Penny

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

Rene returned Solae's kiss without thinking. His mind was taken aback but his attraction to her was undeniable to his body. After a moment of shocked silence she broke away, leaving him with the dizzying memory of her lips on his own. She mumbled something about scans and stumbled from the room. His eyes followed the rhythmic motion of her hips as his mouth tried for form words that wouldn't come. The door swung shut behind him and he was left sitting on the floor being serenaded by a machine. He wasn't sure exactly what he wanted to say to the beautiful marquessa but the moment had passed. A guilty corner of his mind reminded him that the most likely reason was that she was reacting to the stress of the situation. He was too he supposed, though he doubted if any of his former comrades were here they would have wasted time worrying about it.

Unsteadily he came to his feet, awkwardly thrusting the sword down in his belt so it rode more comfortably below his bruised hip. He felt alot better for some reason. Perhaps it was the fact that they had a plan now, a plan that sounded marginally more plausible than assaulting or infiltrating the most heavily armed facillity on the planet. The Syshin were an enigma to him, something he had heard of but never personally experienced. If they had villages outside of the general area of Armistice there was bound to be a certain amount of smuggling taking place, perhaps they could find a freighter that would take them off New Concordia afterall. And then again maybe it had nothing to do with plans and he was just enchanted with the vision of Solae in her undergarments.

He had reservations about Solae attempting the removal of the tracker on her own but it was her decision to make, he couldn't blame her if he didn't want him cutting into her. Resolving to make himself useful he headed down to the kitchen and began to gather what supplies they would need.

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

Trailus Major - Day Three
The Shara Rae exploded silently at the dock. The sleek battleship’s four fusion reactors went super critical within milliseconds of one another, bulging the vessels midsection into a tetramer of white spheres each as brilliant as the birth of a new star. The thousand kiloton explosions converted three quarters of the vessel length into a cloud of debris and gaseous metal driven before the quad shockwaves like the bow wake of an unimaginable storm. The space dock to which the ship was dock cracked like an egg, its own internal oxygen and anything less combustible than silicon blazed in an inferno which was no more than a coda to the Shara Rae’s death song. The battleships foredeck and thruster nozzles were tossed from the explosion like children's toys, careening into the darkness of space. More worrying, the debris of the station began to fall towards the bright blue world below as the blast shoved the wreckage planetward from its geosynchronous orbit in slow arcs which began to blaze with friction heat almost immediately.

Duke Alexis Tan, Emperor Alexis the first as he now styled himself, paused the holographic recording with a curt gesture and scowled at the knot of advisors which surrounded him.

“How in the Void did this happen?!” he snapped, his face slightly florid with suppressed rage. He had been a handsome man in his youth but the excesses of middle age and an indifference to even the moderate exercise required by vanity gave him a slightly florid look. His eyes were agate hard and held an animal cunning which supplemented his substantial intellect. Alexis was dressed soberly in a dark gray on black suit with a formal sash of expensive golden silk slashing diagonally from shoulder to hip. The courtiers to whom he addressed the questions showed no such restraint. Each man or woman was bedecked in the most expensive and often most gaudy outfit they possessed.

The crowd rolled back like a tide before their leaders anger, leaving a single woman, dressed in neatly cut military fatigues with a modest array of medals displayed on the breast of the field green tunic. She was dressed up for the occasion but no one would begrudge that general, formerly colonel, Bhast was a real veteran. She showed neither fear nor contrition but instead stepped boldly forward.

“The operation went of a scheduled,” she replied in a tone with the crispness of Capella or one of the core worlds of the Empire. She made a gesture at the holoprojector and the scene shifted to uniformed men and women rushing through the hatches of the Shara Rae, weapons flashing silently as the rebels attempted to seize the ship. The display showed an impressive amount of preparation and technical expertise despite its casual appearance.

“We took Captain Gwindon and her officer into custody aboard the station, to secure her genetic code as instructed,” the general went on. Alexis arched a dangerous eyebrow at what was in essence a defence of failure from an underling.

“Then who set the self destruct?” the usuper demanded, pacing back and forth angrily as he spoke. Bhast made another gesture and a small red headed woman with a dusting of freckles across her nose appeared beside a service record for an Imperial Navy Engineering Lieutenant.

“As best we can tell there was no formal self destruct. One of the engineering officers, Kya Chobral, sealed the engineering deck the moment we fired. It would seem she opted to scuttle the Shara Rae rather than let her be taken,” the general explained in her calm precise voice. Chobral’s action had been instant, resolute, utterly fearless and had resulted in the deaths of nearly a thousand people including the captain and entire complement of the Shara Rae. Her name would live on in the Navy’s pantheon of heroes.

What Cobral wouldn’t have appreciated was what a blow she had dealt to the Dukes Rebellion. The death of Lysyndra Gwindon meant that the rebels were without a highborn noble who could activate the PEA system, a far greater blow than the loss of a ship, even one as impressive as the Shara Rae had been. The plan had unfolded like clockwork, the conspirators striking simultaneous across dozens of systems. The Imperial yoke in the Eastern Cross was light and the attacks had been savage and overwhelming. The embassies had been primary targets both because they boasted PEA’s and because they were centers of intelligence collection and distribution. It would have been possible to capture the buildings intact, but not before spies in the embassy beamed warnings to their masters. Unfortunately the same ruthless efficiency which had carried the coup to victory had denied them any chance to capture other candidates with the right genetic codes. Gwindor, a scion of high nobility as well as a naval captain, was to have been their key to the communications system.

“So now we are blind and dumb general! We cannot expect to conduct an interstellar war without instantaneous communications!”

Bhast nodded her head though her stance suggested she wasn’t conceding the point.

“We can mitigate that to some degree by using jump ships,” she began, continuing to speak despite an angry glare from her sovereign.

“But I have some better news. I received word from New Concordia that one of the diplomats there escaped the initial purge. The Prefect there has already began the search and should have her in custody shortly.” Alexis ceased pacing at this news, his expression brightening marginally at the prospect of an unexpected solution.

“Who is this noble?” he demanded. Bhast nodded her head and made a third gesture. A holographic picture of a beautiful golden haired woman sprang up in place of the sterile naval personnel record.

“Let me tell you about Solae Falia….”

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

Rene sat down on the floor and pulled Solae to his chest feeling the waves of heat and chill pulse through her scantily clad body as the shock of the news continued to surge within her. Nearly naked she looked like a goddess, her figure more than mere biology could have endowed. Gently he stroked her hair and hugged her to him providing what comfort he could.

“Well as a seduction technique it certainly has the element of surprise. I’m told that is important,” he joked trying to lighten the sombre mood. Truthfully the sight of her was making his blood run hot.

Rene felt his anger rise as Mia recounted the news. The sultry inflections of her voice banked his rage to a hot fire, though intellectually he knew that the AI had no other choice. His skin began to prickle unspent adrenaline and he ached to lash out at something. The reward for Solae’s capture was perfectly calculated to appeal to everyone from the crudest peasant to the most powerful noble. Appealing to sex, pride and wealth covered a fairly broad swath of the human universes priorities. He could attest to that himself as his body reminded him that he was clutching the nearly naked marquesa against him.

“We will figure it out,” he told her promising to himself that somehow he would get her out of this, whatever it cost.

The CLTI presented a problem he hadn’t foreseen. Rene himself had once had such a transmitter but the Marine Corp surgeons had removed it when he enlisted. Such a device presented an obvious risk for soldiers in the field. He decided he didn’t much care to know quite what ‘unconventional acts of copulation’ might entail and was just as glad not to have met Lord Armon. If the portrait of the man the house painted was in any way accurate it was unlikely they would have gotten along. Well Armon would doubtlessly have sneered at a lowly soldier so perhaps the feeling would have been mutual.

“I’m not a medic,” Rene began. When he had finished basic he had applied for every specialty from vacuum commando to electronic warfare operator. Despite his excellent scores both physical and intellectual every request had been rejected. Normally a recruit with Rene’s education and aptitudes would have been shifted to officer training but the political poison of his background meant that no one wanted to give him an opportunity where he could win fame and renown. A popular and successful officer with his background might become a threat, perhaps not unlike that which was convulsing New Concordia. Accordingly he had remained in the regular infantry and been posted to a galactic backwater besides.

“Mia does the manor have scanning gear of some sort?” he asked the AI.

“Lord Armon has a full body imager used for creating sculptures Sir Rene, I judge it will serve to precisely locate the CLTI, though I strongly suggest such an operation only be attempted by qualified medical professionals.” Rene wondered if Armon had a basement full of life sized sculptures of his various conquests but decided not to ask for clarification.

“Your suggestion is noted,” he replied dryly. For a moment he considered going into the city by himself and hiring or abducting a doctor for the job. It wasn’t likely that anyone was looking for him specifically, although the port databases would have copies of his biometrics which might have been distributed. Ultimately he decided he was unwilling to leave Solae alone in the manor or to let any stranger know of her whereabouts.

“We will take care of it Solae,” he told the girl in his arms, “I promise we will take care of all of it.”

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

Rene was simmering eggs on a pan when Mia called him. The eggs were as large as apples and had a slightly bluish hue, he had no idea what they were, not Terran chickens certainly. Life had not provided him with much opportunity for culinary training, beyond how to make a ration pack marginally less disgusting but he at least had the presence of mind to cut the heat to the pan before he bolted for the bedroom.

He flew up the stairs two at a time, the stolen pistol in his hand and the sword hooked through his belt. What ‘minor medical distress’ meant to an AI was an open question and he would rather not find out that Mia had underestimated the problem. Plenty of minor problems could be fatal when their margin of survival was already so low. Blood infection or hemorrhagic fever were ‘minor’ issues if you could afford to spend a few days in hospital after all. Besides, if he were honest, the dreams had left him jumpy. Part of his mind expected to find Solae dead on the velvet soft colors just as he had found Amellia.

The door to the bedroom slid open before him as Mia unknowingly rebuked him for his worry. The sound of retching came from the ensuite bathroom and he slowed his sprint to a walk. The door was open so he cautiously stepped inside. Solae was on her knees attempting to vomit, though clearly all she could do at this point was bring up bile. The bathroom itself was tiled in an expensive herringbone of some sort of natural wood, while the toilet itself was a shifting nacreous think, like an opal but less pleasing to the eye.
He wrapped a knuckle on the door jam politely, although there was no possibility she hadn’t heard the thundering of combat boots or the clatter of equipment as he raced through the house.

“Solae? I’m sorry… I mean are you alright?”

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

New Concordia - Day 3

Rene did not so much fall asleep as collapse into unconsciousness. Disturbing dreams plucked at the edge of his pshyce. Amellia stood before him in a white courtly gown. With a gloved hand she beckoned him closer. Something in the twisted logic of dreams warned him not to approach but the same logic impelled him towards her. As he neared a red stain began to spread across her abdomen discoloring the dress with the slow but relentless spread of blotting in. Suddenly it was Solae not Amellia, their features transposing like the after image of a holograph. Solae/Amellia sagged against the unremarkable background of the dream landscape, falling into the pose that he had seen years ago in Amellia’s blood stained bedroom.

When he reached her side she was Amellia again, raven haired and sharp chinned. Lightning flashed in the dream and in its instant of illumination he saw figures standing around him. The Gid sergeant nearly decapitated by the razor wire, his two companions gunshot and dripping blood, Bowie features distorted by the blast of the tanks shell. His hand touched the dead woman. The gaping wound in her belly began to close and her features began to run in a slow transition until the dream Solae took a shuddering breath and sat up. Her hand lifted and touched his cheek.

“Wake.”

Rene sat upright in bed. He had fallen asleep fully dressed, although he supposed that even given the choice he woul have kept all but his boots on for modesty’s sake. Solae was pressed against him breathing softly. If she dreamed he hoped they were more peaceful than his own. Instinctively he brushed a lock of hair from her face. The bedroom didn’t have a chrono but Rene’s body told him it was around five in the local morning. Stand to. The hours just after dusk and just before dawn were traditionally held to be the most dangerous. The marines stood to their weapons every morning and night regardless of how unlikely attack was.

Taking care not to wake Solae he slipped out of the bed. The room was dark save for the occasional flash of lightning refracted through a deluge of tropical rain. The storm had passed into the east now and the lightning was distant, out of sink with the slight tremble of vibration which made the glass dance. Rene moved to the window and peered out over the manicured forest which surrounded the estate. It was hard to see, with only the intermittent witchlight of the distant storm and the curtain of rain.

“Mia, open the room please, seal it once I’m out, if Lady Solae wakes, reassure her that all is well and that I am nearby,” he whispered. His words were barely audible but the sophisticated AI didn’t suffer from the same limitation of hearing that humans did. A faint circle of green light on the wall beside him pulsed acknowledgment and the door open with a whisper of air and a momentary increase in the volume of rain. Rene stepped through and closed the door behind him.

There was little chance that Rene would spot anything that Mia couldn’t have detected but he made a circuit of the house regardless. It hurt to move and his body was stiff but forcing himsef to do it now meant he would be limber later. As he walked the marbe hallways his mind turned to what their next move should be. With the Embassy PEA destroyed or in enemy hands they needed to get off New Concordia and get word to the Empire of what had happened here. The Stellar Empire wasn’t perfect but it was the only alternative to anarchy. Even a small scale rebellion could, if left unchecked, inspire others until human civilization shook itself apart in feudal fragmentation that might lead to a large scale collapse like that which had destroyed the dominion of Earth. Rene had read the histories that survived as a child. The collapse of trade in the Earth Rebellions had caused catastrophic food shortages across most of the human galaxy. Nine out of ten people had starved to death as the knock on effects of a galactic economy collapsed in on themselves. Civilization had only survived on distant and relatively rich worlds like Capella and even then it had been a near thing to a new dark age. Exploratory vessels were still probing areas that had fallen out of contact during the collapse.

They had to warn someone and he didn’t see anyway to do that without getting off planet. Of course that meant sneaking of planet during the aftermath of a masterfully planned and executed coup. It meant getting to the spaceport with a highly recognizable high value target, getting her onto a ship and off planet when the entire security apparatus was set to prevent just such a predictable action.

“Mia,” he asked, pausing as a thought struck him.

“Are their any weapons in the building?” he asked. A green light lit up but, surprisingly, the AI didn’t answer immediately. Rene frowned, with the computing power even a basic AI needed to function their shouldn’t be any hesitation.

“Lord Armon’s family sword is in the private gallery Sir Rene,” Mia purred. The voice came from over his right shoulder and it felt eerie even though it as only an artefact of the nearest available transmission circuit.

“Take me there.”

The private gallery was on the top floor of the mansion. Soaring ceilings of synthetic diamond would have made the place brilliant even under starlight. The didn’t baffle sound as effectively as the rest of the house however and the rain drumming down was like a distant stampede of horses. Statuary and artwork stood around. Much of it had been knocked down or defaced with crude knife slashes. A marble statue of a woman whose beauty must have been breath taking lay on the ground in two pieces. Her eyes, breasts and genitals had been defaced with some sort of heavy hammer like objects, perhaps crowbars. The destruction of so much priceless artwork at the hands of a drunken mob saddened him despite his attempts to cultivate a cynicism appropriate to an Imperial Marine.

“Mia where is the sword?” he asked, puzzled that it hadn’t been carried away by the looters as an obvious trophy. A marble block set into the wall recessed and rotated with perfect silence dispite weighing several hundred kilograms. Behind it stood a simple looking sword on a velvet backing. It was just over a meter long with a straight blade that seemed dull gray save for a slight shimmer along the working edges. Its hilt was plain and used, some sort of darkly polished wood, perhaps terran ebony with slight silver inlays. It was plain compared to the defaced art and Rene realised that its very simplicity had saved it. The sword wasn’t pretty enough to be on display, but precious enough to warrant a place here. He reached into the case and drew the sword free with a slight click as friction hooks released it.

The weapon was Kalderi workmanship and must have been three hundred years old if it was a day. The enigmatic Kalderi were an alien race that dwelled on the eastern edge of the Stellar Empire. Most of their interactions with humans were difficult to interpret and many were shrouded in mystery. Such a weapon would have been a gift when some ancestor of Armon’s performed some service for the Kalderi or impressed them in some way. It was beyond priceless. Rene felt the impeccable balance of the weapon as he lifted it and thumbed the activation stud. The weapons silver edge grew brighter and their was a slight rhythmic thrum. Monofilament blades rotated around the edge at high frequency, the precisely aligned microblades interlocked to create a cutting edge that could pierce steel.

The air seemed to hum as the marine swept the blade through a series of exercises the master at arms had shown him as a child. It felt good and alien in approximately equa parts. Rene had the momentary urge to try to sweep it through a marble column as he had heart was possible but the idea of adding to the destruction filled him with disgust. He turned the weapon off with a flick of his thumb. Solae had mentioned Armon had off planet family, such an heirloom should be returned to them. That was assuming he or Solae survived to get off planet of course.

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

Rene listened as he finished dressing the wound. It was a strange mirror of his own life in some ways. He had always aspired to be the ideal of his own class before his class was taken away for him. He had the freedom that Solae lacked which was an interesting irony. Close contact with her was intoxicating, the feel of her skin beneath his hands warm and alluring.

The marine was no fool, nor a wide eyed innocent. He suspected that if he wanted he could make something happen between them. Mia was right that his heart rate and body temperature were elevated around her. It wouldn’t be right though. She had he had been through a tremendous trauma and people often acted against their real natures in such disaster. It would be dishonorable to take advantage of her when she was going through so much. Besides in the morning she might well remember that she was a marquessa and he might as well be gutter sweepings. Such was the reality of the universe.

“Lets get some sleep,” he said gently, a hint of regret in his voice. Carefully he gathered up the remains of their dinner as well as the gear and the first aid kit and they headed upstairs. The stairs to the living quaters were remarkable both in their craftsmanship and thier lack of taste. The pillars were of a green and gold veined marble, each of which had been shapped into a beatuful rendition of a mythological vision. It took a tremendous amount of money to be that tasteless.

A hiss of rain on slate tiles announced the leading edge of the storm. The downpour beginning to lash the roof as the booms of thunder grew steadily closer. It was going to be a bad one tonight for which Rene was greatful. Even marines would be reluctant to patrol too aggressively in this and the Gids were likely to stick close to their billets. Training warned him not to write the Gids off as lazy and ill disciplined but there were limits to what even the best soldiers would be willing to endure.

They entered a large bedroom with a bed upon which Rene could have landed a small drop ship with an elaborate canopy supported by intricately fluted marble colums. The dressers and cupboards had been ransacked in much the same way as the rest of the house but the bed itself was untouched for a miracle. The lights dimmed as the entered and a softly sensual tune began to play. Mia evidently hadn’t given up on the notion.

“I’ll take the first watch,” Rene declared stoically.

“I can discreetly warn you if anyone approaches within twenty meters of the house Sir Rene,” Mia purred helpfully. Rene considered it. There were risks but without the stimulants marines normally carried it was unlikely he would be able to make it for any length of time, particularly as the endorphins from the shower and the meal coursed though his body.

“Alright but wake me the moment you sense someone approaching.”

Grim Galaxy: Shots and Chances

Junebug stepped from the car with the rolling grace of a combat veteran unassing a vehicle. Despite the nerve shattering ride in, long experience and muscle memory meant that she didn’t freeze up or stumble under pressure. Taya and Aiden faired worse stumbling from the car as though motion sickness was about to make them lose whatever was in their stomachs. Neil dropped gracefully to the balcony also, clearly impressed with his flying as indeed he had every right to be.

The night around them was quiet after the howling winds of the approach, although the distant thrum of aircar fans was a presure you could feel in your bones. Not for the first time Sayeeda was pleased that the palace restricted the use of the camera drones that were an omnipresent feature of life everywhere else in the city. It wouldn’t do to have an audience.

The balcony itself was nearly big enough to have accommodated the Highlander, though Junebug would not have vouched for the structure taking the ships immense weight. It was made of the ubiquitous white marble and sported beds of carefully manicured plants and trees. A hot tub steamed at one end where the occupants could look out over the glittering city lights. The whole area was tastefully lit with small recessed lighting which cast a moonlight ambiance which must have been extremely expensive. And this was just a balcony, Junebug would not have imagined that the vast appartment they had been assigned could be made to feel second rate but here they were.

“Stop!” Taya hissed as Aiden reached for the door. The prince paused with his hand halfway to the handle of a large door of blackened glass. He cocked an eyebrow at the young blonde. Taya lifted a small scanner of some sort to emphasis the words.

“There is a security screen,” Taya whispered as though they hadn’t just landed an air car on a balcony.

“Can you deactivate it?” Aiden asked glancing back over his shoulder. The door banged open and a beautiful woman in a see through shift stepped through the door. The woman looked at the group in confusion. Her eyes went from the butchered aircar to the group strung out on the balcony and their very obviously displayed weapons. Junebug shot her twice from less than a meter away. The weapon was nearly silent hissing like a soda can opening. Compressed air fired needles of polarized crystal into the womans chest. The woman looked down in shock and opened her mouth to scream. Before her lungs could draw breath the alternating currents the crystal produced dropped her in a twitching heap. Froth flecked her lips as the muscles spasmed uncontrollably.

“Who is that?” Aiden asked looking a little wide eyed. Sayeeda stepped around the fallen woman and stuck her foot in the door before it could swing shut.

“Some woman,” Sayeeda said with a shrug, “I have no idea.”

“But you shot her!”

Junebug stepped through the open door and looked back at her companions.

“I don’t know most of the people I shoot, someone tape her and lets do what we came to do.”

@POOHEAD189

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

The brush of Solae’s lips tingled on Rene’s cheeks like pin pricks of static electricity. He watched her go to retrieve the cookies, trying to avoid focusing on the soft curve of her figure as she busied herself with the supplies. Beyond the window he could see dark clouds gathering out over the distant oceanic horizon. The wind was already coming up as the incipient storm system sucked cooler air towards it. The tropic heat gathered vast thunderheads of an evening, discharging the days pent up fury in spectacular thunderstorms. If it had happened yesterday Van Heck would never have ordered him to climb the antennae and he would certainly be dead, his body rotting against the berm back at the Rat Trap.

Rene didn’t believe in luck or fate in a meaningful sense although like all soldiers he carried the sense that somehow he personally would be spared. His life so far had been an indifferent experiment, born into the tiny minority of privliged nobillity, to have accomplished the great ambition of his young life, only to have it all come crashing down in Amellia’s blood stained bed chamber. And yet here he was, alive by the most haphazard series of events. It was tempting to look at it as karma for stopping to help the farmer. The notion woke a memory of an old proverb about a farmer who experienced a string of alternating triumphs and catastrophes. No matter how much his neighbours sang his triumps or mourned his losses, the farmer simply responded: We will see. Was he lucky to have escaped and to have saved Solae? Or was he about to suffer another shattering reversal. After all, saving the komo hadn’t exactly paid of for Bowie.

Perhaps it was thoughts of fate and luck that gave him pause when Solae offered to answer a question for him. A half dozen questions from the verbal games he had played with the ladies of the Court sprang into his mind. Rather than answer immediately he set down this utensils and stood up moving around behind the noblewoman. If she was alarmed she gave no sign and he wordlessly picked up a small spray applicator from the med kit. As gently as he could he gathered up her golden hair, marvelling at its silky fulness as he gathered it away from the cut on her scalp.

“This will sting but only for a moment,” he told her and then began to spray a thin jet of aerosolized fluid against the cut, moving from the front backwards in a slow progression. The spray contained healing factors, antiseptic and a topical anesthetic which numbed the pain the otherwise harsh chemicals would inflict.

“What is it that you want Solae?” he asked as he finished the application and picked up a small sutcher applicator. The thing functioned like a stapler which applied discrete naturally decaying surgical closures. It would be painful if he used it without preparation but the topical anesthetic would make the process only slightly unpleasant. He placed the first sutcher and pulled the trigger, the device clicked an whired a second from storage. He smiled at her joke about market value as he sank another one ten millimeters above the first.

“In the universe I mean, not like a brigade of Imperial Armor to land and rescue us. You have all the wealth you could desire, high position. What is it that you are striving for?”

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

Camilla and Cydric spent the afternoon with the count and his surviving captains. A tent was stuck from the little surviving bagage to serve as housing for the count and his retainers. She couldn’t hear all of the whispered conversations but it was clear the butcher's bill was fearfully high. The grim mood was underscored by the groaning of the wounded and the curses of the barber surgeons as they plied their bloody trade.The coun’ts retinue included a single priest of morr and the acolyte had a haggard and exhausted look the few times Camilla saw him.

Most of the discussion revolved around what the new strategy would be. The consensus among the captains was that they should fall back to Salzenmund and preserve what was left of the force in the formidable defences there. The Count steadfastly refused arguing that to do so was to abandon his people to the reavers and that more tribesmen would flock to the banners of the invaders as word of their success spread. Despite this conviction the Count could offer little in the way of practical suggestion.

For her part Camilla watched the map and tried to fit the information together in her mind. Something tugged at the corners of her mind and she frowned trying to find the thread that would pull the dissociated ideas together. Cydric handed her a bowl of thick venison stew which she drank greedily nearly burning herself in her haste to satiate the hunger that had been growing this past few days.

“My Count, I appreicate your zeal we simply cannot risk it, the winds of war may…”

“Wait!” Camilla interjected the bowl paused halfway to her lips. All eyes in the sparsely furnished tent swiviled to face her. Most were dismissive and some were openly contemptuous. The count, eager for anything that might support his own desire arched an eyebrow at the Tilean.

“Venti…” she mused in Tilean, setting the wooden bowl down beside Cydric and sashaying her way over to the map on the improvised table. She tapped a finger to a small notation on the map a few miles from the sea.

“What is this place?” she demanded. There was a long silence before the count glared.

“Well answer her damn your eyes,” Gaussen snapped, his patience with a seemingly impossible task evidently well worn. One of the younger officers, an artilleryman judging by the powderburns which pocked his hands, stepped close and peered down at the faded leather map.

“It is Kronsdtat..mmm.. My lady,” he said stumbling over what to address her. Camila placed both hands on her hips with some asperity.

“I can read,” she informed the man tartly and the young canonner blushed at the uninteded insult he had given.

“Uh.. of course… what I meant to say is that it is a small town far enough from the coast for folk to flee too when raiders are sighted,” the man expanded. The coast of Nordland was littered with such settlements. Not an obstacle to raiders really but enough of a deterrent to dissuade every roving captain from trying his luck.

“This is preposterous we cant defend Kronsdtat or any other such place!” one of the more seasoned officer objected, earning a murmur of approval from his fellows.

“My Count I appreciate that these mercenaries have helped…” the objection was cut off by a thunderous belch which would have shaken the slate if they had been inside. Ivan Petrovich stood up and set his empty ale mug down. He glanced around the shocked silence with the kind of calm that usually preceded a berserker rage.

“We Listden to vat da Laydee hast to say da?” he said pleasantly, his eyes cowing the murmuring crowd. Camila nodded her thanks growing excited as a plan began to coalesce in her mind. She caught Cydric’s eye and saw the glimmer of understanding beginning to kindle there. The veterans approval was enough to spur her own.

“What will the Norscan’s do if we go to Kronsdtat?” she asked. There was a moments silence that was broken by the count himself.

“They will follow us there, half of them are blood cultists more interested in slaughter than plunder and the other half are too smart to miss the chance to wipe out what is left of my force.” The Count was polite enough, interested even though he clearly struggled to see what point she was making. Camilla snapped her fingers.

“Yes but HOW will they follow us?” she pressed. The cannoneer tapped a finger to a large inlet maked as Windbighter’s Bay, the closest such inlet to Kronsdtat.

“They will sail their ships into the bay and march overland to the town.” Camila smiled triumphantly.

“And what will they do if, while they are attacking the town, a small group of mercenaries slips in and sets their ships on fire?” she asked directing a sweet smile at those who had been detractors of the plan. The Count stood suddenly straigher, his eyes very bright as he looked at the map.

“By the Hammer,” the Count breathed, “They’ll run for the ships, try to save their only way home. Then we can sally and catch them between two forces.” The Count seemed a new man afire with purpose and possibility.

“Fetch ink and paper, it will take some doing but by Sigmar and Taal we will crush their balls like chestnuts! Begging the ladys pardon.”

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

Rene chewed hungrily on a piece of cheese before helping himself to more ham. Although he knew the sensation had no foundation in biology he could feel the nutrients absorbed into his body with each mouthful. The lifestyle of a marine, even on a backwater like this didn’t give one the luxury of much stored body fat, a fact that was true in spades for a scion of a noble house whose genetic code had been altered to repress the tendency to avoid plumpness. The last meal he had eaten had been with Bowie before they set out on their patrol. He wondered if the owner of the komo had noticed the destruction of the base.

Silence fell between them at her words save for the quiet mastication of his jaw as he continued to eat with stoic determination. Rene found he was reluctant to answer, not because he feared to speak but because he didn’t rightly know what the truth was. A dozen half truths and partial answers swirled in his mind, no one thing fully satisfying. With careful deliberation he set the knife down and looked up into Solae’s eyes.

“I suppose I could say that it as my duty as a marine,” he began, resting his palm on the tabletop and feeling the cool of the marble beneath. Rene took his duty seriously but truthfully risking himself to save someone he knew nothing about did nothing to warn his superiors about what had happened on New Concordia and probably on other worlds in the sector. It had felt good to pay back the Gids for the blood and horror of the Rat Trap but that was an effect of the action and not its motivation.

“But that wouldn’t be the real reason, not the whole reason anyway.” His eyes focused at a point in the distant past, a different life, where Renard Du Quentain had knelt before the Empress in the vast crystal throne room in Capella and she had touched him on the shoulder to elevate him into Knighthood. Despite everything that had happened, Amellia, the corp, the rat trap, at his secret core he was still that serious, earnest young man who had laid his blade before the Throne. The realisation made him slightly queasy for reasons he couldn’t articulate.

“Rene?” Solae prodded gently and his eyes focused back on the present and on her beautiful face. The reverie must have lasted longer in reality than on the brittle surface of his mind.

“The truth is, that I didn’t think about it. I didn’t know who you were or why they wanted you but I knew that you were in trouble. What sort of person would I be if I hid in a ditch when I could help?” The answer wouldn’t have pleased his rhetoric teacher, but it had a simple honesty which would have been apparent to a child.