Penny

Grim Galaxy: Shots and Chances

Sayeeda hit the ground hard enough that the breath exploded from her chest. The ceramic armor saved her ribs, though she would still have bruises to show for it tomorrow. Something blond and flailing hit her across the chest with a squawk, driving her into the ground. Instinctively, Junebug rolled over, covering the girl with her armored body as rock splinters and shell fragments rained down around them. The static charge on the helmet kept the dust of her visor but the air in front of her was essentially a sandstorm. THe radio crackled useless in an unintelligible hash of static. The air above still screamed with artillery and gun fire.

They were in a narrow metal lined cavern with stalac… no… Sayeeda’s shell stunned brain caught up with what was going on. The were in a massive shattered airlock. Piping, brown with a rind of ancient rust reached up towards the remaining fragments of the mesa. Not a mesa, a camouflage construction. Someone had camouflaged the starship. The Treasure ship was an orbital vessel, never meant to land in an atmosphere, but her pilot had brought her down using the thrusters against the pull of gravity. The star hot fusion drives must have melted the sand to lava as it landed, sinking the ship into a cocoon of crude glass that had been quickly covered by the blowing desert winds. All that had remained above the ground was this airlock. Somone, probably the original Terran crew had covered it with a crude concrete of sand, close enough to the sandstone mesas to fool even local wildlife into making a home of it. The crew must have left their hidden ship with the goal of returning to salvage her, but the desert or the RIP had swallowed them and their secret.

Taya struggled under Sayeeda’s armored weight and as the last shells burst above she picked herself up releasing the girl. The submachine gun Junebug was carrying felt light and she glanced down to see that the barrel had been amputated two thirds the way along its length by a shell fragment that would have killed her instantly if it had been a meter to the right. Junebug tossed the weapon to the ground and drew the pistol from her belt. Above them the sound of gunfire was slacking as Canek and his surviving two vehicles retreated, gaining enough clearance from the shell struck mesa that their air defense systems could pot the incoming shells.

“Who are these people,” Taya asked shakily, she still had her pistol in her hand, though Junebug noticed the red led that indicated the weapon was empty was light.

“Another group of mercs,” Sayeeda explained, moving to the side of the airlock where a maintenance grating lay partially ajar. Her eyes scanned the rim of the artifical crater above them, though she could at least hope anyone that had been on top of the mesa had been blown to ragged meat.

“They must have found the ship but haven’t got the transport yet to loot it properly,” she conjectured.

“Probably set up a defensive perimeter while they wait for ships. Thats why they dropped the hammer on us when we showed up, they were already here to defend their prize,” Junebug explained.

“Well what do we do now,” she demanded. A figure appeared on the lip above them pointing a machine gun down over the lip. Sayeeda whipped her pistol up but before she could fire the man screamed as Saxon grabbed him from behind, lifted the man over his head and hurled him into the pit. The mercenary hit the ground with a sound like a cracking egg, the machine gun flying from his dead fingers with a clatter. Saxon jumped into the hole a moment before a burst of tracer fire ripped through his previous position, his long talons acting as a break as he dragged them through the sandstone to slow his decent. He landed heavily, adsorbing the shock by flexing his knees before straightening. He looked from the dead mercenary to Sayeeda, the pouches under his neck swelling. She had the peculiar impression of a cat laying a mouse at the feet of its mate.

“There are many more vermin approaching,” he hissed in his serpentine voice.

“I saw armored carriers coming across the sand, Canek flees like a coward,” he sneered. Sayeeda, an experienced tanker, knew that Canek’s only choice was to move out into open space where he could use his vehicles effectively. She doubted he was willing to give up on the treasure ship that easily.

“What do we do?” Taya asked, her voice quivering with fear. Neil, who had been working on the maintaince hatch with his multi-tool pulled the hatch cover off and let it fall to the floor with a clang.

“I guess we take a look inside.”

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

Tychon nodded, though by now Rene knew the man well enough to understand that it was a place holder rather and an agreement. He was in unfamiliar territory and was doubtless afraid of making the wrong decision. Of course at sea, as in life, the worst decision was a failure to make one.

“Yes, um, I mean, if you think it is safe La… Solae,” he replied. They glided over the submerged reefs with ease and Rene began to see the versatility of the hydrofoils on a world like Panopontus. The barge that had ferried the three of them too shore had been too deep a draught for this kind of work. Behind them a trail of slightly phosphorescent algae marked their trail across the dark water. Doubtless they were of a type with the algae that had set the Caldera aglow when then energy of the landing had woke them.

Solae took a communicator out and spoke into it before nodding her head. Rene was slightly disappointed that no light was immediately visible, but if Tychon was he showed no sign, instead he curved his course northward circling the caldera. It was only a minute before they caught sight of a dull glow a cleft in the side of the caldera. Massive waves must have battered it over the millenia and eventually would shatter it completely turning the caldera into a lagoon, but that was the work of centuries or millennia.

The trim little craft arrowed in towards the beach at a broad angle, Tychon was taking any chances of wrecking them though that was caution rather than need. The caldera had once been the crown of an volcano and hence the water, following the slope of the mountain, deepend quickly here on the leeward side. The waves drove them towards the edge of the caldera but here again the deep water was a boon, converting what would have been white caps on a shallower stretch of coast into an insistent slapping.

The hum of electricity cut and the hull sloshed into the water as Tychon turned the hydrofoil off and picked up a large anchor of sharply angled metal, he tossed it over the side with a splash. The sudden silence was disconcerting after the constant high frequency hum of the hydrofoils and Rene found himself feeling jumpy. After a moment Tychon touched another control and an electric winch began to retrieve anchor cable around a small spool after a moment the line went slack and the boat jerked violently. Rene nearly lost his feet by Tychon merely looked embarrassed.

“Sorry,” the fisherman said, though the smile on his face was that of an expert watching amatuers in his domain. With careful manipulation he paid out cable from the winch allowing the boat to drift closer and closer to the wall of the caldera until the steep rocky shore stood only a few meters away.

“Someone will need to secure a line to the rocks,” Tychon called, easiy audible now that the wind and the engine noise were gone. Rene stepped to the rear, the section of the boat, closest to the land and took a length of coiled rope from Tychon.

“Should I tie it to a landing skid or…” but Tychon was already shaking his head.

“The rocking of the boat will chafe it against the rock if you do that,” he explained and drew a small device from a compartment. The thing resembled a large stapler.

“This will put a tie int the rock, it will hold us long enough,” Tychon explained. The fisherman clearly would have prefered to be handling this part, but as Rene had only the barest notion of how to operate the boat, he was the obvious choice. Taking the stapler he clipped it to his belt and leaped the two meters to the caldera, catching at the tough viney growth which covered the steep rise to stop himself sliding back into the water. Carefully, he pressed the stapper to the bare rock and pulled the small trigger in the butt of the thing. There was a sharp pop of compressed gas and the stapler kicked against Rene’s hand. When he withdrew it, a two inch eye bolt had been driven into the stone, similar to those climbers used to ascend rock faces. Rene fed the rope through the eye and looked back at Tychon, uncertain how to tie it off. The fisherman shook his head and made a ‘throw it here’ motion. Rene put his food on the bolt and tossed the coil of remaining line to Tychon who secured it to the boat, which steaded now that it had two points of contact. Evidently the winch had enough play in it that the rocking of the waves wasn't a problem. Rene turned back to the rock and placed two more studs as hand holes and then climbed into the lowest point of the tumbledown.

In the caldera beyond, the Bonaventure stood much as they had left it, save that the water from the hurricane had drained away. As Solae had surmised the landing skids were sunk several inches deep into the volcanic ash that formed the lumpy grey floor. Emergency lighting by the main hatches and at the nose and stern of the vessel burned a cheerful green. The nose light blinked off for a moment and then lit again, leaving Rene with strange notion that Mia had just winked at him. A grin spread across his face. He turned to see Tychon speaking with Solae, he had an inflatable raft in his hands but she shook her head, put one foot on the line and jumped over the remaining distance to catch onto the vegetation as Rene had. He grinned wider at his fiance and reached down to help her up into the cleft.

“Welcome home,” he said with a smile as she looked over the edge of the caldera to where the bonaventure stood cheerfully illuminated.

“If the mistress cares to inspect the house,” he said with a courtly bow made slightly ridiculous by the fact that he was reaching down with his free hand to catch another length of rope Tychon was tossing him. The other end of it was secured to a length of flexible hosing, though it would take both men to muscle that up over the caldera wall.

“I’ll make sure that the gardens are in order.”

Damned to the Depths

Calliope finished her wine and refilled the glass, pouring over chart on the table. Her finger traced the line up through the Sundered Sea. It was a good plan, the area was rich in coastal trade and a good place to make a name for oneself. They would need allies, both to capture the fleet and to attack Calaverde and no man would sail with someone who he didn't know, no man worth his salt in any case.

“Well I suppose we can burn that ship when we get to it,” she said, considering all the work that lay ahead of them She mistrusted the Arad’s and their schemes but there seemed no point in turning away gold while it was to be had. They knew the Bloodaxes were weakened from the loss of their mages, even if they had more in their lair. In the back of her mind Calliope was revisiting her old schemes to bring Arad privateers under her banner, certainly being part of the raid that destroyed a notorious pirate band would be good for her reputation.

Above them the deck creaked and rang with footsteps as the crew bought supplies and powder aboard. There were spirits too though Sketti had complained that rum couldn’t be found here. The booze of choice was a type of palm wine that smelled sharp enough to tickle the sinuses. Calliope didn’t supposed the crew would mind, booze was booze afterall

“What tide will be best to set sail on?” she asked eagerly.

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

Tychon cast off the lines off with the ease of long practice and returned to the controls. The smooth whir of a flywheel proceed the deep thrum of the engines as the pumps began to pressurise and then they were moving away from the dock out into the harbor. Though the boat must have had emergency lights, Tychon had deactivated them somehow so they were all but invisible save for the soft purr of the pumps driving the ship out onto the black water. The stars shone down from above but the moonlight was too slight to provide much illumination. Although it was still an hour or two before dawn the eastern sky was lighter with the promise of the coming dawn.

If the darkness bothered Tychon it didn’t show he maneuvered them easily out of the harbor and onto the open sea. The water was choppy and slapped against the hull as a wind rose to cap the greenish sea with white caps. Once they were well clear of the land Tychon touched another control and the outriggers began to extend on their hydraulic struts. An electrical tingle ran through the craft as the outriggers shimmered with induced current and the ship rose on the induced current to ride on its hydrofoils, the choppiness faded to be replaced by a greasy smoothness and they began to pick up speed as the drag of the hull through the water decreased.

“We couldn’t run on hydrofoil earlier, the waves would have swamped us!” Tychon called, raising his voice to be heard over the rush of the wind. Rene hadn’t been going to ask, he didn’t know enough about seafaring to have an opinion, but he nodded as though he understood. The boat was very cramped, it hadn’t been intended to carry a load nearly as large as this, but the problem was of volume rather than weight. San Roayo shrank behind them until it became an indistinct grey blob on the horizon.

Rene allowed himself to relax at last, the tension in his body easing as the threat posed by exposure to civilians lessened. The citizens of San Roayo were no worse than any in the Empire, better perhaps given the way they banded together to pull survivors from the rubble, but few people would resist the kind of reward the Duke was offering for Solae’s capture. The common people had no way to know that the Duke was, infact, a traitor to the Empire, so far as they were concerned turning Solae in was an act of patriotism, not betrayal.

Rene sat in the rear corner with Solae on his lap to give Tychon room to operate the controls. He was trying to plan out what their next move should be but Solae’s question back in Vitger’s shop had wormed its way into his mind. What did he want when this was over? Assuming they survived and got out of the Eastern Cross of course. Much depended on how things went in the coming days. If they warned the Empire and foiled the rebellion the Empress would certainly shower Solae with glory. Whether and how much that largesse would extend to Rene was an open question. Amelia’s murder, the murder of one of the Empress’ handmaidens, was tantamount to raising arms against the Empress herself. WIthout evidence to exonerate him, evidence that might not even exist, he couldn’t be certain that he would be pardoned. Worse yet, making the request might be considered to be violating the custom of taking a new name when enlisting in the Marines. Simply asking the question might make him Renard du Quentain again, subject to all penalties proscribed by the law. It was possible that he might asked to be raised to the nobility under his new name but that meant forever turning his back on his family title and estate. Two weeks ago that wouldn’t have been a problem but being with Solae had reminded him of who he was and what he was. It wasn’t fair to her to approach her as an upjumped commoner, she was a noble daughter of an ancient house and as such deserved more than that. Rene’s mouth twisted into a grin. Solae looked up at him questioningly.

“I was just thinking,” he said, squeezing her gently in his arms for a moment before gesturing back over the frothing wake of the vessel to the pale smudge of land that was San Roayo. By now the land was indistinguishable from a bank of fog or distant rain. Over the bow the island on which they had landed was visible as the peak of the half collapsed caldera. It was remarkable how much faster the trip went when you had a real boat and not a retrofitted wreck to make the journey.

“That our world, must seem needlessly complicated to people on the outside,” he confided. Rene knew that the sentiment was at least somewhat illusory. There were many things in Tychon or Julia’s world which were alien to his way of thinking as well. He squeezed Solae to him.

“I don’t know what is going to happen,” he confessed as the caldera grew larger on the horizon. The sky was beginning to lighten and the first rays of sunlight could only be a few minutes away. There was so much uncertainty. The odds were that they would be dead in the very near future, if she was lucky in Solae’s case, it was hard to imagine for a future much beyond that.

“Whatever happens, I want to be with you,” he told her, his voice caught with emotion and he forced himself to smile.

“Even if that means I have to be your gardener,” he joked, though it stuck a little in his throat. Solae deserved someone who could be her real partner, a true equal. Rene Quentain of the Imperial Marines could never be that to one of the great Nobles of the Empire.

Grim Galaxy: Shots and Chances

Sayeeda slapped a spare magazine into the stock of her submachine gun and then hung the weapon around her neck by the sling. The storm of sand kicked up by the howling lift fans of the tank would have scoured her skin had she not been wearing the protective rad suit. The plasma weapon was a poor choice as the grit would adsorb a bolt as effectively as an armor plate would. The tank began to accelerate away from the mesa, Canek wasn’t running, but he wanted to open the distance between the base of the rock spire and the tank. That would allow him to engage at something closer to the tanks optimal range and give its close in defences more time to react to threats. The torrent of fire from the LAV slacked as one of the guns jammed, its chamber fouled with dust and melted matrix from the feed line. A moment later a second gun fell silent as it too succumbed to the abuse.

“We have to get up the mesa,” she called, her voice clear over the comms even though it would be all but inaudible in the din. Enemy heavy weapons would be able to fire on the group out to the end of line of sight, which would be several miles. Even if they were able to pull back, they couldn’t finish their sensor grid, and they couldn’t simply relocate without going back and calibrating the sensors. Taya had manage to shake off her shock and was pressing herself tight against the rock, her pistol gripped tightly in her hands. Sayeeda picked up a rifle that had fallen beside her, a bayonet affixed to the end of the barrel. Mechanically she stripped the clip and reloaded it before firing two rounds into the sky to make sure it was clear.

“Canek, cease heavy weapons fire on the mesa, break,” she commanded.

“Infantry elements hold your position and provide a base of fire, break.”

“Taya I know you are scared but you have to come with us, there is too much crap flying around down here. Neil popped up and fired two quick rounds at a target she hadn’t seen.

“How are we going to make it that far over open ground?” Neil asked.

“AID, lift the LAV and fire all smoke launchers, proceed north west at best speed,” she commanded. The fans of the nearby vehicles howled to life as its last gun went silent. The barrel shimmered brilliant white even through the haze of sand, overheated from continual firing. Bullets began to sparkle off its armor a moment before it seemed to erupt in bright white smoke as its launchers lit their charges. It slid off to the northwest, drawing the storm of enemy fire with it.

“Go!” Sayeeda shouted and leaped to her feet. A pair of men carrying machine pistols were only twenty feet away, looking in shock at the departing LAV. She dropped both men with two round bursts to the center of mass and then raced across the open field to a narrow envagination in the foot of the mesa. A crumbled ledge ran upwards and she ran along it as fast as she could. Neil and Taya were behind her, she could hear the crack of Taya’s pistol, though if Niel wasn’t firing she doubted the girl had any target outside her own head. Junebug hoped she wouldn’t wind up taking a slug in the back from the panicky girl. A man in desert rags carrying a wide mouthed mob gun stepped out from behind a rock. He had just enough time to register shock before Sayeeda drove the point of the bayonet into his sternum. Blood gouted from the man's lips and ran down over his bearded chin. Sayeeda followed him down, placed a boot on his stomach and twisted the bayonet free. Neil was firing now, back down towards the ground where their elevation had revealed hidden enemies. The mesa shook as though from a hammer blow as another of the tanks shells crashed into the side of it. Canek must have spotted a heavy weapon and been unable to risk holding his fire. That was fine with Junebug, given that she had survived learning about it.

The ledge ended abruptly in a shear climb of perhaps twenty meters. Fortunately there was a narrow crevice, tight enough that she could brace herself into it. With a running leap she bounced up the ascent in a series of left to right hops, a feat she couldn’t have performed if she wasn’t shot full of adrenaline, and whatever else the Terran’s had put in her system. Bullets whizzed past her from below. Someone, above her, one of the enemy screamed and toppled forward in a lazy summersault, his body bouncing of the ledge below with a wet crunch. Junebug looked down to see Taya with her smoking pistol in hand. The age of miracles apparently had a while yet to run. She crested the mesa a moment later, rolling onto her stomach and slinging her submachine gun. The summit was a broad flat plateau a hundred feet across and covered with boulders and scrubby desert trees. A dozen men stood along the rim firing down at Canek’s infantry. Resisting the urge to open fire she instead pulled a spool of rope from her belt, secured it to a nearby boulder and dropped it back down the crevice for Neil.

“AID, carrot targets and import to infantry elements,” she commanded. On the field below the hidden snipers lit up on the infantry huds, Sayeeda imagery overlaying the swirl of dust and smoke on the flats below. One of the men, a loader serving a large belt fed weapon turned to grab a fresh drum and saw her. He opened his mouth to shout but before he could she swung her weapon up to her shoulder and hurled him and his gunner to the floor in a spray of blood and burning flesh. A half dozen guns opened fire on her and she ducked behind a rock, pulling a grenade from her belt and lobbing it one handed in the general direction of the enemy.

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

Historical Context

… with the end of the Gellenti and Axarine campaigns and the Treaties of Vaetis Proximii which reunited the fragmented Western Marches with the core Capellean clusters Imperial control was firmly reinstated. Though large segments of the Imperial Fleet, Army and Marines remained in the west for some decades, her Highness Cordellia Livinia was at last victorious, having successfully weathered the serious of rebellions which would later be aggregated under the convenient nomen of the Second Schism.

Decades of on and off fighting had privileged the executive position of the Empress to levels not seen since the Collapse. Furthermore a personal interest in, and judicious of, use of promotion and the grinding casualties of a decades long campaign, had furnished the by then aged Empress with a cadre of officers and advisors whose skill and ability have seldom been seen since the formation of the Stellar Empire. Though the campaigns of Admiral Kavic, the diplomatic victories in courting the wavering Sector Dukes, and the lesser known but no less important actions of a cadre of veteran officers, are beyond the scope of this treaties, it is suffice to say that the position of the Imperial party was extremely strong.

As ever seems to be the case with the Viatrente family Fortune’s Wheel did not long endure this happy state of affairs. Cordellia Livinia was by now aged and worn, as much by the cares of a wartime crown as by the passage of years. Indeed it seemed that hardly was the ink on the Vaetis Treaty dry than the Empress began to fade. Despite the efforts of her physicians Cordellia Livinia died with a year, bequeathing the Empire, much strengthened and at the peak of its strength to her son Paelon. Before her passing the Empress prevailed upon her council to swear an oath to the then middle aged Paelon, though truthfully their loyalty to their liege lady and weariness of war would have been sufficient to prevent any thought of a challenge.

Paelon Viatrente’s reign was marked by the growth of trade and the prosperity of peace. The wealth of the Empire increased by the year, and the Emperor, with the example of his mother heeded the advice of the council bequeathed to him by his mother's example. Though dutiful and competent Paelon lacked the dynamism which characterized his mother and though he worked himself to the point of exhaustion he was frequently unable to exercise control of events. At key crisis points throughout his reign, such as the mutiny at Aquillea and the Rebellion at Gysemae, the Emperors response was vacillating and lacking in resolve. Action by local nobles and officers contained the damage, but set a precedent for independent action which would prove troubling in subsequent years.

The expansion of trade and the demobilization following the end of the war proved to hold unexpected stings. Men and women who had made their livings by the prosecution of warfare in Imperial service found themselves with few opportunities for employment and access to a great deal of surplus military equipment. Furthermore they were forced to watch the rewards of the peace being reaped by traders and merchants, all of whom had been far from the fighting and many of which owed allegiance to worlds that had been in open rebellion. Piracy and banditry spread amongst the outlying systems, even into those, such as the Eastern Cross, which were untouched by the Schism itself. The problem proved an insoluble one to Paelon and his administration. Though the Imperial forces were able to smash individual pockets of resistance with ease, the problem proved to vast to admit of a singular solution. Furthermore Imperial troops expressed a marked reluctance to put down former comrades with the customary, and necessary, force. Indeed fears of mutiny and insurrection amongst crews and ground units led to increasing timidity in the repression of chaos.

Paleon Viatrente died after a reign of only twenty one years. Unlike his mother, he bequeathed to his son Phillipus an Empire simmering with chaos. The noble council and officer corp that had bulwarked the beginning of Paleon’s reign were beginning to be lost due to death or retirement. Outlying systems suffered greatly from piracy and lawlessness and the merchants and nobles who suffered at their hands growing discontented with the lack of effective Imperial response. Unfortunately Paleon Viatrente’s death had one last misfortune to bequeath to the Empire.

Phillipus Viatrente had long been neglected by his father. Though this neglect was borne of Paleon’s complete if ineffective commitment to his duty, this did little to soften the blow to the young prince. Ascending at only twenty years of age, Phillipus was insecure, foolish, weak minded and easily lead. He immediately dismissed the remaining more militant officers from the council, detesting the way they had always made his father appear weak. Instead he staffed the bureaucracy with his own cronies, ambitious social climbers who had long seen the disaffected Phillipus as a ladder to power. The young Emperor was convinced by his coterie to allow the construction of private forces for the suppression of unrest, the very condition which had lead to the Second Schism. The older militant families lobbied hard against his move and earned the further ire of the vengeful and autocratic Phillipus. Although they weren’t able to prevent the creation of private militias, they were able to prohibit the possession of capital class vessels and certain other military technology, measures aimed at preserving the superiority of the Fleet over the squadrons of local warships.

Although the Phillipic Reforms initially allowed the suppression of piracy and chaos, both through a direct application of force and by providing profitable and legal employment for members of the disaffected soldiery, the long term effects were predictable. Nobles and merchant consortiums began to use their new found armies to settle private squabbles and to extort concessions from those slower to build up their own forces. The Empire, formally united by the Vaetis Treaties, began to fracture into regional power blocks.

Beset by constant strife and harried on all sides by the demands of both his political clients and opponents Phillipus began to grow erratic and paranoid. Imperial Intelligence and the secret police grew more powerful by playing on the Emperors fears, and many citizens, including members of the nobility and political opposition began to disappear. Worse still Phillipus’ paranoia began to extend to his own family. His wife and daughter were placed under house arrest and restricted to the Spire. These detentions enraged large factions of the nobility, even swaying previously neutral magnates to outright opposition, further fanning the flames of the increasingly unstable Emperor.

Over the next three years the situation continued to degenerate. Central paralysis further encouraged regional lords to act independently and allowed the unscrupulous to expand their power bases. Continuing disappearances and imprisonments on Capella raised the political temperature to near boiling point and the ancient right to travel with armed liegemen was revived. The final straw came when the Empress, Miranda Sienna, died unexpectedly. Despite attempts to keep it quiet news spread across Capella within hours. Rumors abound that Phillipus had ordered Miranda and his daughters execution, pushing the ancient families, with whom they were intimately connected by marriage and family alliances, to the breaking point.

For a time it looked as though open warfare might erupt on the capital itself as the nobility convulsed in a coup against the Emperor. Fortunately this disastrous coup attempt was forestalled by two unexpected turns of events. One, the unstable Phillipus finally snapped. He appeared in the throne room in the full ancient regalia, mounted the throne, placed a pistol to his temple and pulled the trigger. Secondly, within minutes of this suicide, princess - now Empress- Mercedez Viatrente emerged from her imprisonment. Although only nineteen years of age, Mercedez seized control of the palace guard on her own initiative and ordered the immediate and summary execution of those of her father's cronines who attempted to obstruct her including the Chief of Imperial Intelligence and the Captain General of Capella. The Imperial Marines, loyal to the Emperor or Empress, rather than local authorities, were brought to readiness. On Mercedez command the Marines seized control of critical installations across the Empire and within the Fleet, detaining officers and administrators of questionable loyalty, replacing them with officers she trusted, in many cases the children or grandchildren of families who had served with her great grandmother.

Within twenty four hours of the death of Phillipus, the Fleet was dispersed across the Empire and Empress Mercedez Viatrente was officially installed with the support of the ancient noble families. The fact that such a young woman, especially one who spent the last three years under close arrest was able to move so quickly and establish…..


Annotated Histories of the Later Viatrentes Vol IV - Overview

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

Julia nodded and stepped forward enfolding Rene in a hug. Rene returned it awkwardly until she released him and hugged Solae in turn. Damaris repeated her mother's action, gripping so hard that it would have been painful if she were full grown. The upper orders eschewed physical contact on most occasions and despite circumstances the peasants forthright physicality was still a little uncomfortable.

Damaris wiped the tears from her eyes and smile, trying to put on brave face on the departure. It must seem to the girl like something from a holodrama. Being swept out to sea in a great storm, marooned on an island, meeting a beautiful princess from the stars. Rene supposed that when you thought of it in those terms it did sound exciting. Damaris had a child's view of it, she hadn’t been on the starship when it hurtled into the storm, or woken up in a cage stinking of fluorine worried that the person that she loved was in mortal peril. Rene found that he envied her.

The night was still black when Tychon, Solae and Rene set out. The streets weren’t as deserted as might be imagined. The throbbing wings of the jumpers had roused others from their sleep. To the people of San Roayo, the aircraft represented help, the knowledge that they weren't alone on a world which had savaged them. To Rene the knowledge that they weren’t alone was less than comforting. Men from the capital meant men which might be hunting for them, certainly it meant people who would recognise Solae’s hair, and the oddity would be enough to make them stop and look closer.

The warehouse was in darkness when they arrived. Tychon had shut off all the light before they left the previous afternoon, to ensure that there was no reason for any curious passersby to stop in an potentially discover Vitger. This district was almost completely dark, there were few residences and no one to stir by the arrival of the jumpers. Rene thanked the stars for small mercies. They carried small hand torches which illuminated the street with cones of light. Rene’s skin prickled unpleasantly, his instincts told him that they were making targets of themselves, that gunmen need only fire on the points of light, but that was the training talking and it wasn’t a useful response here.

“I’ll get the boat ready,” Tychon offered as they stepped into the office, his feet clinking on the fallen needles that had gone wide in Vitger’s attempt to take them captive. Rene nodded his head, the fisherman was far better qualified for the task, and he had one of his own to perform.

“I’ll speak to Vitger,” Rene declared. Solae looked at him, though he wasn’t exactly sure what the expression on her face meant. They had made the decision to let him live, but they had responsibilities to Damaris and her family too. It wasn’t going to be pleasant, but it had to be done.

The door of the shipping container was still locked and bolted. Rene had been afraid that Vitger might have somehow escaped or been rescued even though he knew that was vanishingly unlikely. It swung open easily and the acrid scent flowed out, mixed with the rank stink of human waste. The beam of Rene’s light illuminate Vitger who huddled in the corner to the extend his bonds allowed. The man had soiled himself and tried to shield his face from the sudden, and doubtlessly painful, light. He had soiled himself and he looked half mad with fear. It must have been terrible to wake up in the dark unable to move and with no way of knowing if anyone would ever come back for you. Rene wasn’t a cruel man and he had to remind himself that both Solae and Damaris’ family were depending on him.

Vitger moaned as Rene climbed into the container armed only with a spray can of adhesive removal agent. The merchant shrunk back from him but Rene seized him by the shirt and sprayed his taped mouth with the dispenser. There was an oddly sweet scent as the bonding agent decayed and then Rene ripped the cargo tape from his mouth.

“Please… please don’t kill me,” Vitger blubbered. Rene shoved him back against the container wall, hard enough to smack his head against the insulated plastic.

“Shut up,” he commanded, his voice cold, haughty and commanding. The stink made his stomach churn and bile rose to the back of his throat.

“Look I’ll give you anything… just…” Vitger whined.

“Shut. Up.” Rene repeated and Vitger quailed before him though he couldn’t physically shrink away.

“If you do exactly as we say you will survive,” Rene told him flatly.

“Yes! Any…” Vitger cut off as Rene shoved him hard against the wall again.

“Close your mouth and listen,” Rene growled.

“In a few hours Tychon is going to release you,” Rene told him in a flat matter of fact tone. Vitger sobbed with what might have been relief.

“If you ever tell anyone what happened here, the authorities are going to find somethings in your files that won't go well for you. Maybe they eventually believe you, but not until after the interrogators are done with you,” Rene explained. Imperial interrogation techniques were harsh though they weren’t needlessly cruel. What a rebel duke desperate for answers might do Rene didn’t want to think about.

“You can’t do that! You are just a rebel!” Vitger sputtered desperately. For the first time in the conversation Rene felt his anger rise. Vitger wasn’t an evil man, perhaps not even a disloyal one, he genuinely believed that Rene and Solae were rebels, but he was a worm and Rene felt the injustice of the situation attach to the whimpering merchant like a lamprey.

“Not that it matters,” Rene responded, his voice as chill and clipped as asteroid ice.

“But I am the highest ranking military official on this world. The woman you were fantasizing about is an Imperial Ambassador. As far as you are concerned Vitger, she is the Empress Mercedez Viatrente herself!” Rene snapped his fingers digging into Vitger’s shoulder like pincers.

“And if I were you Vitger, I’d pray for the good health of Tychon and his family, because we will be back here, and if any when we come back, if anything has happened to them, if so much as one hair on anyone of their heads has been harmed, I swear by all the Stars I will find you and you will wish that the Duke’s Interrogators had gotten to you first!”

Rene ripped a strip of tape from his belt and slapped it back over the mans mouth, quieting his sobs. He stood and walked stiffly from the container, dropped from the end, and closed and locked the door. Adrenaline and bile churned in his stomach and he let his head rest against it for a moment. He wasn’t a cruel man, but he needed to be hard, hard enough to protect Solae.

Grim Galaxy: Shots and Chances

Tracerfire sparkled of the hull of the LAV as Sayeeda dived for cover. As she rolled her helmet visor came alive with carrots that pinpointed the position of hostile muzzle flash. Taya screamed and threw herself to the ground covering her head in panic. That wasn’t a great reaction in a crisis but it wasn’t an uncommon one in ones first exposure to a firefight.

A pair of rockets leaped from concealed positions among the rocks toward the tank. They were too close for the tanks plasma guns to swat, even if they had been set to air defense but a section of the massive vehicles hull exploded outwards in a sleet of steel pellets. The missile defense system essentially detonated one of dozens of integral claymores, which sprayed ball bearings outwards in a cone the computer calculated as an intercept for incoming warheads. One of the missiles exploded in the air and the other one vereed wildly as a section of its steering fin was cut away, mushrooming against the side of the mesa and raining down rocks on the combatants below. A flash of blue bright enough that it would have burned Sayeeda’s eyes slashed across the sky touching one of the APCs and converting it into a fireball of burning metal, fuel and men. A second lance stabbed towards the tank a second later, but the user must have been using a targeting laser because the tanks sand caster fired, spraying a sheet of debris into the air. The lance struck the cloud of gravel and liberated its energy in an explosive cyan fireball that showered the tank with flecks of burning rock but did no real damage.

The ambushers had probably expected the rockets to take out the tank and the second lance had been meant for the other APC but luck had been with Canek. The surviving APC cut its fans and hammered to the dirt like the thirty ton anvil it was. The side panels sprang open and Canek’s mercenaries unassed in record time, opening fire at where they saw, or thought they saw enemies. Sayeeda belatedly realised that the fact they were placing a net of sensors in a particular pattern meant that the enemy was able to predict where they be and lay an ambush. Still an ambush had to work to be effective.

“AID,” she called, queuing the low level artificial intelligence in her helmet.

“Slave vehicle guns to my threat indicator.” The mounted guns on the lvl slewed and began to rip out short two or three round bursts into the mesas, targeting the carroted threats on her visual display. Men tumbled down the slope missing heads or limb from the stabbing plasma discharges. Another LAV exploded in a shower of shrapnel as a rocket arced into its hull, blasting the ammunition and combustibles inside to flaming showers of debris in a fraction of an instant. Bullets wicked the dirt around her lifting puffs of dirt like geysers. Staying next to a vehicle that would draw heavy weapons fire was a bad move and there was no way they could get the LAV back into the air. Even now its hull sparkled with bullet impacts even as the heavy weapons continued to deal automated death. Leaping to her feet she grabbed the cowering Taya and half dragged her the ten meters to where a cluster of boulders provided cover. A ragged man in desert garb rosed from concealment swinging a rifle to bear. Sayeeda cut him down with a three round burst that sent his head and arms flying in separate arc. With a world ending crash the tank fired its main gun. The twenty five centimeter plasma cannon hit the mesa with the force of a thousand freight trains, converting a divot twice the tanks own mass to gaseous rock. If the LAV hadn’t already been grounded the concussion would have flipped the vehicle like a tiddlywink.

Men were screaming and burned as the bullets and plasma bolts howled back and forth. One of Canek’s infantry feel to the ground, his arm shorn away at the shoulder by enemy fire. The plasma lance stabbed again, this time the gunner had taken the targeting laser offline and it carved a glittering scar across the tanks bowslow. All three of the LAVs guns converged on the shooter who had just made himself the biggest threat on the battlefield in the computers silicon brained opinion.

“Neil!” Sayeeda yelled, standing up and riping another burst uphill.

“We have to get some…” the tanks gun crashed again and the concussion dropped her on her ass behind the rocks before cooling drops of magma reigned from the sky.

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

The low subsonic thrum woke Rene before dawn. Solae shifted beside him and he tightened his arms around her naked body instinctively. She made a pleased sound and wriggled distractingly against him. Rene felt himself begin to stiffen in spite of the fact he knew he should be focusing on the sound that had woken him. His fingers stroked her hair for a moment longer before he forced himself to sit up. From head to toe his body ached. Just because someone was genetically enhanced didn’t mean they could shrug off the effects of electrical trauma. It didn’t really matter. That which could be ignored was irrelevant. Solae made another sleepy sound, their lovemaking had kept them up later than was probably wise. It had been different, more restrained than usual due to the fact they didn’t want to wake the whole house but passionate and intense nonetheless. He didn’t want to have to face the world right now, he wanted to wake Solae up and remind both of them that no matter what was going on out in the galaxy, they were both here and both still very much alive.

The cheap glass windows were beginning to rattle in their frames. The door swung open and Tychon’s head appeared. In the dim predawn light he looked drawn and skeletal, though Rene knew that was a trick of illumination.

“Jumpers?” Rene asked, pulling the blanket up to cover Solae. Tychon nodded his head obviously not surprised that Rene had already woken to the sound.

“We will be right with you,” he said curtly. Tychon nodded and closed the door. Solae opened her eyes and looked up at him in sleepy interrogation.

“Jumpers coming, probably nothing to worry about,” he explained. Solae sat up fully awake now. Jumpers were a catchall term used for various atmospheric rotary aircraft that were in use throughout the Empire. Each vehicle had a bank of four or more rotors mounted in separate housings that kept them aloft. Jumpers were more maneuverable and far more efficient than pure jet aircraft would have been, and could take of and land vertically to deliver everything from medical supplies to troops.

“Could they be for us?” Solae asked in concern. Rene shook his head.

“There are too many, and if they were coming for us they would have been here quicker, this is probably a survey team or the first stages of a relief effort.”

Judging by the sound the jumpers were coming in from the south east, that meant they wouldn’t overfly the Bonaventure’s hiding place, not that they could spot the ship in the darkness with its systems powered down. Once daylight broke though, an overflight might very well reveal the ships location.

Rene dressed quickly, pulling on a spare set of Tychon’s fishing gear, comprised of a waterproof yet breathable shirt and a pair of heavy duty pants with numerous pockets for equipment. Despite Tychon’s offer of shoes he kept his own boots. They were comfortable and practical as well as being a vestige of his uniform that he was reluctant to give up. It didn’t make any intellectual sense but emotionally he felt like so long as he kept his boots he was in someway honoring the memory of Bowie and the other marines who had died in the Rat Trap.

Solae’s analysis of the Duke’s position made more sense the more Rene thought about it. That was only natural, she was a diplomat trained to think in those terms afterall. It also explained the exorbitant reward being offered for Solae. Tan needed the PEA not just to communicate with his partisans, but to convince other aristocrats that he had a chance, he needed to contact others and encourage them to rise up as well. The Eastern Cross was a wide territory, but history and economics both showed that if the Empress could focus her forces, no one magnate could hope to oppose her. It might take weeks or months for the bureaucracy to dispatch investigators, and for the death of those investigators to be noticed and trigger a military reconnaissance. If Tan didn’t have the PEA system working by then, it was all over bar the firing parties. That should have made Rene feel better, but the Empire Triumphant was an abstract, and the short term danger to the woman he loved was far more important to him.

It also meant that Solae’s entreaties to the other aristocrats in the Cross were more likely to bear fruit. While major families were likely to have either joined or been destroyed, smaller ones would continue to oscillate between the two camps. Tan represented a serious threat and was willing to buy partisans for his cause, but as Solae had said, those that stayed loyal and particularly those who actively opposed the rebels would be rewarded. Tan’s brutal had created a great many open positions afterall. Even knowing Solae was alive might be enough incentive for fence sitters to continue waiting, and of course, more incentive for the Duke to hunt her down and drag her off in chains. Rene’s anger began to kindle at the thought of Solae’s body being part of the reward for her capture. Quietly, he promised himself that if fate ever gave him the chance, he would discuss the matter with Duke Alexis Tan. Discuss very briefly.

Julia Tychon and Damaris were already up and gathered in the kitchen. The girl looked upset that Solae was going to be leaving her large eyes downcast. Julia seemed to be unable to decide between relief and fear whereas Tychon merely looked resolved. Rene wondered if Julia had told her daughter of Solae’s offer. Probably not. He rather doubted any of them realised how serious she was. Solae’s family had suffered greatly in the past weeks and it was both her right and her responsibility to strengthen it. Adoption was a long established legal custom, though it was more usual between noble families, its use on commoners was not unknown. Damaris herself might suffer for being elevated to the nobility without the usual suite of genetic enhancements, but that would be no bar to her advancement in Imperial service. Few people would snub a member of the Falia clan and Damaris’ children would stand as high and proud as any member of that ancient lineage. Solae had mentioned some cousins of hers who converted the title. They were likely to throw a fit as spectacular as it was useless if a fisherman's daughter was inserted into the clan ahead of them.

“It sounds like they are landing at the Harvest Field,” Tychon said as he took a pot of coffee off a chemical heating unit. The Harvest Field was a large airfield on the northern end of San Roayo, the shippers warehouses lined the large open field where the stabilized coral was gathered before being shipped to the capital and the star port.

“Are you sure we don’t need to worry?” he asked nervously. Rene nodded his head.

“I don’t think we should tarry, but if they were looking with us they would have come in as a combat drop. This is probably just relief from the capital, or people surveying for relief anyway.” Rene didn’t mention that it did mean a large influx of people who might recognise Solae for what she was, and an errant noblewoman in a place like this was bound to set of alarm bells.

Damned to the Depths

Calliope shot a final glance at the retreating Vizier. The man had not been best pleased to see Achmed return, but knowing what she knew of the prince she supposed she ought not hold that against him. The Vizier was playing at something, but whatever it was she didn’t have enough information to understand.

“I notice he didn’t commit any of Dalib Sahara’s glorious navy,” she commented. Markus chuckled at the comment. Arad Lind was not renowned for its sea power. The galleys that pirates and powers of the Arads used were ideally suited to the rocky coast and its fickle wind, but they couldn’t mount the kind of heavy guns nor carry the amount of canvas that fleets from Andred and Vrettonia could boast. Timber too was a problem, with few native trees, shipwrights worked on a single piece build rather than laying down frames and strakes. While this was a more efficient use of timber, it limited the total size of any given hull. Finally, Arad society did not lend itself to the kind of technical specialization that the Northern Kingdoms enjoyed. Pirates like the Bloodaxes could be a danger, particularly if they had numbers, surprise and magic on their side, but ship for ship a square rigged northern vessel like the Weather Witch was far superior. Unfortunately, tight seas, like those around their island base, were the perfect place for the galleys strengths to shine.

“It probably is more trouble than it’s worth,” Calliope agreed.

“But we are going to need more than one ship if we are planning to capture the dowry when it sets sail. Pirates and privateers aren’t going to follow you if you don’t have a reputation, and that means that you, we, need to win some victories. Wiping out the Bloodaxes would be a good start.”

Calliope unstoppered a bottle of wine and took a swig from the neck before sitting down beside the Captain.

“They have more ships than us, we need to find a way to neutralize that advantage.” She stared at the map the islands were the real problem, so long as they could use them for cover and concealment, it would be a struggle. If only she could sink the islands into the sea. A sudden thought occured to her and she tapped the largest of the islands, though not the one the base itself was located on, with a fingernail.

“Could we land some men here at night?” she asked. Calliope wasn’t a naval strategist as such, but she was confident that Markus could sharpen the idea.

“If we could lug a gun up onto those heights, we might be able to force them out from between the islands.”