianus remained, his head bowed, but his brow furrowed.

  “You do not agree with my decision, Earl?” asked Tertius.

  “My lord, it is not my place to act against you. I am only wondering what support a destroyer will be able to provide,” said Marianus.

  He was not wrong to wonder that. The Schiavona-class destroyer, the backbone of the Europan fleet, was built for space combat. They were fast ships, capable of traveling at 20 percent the speed of light. But their weapons were not geared for firing on planets. Pulse cannons had trouble with atmosphere, their energy often scattering before hitting the target. Even the ship’s missiles were ill prepared. Destroyers carried antiship missiles, large weapons with powerful warheads. They were not the precision-guided stuff you wanted when supporting ground troops. Massive explosions were just as likely to consume your own men as the enemy’s.

  But fire support wasn’t the true reason he had given the order.

  “Your question is warranted, Earl Khosroviani. You are correct that Vrana will be able to provide little direct support. And given the lead the Forlorn Hope Brigades have on us, it is unlikely it will reach in time to have any major impact on the battle’s early phases,” Tertius said.

  “Then why, my lord?” asked Marianus.

  “Because the emperor’s brother just went off to his death,” Tertius announced, the room falling silent around him. “It would not be fitting to let a man of royal blood go to his doom without some attempt at saving him.”

  Marianus nodded, frowning at the reasoning. Tertius sympathized with the man. He hated letting politics get in the way of battle. It interfered with operations and turned what should be straightforward plans into messy debacles. But much as he hated it, it was an inevitable part of being an imperial commander.

  Tertius began drumming his fingers again, aggressively. All traces of calm had slipped away, and he looked every bit as stressed as the men around him.

  Damn you Aetius Fitz-Titus!

  When I talk about my problems, one of two things happens: One, things get worse. Two, they don’t. When I hear other people talk about their problems one of three things happens: One, things get worse. Two, they don’t. Three, I learn something new about a person and end up liking the person a little less than I did before. Nowhere have I seen simply talking about a problem solve that problem. Solving problems requires action. And when people act to solves problems, one of two things happen…

  —Joseph Davidson, Collected Sayings, 2082

  The Reservation, Anglesey, Dominion of the Angleseyu, Anglesey System, Chaos Quarter, Standard Date 9/4/2507

  Rex slowly opened his eyes and instantly regretted it. As consciousness returned, a pounding pain filled his head, a familiar one. He’d felt it after his first encounter with Vermella, a hangover of some sort. But he hesitated to call it that. Hangovers at least implied that something fun had happened the night before. Rex remembered the previous night, remembered preparing the antiaging nanobots for Vermella, remembered doing it all with a smile on his face and a love for Vermella in his heart…yeah, heart; that was it.

  He grumbled and rolled over in his narrow bed. He came to rest on his stomach, half-overhanging the edge of the bed. There, not two feet away, lay Second. He blinked to make sure this wasn’t some dream. It wasn’t. Second lay on his floor, fully clothed, her head resting on a small pillow. She was wide awake, staring up at him. It would’ve been incredibly creepy if not for the shattered expression on her face. She looked well and truly lost, and more than a bit overwhelmed. Her lip trembled softly, not quite quivering, but heading in that direction.

  “Morning, Second,” he said.

  “Hello,” she replied awkwardly.

  “Should I ask why you’re sleeping on the floor of my cabin?”

  She glanced downward as if to confirm that she was where he said she was.

  “I…it…it did not seem right to leave you alone,” Second said, “after you were trapped under her influence.”

  “I trust Jake made sure she didn’t try anything aggressive?” asked Rex.

  “She did not try to take sexual advantage of you,” said Second.

  “Well, I figured she wouldn’t, now that she knows her little virus won’t work on us,” said Rex. He lay back down in his bed, letting some tension bleed out of his shoulders. As if to compensate, Second sat up, putting her head just above his level.

  “I failed to act in defense of myself again,” Second said, her voice weak.

  “She had a shiv at your throat,” said Rex. “Had you done something, she might have killed you.”

  “My failure allowed her to use me against you,” she continued, apparently not having heard him.

  “She could’ve done that to anyone, Second. She’s evil, remember?” said Rex.

  “But it was me,” she said. “I was the one she captured. I am continually ill prepared for the challenges we face…of what purpose can I be if I cannot protect myself, if I endanger others?”

  “Second, self-pity isn’t going to help you here,” Rex said. He got a confused look in response. It was familiar—Second’s “I do not understand” look. He paused, thinking back as to whether or not she’d actually experienced this emotion before.

  “You don’t know what self-pity is, do you?” he asked.

  “I do not,” she said calmly. “Pity is feeling sympathetic to others who are suffering.”

  “Yeah. Well, when you feel bad about yourself, it’s called ‘self-pity.’ And I tell you right now, it’s a mind screw—makes you think you can’t do things, that you’re not on the same level as the people around you, kind of wraps you all up in doubt, and leaves your mind in a quagmire,” Rex explained.

  “I do not understand,” she said.

  “Uh…let’s see, okay, fear. Remember that?” he said. “Remember when the ambassador first came out of his coma, on our last mission? And when you were in the standoff back on Atrebar? You told me you froze, right?”

  “Yes,” she spoke. “I felt fear both of those times.”

  “Yes, you did. Enough fear to make you freeze and hesitate. Self-pity is kind of like that, except not as immediate. Fear can come on suddenly, grab you, and overwhelm you. Self-pity takes longer. It gets into your thoughts, builds up slowly, and makes you doubt things that once seemed straightforward.”

  He paused, looking for a sign of recognition. Second just looked down in thought, as she often did. When she looked up from it, she didn’t seem any more settled.

  “What is my purpose here, Rex?” she asked.

  “Second—”

  “You said you would find out my purpose on this ship. Why did you allow me to come on this mission, given my continued shortcomings?”

  “Well, you have awareness enough to ask a question like that, for one thing,” said Rex.

  “You could have refused to let me onboard,” said Second.

  “You’re not a child, Second. You can make your own decisions, and you did,” Rex explained. “Besides, I’ve figured out your purpose on this ship—your official position.”

  Second looked at him expectantly.

  “You’re our gofer,” said Rex.

  “I am not a gopher. This body—my body—is too large, and my teeth do not grow continuously,” said Second.

  “It’s an expression, Second. It means you do a little of everything, as situations require. We all have to wear many hats on these trips. This just makes it official.”

  “I do not own a hat,” Second replied.

  “Another expression. Anyway, that’s why you’re here, and that’s what you do.”

  “I’m a gofer,” she said.

  “Yes. And if anyone asks, so is Jake. Now, if you don’t mind, I do have to get dressed for the da
y…”

  Second remained where she was for a long moment, making no move to go. Then her head shot up.

  “Would my presence here while you change evoke a lustful response?” she asked.

  “Most likely, but not in me,” said Rex, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. Second cocked her head quizzically.

  “Something else on your mind?” Rex asked.

  “I am trying to decide whether I would enjoy a lustful response,” she said.

  “All right, out you go,” Rex said, pulling her gently to her feet. She continued thinking as he led her out the door. As it closer behind her, Rex rolled his eyes again. The woman certainly had a way of making sure things were never normal. He chuckled at that, and then rummaged around for clothes.

  ***

  Rex walked into the common room, and stopped in his tracks. At the table, eating dry cereal, was Cindy. His mind blanked for a second, and then he remembered her promise to say at his side until Calidus was released. She hadn’t taken the words as literally as Second had, because he could see a pile of blankets on one of the common room’s couches. She’d apparently spent the night in here.

  “Are you yourself again?” she asked as he walked in.

  “Mostly. How long was I under her ‘spell’?” Rex asked, moving past Cindy and into the adjoining kitchen. A large window cut into the wall exposed the kitchen to the common room.

  “Four hours, long enough to synthesize your age treatment and administer it,” Cindy answered.

  “Only four? Must’ve rushed it,” said Rex.

  “Well, it felt like longer,” said Cindy. Rex swore he heard a note of concern in her voice.

  “No disagreement with that,” said Rex. He zapped two prepackaged, sausage-patty sandwiches in the instowave cooker and then joined Cindy at the table.

  “You know when you first told us about your little friend, I wasn’t sure if I should believe you. Kinda figured you made all that pheromone stuff up to cover some real reason for holding her,” said Cindy.