Chaos Quarter: Imperial Ambitions Page 44

  “Report, subcommander,” Tertius ordered.

  “One hundred eighty-four men ready for service. Forty-seven wounded—”

  “Forty-seven!” Tertius gasped. “That is all?”

  “Apologies, lord-sire,” said Rixator. “Neither the warriors nor the serfs were much interested in taking prisoners.”

  Tertius huffed and shook his head. “Continue.”

  “Twelve hundred sixty-nine dead or missing, lord-sire,” Rixator concluded.

  Nobody spoke for a long moment, the horrific figures hanging in the air.

  “And the serfs? Surely not all of them escaped on Baliol’s ship,” said Tertius.

  “No, lord-sire; it’s just that…well, those that did not escape either died fighting or…uh…well, they…”

  “Get on with it, subcommander,” Tertius said impatiently.

  “Many of them chose to take their own lives, lord-sire,” Rixator said. “Many were elderly, unfit for combat. They…they did not wish to be taken alive.”

  Tertius turned, gazing back at the ruined buildings.

  “A regular Masada,” he mused out loud. “So please, subcommander, do not tell me we just suffered thirteen hundred casualties for nothing.”

  Rixator hesitated for a long moment, his expression changing rapidly, as he tried to figure out how to respond.

  “Not for nothing, lord-sire,” he said, motioning him on. They walked down the middle of the horseshoe, stepping beside the men in formation. Beyond he could see two figures. One was an elderly man, lying on the grass, motionless except for the irregular rise and fall of his chest. A few feet away stood a table. Strapped to it was a naked woman. She was not particularly attractive, and appeared to be in her mid-forties. This had not stopped the men from “breaking” her though. Fluid dripped from between her legs. Her body was covered in bruises. Her head lolled back over the far end of the table, eyes open but unfocused.

  “Is this it? Two!” demanded Tertius.

  “Yes, lord-sire. The woman was apparently this man’s mate, and refused to leave his side. They were the only two serfs that were captured…alive,” Rixator explained.

  Tertius closed his eyes and balled his fists. Most of an elite battalion dead, and for what? A backwater village of no strategic importance, a serf woman too old to be much good at working or breeding, and a half-dead old male? That was why so many had perished? That was why Baron Fitz-Titus had gotten himself blown all to hell?

  The thought brought a new pain to his head. Explaining Aetius’s stupidity to the emperor was not something he looked forward to.

  “Where is he?” Tertius inquired.

  Rixator didn’t need to ask who. He moved toward the transport, motioning Tertius to follow. They climbed into the ship, moving through the main crew cabin to a small infirmary behind. The cramped room was dominated by a stasis pod, a coffin-shaped device designed to keep the most injured of people alive and stable. Through the darkened glass of its lid, he could just make out a ruined form. It was Aetius, or what remained of him.

  The young man’s right side was unrecognizable. His right leg was crushed, lumpy and misshapen, the shattered bone going in a dozen different directions. The skin over his rib cage was a mass of bruises and bandages, all soaked heavily with blood. His right arm was gone altogether. The stasis pod had attached some sort of metal cap to the stump, to seal off the ruptured vessels and keep him from bleeding to death. Further up he could just make out the man’s right eyelid, blackened and bloody, just above a shattered cheekbone. Something about the eyelid seemed off. He looked away in revulsion when he realized that the youth’s right eye was gone, and that the lid closed over nothing.

  “And you say he’s still alive?” Tertius asked, unsure of how anything so battered could still live.

  “Yes, lord-sire…and stable, according to the computers,” said Rixator timidly.

  “What happened to him?” Tertius demanded.

  “He was found in rubble, under a pile of bricks from a fallen chimney, lord-sire,” said Rixator. “The transport’s med tech managed to get him into the pod and put him into a coma. It was no sure thing, though. He very nearly died, lord-sire.”

  “That I believe,” Tertius said, shaking his head. Glancing down at the unconscious figure, he was suddenly gripped by the urge to scream at him. He wanted to call the boy every name he could think of and let him know just how much of a naïve, young idiot he was. But he held back, as always. Aetius was still the emperor’s brother, and no amount of being right would spare him Gnaeus’s wrath should he forget his place.

  He could only take solace in the knowledge that this lesson would not be one Aetius soon forgot. A new leg, a new arm, a new eye, along with God knows what else needed replacing…that was at least a year in hospital. It would take just that long to grow the new parts, and many painful hours of surgery to graft them onto his body. And all during that time the boy would be awake, immobilized, forced to see the cost of his stupidity.

  Or he’ll blame his traitor half-brother, redouble his hate, and learn nothing.

  That would be the most likely course, Tertius realized. Sometimes even the most obvious message was lost on the young. The older he got the more sure he was that all youths, noble or not, were intolerably stupid.

  “A shame that such a fate should befall a nobleman of such high station,” Tertius said mechanically. Rixator nodded in concurrence, looking genuinely sad for his injured better.

  Tertius straightened up, and sighed for effect. “But we can do no more for him here. Best we get him to Cannae, where noble doctors can begin the serious work of putting our wounded baron back together.”

  “I will tell the pilot to leave immediately, lord-sire,” said Rixator dutifully.

  “No,” Tertius declared. “No, load your remaining men onto this transport. There is no use being here any longer, not with the serfs gone. This village is of no real use to us. Baron Fitz-Titus is not awake to feel the pain he is in, so I don’t think he would mind waiting a bit longer. Get your people onboard, and get your wounded back to Cannae.”

  “As you say, lord-sire, we shall do,” said Rixator. “But if I may be forgiven, lord-sire, may I ask what is to become of our brethren? It is unpleasant to think of them being left to lie here, food for the scavengers.”

  Tertius nodded solemnly. “Squads will be sent to collect remains. They will be granted a pyre, and sent to the Warrior’s Hall to be with their fellows.”

  “A thousand thanks, lord-sire,” Rixator said, saluting again.

  Tertius nodded, and stepped out of the transport. He found his guard waiting and motioned them to follow.

  “Come, let us go. They are awaiting us in the capital,” said Tertius. “We have a puppet state to establish, and I fully intend to stake a claim on the best of those suitable for breeding stock…”

  Does it still qualify as spoils if you didn’t win?

  —Officer Rex Vahl, in his report on the events occurring on the planet of Anglesey, 9/8/2507

  Somewhere in the Harude System, Chaos Quarter, Standard Date 9/6/2507

  No pirates, no mercenaries, no suddenly appearing Europan invasion fleets…Rex was really starting to like Harude. He had no idea who lived here, and didn’t really care. All he knew is that it was two systems away from Anglesey, and it was quiet, so very quiet.

  The same could not be said about his ship. Longshot was jammed full. It was a ship designed for a crew of a dozen or so, maybe twenty at best. Now there were 582 refugees, plus the four of them, trying to coexist in a very limited space.

  The cargo bay was still filled to capacity, even after they’d got the wounded out. They had triaged, sending the worst to sick bay. The ASU and modern exam-table units had done a lot of good work, but they were limited in number, and the wounded were many. The crew had given up their rooms for the others who were hurt, the worst of them going in the beds, the others on the floor.

  Most of the refugees were healthy though. They fill
ed the cargo bay, each claiming some small piece of floor for themselves. A smaller contingent was in the common area, the luckiest of them finding some small bit of privacy by grabbing a spot under the large table. It was impossible to go anywhere on the ship without seeing people. His ship wasn’t so much a ship as it was a cattle car.

  And as predicted, it smelled terrible. The retching from his hard-G maneuver had been bad, but now they had to deal with the body odors of nearly six hundred people. The ship’s air filters could deal with one hundred, at most. Though Rex had to admit that now, after being in it for a while, he was beginning not to notice the ripe scent of packed humanity. Of course, even that was small comfort. With this many people onboard, they would have to stop every system or so, to buy food, water, and swap out their atmosphere. There was no other choice with this many people onboard. So the scent he had just gotten used to would soon vanish, to be replaced by fresh air that would slowly start to stink again, over and over, until they reached the Commonwealth.

  It was going to be a long trip.

  He grumbled about it, but he didn’t regret it, not for a second. If this was the price they paid to ensure these people’s freedom, it would be one he paid gladly. And once this was over, he was sure his memory would selectively forget the unpleasant parts and focus on him being all noble and awesome. Beyond that it was nothing a very long shower couldn’t fix.

  Besides, they had some small escape here on the bridge. Rex had placed it off limits, along with the engine room. Jake had staked out that spot, since the drone of engines was nothing to him. He could turn off his sense of hearing and smell, so down there in the tiny engine room Jake had the quietest, best-smelling spot of them all. Dang cyborg! Lucius and Second had taken spots on the bridge to sleep, while Rex had made the observation blister his temporary home. Sure, sleeping under nothing but thick plastic meant a few more extra millirems than sleeping beneath an armored hull, but it was nothing his nanobots couldn’t handle. And he’d always liked sleeping under the stars. It wasn’t something you could do often on Paphlygonia, so why not take advantage?

  He stretched his arms in the command chair, not quite sure what to do with himself. For the last few days it had been one disaster after another; he’d kind of gotten used to being pulled in a half-dozen different directions. Now he had nothing to do but stare at the void. He wondered if he should put a movie on…

  “Cindy is requesting entrance to the bridge,” announced the computer.

  “Huh? Oh, yeah, let her in,” Rex said.

  The door slid open and Cindy entered. She had a very serious look about her.

  “Something wrong?” Rex asked, spinning in his chair to see her.

  “Nothing wrong,” she replied. “Just here on ‘official business,’ as you Terrans say. The people had some requests, and seeing as I am the closest thing they have to government, they asked that I discuss them with you.”

  “Okay,” Rex replied. “We’ll do what we can, but we’re kind of stretched thin right now, considering.”

  “Yes, and they understand that. There is nobody on this ship who is not grateful for what you and you crew are doing for us,” Cindy said with a warm smile. “But they still asked me to come.”

  “Well, what’s on—your—their minds then?” Rex asked.

  Cindy looked at Second and Lucius, and then back at Rex.

  “I hate to impose on your people, but if we could speak in private…” said Cindy and then nodded toward Lucius. “There are still some trust issues.”

  Lucius scowled, and shook his head.

  “I am sorry about this,” Cindy said to him.

  “You want to send me out into a crowd of people who still have ‘trust issues’?” Lucius asked coolly.

  “Take the observation blister,” Rex said. “Enjoy some alone time while you can get it.”

  His scowl softened, but didn’t leave entirely. He motioned Second to follow, and the two departed the bridge. Second paused for a moment at the door, looking strangely at Cindy. Then she moved away.

  Wonder what that was? thought Rex.

  The bridge door slid shut, leaving the two of them alone.

  “Thank you for that,” Cindy said. “Now we can get down to business.”

  She began undoing the buttons of her blouse. Rex didn’t register the action for a moment, and then his eyes widened.

  “Ah, Cindy…” he said.

  “Yes?” she answered, finishing the last button.

  “What are you doing?”

  “What does it look like I’m doing?” she said, whipping of the shirt and tossing it on the floor. Full breasts met his eyes, straining against a black bra.

  “Cindy, I…umm…I didn’t fight alongside you guys because I expected something in return,” he said.

  “Do you think saying things like that makes you less attractive to me?” she said, smiling oh-so-seductively. She kicked off her shoes, and began working at her belt.

  “It’s, well, it’s just that I don’t want you thinking that you owe me anything,” he said as the belt came off.

  “But I do owe you something, Rex,” she said, unzipping her pants and letting them fall to the floor. “I owe you everything. We all do.”

  Rex fought for control, feeling it slip away bit by bit as she advanced across the bridge in three long, hip-swaying steps. He swallowed back hard, suddenly aware of nothing except for her. The way her hips swelled out and then tapered into toned thighs…the way her breasts heaved against the bra with every breath…he was done for, and he knew it.

  “I can never repay you for what you’ve done,” said Cindy, unlatching the bra. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to try.”

  The bra fell to floor, followed by her panties. Suddenly she was kneeling on his lap, her chest pressed up against him. The only scent that caught his attention now was a feminine one, intoxicating and clinging, blanking out all thought in his mind—and not in the bad, rapey, Vermella way. It was good, oh so good…

  “Only question is, are you willing to give an old gal the chance to thank you proper,” she said, her fingers grabbing the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head.

  “Old?” he said. His reasoning mind knew that she was forty-three unaltered years, but his eyes, and her figure, apparently hadn’t gotten that message.

  “Young man like you could learn a thing or two,” she said and then kissed her way up his neck.

  “I’m fifty-five, remember?” he said as she reached his lips.

  She cocked her heard quizzically and then smiled.

  “Sorry, forgot,” she said.

  “Guess the real question is whether a youngin’ like you wants an old, cradle robber like me?” he asked.

  “Damn right, I do,” she said, her fingers working at his pants. “I like a man who knows what he’s doing.”

  With that he pulled her lips against his, and let it happen.

  ***

  Several hours later Rex found himself climbing into the observation blister. His “discussion” with Cindy long concluded, Lucius had returned to the bridge, leaving Rex with his temporary home once more.

  It was bigger than the observation blister that had been on Long Haul. The hemispherical dome was nearly six feet high, almost high enough to stand up in. It was about twelve feet in diameter, though the center was dominated by the four-foot-wide hatch that opened into the ship. Still, he had plenty of room to stretch out on either side.

  He lay on his back, staring out at the universe. It was mostly black, though toward the stern of the ship he could make out a silver gas giant they’d passed a little while back. It had broken ring arcs surrounding it, most likely ice given the way they sparkled in the light of Harude’s distant orange sun.

  He relaxed his head back. He’d wadded up one of his shirts to serve as a pillow, and had managed to snatch a single bedsheet from his quarters before handing it over to the wounded. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do until they could stop and buy bedding for eve
rybody. He’d never imagined himself sleeping on the outer hull of a spaceship before, but with the blister’s dome overhead, it was remarkably manageable. No brutal cold or exploding blood vessels to ruin your sleep, just the firm support of DU-steel against your back.

  A hiss filled the dome. He turned to see the hatch slide back, and Second climb up the ladder. The hatch slid shut behind her. For the briefest moment, she was silhouetted against the silver of the gas giant. He drew in a deep breath at the sight, transfixed by her beauty and the starry blackness that framed it. If only he were a painter…

  “What’s up, Second?” he asked.

  She looked upward, at the vastness of space and then jolted her head back down.

  “You were not being literal,” she said, a statement, not a question.

  “You are getting better at that,” he said. “Won’t be long before my jokes stop flying over your head.”

  She didn’t answer, just looked about awkwardly in the way she did when she wasn’t sure how to go about something.

  “Something bothering you then?” Rex asked.

  “I cannot sleep,” she said.

  “Is Lucius snoring again? ’Cause back home he’s woken me up with that. Gods knows how Chaki sleeps through it,” said Rex.

  “He is not snoring,” she replied. “I am having trouble understanding my thoughts and emotions.”

  He relaxed his head back again. “What’s it this time? Still not sure if you can protect yourself out here?”

  “No…yes; no and yes…can two such contradictory states exist?” she asked.

  “Sometimes I think that’s all that exists,” sighed Rex. “What particular contradiction has you up and about?”

  “I was able to fight, but I do not understand why,” she explained. “When I was in my quarters, I was safe from the battle. But I felt the urge to fight, and I fought. And I did not feel the hesitation I had on previous occasions.”

  “Possibly because you weren’t just fighting for yourself?” he said.