PROLOGUE

The two young men moved quickly to avoid the weapons of the training automatons. Though artificially created, each creature looked like a man and moved with the skill and grace of a dancer. Even so, the two young men were just as fast. Wearing nothing more than their training tunics, they were completely exposed to the curved blades and spear points of their opponents. Gryllus and Eustathios were almost indistinguishable from each other. Both of the brothers were dark haired and fit from months of training. The only discernible distance was their height; Eustathios was a fraction shorter and slightly broader at the shoulders.

“Now!” cried Gryllus.

They jumped forward and ducked passed the machines. The four automatons stabbed with their spears, but the boys were too fast. The first was cut down, three slashes that removed a leg, arm and finally a head. The final three stepped back and aimed their weapons at the boys, keeping them at a distance. Two stabbed at Gryllus, and he managed to sidestep them, but only just. One of the tips grazed his cheek, but he was able to cut downwards to remove the arms of the machine. It slumped down to its knees and deactivated.

“Move back!” shouted Eustathios.

He didn’t even wait, knowing full well his brother would do as asked. His blade swung and cut into the fallen automaton and removed its head. The two remaining automatons dropped their spears and drew a pair of blunt training swords to match the boys. Both were curved and about a meter long. One hacked away while the second stayed close, waiting for a mistake by either boy. Gryllus parried attack after attack, but the machines were too quick for either of them to counterattack in time.

Eustathios stumbled and fell to the floor, and one of the automatons broke ranks to chase him. It was a simple trick and easily spotted by a human. These automatons were nothing like the artificial life used by the Empire as workers. These were stripped of all but the most basic routines to make them useful for combat training. Anything more would encourage the possibility of revolt, and something the Laconians had learnt long ago, much to their cost.

Eustathios rolled to his side and then slashed out at the automaton. From his low position, he easily cut through the ankle. The strike sent the machine to the floor, only to be followed up by Gryllus. Eustathios jumped up and joined his brother for the final blow.

“Nice work,” exclaimed Gryllus with a cheeky grin.

“Enough!” called out the old man that watched from the safety of the balcony.

The automaton instantly shutdown and gave the impression of a lifelike statue in the gymnasium. The two boys looked up to their father, disappointment in their eyes. He looked down and smiled.

“You have both done well. These automatons are expensive, and I have no doubt you would have eliminated the last as quickly as the first. You will practice against a new trainer tomorrow, a live Terran trainer from old Laconia. He will hone the two of you into formidable warriors. For now, rest yourselves, you have a big day ahead of you.”

Two servants helped Xenophon to his chair at the side of the gymnasium. His body was old, yet his muscles were firm and his face bright with life. At one hundred and seventeen years old, he was no longer a young man. Yet in an age where a man’s life could be extended to nearly double that, he could still feel the aches from his numerous old wounds. As he sat down, he rubbed his right hand, the numbness in the knuckles still bringing a little pain. Bizarrely, he smiled at the feeling.

“What is it, Father?” asked Gryllus, his youngest son. He was confused at his mixture of pain and enjoyment. Xenophon looked back, unsure as to what he was referring to.

“What do you mean?”

“What are you smiling at?” he asked again.

“Ah, you boys remind me of my youth. Glaucon and I used to train very much like you two, before the war with Laconia.”

The young boy looked confused, scratching his chin. There was something about his tone when he mentioned Laconia that sounded sarcastic. His father said nothing more though, so he picked up his training saber. It was a basic design with a simple hilt and long curved blade. He used it often during his training and had performed routine maintenance on it over a number of years. He held it out in front of Xenophon.

“Why did you train with weapons like these then?”

“Ah, I see,” replied Xenophon. “You don’t understand why we trained to use close quarter combat weapons when we had access to much more powerful weapons. That is a good question.”

He adjusted his position, making himself more comfortable.

“Back when the Alliance still existed, some of us trained for all kinds of combat. There are times you might be forced to fight when you’re unarmed, and other times you might have to fight with a knife or blade. Our first real battle at the Cilician Gates involved a great deal of blade work.”

Eustathios wandered over and sat down next to the two of them.

“Only some of you trained? Not all soldiers?” he asked, now interested in their conversation.

“No, very few did outside of Laconia. It proved useful in our dealings with Clearchus and the Ten Thousand though,” he said, smiling to himself.

“The expedition against the Medes?” asked Gryllus.

Xenophon nodded slowly at them both. He moved his hand in a gesture that brought up a map of the star systems nearby. He was about to speak but turned back to them, noticing their confused expression.

“Of course, that was well before you two were born.”

He looked back to the star map.

“Not many talk about it now, except for those that are still alive that took part. We were the first to discover the rot at the heart of the old Median Empire.”

He brought up an image of a battle filled out with dozens of warriors engaged in a violent firefight. Both sides were armored, but one group was very different to the Terrans. Whereas the humans wore armor that shared much in common with archaic human armor used back on Old Earth, the Medes were very different. Taller, more slender and wearing close fitting body armor, they looked both alien and elegant. One had his helmet removed, and it showed off his long hair and almost elfin facial features.

“Recognize the artwork?”

Gryllus spoke first.

“The Battle of Plataea, where the Terrans allied for the first time to fight back the Medes.”

“Father, of course we know the image. It’s one of the most famous pieces of art still left from the wars.”

Xenophon smiled at them both, pleased with their knowledge and interest in the subject.

“Our old rivals and most bitter enemies. None of that would have mattered without one particular decision. In this case, the last one ever made by the Terran Alliance and its much vaunted democracy.”

CHAPTER ONE

Attica, Capital of the Terran Alliance

“Today we choose to go to war then?” asked Xenophon, with more than a hint of sarcasm to his voice. His old friend Glaucon tried to respond but was drowned out by the roar of six Thunderbolt fighters. The heavy fighters flew over the city, leaving a trail of vapor and smoke behind them. It was a show of force by the Alliance military, and more than likely a reminder as to which way the public were expected to vote. Xenophon smiled inwardly, lowering his gaze to the people and the exquisite buildings.

“Come on, we have work to do.”

Glaucon glanced at his friend, recognizing the keenness to vote. They shared much, but a view on politics wasn’t one of them. He followed Xenophon to the entrance of the main buildings and stopped when they reached the guards. The Prefect of the Inner Ward stood nearby with his symbol of authority, a centuries old glaive. The old-fashioned polearm weapon was a relic from a long bygone era, and one of just a handful remaining. It consisted of a single-edged blade on the end of a pole and was encrusted with precious stones and metals. Two guards stood by in full Alliance military uniforms and cradling standard issue pulse carbines across their chests.

“A bit over the top, isn’t that?” asked Glaucon, not in the slightest concerned at addressing one of the highest officials in the city. The Prefect looked at him but said nothing. Glaucon looked back to Xenophon who just smiled and nudged him forward.

“Don’t dawdle, we have business to attend to!” he laughed.

The Ecclesia was packed with citizens of every age and background from across the planet. Some were regular attendants of the assembly, for others it was their very first visit. Either way, it was quite possibly the single most important meeting of the Ecclesia since its founding hundreds of years before. It often reminded Xenophon of an unruly mob with its long arguments and snap decisions. The debate had already finished, and across Attica similar gatherings were taking place. The decisions made today by the citizen body would determine the future of not just the homeworld but also the entire Alliance. Any citizen was allowed to speak or vote, but only those with military service were allowed to participate in the elite and prestigious body known as the Boule. Five hundred citizens were chosen by lot each year to run this important department. The Boule’s primary role was to administer and run day-to-day affairs, but it also presented business to the assembly of the citizens to be voted upon.

Xenophon watched with interest as a number of young men and women he knew well approached the stand. They had all served their required year in the military to receive the honor, an honor that he so far had managed to avoid. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to serve in the military. It was just that he felt no particular calling to serve when the only real threat was from pirates or slavers. The cold war between the two old Terran rivals was always on, but had spilled out into open warfare for decades. He liked to think that when the time came, and his people were in peril, he would step up and volunteer. They waited a short moment before an older man, slightly shorter and in his official robes, approached. He took his place in the centre of the group and looked down to the crowds of citizens. This was something that happened only on the free worlds of the Alliance. No other empire or organization could claim this level of democracy or involvement by its citizens in the day-to-day running of the state.

Not that a democracy is the best form of government. This place is more like a cattle market than a place of political discourse, Xenophon considered with great disdain.

Most of the Alliance worlds had adopted various forms of democratic government, but Attica was unique. This was the only world where every single citizen could, and was expected to, play a part. They held public office and voted on everything from tax and spending to foreign affairs and deployment of the armed forces. Unlike most worlds, it was possible to work for a year as a magistrate or official in some capacity, based purely by lot, not merit. It was a system loved by most, but not Xenophon.

A silence spread through the great open building as the old man raised his arms. It was the signal for all those present to take their seats. It took a few seconds. Especially, as many of those present were a good deal older than Xenophon.

“Citizens, the debate before the members of the Boule is over. This has been a long and difficult topic to discuss, and we have sought information, intelligence and expertise at every stage. We cannot deny the public interest in this struggle and have therefore decided it is time for you to vote on the proposed call-up and military action. As citizens of Attica and the Alliance, your votes must now be considered. As is tradition, we have a fifteen-minute recess to give you the opportunity to place your ballots and to double-check the official records and statements. Before you vote, I would like to reiterate the importance of this vote. A decision for war will mean sending your own sons and daughters, even yourselves, into harm’s way. Do not enter into such a decision lightly.”

The first sensible thing I have heard all day, thought Xenophon.

The man sat down, and no sooner did he touch the stonework, the entire place erupted into action. A great chorus of shouting, chattering and general noise echoed through the Ecclesia. The acoustics did nothing but help the spread of sound to every corner of the ancient structure. Xenophon and Glaucon moved away to the side where it was a little quieter. The Assembly building itself was circular in shape and equipped with beautifully detailed columns around the perimeter. The stonework was lavishly carved with great events from the Terrans’ past. Stories, such as the first colonies founded by humanity, took up most of the space. In the centre of the building was a much thicker, larger column that had been erected almost a century before. The two men moved past the column as they made their way to one of the many alcoves that dotted the stone structure. Vertical display panels were placed at discrete points so that citizens could vote in private. Glaucon stopped and gazed at the lighter stonework of the large column. He was of a more bulky shape than Xenophon, a mixture of genetics and a lot of time in the gymnasium. Where Xenophon was the intelligent, calculating and agile young man, Glaucon was the rich liberal, yet ham-fisted and easy to anger.

“Still looks too new, don’t you think?”

“Yes, I think interest in the victory will fade well before the stonework does.”

Glaucon shook his head in disbelief. It was yet another field of history or politics for them to argue about.

“Really? You don’t think the Terran victory against the two invasions by the Median Empire is the seminal moment in our shared histories?”

“Of course it is, but probably not for the reasons you think it is.”

Glaucon sighed, preparing himself for another of his friend’s lectures.

“You see, it is also one of the events that show us why the Laconian and Alliance colonies have more in common than you might think. Don’t forget, it was the manpower of the Laconian automaton slaves that gave us the edge in heavy infantry. Only their state, one based around war, was able to decisively delay the Empire’s advance and then finish them off at the Plataea. The Alliance could never have stood without help.”

“What? You forget our breaking of the siege? It was the single most important space battle in the history of humanity. It was our ships that smashed imperial warships even though we were outnumbered ten to one. The Laconians are animals. They create nothing, are poorly educated…”

“And yet they could crush us in any equal engagement?” added a defiant Xenophon.

Glaucon shook his head and sighed.

“Watch your tongue in this place. You know what the mood is here, and that kind of talk could get you ostracized.”

Xenophon nodded in agreement.

“In that you are correct. You just have to love the mob.”

They both looked at the numbers around them. Some looked as though they were taking it all very seriously, but a large number of the younger citizens stood out. They wore symbols and logos with a variety of causes, of which one of the most common concerned spreading democracy to those still ruled by dictators.

“Look at them, go on, look. This is the problem with mob rule. They believe their causes are important even though those they will affect may feel otherwise. You’ll remember the last argument we had with them. We were accused of all kinds of crimes unless we agreed with their liberal agenda. These are the people that will determine our fate!”

He lifted his hands and turned on the spot as if pointing out the great horde of people in the Assembly. He did a complete revolution before turning back to Glaucon.

“It is too easy to let them decide to fight or not to fight. Their decisions are based upon short-term thinking and emotion. Logic, history and reason mean nothing to them, just their own selfish agenda. These decisions should be made by those with wisdom and experience that will take all of us into account.”

“I take it you’re voting against the Armada, then?” asked Glaucon, sounding irritated. Xenophon had a look that told him precisely what he thought about it.

“This entire vote is nonsense. We’ve been at war for nearly three decades now, and apart from our allies doing most of the work, what have we achieved? The League is too powerful to allow any successful assault on their worlds, and the Alliance Fleet is too large to allow them to attack us. It’s a stalemate, and that’s why we let our allies fight the war for us, by proxy. If we escalate the war, we change it to one where one side has to win and the other has to lose.”

Glaucon nodded, but not quite appreciating the point Xenophon was making against a decision to go to war.

“Exactly, it’s a coward’s way of fighting. A yes vote will mobilize all eligible citizens to the Armada. If we take the fight to the Laconians, we can end this war once and for all. A democratic Laconia would be to the benefit of all Terrans.”

“If you think so. We could, of course, lose the fleet and the war in one move. This is nothing more than mob rule dictating state policy. The vote should never have been given to those unable to understand its importance.”

Glaucon shook his head.

“Sometimes I just don’t understand you. You are from a family with long service to the Alliance. Your father fought the Laconians, did he not?”

“And died fighting them, for what? They speak the same language; share most of the same customs. It’s not like we even want their barren homeworld. It is a dull and lifeless place that breeds only the hard and strong. He was forced to fight against friends, even family. Don’t forget that borders and boundaries are just lines on maps. You have family in their territory as well, don’t forget.”

“I wonder why you don’t live there sometimes. You seem to have a greater love for their customs and laws than we have in the Alliance,” muttered Glaucon.

“Well, there are benefits to living there. But don’t forget that as citizens we’d be required to serve in the military. Somehow, I don’t see you as a Laconian heavy infantryman! Come on, we know what will happen here, so let’s vote and get on with something a little more interesting.”

Xenophon moved to the nearest unoccupied display unit. At first glance, it could have been nothing more than a shimmer in front of the stone wall, but it was in fact a fully detailed visual display. He moved his hands in front of his body to operate the touchless interface. It worked by using a mixture of movement and gesture recognition.

“Good day, Xenophon, please enter your citizen ID code,” said the machine in a gentle, female voice.

With a few deft movements, he entered the data and was presented with three options to choose from. The first was to vote for the calling up of the citizen Armada, the second to vote against the proposal, and the third and final option was the abstain choice. He gazed at the three for a few seconds as he ran the idea over in his head.

If we call up the Armada, then all of us, probably me, and most of my friends, will be sent off to fight the Laconians. To what end? The idiots! I’ll never vote for our citizens, my friends or my family to go to war, just so some liberal students can get what they want, he thought angrily.

With a flick of his wrist, he selected the no vote and confirmed his decision. He turned back his waiting friend.

“Okay, your turn, Glaucon. Make sure you select the correct option, want me to do it for you?”

The young man stepped past Xenophon, throwing him a grin as he took up his position in front of the unit. Xenophon looked at the hundreds of citizens, and most were either using the machines or talking with their comrades as they waited. Most would have been proud of what they saw taking place, but Xenophon had nothing but distrust in his mind when it concerned his fellow citizens. They were quick to judge and would praise a man just as quickly as they would condemn him.

“Okay, done. What say you come with me and join my family for a celebratory dinner party? My brother Polemarchus is back, and I’m sure he would like to meet you. Cephalus and his friends will be there if you’re interested. You’ll remember the last time we were all together, when you got into that argument about who was most wise.”

“Yes, I seem to recall you all sided against the Admiral,” answered a slightly bitter Xenophon.

“True. Still, you can’t win them all.”

“Perhaps. Though if you recall, the messengers arrived a week later showing the Admiral was in fact innocent. If the citizen vote hadn’t been so hasty, the Admiral could have heard the apology rather than being sent into exile.”

Glaucon looked to Xenophon and sighed.

“Look, if this vote goes the way you think, then it might be the last time we will all get together, so come on, you know you want to. It sounds good, you coming?”

Xenophon considered the offer for a moment, but shook his head.

“Sorry, I need to get my books ready for next week. I’ve got some big tests coming up as you know.”

“Kratez will be there,” said Glaucon, as if the mere mention of his name would sway him. He had obviously been keeping the man’s name quiet to hold it as a trump card in case Xenophon refused the offer. Xenophon looked surprised.

“Really? I’ve not seen him in months. I thought he was teaching at the Academy.”

“He was, but he has two weeks off for vacation and is spending two days of it with my family. Now, are you going home to look at books, or are you coming to my home for an argument with the smartest man in the Alliance?”

Xenophon looked back at the Ecclesia and then to Glaucon. His friend had a pleading look that he simply couldn’t avoid any longer.

“Okay, I need to drop my stuff off. I will be around in an hour.”

“Excellent, don’t be too late!”

Glaucon moved off along the path, and Xenophon stood silently, hoping, even praying that the vote would be a no. Most citizens didn’t seem that concerned as to which way it would go, but something deep inside him told him the vote would have greater repercussions than anybody could expect. He could only hope.

*

Xenophon climbed out of the taxicab and handed the driver his identity card. With a light blue flash it confirmed the payment. With a polite goodbye the man closed the door and drove off, leaving him on the pavement. He was stood outside his friend’s house, a lavish home made of local stone and four levels high. It had been in the hands of Glaucon’s family for six generations and was one of the tallest private homes in the city. Two statues of the ancient human goddess Athene flanked the grand entrance. They were symbols of the state and often present on public buildings. It didn’t surprise Xenophon to see them as Glaucon’s family had a long history of public service. He stepped past them and towards the double doors that led inside. As he approached, a young woman stumbled out. Her clothing was skimpy with her arms, legs and midriff all exposed. Xenophon caught her as she teetered on one foot and sent them both crashing against the statue.

“Are you okay?” he asked with genuine concern.

The inebriated woman tried to stand and almost collapsed again.

“I’m fine. Who…who are you?” she asked and then fell limp in his arms. For a second he panicked, thinking there was a serious problem. Glaucon appeared at the doorway with a glass of wine in one hand and another scantily clad woman draped around his arm.

“Xenophon, you made it…and only two hours late!”

“I, uh, found her outside,” said a slightly embarrassed Xenophon.

“Oh, yeah, she’s one of the dancers. Bring her inside.”

Xenophon stepped through the two thick doors and into the dark, smoky hallway. Several young men and women were leaning and laughing at something. He moved past them, but no one seemed in the slightest concerned at their almost unconscious friend. He finally reached the end of the corridor and the open expanse of the reception area. To Glaucon and his family it was one of many rooms, but to the rest of them it was more like a great hall. Chairs and seating lay about, and almost twenty people smoked, drank or danced away.

“Xenophon!” called out a familiar voice. He helped lower the woman to a reclining chair so she could rest. He then headed to the group of people and the man that had just called his name. As he approached, he recognized the beard and bald head of his old mentor, Kratez.

“Kratez, you are here,” he said with genuine pleasure. He moved up to the old man and pulled him close. In years past, Xenophon had attended many of the old master’s classes and lectures. He had often pushed the young man to question everything. It made neither of them popular, but it had forced Xenophon to think about everything he did, and so he hoped it had made him a better man.

“Of course, I couldn’t miss the vote now could I?” he replied with a smile.

The two sat down in the long reclining seats. A young woman approached with a silver tray upon which sat a decanter and a number of beautifully carved crystal glasses.

“Fortified wine, sir?” she asked them both.

Kratez made a happy sound and grabbed the nearest glass. Xenophon waited until he was done before accepting a glass for himself. She poured the dark red wine until both were satisfied.

“Ah, this is more like it. They’ve been getting quite stingy when it comes to drink at the Academy.”

Xenophon took a measure, moving the liquid about his mouth before swallowing. It had a warm glow as it slid down, instantly calming him. He turned to Glaucon, who seemed busy chatting with a group of young people.

“Excellent wine, old chap, thank you.”

Glaucon raised his glass but didn’t turn from his conversation.

“So, Xenophon? Tell me about your studies. I assume you have continued your work on the classics as well as the more philosophical arts.”

“I’ve also delved into work on machine learning,” Xenophon answered, doing his best to impress the old man but without sounding too cocky.

“Good, it is a good idea to keep one’s mind occupied with the myriad of subjects available to us. How about your study of the martial arts, have you been keeping busy?”

Xenophon looked a little embarrassed at the question.

“Well, boy, come on, tell me.”

“The Boule discussed the martial arts academy I was helping to run, and they voted to shut it down.”

“Why?”

Xenophon shrugged.

“We had a few injuries in the hand-to-hand weapons training, a few broken bones with the staffs. Nothing major, but the safety commission became involved and came to the conclusion our training was dangerous, and therefore shouldn’t be allowed.”

Kratez sighed.

“I see, this is perhaps one of the many reasons we suffer when forced to fight our enemies at close quarters.”

“Have you tried to explain this to the Military Academy?”

“Of course, my boy.”

He paused for a moment, “The trouble is there are some who feel the Navy is all we need to defend the Alliance. Providing no enemy reaches this solid earth, we will be safe,” he explained, as he reached down and tapped the ground. He tried to lift himself back up but groaned at the discomfort. Xenophon helped him back to his seat.

“Thank you,” he said with genuine warmth. “Now, let’s see some of this banned training.”

“Training?” asked Xenophon, now both a little confused and also dulled by the wine.

“Yes, the hand-to-hand training you’re so fond of.”

“Oh, I see.”

Xenophon looked about the room until he found Glaucon with the two young ladies still draped around his arms.

“Glaucon!” he called, but the man was far too preoccupied.

Xenophon stood and moved towards him. As he came closer, he recognized one of the ladies from his classes at the university.

“Aurora?”

She turned and looked up to him. Her pale face looked pallid in the dull light, and her eyes rolled, the obvious consequence of excessive amounts of liquor. Still no reply, so he reached out, turning Glaucon around to face him.

“Easy, Xenophon, can’t you see I’m busy?”

“Kratez would like a demonstration of close combat.”

“Would he now? Well, go and tell him I have other kinds of combat in mind.”

He turned back to the two ladies, but something had caught their interest. Aurora swayed around him and placed one hand across his face.

“Go on, Glaucon. We want to see you fight!” she said with a wide smile.

He leaned forward and planted his lips firmly on hers. She stayed for a few seconds before pulling back.

“Fight first, I want to see you.”

He looked back to Xenophon and then to Aurora.

“Okay, fine, but afterwards we get to do a bit of fighting on our own. Deal?”

He stood up, and Aurora slid back onto her back, rolling sideways as provocatively as she could. He looked at her, waiting for an answer, but she gave the impression she had already forgotten whatever he had just said.

“Uh, sure, baby,” she said with a smile.

Glaucon stepped up to Xenophon. He swayed slightly, but was far below the levels of drunkenness he had seen at other dinner parties. He indicated for Xenophon to follow him, and the two moved to a pair of thick wooden chests. As they moved, the rest of the guests chattered excitedly. It was clear there was about to be some kind of display or demonstration. Glaucon pulled up the lid of the first chest to reveal a mass of training weapons and padding. He looked over his shoulder to Xenophon.

“What did you have in mind?”

Xenophon looked inside and reached in to withdraw a long, slender looking sword. The blade was over a meter long and tapered to a safety tip, so the weapon could be used without causing serious injury. It was a traditional weapon from the violent past of the seventeenth century back on Earth.

“Really? You want to play with rapiers? How about something manlier?”

“Like what?” Xenophon asked.

Glaucon reached in and withdrew a short, broad bladed sword. It was specially designed to match the weight and handling characteristics of an actual sword but safe with both its edge and tip. It looked like metal but was in fact made from advanced polymers for longevity and safety. He held it out with his right hand and twirled it about. Xenophon looked on with a look of mild irritation across his face.

“You finished yet?” he asked sarcastically. “Why don’t we use the bucklers as well?”

Glaucon shrugged and moved to the second chest. He lifted the lid and pulled out a pair of bucklers. Made from hardened plastic, they looked like the original metal designs from which they were based upon. He threw one to Xenophon and placed the second in his left hand. Xenophon reached down and pulled out another of the training swords.

“Come on, show us some skin!” called out one of the women.

Glaucon needed no further encouragement and, in an impressive display of speed, pulled off his jacket and shirt so that he was naked from the waist up. Xenophon watched him with annoyance.

“Really? Any excuse for tearing off your shirt.”

“Come on, Xenophon!” called out an unseen voice from the group. “Show us what you’ve got.”

Xenophon refused and stood in the clothes he had arrived in. Taunts and jibes quickly spread about the group, and still he refused. It wasn’t that he was scared of Glaucon; it was just that he knew the man would play to the crowd. That, mixed with the large quantity of alcohol he had consumed, could prove to be a perfect combination of ugliness that might end with one or both of them being seriously injured, until he relented.

“Okay, okay!”

He placed the training weapons on top of the chest and carefully undid his jacket. Glaucon started to pace, but it was obvious to Xenophon he was just playing with the crowd. The two shared many interests, but in terms of character, they were a world apart. Where Xenophon was reserved and intellectual, Glaucon was passionate and extroverted. A cheer rang out as he removed his shirt and placed it next to his jacket. The two men collected their weapons and moved off to the middle of the room. More people arrived from the other room until there must have been over thirty spectators. At least half were inebriated with alcohol. Kratez moved to the two men and stepped between them.

“Okay, gentlemen, give us a clean, honorable demonstration of your skills. How will you decide the victor?”

Glaucon called over to them both, “Last man standing wins.”

Kratez turned to Xenophon and lifted an eyebrow in question. Xenophon wasn’t happy, but he really couldn’t back down at the challenge. He nodded in agreement. Kratez stepped back and looked to the crowd. There was a reasonable amount of space for dancing or even fighting in the middle of the room, but it wasn’t massive. A number of chairs, seats and tables were dotted about. Drinks rested on many surfaces, and the dull light was darkened further by thick smoke.

“Let’s do this!” called out Glaucon.

Kratez stepped back, and the two men moved forward to start their demonstration. They were of a similar height and build with both just under two meters tall. Glaucon was slightly larger built, but both had the bodies of athletic young men who had never faced the hardship of physical labor. Xenophon lowered his sword behind him and to the right, pushing out his buckler in front. Glaucon, on the other hand, moved to an aggressive stand with the blade held up at shoulder height, and his hand protected by the buckler.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this demonstration is of traditional European sword and buckler combat. It is an old fighting form that has been used for hundreds of years. The sword would have been sharp on both edges and along the tip. Note the lack of hand protection, a major weakness of this type of sword. The buckler, or small shield, in the left hand is primarily for protection,” Kratez explained, before being interrupted by the first clash.

Glaucon lurched forward and zigzagged towards Xenophon. As he came into range, he cut down and to his left. The blade passed under his buckler and slid against the rim of Xenophon’s own buckler. He then followed up with a cut back along the same arc of attack but with the back of the sword. His final movement in his initial attack was a quick twist of the wrist. It delivered a deadly horizontal cut that almost connected with Xenophon’s neck. The young man leapt backwards and crashed into a table, sending drinks and glass to the floor.

“Nice try, Glaucon!” laughed Xenophon as he straightened himself up.

Xenophon jumped forward delivering a feint to Glaucon’s chest. As the blade moved in to parry, he lifted his hand and twisted the blade around to cut into his shoulder with the back of the blade. It struck hard, and the impact made Glaucon drop his own sword. The audience cheered lustily at the sight of the blow being struck.

“Are you alright?” asked Xenophon, concerned that he might have hurt his friend.

Glaucon lifted his blade and swung it around, flexing his wrist. He stepped in, saying nothing. Xenophon could sense the hostility and anger in the young man, so moved his sword and buckler forward. He’d been in this situation before, where one fighter had been struck and was keen to retaliate to try and wipe the shame. The attacks came in hard and fast. He was forced to use his buckler and sword to fend off a dozen strikes before taking cover behind one of the many floor-to-ceiling pillars.

“You’re not making much progress are you?” he laughed, more out of nervous surprise at not being hit than from arrogance.

“Funny!” muttered Glaucon and he rushed forward. Sensing an opportunity, Xenophon ducked low and lifted his buckler up to protect his head. He stabbed forward and directly into the centre of his opponent’s body mass. Glaucon smashed his blade down hard but was deflected by his buckler. The blade struck him just below the sternum and knocked him back almost a meter before he was able to stand upright. If it had been a sharp sword, it would have penetrated through his body and pushed out of his back.

The crowd cheered their approval, and Kratez stepped forward to intercede. The old man may have been too frail to engage in the same kind of activity, but he knew full well when a fight was about to move from a friendly exchange to something more serious.

“Screw this, let’s get the real blades out,” said Glaucon loudly. He dropped the weapons on the floor and marched to the case. He reached inside the blackness and pulled out two large metal longswords. The great two-handed swords were a weapon of brutality and skill. Weighing double the weight of the swords they had been using, it was carefully balanced to make it suitable for cutting and thrusting. Contrary to what most people thought, they were wickedly fast and capable of causing serious injuries from both cut and blunt force trauma. The sharp cutting demonstrations they had made were useful evidence for the deadly weapons and their use on the battlefield.

“Come on, that’s enough,” said Xenophon, as he did his best to discourage his friend.

“No, you wanted to fight. Let’s show them what we can do.”

He threw the blade to Xenophon and then chased after it, barely giving him a chance to prepare himself. They clashed metal blades together as both cut down from the right. The ding of metal caught the audience by surprise, as it was very unusual to see primitive metal weapons being used in this way. Glaucon lifted his hands and hilt upwards and drove underneath to knee Xenophon in the stomach. The blow was hard and sent him staggering back.

Is he mad? These are just bated blades, and we’re not wearing armor!

Glaucon jumped forward and brought his blade down in a powerful vertical cut. Xenophon, still stunned by the strike to his stomach, was barely able to lift his sword in time and took part of the impact into his shoulder blade. His knees buckled, and he dropped to the floor.

“Enough!” shouted Kratez. Glaucon maneuvered for another cut, and it took three of the spectators to grab him before he realized how wild he was becoming. He stopped and dropped the blade to the floor, stepping to the fallen Xenophon.

“Sorry, buddy, I think I got a bit carried away there.”

Xenophon coughed and lifted up to one knee.

“You’re not kidding,” he said, doing his best to laugh, but the pain in his shoulder was spreading to his chest. Glaucon reached over and helped the young man to his feet. He lifted his hand up high in the air and lifted Xenophon’s as well. The audience roared in approval, and Xenophon wondered through the dripping sweat if it was the bloodlust of watching the fight, or genuine interest that drove them. He suspected the former.

“The result, they’re announcing it now!” called out one of the women towards the rear of the group.

“Everybody quiet, put it up on the displays!” cried Kratez.

Part of the wall flashed with light, before displaying a wide, panoramic view of the Presidential Palace. The building was the most important political structure in the Alliance, and from where supreme authority in both Attica and the entire Empire was controlled. The President herself stepped into view, a powerful woman in her late fifties. She had been a Captain in the early years of the war and won the votes of many of the military community that had served over the years. In the Alliance democracy, however, her role was limited. The real power lay in the permanent members of the Boule; the veterans who presided over official business and decided what would be discussed and what vote would take place. The President was a mere figurehead who represented the Alliance and made long and boring speeches. At least, that was Xenophon’s assessment.

“My fellow citizens. Today is a grave day indeed. As you know, we have been involved with border skirmishes and open battle with the Laconian League for nearly thirty years. Today a vote was cast by every single citizen member of the Alliance to make a decision, possibly the most important one of the century. Until now, our forces have assisted our allied worlds against the oppressive actions of the League. So far, we have avoided a direct confrontation with the Laconians themselves. With the mobilization of their entire military they have struck our friends, and they have been powerless to hold them back. It is one thing to provide military assistance, and quite another to put the lives of the men and women of the Alliance in harm’s way.”

Glaucon pulled Xenophon close to him.

“I told you, the people want it.”

The people are idiots. If we did what they wanted, we’d all be poor and sitting around wondering what went wrong, he said to himself.

“The complete results from all voting stations through Alliance territory are in. I therefore announce the vote is unanimous, and with seventy-two percent voting in favor of the proposal. It is with a heavy heart that I announce the intention for a general call-up by lottery of those of service age, to serve for as long as is necessary to end this war once and for all. As you will all understand, this mass mobilization is for a single reason. The Armada will assemble and be used directly against the Laconian League. As of five minutes ago, we are at war with the League, and may the Gods save us all.”

Xenophon shook his head at the news. Deep down he knew the public would vote for it, but it still hurt. As a young boy, he had visited with a number of the key Laconian families and had found more similarities than differences in their outlook on life. Just because they refused the so-called enlightened views of the Alliance, they were considered backward primitives.

War with the Laconians? They should be our allies, not our enemies. The fools! Look what they’ve done, he muttered inwardly.

Glaucon and most of the other young people stood up. Some shouted, but most simply cheered. Kratez also stood, but he neither said nor did anything. He had that look Xenophon was so familiar with. The one he reserved for when a particularly taxing problem appeared. Xenophon moved over to him, still only half dressed from the fighting display.

“You’re not cheering, either?” he asked.

“Of course not. War has a sweet taste to the young, but as you gain in age and wisdom, it turns bitter. I fought in the border skirmishes with the Laconians. They are born to fight, and no sacrifice is too great for them.”

Xenophon nodded in agreement.

“You think this is a mistake?”

“To go to war with the Laconians? Of course, and how far are we prepared to go? Will we keep fighting when half of the boys and girls sent to fight are dead or badly hurt? The one thing we know about the Laconians is they will not give ground. The harder we press them, the harder they will fight. In all my years, I know of only one occasion where the Laconians surrendered. The potential loss of just three hundred of their warriors was enough for them to come to the table. They may not have many citizens, not like the hordes that we have. The real difference is that one of theirs is worth a hundred Alliance citizens.”

Glaucon stood up on one of the tables. He held one of the many glasses of wine up high and whistled loudly. He found it difficult to balance, and it took three people grabbing at him to keep him stable.

“Everyone! Today is a momentous day. It is the day we finally climbed off our collective ass and made the decision to wipe out the Laconians, once and for all. They have pushed us at every opportunity, and now they will see what the might of our Armada can do. A toast!”

He lifted his glass up high, and the rest of the audience did the same.

“The Alliance!” he shouted and threw back his glass. The rest of the assembled friends and strangers alike lifted their own glasses.

“The Alliance!” called out the rest as they joined in with his sentiments. Xenophon watched them all with a feeling of despair and dismay.

What are the odds I get called up to fight in this idiotic war? He thought.

CHAPTER TWO

Gamma Squadron, Aegospotami Nebulae

Xenophon gazed through his virtual windows and out into space. His plan hadn’t worked out as expected. Instead of staying at home, he’d been forced to join the Alliance Navy. That was six months ago, and he was now on his first military posting. Six months had seemed like years, but he still felt far from ready to take part in the campaign against the Laconians. For a brief moment, he forgot he was looking at an electrostatic polymer display rather than the reinforced glass it emulated. The centimeter-thick unit was part of nearly thirty similar units installed through the gun decks and command centre. It gave the impression the ship was thin skinned and surrounded by glass. A shape like that of a glistening diamond, and the object gave off flickers of light of many colors. He looked at it carefully, and the display quickly altered the camera’s level of magnification, detecting his gaze and interest.

Just more stars. Where are they? They are out there somewhere, he wondered.

They had been out in this part of space for almost an hour now, and the adrenalin pumping through his body was starting to make him feel sick. There were so many dots and smudges of light out there, and any one of them could be a ship with its own gunners watching down their own barrels. The thought sent a shudder through his body. The ship’s sensor package was working at full capacity, but there was only so much space it could monitor. That didn’t preclude the enemy from simply jamming the sensors themselves.

He looked at the configuration panel to his right and considered running another optimization subroutine. The plasma charging system was running at over ninety eight percent, and far more than was required to work well in combat.

Screw it, ninety-eight will do, he thought, but looked about to see what the rest of the gunners were doing. They appeared to be checking their systems, but they could equally have just been sitting, waiting as he was. He sighed.

Something happen, anything!

The small flotilla of six Hydra class Alliance destroyers moved from their defensive positions outside of the Aegospotami Nebulae. They were only twenty parsecs from their operating base, but it felt as though they were ten times that distance away. It was an easy trip of two jumps to get back, assuming resupply drones were waiting at the supply point.

We could do it in one jump though, he reminded himself.

The safe maximum jump distance was supposed to be limited to fifteen parsecs, but the emergency reserves could be used to boost the trip to twenty. The thought of being left stranded in space was a terrifying thought. As one of the many patrols looking for the Laconian fleet, they needed to travel far from their base to hunt for any signs of the dreaded flotilla. The Alliance ships were small, fast and lightly armored, but they could do little against a main warship. Their orders were simple; record the enemy disposition and course, then return to the designation jump coordinates and transmit the data back to fleet command at their base.

Can we make it out of here if they turn up? The fear of a major warship started to grow in his thoughts. I need to check the guns. It was his job, and returning to it might take his mind off the waiting.

There were rumors of a small battlegroup that was hunting scouts and escorts. The Captain had tried to quell the comments, but Xenophon couldn’t be the only one keeping an eye on the casualty reports.

Come on. Show yourselves.

They had left their outpost, Fort Plymouth, a place of warmth and security. As one of the small number of Olympus class outposts, it was one of the most important parts of the Alliance military and both a major asset and target. As powerful as a capital ship, and the home to thousands of personnel, it was the heart of the war effort. Through careful planning and engineering, the base had been well hidden in the Nebulae and was ideally placed to provide food and supplies for ships that were so far from home. It needed to be, as they were so many jumps from home. It would take months to make the return voyage, and without a base they would be forced to abandon this sector to the enemy. The outpost itself carried over a thousand people as well as the all-important FTL beacon. Using this device, a ship could make a jump of almost ten light-years in a single trip. As the ships had moved away, Xenophon had spent almost twenty minutes looking at the fleet stationed in the sector, hundreds of ships, and all waiting for news on the enemy fleet. But it wasn’t these vessels that interested him. No, it was the six Titans. These were the largest and most powerful ships he had ever seen, and the largest warships built by humanity. At almost twelve hundred meters long, these behemoths carried enough people and weapons to bring entire planets to their knees. Although only one had actually been constructed at the homeworld, the rest were from the scores of Alliance worlds. Each was held by a close bond to the mother city, as well as the fear of the Armada, a military force they were forced to contribute towards. The ships might not all originate from one place, but they were all crewed by loyal members of the Alliance.

Here we go again.

A low rumble came from the bowels of the ship. It was the main thrusters powering down. They were less violent than the FTL engines but still sent a shudder through the small ship. They shut down, leaving the ship to coast through space until they reached the designated location. With no other ships in the area, the small group of frigates pushed out on a wide search vector. Each of the ships left a small multi-colored wake in the cloud of gas and dust. They were spaced out at one hundred kilometers apart; a gap that was a mere hair’s breadth in space. At a length of one hundred and fifty meters, and with a crew of one hundred and ninety five, the vessels were the smallest self-sufficient ships in the Alliance Armada. The destroyers had the look of large predatory fish from Ancient Earth, with large frontal sections and long tails that carried a multitude of antenna and sensors. The lead ship in the formation carried three white stripes that ran down the sides in a regular pattern. The rest carried their simple dull red blue finish as used on the rest of the fleet.

“This is the Captain. We have just received word from our sentry drones. A force of Laconian ships has been detected in quadrant alpha twelve. Check your systems, we jump in thirty seconds.”

Thirty seconds and enemy ships detected. Is this it?

Xenophon gulped at the realization he was finally going into action. His mouth dried at the mere thought of the dreaded Laconian fleet. His training kicked in, and he ran his eyes along the lines of data, checking the power levels, plasma generators and targeting grid.

As the craft moved from the protection of the vast Armada, each one flashed and then vanished. The faster than light (FTL) engines of each frigate propelled them away at unimaginable speed to their patrol area. Inside the ship, Xenophon did his best to not retch. No other members of the vessel seemed to be adversely affected by the journey. He was certainly the most recent addition to the crew, but even so he would have expected other members to experience at least mild discomfort during the trip.

“Three minutes until arrival, charging up primary weapon generators. All stations report in,” said the Captain.

Xenophon scanned from left to right, looking at scores of numbers and diagrams that showed him everything from the temperature of the barrels to the heart rates of his two assistants.

“Everything looks good,” he said, partially to confirm, but also to reassure him that he had made no mistakes. The trigger locks were still active and could only be withdrawn by the tactical officer or commander of the gun deck.

“News coming in from Headquarters, a Strike force has been tracked by our primary fleet, and they are in pursuit. Arrival in sixty seconds,” said the Captain.

Xenophon’s pulse was now pounding. He could see his own life signs on the monitor suite next to him. The increase in heart rate simply made him more anxious. One alert message popped up. There was a slight anomaly in the targeting system. It wasn’t serious, but it did throw him into a minor panic. The change in pressure inside the ship hit inside his skull, and the feeling of sickness quickly returned.

We must be there, he thought.

“Battlestations!” called out the Captain through the embedded communication nodes fitted to every crewman. The small device was fitted behind the ear and several millimeters under the skin. Xenophon reached out and touched the spot where it had been inserted. The doctors said he wouldn’t feel its presence, but he felt it anyway. The ship FTL engine cut out, and his view of the stars shifted from streaks to a still, almost beautiful starscape.

“Enemy ships detected at mark three point five. Ready the guns. It’s a scouting party.”

Xenophon looked around to the rest of the gun deck and then up to the command centre. Dozens of crew moved about, and each carried out their duties as quickly as they could. He had two of the crew under his control, and they worked furiously to carry out their work of preparing the individual guns, monitoring their power levels and anything else needed to get the ship ready for battle. There were two other gun deck sections, and just like this one, they were arrayed in a crescent shape around the command centre of the ship. It meant the Captain, command crew and the gunners, were all in sight of each other. Each gun deck, and its weapons, had an arc of fire that covered a full third of the ship. His particular gun deck on the starboard side was tiny compared to the similar parts of the much larger capital ships. He imagined himself commanding a gun crew on one of the Titans stationed around the supply base. That was just a dream though.

Xenophon was a young midshipman of just twenty-five years of age, and this operation was already making him feel sick. This was his first assignment in the fleet of the Alliance Armada, and his nerves were already frayed. He was hardly one of the gruff infantrymen that swaggered through the ship, each waiting for their chance to engage the enemy in some close ranged brawl. Xenophon was lean, almost slender in build. His fair skin was in stark contrast with the sunburned faces of the more seasoned crew who had fought on land, and in space, during their many years of service in the war. He spotted the nearest midshipman, a red faced man called Maxentius. He was sat waiting with his system ready and his guns online. Xenophon was captivated by the calm on the gun deck until he realized his was the only station not yet ready. He brought up the targeting matrix and focused on the Laconian cruiser that sat ninety kilometers away. The display showed the power levels rising in the gun battery’s power cells.

The communication node whispered to him, and once more distracted him from his work.

“Damned thing,” he muttered.

“Gunners, hold your fire.”

He checked the enemy ship again. It looked similar to their destroyers. The greatest difference, as far as he could tell, was one of aesthetics. Whereas the Alliance ships were smooth and almost pretty to look at, the Laconian League ships were rough and angular, almost suggesting they were unfinished. They operated far fewer ships, but what they lacked in numbers, they made up for in ferocity. The Laconians might not be a great space faring colony, but they had won several devastating land battles, and their fleet had so far eluded the more experienced Alliance ships. Even more important was that the Laconians had sacrificed speed and living space for more weapons and armor. In a one on one fight they had the advantage, unless the Alliance captains made use of their speed and longer ranged guns.

“Sir, guns are ready, power levels are correct and the targeting matrix is active,” said Private Loraine, a stern looking young woman in her early twenties.

Xenophon had tried to make friends with her and the other enlisted men and women in the crew. For some reason, he had never been able to break the ice. There was something about him they had issues with, and he wished he knew what it was. Private Loraine, for example, gave the impression she hated him and had done so from the first moment they met.

“Good, chain them for linked fire. We won’t have long to hit them. It is a small window of opportunity.”

The guns could be fired individually or in groups, one of the many benefits of this kind of energy weapon. No ships in the Alliance Fleet were allowed to make use of computer control systems for anything other than communications and navigation. All engineering and weapons control were under the strict control of their human operators. It seemed archaic, and even a little stupid, to require so many people to operate vessels in space. But as powerful as computers were, they were also vulnerable to all kinds of hacking. The reliance upon these professionals made the Alliance ships more powerful and flexible than the ships in any of the known empires in the Galaxy, but also far less numerous.

“Jammers are active,” said the Captain, his voice calm and collected through the communication node. Xenophon could almost make out his actual voice over the noise on the command centre, but it was easier to just listen to the electronic voice in the node.

The Alliance ships, like probably every military ship in existence, were packed with advanced and powerful electronic jamming and countermeasures equipment. Jamming weapons lock and communication systems was critical to combat in space, unless you wanted your ship destroyed thousands of kilometers away from the enemy. Xenophon had learnt on his first day of training that a computer system could lock onto and track a vessel thousands of kilometers away, and hit it with torpedoes or even solid fuel missiles. Through simple use of electronic counter measures (ECM), the enemy could be forced to use their weapons on manual operation. This made them slower and reduced their effective range when done correctly. He thought back to the class where they had tried to hit a simulated Empire frigate. The vessel had been fast, too fast. The computer could hit it, but as soon as the jamming started, he had to take over. No matter how carefully he led the target, it was just too hard to hit the small ship. He just hoped that when the time came to target and fire the plasma cannons, he would strike his target in a quick and efficient manner.

“Xenophon, you ready for this?” called out his friend and now commanding officer, Second Lieutenant Roxana Devereux. The confident women stood tall. Her thick auburn hair and grey eyes betrayed wisdom after relatively little time in the military. She was almost the same height and build as Xenophon himself and that was no doubt part of her ability to sway the weaker minded in the crew.

Ready for this, are you kidding? I should be back at home and studying like the rest of the citizens my age, he thought angrily.

“Ready, Sir,” he answered as confidently as he could manage.

She spotted him looking about nervously and frowned at his discomfort. She was a tall, confident woman and had been his friend back when they both studied under the philosophical master, Kratez. He had tried on multiple occasions to get her interest, but she seemed completely unaffected by his advances; no matter how persistent he had been.

He watched her, but all he could think was how much she seemed to be enjoying her position on the ship. Unlike Xenophon, she had volunteered five years ago and already proven herself in three battles against the enemy. While she was busy fighting the enemies of the Alliance, he had continued his studies. For her performance at the battle of Arginusae, she had been promoted on the spot to the position of Second Lieutenant. By all accounts, it had been a truly momentous victory, sullied by the loss of a number of famous captains who had vanished in the final hours of battle. She walked towards him and smiled with a grim expression on her face.

Come on, try and look at least half confident.

It was her job to monitor and command the starboard gun deck, an important responsibility, and one that could win or lose a deadly battle in space.

“Xenophon, watch your station. The enemy ships are preparing for battle, just like us.”

And again I crash and burn, he thought, once more.

“Aye, Sir,” he replied nervously and turned back to his tactical screen. The curved unit gave him a one hundred and eighty degree view of the space around his ship, and if he concentrated, it was as though he was actually outside and floating in space. Small colored boxes flashed around the target, each giving him the status of the enemy’s shields, weapons and armor. It was just like when he had practiced on the simulators. The single difference being that he knew his life actually depended on his and others’ competency.

His mind drifted for a moment as the sight of Roxana reminded him of his last night back home. Xenophon and his friends from the capital had been drinking and ended up getting involved in a scuffle with some of the democrats. It was people like them that had voted year on year for the war to continue. None of his friends, with the exception of Roxana Devereux, had volunteered for the war. But after nearly twenty-seven years of war, it seemed the voting public wanted it to end. He had been conscripted to join the last Armada. This fleet was a collection of every remaining ship controlled by Attica and her allies with one simple mission, to find and destroy the primary Laconian fleet, and end the war once and for all. His thoughts were interrupted by an unfamiliar sound. It was the communication node again.

“This is Captain Agrippa. Enemy scouts are approaching our position. We are detecting at least six, possibly more, on an approach vector. Gun crews, check your weapons and open all gun ports. Locks have been removed.”

The locks are off. I can target and fire the guns whenever I want! The moment of worry and fear were gone, even if just for a few seconds. The feeling of power when given control of these weapons was not unlike the feeling he had when stood on a cliff edge or on top of a tall building. That brief moment when he knew he could easily fall or do something with devastating results.

Hey, come on. Get ready, he told himself, angry at becoming caught up in the moment instead of concentrating on what he should be doing. He looked at the multitude of screens and systems around him and went through a mental checklist.

Gun hatches open.

The response was instantaneous. The thought process from the implanted node gave him full control over all systems other than primary fire control. From the video feed on his curved display, he could see the multitude of other ports opening up. The ports were grouped together into batteries of two guns, each pair controlled by a man or woman just like him. As the ports opened, the barrels of the powerful 60mm plasma cannons pushed out so that the last meter protruded from the ship. These weapons were the standard armament of small warships, and also used as secondary weapons on capital ships. They were rapid firing weapons that hurled magnetically sealed bolts of plasma into space. The velocity of the projectile was higher than conventional kinetic weapons, but they were short ranged because the seal would break down after just a few hundred kilometers.

This is more like it. He started to smile, his confidence returning.

“This is the Captain. The enemy formation is shadowing us. I suspect they are scouting for their own fleet. Wait for the order.”

Here it comes.

Xenophon nodded to himself, double-checking his control system and the status of his gun battery. So far it was all looking good. The next ship in formation did the same, and he watched his screen in awe as the three batteries on the port side of the ship opened up to reveal the teeth of the scout ship. It might be a small ship, but for Xenophon, it was his first exposure to warships in an actual combat operation. He had seen the guns firing during training and was convinced nothing could withstand the power of the 60mm plasma shells. The last demonstration he had seen was incredible. The plasma shell had smashed into the simulated hull and vaporized nearly half the ship it hit. He became almost impatient to see what damage he could inflict with his own pair of plasma cannons. With eighteen of these plasma cannons in total, the ship was adequately equipped to deal with small scouts and survey ships. Though the class was considered the lowest class of vessel capable of fighting in deep space, it was poorly equipped to deal with a full size warship.

Xenophon glanced back to the command centre and watched the XO move to the Captain to speak about something. Although it was a matter of meters away, the command crew looked as if they were in a different world to him. Whereas they knew what was happening overall, Xenophon was only given as much information as he needed to do his job.

Come on, what’s happening? Tell us something.

There was nothing on his system that told him anything about the tactical situation or even the intent of the enemy. It didn’t seem to bother the rest of the crew in this part of the ship, but it served as a constant source of irritation to Xenophon.

“Watch your screen. There are reports of a rogue fighter squadron in this sector,” said the XO loudly, choosing to ignore the communication nodes. His voice made Xenophon jump. He looked up towards the raised platform used by Second Lieutenant Roxana Devereux. Her viewscreen gave her a full display of the area of space around the ship, and she was seated at the periphery of the command deck itself. She had a perfect view of the rest of the gun crew, as well as the systems used to control the plasma cannons. Her job was to carry out the orders of the tactical officer who resided on the bridge along with the rest of the command crew. The gun deck was an important part of the ship, but there were also the more powerful anti-ship torpedoes. These devastating weapons were controlled by the tactical officer and resided in the armored housing near the front of the ship. Xenophon had tried to be posted to the more prestigious gun crew in the bow, but so far he had been unable to leave his current position on the flank. It was of little importance to most people, but Xenophon wasn’t used to being so insignificant. With his knowledge, skills and family connection, he was still convinced he should have his own ship. The main lights switched to red, and an emergency tone flashed through the gun deck and the rest of the command centre.

Looks like trouble, about time though. Let’s get this over with.

A dull rumble shook the ship as it powered up its engines. The gravitic generators did their job well and maintained a standard one gee of gravity throughout the vessel. It was not critical to provide this on board a ship, but it did offer many benefits, the most significant the wellbeing of the crew. Bone development issues and muscle deformity had all caused problems for long-term travel and operations. Gravitic generators required larger ships, but it meant they could stay out for much longer duration operations.

Xenophon looked up to Lieutenant Roxana Devereux.

“We’re moving into range. Gunners, lock your weapons on the highlighted vessel. Target her engines and communications array. Wait for my command.”

Xenophon nodded and checked his screen. The nearest Laconian vessel was turning from them, and its engines glowed brightly. He used the two control sticks to track the vessel. The gunnery computer calculated the current course and projected position to help with him leading the target. Xenophon treated the system like a helpful friend that assisted him with his combat duties.

“All locked in, Lieutenant,” he replied smartly.

She continued looking at her screen, presumably watching the rest of the enemy formation and waiting for orders from the Captain. The emergency alarm dropped in volume and finally switched off, but the battle lighting stayed red. Xenophon noticed the Captain say something to the crew in the command centre, and she almost immediately turned to Xenophon and the rest of her gun deck.

“They are powering up their FTL engines, open fire!” she called out.

Xenophon exhaled in excitement and pulled the triggers. The vibrations from the magnetic launch tubes could be felt even this far from the power generators. He watched the burst of whitish-blue energy as it blasted from the twin guns and hurtled towards the enemy. Streaks of similar fire erupted from the other guns, all at the same target. With just a thought, the optical unit zoomed in closer to the target so that it filled his view. The first bursts of fire arrived, of which only four rounds actually hit home. He almost jumped up for joy as one of his projectiles struck eight meters from the port engine nacelle. A blue flash indicated a powerful hit from the weapon, and he smiled with pride as a section of at least fifteen meters tore away from the ship.

“Keep firing!” called out Lieutenant Devereux.

Xenophon pulled the triggers and fired another series of paired blasts. The rest of the gunners did the same, each of them pulverizing the enemy vessel. Flashes of plasma lit up the hull until a mighty colored pulse tore the craft apart. A cheer rang out through the ship, and Xenophon felt a surge of excitement in his blood.

“It’s a decoy vessel. All crews, charge your guns, it’s a trick!” shouted the Captain. His voice ran throughout the command centre and gun decks. The calm voice of Lieutenant Devereux spoke into his communication node.

“Gunners, recharge from the capacitors. Check for enemy vessels.”

Xenophon ignored the commotion on the command deck and did as he had been ordered. With his wide arc of fire, he could check his area of space. The other gunners did the same, and each checked their segment of space for an elusive ship that might have blocked their sensors. It was strange that so many hundreds of years after the development of direct energy weapons and reliable FTL technology, the crew were still forced to rely on using their eyes. As he looked for the enemy, he tried to understand why the Captain might think the enemy ship, now smashed to a hundred pieces, might be a decoy. Perhaps there were no life signs, or there was something it transmitted. The more he thought about it, the more he desperately wanted to know. Being stuck in a single role, without access to all the information around him, was proving to be stifling.

Then he spotted it. At first it was just a flicker of the stars, much like looking at astronomical objects from his home. The atmosphere of the planet between him and space would cause the stars to flicker and change in the most subtle of ways.

What is it? It has to be them, it must be. He was wary of speaking out in case it was a false alarm. He couldn’t keep it quiet any longer though.

“Lieutenant, I think I’ve got something!” he called out.

Lieutenant Devereux connected to his computer system and looked down at the object Xenophon was looking at.

“Where is it?” she asked, a hint of desperation in her voice.

Please be something. He worried that he was wasting the crew’s time but also wanted to impress her.

Xenophon drew a mental box around the anomaly that was immediately added to her own computer display. It was a faster way of communicating than simply trying to point it out on a display, or even worse, attempting to explain with words.

“Good work,” she said and actually smiled at him.

Yes! Something right, for a change, he thought happily.

“Sir, something is out there,” she said, her tone of voice less convinced than Xenophon would have liked. As if to answer her, the Tactical Officer spoke quickly.

“Jump signature, something is coming in!”

Xenophon rechecked his display and spotted more shapes rush past their position. The blurred shapes took form as an enemy formation shut down its FTL engines. There was always a brief moment between the engines being deactivated and the ship approaching normal speed, where the subject would be blurred and indistinct. It lasted the briefest of times but could give those waiting an advantage, if only for a moment. At first, he couldn’t make out the shape, but then he recognized the silhouette from his training back at the fleet headquarters.

That looks like a drone carrier.

It was one of the largest military ships he had ever seen and easily the size of an Alliance cruiser. From memory, these ships were used to command small strike forces. It was rare they travelled alone, and if he was right, it could be a serious problem.

Lieutenant Devereux had already sent the data to the Captain.

“Good work, Xenophon,” she said. “It’s definitely a drone carrier, and probably leading a small force to wipe out our scouts, one group at a time.”

“That why they left a derelict to draw us in?” he asked.

She nodded, but he couldn’t tell if she was impressed or irritated by his questions. Either way, they were interrupted by the voice of the Captain.

“All crew, prepare for FTL jump. Gunners keep the carrier busy until we’re underway.”

Xenophon could sense the worry in the Captain’s voice. He could see why, as he watched three-dozen drones detach from the ship and set an intercept course with their own small formation of ships. The drones were small, perhaps ten meters, maybe slightly more. They were fast and lightly armed, no match for heavy fighters but easily able to swamp a few frigates, given enough time. As he watched them, he forgot to check his own tactical display. It was too late when he finally spotted the lock errors on the system.

“No, no!” he cried to himself. The gun tracking system shutdown as powerful enemy countermeasures saturated their vessel. It was a textbook attack, and it had rendered the entire targeting matrix defunct.

“It’s the drones,” explained Lieutenant Devereux. “Switch to manual gunnery and look for the Wild Weasel drones. Take them out.”

A cloud of plasma rounds scattered the formation of drones, but they were already in range. The computer-controlled attack aircraft rolled with speed and precision that made his gunnery harder and harder. He looked at the first group of six, staring intently to find the illusive Wild Weasel craft. They were specially modified to suppress air defenses and destroy the frigates capacity to destroy other drones. Blasts of energy fired from the guns of the drones struck their own frigate, but he was able to draw two into his sights.

He managed to hit the first, a standard interceptor drone with two direct impacts. One plasma round was easily capable of destroying a drone, and the two simply vaporized the craft, causing enough damage to a second that it spun wildly out of control before finally self-destructing. He tried to track the rest of the formation, but it passed the ship and moved off to the port side. The automated turrets did their best to track them using optical systems, but with radar, microwave and thermal targeting all jammed, the system was severely limited. Only one more drone was hit as they moved out of sight.

A dull rumble indicated a number of hits to the hull, but he had no idea how serious it might be. He scanned his area of space for more hostiles and was drawn to one of their destroyers. Three smoldering holes in the hull showed where one of the drones had rammed the armor and caused catastrophic damage to the vessel.

Gods, how many men and women? One of the gun decks tore apart, and he tried to imagine how terrible it would be inside that ship. With no air, freezing temperatures and no gravity, it would be a terrible death in the void of space. His attention was brought back by another flash to his left. It indicated the arrival of more ships. The FTP drives must have been charging up as he could feel the rumble through the hull of the ship. One of the frigates to his right disappeared. As he watched the area of space it had vacated, he spotted the shapes of the newly arrived ships coalesced into mighty warships. Xenophon didn’t recognize all of them, but he did spot at least a dozen cruisers, of which at least four were definitely Laconian in design. As they arrived in position, each vessel opened fire. The powerful streaks of energy from their massed batteries sent color pulses and beams out to their opponents.

“Jump in 5…4…3…2…1…now!” called the helmsman. Xenophon could feel a dull throbbing in his skull as the FTL drive powered up, and with a thump they hurtled away from the battle. In just a few seconds the feeling resumed, and they were back in position around their base in the Nebula.

“All stations report in,” called the Captain.

Xenophon sat there quietly, an empty feeling washing over him. He had played his part in the battle, but once the warships had moved in, they had left. He wanted to know how the battle had turned out. The capital ships were the pride of the colonies, and he had spotted just a glimpse of them before the small vessel jumped back to safe space.

“This is the Captain. Good work people. We left one frigate behind, but we did our job. We were there to draw in their drone ships. Fleet is mopping up, and I am pleased to let you know the battle is progressing well.”

Progressing well? Xenophon thought. How could he have trained all this time, just to be sent back to the safe zone every time a battle occurred?

“Gun crews, I need your crew to perform a full stage two service and check of all gun and capacitor system. Make sure they are ready for action in less than an hour,” ordered Lieutenant Devereux.

Fort Plymouth, Aegospotami Nebulae

The skirmish out on the rim of the Nebula was nearly three days ago, and still Xenophon could not forget what had happened. He sat in a comfortable chair and watched the rest of the crew relax on board the station. This part of the recreation room was sparsely equipped with a pool table and a few vintage arcade machines set up. Two other officers sat nearby. One was busy watching news reports on a small video screen, and the second just kept looking into his glass of alcohol. He watched them both for a moment and then looked to the window. It was unusual to be able to stand near an actual window that looked out into space. This particular area in the room gave him a perfect view of the stars, as well as the mysterious clouds of dust and gas that ran through this region.

“Anything on this sector?” he asked the man watching the screen. The man turned and looked back at him with a look of irritation on his face.

“It just says there have been three incursions by Laconian forces. All have been stopped. The media reckon we’re mobilizing to fight one final battle to finish them off.”

“Interesting,” he replied.

“Really? How can we destroy them if we can’t even find their ships?”

Xenophon shrugged, unsure as to what to say or even to what he was referring to. They must be doing something right if they’d hit three groups already. As he thought on the problem, he spotted a group of officers, all wearing their more casual off duty uniforms. They made their way towards him and the other midshipman from his ship.

“Xenophon,” said Lieutenant Devereux, “very good work out on the Rim. I think you probably saved us from a nasty ambush.”

She sat down next to him, followed by another Lieutenant that went by the name Calum. Xenophon had spoken with him on several other occasions and found the man to be infuriating.

Why does the asshole have to come and sit next to me? Stupid socialist whiner from a worthless family who wants a handout without doing anything to deserve it, he thought angrily.

“Thanks,” he replied when he realized he hadn’t responded to her comment.

“What’s wrong, Xenophon? Still worried you might have to give up a few more of your family’s estates to help the rest of us?” asked Calum in his typical self-righteous tone.

“What?” he muttered back, both unwilling and uninterested in being drawn into another argument that in reality was an excuse for the young officer to rant.

“Well, from what you said last time, you think somehow your family deserves to see the rest of us struggle by.”

“Struggle? Your family could afford to put you through college, and my family’s taxes paid for the time you dodged work afterwards. What did you do after college?” he snapped back, and instantly regretted opening his mouth.

“Yeah, Calum?” asked one of the other officers, a lieutenant he didn’t recognize. The man struck Calum in the shoulder.

“If I remember correctly, didn’t you want to join the experimental aircraft division as a pilot?”

“Yeah, they didn’t have enough places though.”

Xenophon laughed at the comment.

“So you didn’t get the grade then? Let me guess, the system failed you?”

“You bet your ass it failed me. Any citizen should be able to train and do what they want. Sticking limits just makes it elitist.”

Lieutenant Devereux reached out and placed her hands on both of their shoulders.

“Hey, you two. Give it a rest. This is the first break I’ve had in weeks, and I don’t want to spend it listening to another argument.”

“No problem,” added Xenophon, but Calum was far from finished.

“I’m just glad the new higher rate taxes have come in so people like you can give something back. Our system needs to be fairer to people like, well, us,” he said with both hands turned inwards.

Alarms blasted at full volume throughout the recreation room. It was similar to the battlestations alert on board the frigate. Lieutenant Devereux looked around them and then outside through the window.

“Look!” she said, the tone of dread obvious to them all, apart from Calum.

Xenophon leaned in closer to the reinforced glass. There were shapes forming out there in space, and not far from the assembled Armada.

Here? We have the entire Alliance Armada assembled and ready for war. This is madness. Xenophon argued with himself.

“This is not a drill. We are under attack. I repeat. Fort Plymouth is under attack. All crew report to your stations!” called out the voice of whoever was in charge of the station right now.

Lieutenant Devereux grabbed Xenophon and pulled him towards her.

“Captain Agrippa has just sent me a call, as well as the rest of the senior officers. We’re to get to the ship fast.”

“What the hell is happening?” he replied, but she was already moving from the room. Scores of crew rushed about, some heading to the transports, and others to the stations weapon systems. The loudspeakers continued their drone.

“The primary Laconian Fleet has jumped in directly over the station. I repeat. The enemy fleet is…”

The audio cut out ominously, and at the same time the station’s artificial gravity and lighting cut. The emergency lights flickered on but gravity and communications remained off. Xenophon tumbled along the corridor, his momentum keeping him moving until he struck the wall with a crunch.

This is insanity. We can’t lose like this.

Lieutenant Devereux was having none of it. She was at the wall and ripped open a panel to reveal a small lever. With a quick tug, she yanked it back. Lights flashed in the corridor and partial gravity was restored. It was no more than a third of normal, but it did make movement more manageable.

“Look, the emergency override will only run for about an hour. We need to reach the lower level docking arm. It’s over there,” she explained.

“Yeah, I know the way, come on!”

As they bounced and jumped along the corridor, a number of dull rumbles shook the station. At first they were gentle, but the reverberations quickly spread through the innards of the structure. Xenophon couldn’t see anything, but he knew full well what was happening.

We’re being bombarded. Yet he felt calm, even serene. Something that surprised him more than the actual attack itself. It was a sensation he had never felt before, even during his brief time aboard his frigate. Perhaps it was the inevitability of an attack as massive as this one, more likely he was so pumped up on adrenalin that he didn’t know any better.

CHAPTER THREE

Fort Plymouth, Aegospotami Nebulae

The shuttle was packed with crew from Plymouth Station. Every man and woman was desperate to leave the station and had left equipment, weapons and even clothing behind in the panic. Some were keen to return to their ship to fight, but most were more than likely terrified at the prospect of being stuck on a station they could do nothing to defend. This far out in space, the outpost was on its own. There was no planet or hilltop to retreat to. If the base were captured, you would either be killed or become a prisoner of the Laconian League. A fate that was truly worse than death. At least, that is what their instructors and commanders reiterated every day.

More like they don’t want us abandoning our posts, deserting or simply refusing to fight, thought Xenophon wryly.

Even as they had climbed aboard the shuttle, the breach alarms in the station had been sounded. Either heavy weapons fire had cut through the armor and shielding or even worse; Laconian warriors had landed and were in the process of taking control of the base. There was little the crew could do to oppose their professional warriors. Unlike the Laconians, the Alliance crew and military did little actual close quarter combat training. Even the use of firearms was limited to the tiny number of tactical teams used for hostage rescue or guard work. In this era of space warfare, the argument had always been that the Navy made ground combat obsolete, even vulgar. It was considered a rough throwback to the old days of Earth.

Vulgar! Ground combat? Maybe if we trained in it, we wouldn’t be running. What if they take the station? The Armada would have to withdraw back to the homeworld. He was trying to work out what would happen to the Alliance if the battle continued on its present course. It was hard to believe that a force as substantial as the Armada could suffer anything more than a minor loss to the enemy. The complete Alliance fleet had never been defeated in open battle before. The best the Laconians had ever managed was when a handful of frigates had dueled, and it had been indecisive and proved little.

Sat inside the craft, Xenophon thought about the state of the station he had just left. He still had pangs of guilt for leaving so fast. Yet he knew deep down that he had done the right thing. His skills in battle were only to do with operating ship-based weapons. In a stand-up fight with professional Laconian warriors, he wouldn’t stand a chance. The Alliance had no professional infantry. Even the crew of the ships were almost all enlisted for short-term operations. The Laconians, on the other hand, came from a much poorer background but had the advantage of a small, fully professional navy and a substantial ground force of heavy infantry. These forces were known simply as Laconians, as it was the duty of all their citizens to train and prepare for war. Xenophon had always been fascinated by the Laconians and had wanted to visit their homeworld since he had been a boy.

A great thud, like a crate being thrown at the shuttle, brought him back to his senses. A series of alarms echoed through the small space and steam blasted out from a joint on the piping above his head. A dozen cables dropped down where the damage had shredded the cables. Sparks ran along their length before the shuttle emergency system isolated and immobilized the circuit.

What the hell is that?

The crew looked about in concern at the sound, but there appeared to be no real damage. The shuttle transport was unarmored and designed more for utility than comfort and would not stand up to much punishment if attacked. Any weapon used by the League would easily be able to damage or destroy the shuttle with little effort. There were no windows to speak of, and the passengers were all required to wear full EVA safe suits for the trip. Only half had pulled on their gear so far, the rest were struggling, and a small number just ignored the order and sat in silence.

Listen to it, Xenophon thought to himself. The sound of the small chunks of dust and debris from the battle outside pattered the shuttle like a gentle rain shower. It was frustratingly quiet inside, but Xenophon was all too aware of the battle going on. Being blind to the world outside did have its benefits for most of those in the shuttle. Not for Xenophon, he had a vivid imagination and had seen from the station displays the great enemy fleet that had arrived. They wouldn’t have begun an evacuation unless there was the potential for defeat.

Have we started the fight back yet? We have Titans, and nothing can stand against them, he thought. The Titans were surely so powerful they could hold off an enemy fleet on their own.

Curious to see what was going on, he remembered the high-speed digital media system built into every suit. He looked about until he found the link buttons. A quick tap and he was connected to the shuttle’s public interface. Various menus popped up inside his visor and by looking and thinking about the options, he was able to bring up a multitude of video feeds and reports. The shuttle was showing three external views and also repeating the public announcement channel from Plymouth Station. He selected the station feed first and almost choked at the sight.

No, it can’t be. The station can’t take that kind of beating.

Over thirty heavy ships were lined up and firing thick energy beams into the station. Each impact sent a shimmer around the station as its heavy shielding tried to absorb the energy.

They’re trying to bring down the rest of the shields, he thought.

Changing to the feeds on the shuttle, he spotted many ships engaged in a battle that was so large he could barely understand it. The Armada was being hit hard, and the terrible thing was that the enemy fleet was no larger than theirs.

We’ve been caught with our pants down this time. He nodded to himself.

The only thing he could think of was that it must have been the arrogance of the commanders and their position. He had been told many times in the last week about how safe they were in the Nebulae. It was either that, or the enemy had found a way to cripple the fleet prior to their arrival. All he could tell so far was that less than ten percent of the Armada was engaged in the fight. The rest of the ships were moored around the station and under attack. He remembered his studies and especially the ancient Terran officer Frederick Lanchester, quickly applying the rules the officer had devised to the facts as he could see them.

Lanchester had devised a simple set of rules for calculating the relative strengths of a predator/prey pair. This formula essentially required the squaring of the statistical number of forces on both sides. A simple deduction between the two values would show the winner and loser. Most officers found the concept hard to grasp, but Xenophon, with his years of philosophical and mathematical training, had found it easy. If five ships fought three ships, then Lanchester’s Law would state the comparative strengths were twenty-five versus nine. Therefore, the larger force would overwhelm the smaller force by almost a factor of three, and essentially a guaranteed victory with minimal losses.

“Lieutenant,” he called out to Lieutenant Devereux who sat just two seats away from him. She seemed to be ignoring him. He leaned towards her and called again. Rather than a reply, the side of the shuttle tore open to reveal the great emptiness of space. He felt the tug on his thick harness as the vessel instantly depressurized. Two of the seats ripped from their slightly damaged mounts and blasted out into space. Xenophon watched the two people vanish into the blackness. They were both wearing sealed suits.

That won’t help them. He knew it would be almost impossible to find a couple of spacesuits amongst the debris and wreckage drifting around the station. The rush of air as the pressure altered was over almost as soon as it had started. Through the breach, a series of colored lights betrayed the position of at least two ships. The pilot of the shuttle must have made a drastic course change as the lights vanished to be replaced by an Alliance battleship.

“Gods!” he spurted out before thinking.

The mighty ship was burning from bow to stern as explosions and flashes ran the length of the vessel. A bright red beam move from the right until it made contact with the hull. As soon as the two touched, a bright light almost blinded him. If it weren’t for the automatic visor on his suit, he wouldn’t have seen anything at all.

A cutter, they’ve had it.

The common nickname for the heavy laser weapons, a cutter was designed to do exactly as its name suggested. It would make contact with the exterior of a ship and simply burn through, cutting an arc in the vessel. As he watched, the beam slashed through the ship as though it had been no more than soft plastic.

“Xenophon!” came the familiar voice of Lieutenant Devereux. He spun around to see the survivors of the shuttle trying to help two of the crew that had refused to wear suits. He moved to unbuckle himself, but a blast of power from the shuttle forced him into his seat.

“Hold on, we’re making an emergency landing on the Valiant,” said a voice over the intercom system. Xenophon assumed it was the pilot, but in all the commotion he had no easy way to tell.

The impact was rough, and this time his straps gave way. Xenophon was thrown forwards and towards the front of the shuttle. With a crash, he struck an unconscious passenger. The shaking and violence of their trip suddenly stopped to be replaced by the harsh, full gravity of the warship. Xenophon hit his visor just in time to vomit onto the metallic floor. He coughed and then turned around to check on the others. Lieutenant Devereux was lying atop a number of crates that had broken free. Crew from the Valiant climbed in through the damaged hull and proceeded to pull them from the ruined shuttle. He climbed over to the officer and leaned down to her face. She was pale, but it looked like she was breathing.

“Get her out of here, she’s gonna blow,” called out one of the newly arrived crew.

He needed no more persuasion and grabbed her limp body. He expected her to feel light, but with the suit and webbing gear she was difficult to move. Pushing himself hard, he managed to bring her arm around his neck and across his shoulder. It took less than a dozen steps to reach the side doorway and out into the space of the hangar. Two men in full hazard suits pushed past him and blasted the burning electrical and fuel system with fire retardant foam and chemicals. He pushed on until reaching the rest of the crew who were trying to help a woman who had refused to wear a suit. Xenophon glanced at her, but as far as he could tell she was dead, probably from the explosive decompression that had already occurred. He was paranoid about suits during transportation on the small craft, and today had only reinforced that idea.

“Xenophon?” asked a feeble voice.

He looked down to see a weak smile from the Lieutenant. He smiled back and leaned in closer.

“How are you feeling?”

She coughed and shook a little.

“Not great, suit says it’s coming up with blood pressure warnings.”

Blood pressure? No, it must be internal bleeding.

He lifted himself up, so he was more visible to the crew.

“Hey, I’ve got a wounded officer here!”

A medical and an orderly were there in seconds. The medical officer attached a cable from his medical analysis tool on his belt. It connected directly into the biological monitoring package embedded into the suit.

“Yeah, she’s got internal bleeding, pressure dropping. Get her to sickbay, stat!”

The orderly called for another man to come and help and before Xenophon could say anymore, they were heading for the doors. Xenophon moved to follow but was stopped by the arrival of a gruff looking Commander. He was at least a head taller than Xenophon and scarred on the left side of his face.

“I’m down to fifty percent of my crew. Any of you with combat or targeting experience?”

Xenophon watched the Lieutenant disappear before looking back to the Commander. Five men had already stepped forward and were talking with him. He moved up to join them, and his heart pounded from the events he had already experienced.

“I’m a gunner.”

“What unit?” he replied suspiciously.

“Gamma Squadron, Sir.”

“Gamma huh? You guys pulled the bait mission, right? Yeah, you’ll do, come with me.”

The Commander moved away, and Xenophon stayed close. In the corridor, crew carrying equipment or moving the wounded continually interrupted them. Every few seconds, the heavy thud of pulse weapons striking the ship’s shields sent shivers down Xenophon’s spine. He was aware that powerful ships like the Valiant could take a number of hits but once the shields were down the weapons fire would start to burn or cut through the metal. It was that part of the attack that worried him.

“Sir, how are the shields?” he asked the man.

Without slowing down, the Commander threw him a quick reply.

“Don’t worry about the shields, son. She’s a tough old bird. Just come with me to the gun deck, I need you on the weapons and fast.”

Another ship and still they won’t tell me what the hell is going on, he grumbled to himself.

The thuds of weapon impacts continued, and it was clear from the body language of the crew, they were flinching from the strikes just as much as him. As with his frigate, there were no windows in the vessel and the displays limited to the command sections of the ship. The small group entered a wider space, almost like a miniature plaza. Directly in front was a pair of large automated doors. The Commander stepped through and moved into the heart of the ship.

Wow, this is more like it, thought Xenophon, for a moment forgetting about the apocalyptical battle that was taking place all around them. The first thing he noticed were the massive five-meter tall virtual windows that ran in a wide ring around the room. In the centre were almost two-dozen command officers. He looked at the windows and was presented with a terrible sight. The massive space station was being struck with powerful mass drivers. These electromagnetic weapons were able to hurl great chunks of material at super high speeds. Each strike blasted chunks of armor away and created a series of terrible breaches. What looked even worse was the incredible number of Laconian warships. He gave up counting after reaching thirty heavy ships, and there would be hundreds more cruisers and smaller. Beams and pulses of light hurtled towards the scores of docked ships, resulting in blasts and flashes as far as the eye could see.

“You, you’re a gunner, right?” asked a half-dressed Lieutenant.

“Uh, yes, frigate gunner.”

He considered his words for a short moment before indicating to a lower deck. Xenophon stepped towards it and noticed the rest of the group taking up their positions. It was much like the gun decks on the frigate, but there were only eight seats. He sat at the first available space and strapped himself in.

“Right, this is a Mark IV heavy laser setup. These are not cutters, and they fire in pulses, not too different to the frigate plasma weapons. Okay?”

Xenophon and the others nodded.

“Good. Your job is to help clear a path through the fighters and escorts as we break out.”

“What?” demanded one of the volunteers.

The Lieutenant didn’t need to explain any further as the amplified voice of the commander of the ship instantly drowned out his voice.

“I have just received a distress signal from Fort Plymouth. Laconian ground troops have boarded the base. This sector is lost, so the only question is, how much of a fleet we can escape with? In the meantime, a general evacuation has been ordered. The Titan Prometheus is providing a rearguard for the rest of us. We are the last of the grand cruisers. Over sixty percent of the fleet is gone already. If we’re lucky, we’ll be leaving the Aegospotami Nebulae in one piece.”

As if to emphasize his point, a volley of plasma cannon rounds smashed into the heavy warship. The vessel shook slightly, but there were no other obvious signs of trouble. The Commander continued.

“Fighters are already in position to escort us out of here. Man your guns, and watch for pursuing ships. We get one shot at this. The jump beacon is seven minutes away, good luck!”

He checked the screen. It was similar to the model used on the frigates but with a handful of changes. The first was that he had no crew around him. The status indicator showed seventeen men in the weapons deck, but he simply queued up requests, and they would deal with them in sequence. It was a more automated but distant approach. He reasoned it must be because the larger weapons needed more crew and that they served more than just his guns. The end result was that only the more senior crew was present in this part of the ship.

Better than being with the rest of the midshipmen, he thought wryly.

The second big change was that he controlled a battery of four separate turrets; each one equipped with quadruples heavy lasers. It was more firepower than all of the plasma cannons on his frigate put together. He tapped the connection button, and in a few seconds the communication node implanted in his skull connected to the fire system and communication network. He was immediately hit by a number of orders from the command crew.

“Cruiser unit blocking the beacon, right let’s sort them out then,” he said confidently though only to himself.

A quick scan of the gun system showed his systems were fully operational. The capacitors were charged and the guns set to short-ranged fire by default. As he watched the raging battle on the bank of screens, a number of diamond shapes appeared on the targets. He looked down but couldn’t find the fire control system.

The trigger, where is it?

“Why aren’t we firing?” shouted the XO.

Xenophon turned around, embarrassed to ask but more concerned with the battle.

“The trigger, Sir?”

“Your head, son. This is a Grandcruiser. You’re controlling a quarter of the heavy weapons on the ship. Select targets with your eyes, fire and control the weapons with the communication node.”

He turned back, feeling stupid for asking. The communication node was only used for oral communication on the frigates, a quicker way for the commander and the officers to stay in contact during the confusion of battle. This level of integration was a feature of all capital ships. The realization he was now in command of enough firepower to cripple a heavy warship, sent his heart pumping almost uncontrollably.

“Shields are down to thirty percent, minor damage to secondary power systems. Incoming torpedoes,” said one of the senior officers.

Xenophon had no idea who was doing the talking, but he immediately recognized the flashing indicators on the display. A group of five heavy torpedoes were shown in the centre as well as at least two-dozen heavy fighters. He tasked the gun mount with the torpedoes and sent the mental signal to loose off a volley. It was the first time he had seen, let alone fired, this kind of weapon. The name laser was something of a misnomer, as the weapon was only vaguely related to the ancient Terran technology. The turrets fired a sequence of a dozen shots, each following right behind the other in a bright burst of red energy. Each turret fired at a separate target and struck in a matter of just two seconds. The five torpedoes exploded in a brilliant blue crackle of energy and power. Xenophon almost jumped up with excitement from the success, apart from the arrival of a Laconian battleship that filled his entire display.

“What!” he whispered.

Two bright beams came from both sides of his displays. It was the heavy cutters being unleashed. These massive weapons were the most powerful weapons fitted to the Grandcruiser. Each beam connected with the battleship and cut an arc of almost fifty meters through the hull before stopping.

“Gunners, concentrate your fire on the battleship’s turrets,” said the voice through the communication node.

Xenophon concentrated on the port side of the battleship and zoomed in. Its entire flank appeared to bristle with weapons, and most were already blazing away at the myriad of Alliance ships trying to break out to the beacon and safety.

Here we go.

His first salvo struck multiple turrets, but there was no visible damage. The shield easily deflected the energy. Instead, he targeted one section of the ship where a small battery of missile tubes were located and watched for the timing. It was something he had read about weeks before. The shielding of capital ships was multilayered with separate generators producing fields at different points on the ship. Gun turrets and antenna could not be completely shielded as the signals or projectiles would be blocked. The shielding systems were designed to flicker to allow signals to move in and out or at the split second a shell or beam weapon fired. He had postulated the idea of programming the weapon systems to automatically fire on turrets as they fired. It wasn’t easy. The timing was an issue, but it might work.

He took careful aim at a single missile tube and counted the gap between shots. It didn’t take long, and he timed it as two seconds between the fifth and sixth missile. As he ran the numbers in his head, another missile launched. It was the first in the sequence. In the blink of his eye the turrets opened fire, each sending a salvo of powerful bolts towards the target. The first arrived too early and once more glanced off the shields. The last two managed to strike in the window of opportunity. A flash of energy erupted around the target, and two turrets and the missile system blasted from the superstructure of the ship.

“Good work, son, you must have hit a launching missile,” said the XO.

Xenophon grinned to himself, and pleased he had achieved something of note. He moved to the next weapon system and counted the weapon launches.

“Gunners, copy the shield skipping routine of our new gunner. We jump in sixty seconds, keep those turrets busy. Each one that is destroyed or fires at us is another ship of ours that can get home,” said the XO.

He looked back to the displays and watched the small number of the Alliance making for the beacon. It was only a short journey, but a necessary one to allow them a safe, direct journey back home. Two cruisers managed to jump, but two more were caught in a devastating crossfire between three Laconian battleships. He winced as he watched the vessels tear apart in a violent series of explosions that wracked the capital ships from bow to stern.

“They’ve adapted already,” called out the XO. “The battleship’s shield phasing has changed to what seems to be a random sequence. Concentrate your fire on incoming missiles; leave the shields to our cutters.”

Xenophon was disappointed by the news. He was convinced he had found a working solution to the superlative protection offered by the layered shielding. As he considered the issue, he concentrated on the scores of torpedoes and missiles racing through the battle. The computer system could quickly identify likely targets for the missiles, and any that were heading for Alliance ships were flagged red.

Let’s take them out, he thought confidently.

By reducing the power levels of his guns, he was able to fire long bursts of over twenty seconds in one go. Streams of small bolts poured from the barrels and the curtain of energy shredded dozens of the weapons.

“Keep going, almost there!” called the Commander, this time completely bypassing the XO who was evidently busy coordinating the fire of the cutters and fighter crews. Xenophon caught him out of the corner of his eye talking to the CAG, the commander of the fighter group on board the Valiant.

“Hold tight, we jump in twenty!” he shouted.

Twenty seconds, come on, we can do it!

It was incredible, but after so little combat, he was now excited at the prospect of an ignominious defeat, providing it meant they lived to fight another day.

I don’t want to die, he admitted to himself.

Three more warships jumped in and started to blast away at the depleted shields of the Valiant. The difference in sound was vast, as the lasers, plasma and other energy weapons cut and burned their way through the armor and hull of the ship. Shield impacts sent a concussive ring through the ship, whereas the impacts against the ship seemed almost insubstantial. The alarm warnings and alerts through the deck told another story however. Xenophon blasted more missiles and then turned his attention on a small group of four Laconian bombers. These small vessels were difficult to hit but were heavily armed and a serious risk to the small ships out there. He managed to destroy the first and hit the engine of the second before a bellowing tone hammered at his head.

“Cease fire! Five seconds to jump!” called the XO.

Xenophon spotted one final bomber making its way to one of the scores of transports trying to escape. For a second he hesitated, and then sent a single, final burst of laser fire to the target. The stars blurred and then with a flash they were hurtling through space using their FTL engines.

“All stations report in, I need engineering and casualty reports ASAP!” ordered the XO.

Xenophon moved to disarm his weapon system but it didn’t matter, the command staff had already deactivated the capacitors and weapons control from the gunners.

I wonder if the Laconian ships have such a problem with crew and security on their own ships?

It was a constant source of both surprise and disappointment to him that although those citizens serving in the Armada had proven themselves many times, they were never given enough responsibility to excel in difficult situations. Each person had a fixed task and limited access to anything else. It was hardly surprising that Alliance ships were so over crewed; they needed far too many people to carry out the smallest of tasks. From what he had heard of the Laconian ships, it was the exact opposite. Rumor had it that they carried less crew, far less. Each member was better trained and expected to be able to carry out any role from navigation or engineering through to targeting and battle tactics. Plus, of course, every single Laconian was an expert fighter with edged weapons and firearms.

He turned around to look up to the rest of the command centre. The Commander and the XO stood in the middle and watched as dozens of reports and messages came in from different parts of the ship.

“Good work, people. Get your systems and crew patched up; we are heading home at maximum speed. Tankers are due to meet us at the first rendezvous point in approximately fifteen hours.”

Xenophon looked back to his own display and brought up a map of this part of the galaxy. It contained limited data, but he knew from memory where most of the main Alliance bases were.

Okay, Fort Plymouth is about two hundred parsecs from Attica, so that would take about fourteen or fifteen jumps to get home. So about two weeks, maybe less depending on how many tankers were available. This is going to be one long trip home.

*

Grandcruiser Valiant, Attica Nav Beacon, 11 Days Later

“Action stations, due for arrival in T-Minus five minutes. All crew to your stations. This is not a drill, all crew to your stations.”

Xenophon rolled out of his bed and barely managed to avoid crashing off the side and striking the ground. His temporary quarters were inside the forward weapons battery, a cramped location that seemed to be the warmest and most uncomfortable part of the ship. He dropped to the ground and immediately felt the pangs of plantar fascia on the base of his foot. The ligament that ran from under his heel to the front of the foot had started hurting in the last few days. It wasn’t serious and was probably related to the increased physical work helping with the repair and engineering on board the Valiant. But knowing what it was didn’t make him feel any better. He rubbed the foot for a second before the sirens woke him up.

What the hell are you doing messing with your foot at a time like this? Get your backside to your weapon station and fast!

He grabbed his webbing that contained his sidearm, communications handset and various tools. It wasn’t essential, but after what had happened on the station, he never wanted to face trouble without having options on his side. As he moved down the corridor, he noticed many of the other crew was doing much the same. Some carried belts with regulation sidearms thrust inside, and other carried first aid injection packs and drugs on them. One man marched past with what looked like an ancient boarding cutlass hanging from his side.

Weird, he thought.

Xenophon moved to his station and sat down. The screen was active and the weapons capacitors already charging up. They showed an active level of sixty percent and climbing. He pulled the straps on and started his checks. Then the weird sick feeling arrived, and he knew immediately that this meant they were coming out of light speed and must be nearing their destination.

“This is the Captain. I have received word that all remaining Alliance vessels are in position around Attica Homeworld. We are the last ship of the line to make it here. The Lexington was destroyed during refueling three hours ago. We are it, people. All that stands between our home and the Laconian fleet. Check your systems and prepare for battle. Good luck.”

Nice speech, thought Xenophon sarcastically, gazing at the planet as it came into view. The blurred dot grew in size until the ship slowed to what seemed like a halt near to the Attica Nav Beacon. Lights flashed up on his tactical display and showed him the location of friendly and enemy vessels based on configuration and IFF (Identify Friend or Foe) systems. It took only a few seconds for the data to fully register, and the final figures left a sick feeling in his stomach.

The last battle of the war looked like it was going to be one of extermination rather than glory. Xenophon watched his displays and sighed at the sight of so few warships being able to defend the last area of space between the enemy and the Homeworld. With the Alliance fleet annihilated at Aegospotami a week earlier, there were now only seven warships left to defend against an estimated Laconian fleet of nearly four hundred. On his display unit he could see nearly a hundred civilian ships moving into position around the beacon. He recognized at least three long distance passenger liners as well as over a dozen tankers.

This isn’t a fleet. This is going to be a massacre. His heart was heavy with fear and also disappointment. It was only just over a week since his first glimpse of a battle, and now he was about to participate in the fall of the Alliance.

“This is the Captain, ready your stations. They’re coming through!”

The red emergency lighting came on, and the entire command centre darkened with the change. Xenophon looked up from his own displays. The walls around him were decked with display units that gave the impression they all sat in a glass room. He could see space, his homeworld and the assembled armada. Next to his targeting matrix was a full list of all Alliance vessels down to the size of lunar ferries.

One hundred and seventy two vessels in total, and of those, only seven were warships. What are the transports going to do? Ram the enemy?

A glimmer of movement caught his eye; at first it was nothing more than a smudge in space, but it quickly changed. The shape transformed into dozens then hundreds of larger shapes. In less than five seconds, a vast battlefleet appeared. At the centre of the dark horde was a Laconian Titan, the mightiest warship known to man. A myriad of colored lights flickered along the ships as guns, torpedoes and missiles systems activated.

“Open fire!” shouted the Captain.

The sheer number of targets available dumbfounded Xenophon. The other gunners were already blasting away at the nearest Laconian cruiser, a ship that was two-thirds the size of their own vessel. He selected a dozen key areas and fired bursts of laser fire. The great cutting beams of the primary lasers arced down into the ship’s hull and cut great chunks of metal from them. More shapes appeared to the right of his vision.

More ships, this is it, he said to himself, now realizing that the end was just minutes away.

The shapes coalesced into the form of three titans. As soon as they arrived, a dozen cutter beams fired out and towards the pitiful Alliance Armada. A dull rumble in the bowels of the Valiant indicated the engines were building up power. They were noisier than expected, possibly due to the engineers pushing them way past their design limits in readiness for the desperation of the battle.

“Keep firing!” called out the XO as he marched about the deck, watching over the officers as they directed turrets and weapons batteries against the horde. Xenophon and the others selected target after target until the area of space around the Nav Beacon was aglow with energy beams and pulses of light. It was almost beautiful, apart from the myriad of exploding ships and wreckage that was starting to fill the area.

“Fourteen ships down, Laconian boarding pods are en route,” called out the XO.

Xenophon shook his head as he continued to blast away. Flashes along the shielding of the Titan showed he was having no effect. He turned his attention to the smaller fighters, frigates and torpedoes. His heavy laser turrets fared better, but he was under no illusions that the Titan would decide the battle.

How did it all come to this?

“Incoming!” called one of the women, but Xenophon couldn’t see who was talking. It was too late. Half of the command centre vanished with a blinding blue light. Alarms flashed everywhere. Xenophon pulled at his straps to release himself, but another blast struck him and his vision turned to darkness. He was unconscious before he hit the ground.

CHAPTER FOUR

Occupied Attica

It was three months since the surrender of the Alliance, and the citizens of the colony were still moving about their day-to-day business. He might be from one of the older, more conservative families, but that didn’t make him invulnerable. Though he had requested no security, it was obvious to him that he had at least two plainclothes officers trailing him. They were good, though Xenophon could hardly justify them. Well, he was neither a security or surveillance expert. Whenever he moved closer to members of the public, they seemed to drift closer, as if they expected trouble. He looked away and concentrated on his short walk instead. They had been watching him since he had left the transmit vehicle at the station and made his way inside the civic centre of the city.

It’s weird, but if you think about it, how much has the city changed?

A large display board caught his eye, one of the few visual changes to the city since the occupation. Normally it displayed rules, curfews and arrest warrants, but this time it was something different. He stopped alongside a dozen other citizens as they watched the screen. It showed a series of explosions and a city collapsing into a great fissure.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

An older woman continued watching but called over to him.

“Laconia, there’s something happening on their homeworld.”

Laconia? It must be another earthquake. Either that or their automaton slaves have rebelled again, he thought.

He watched the unfolding disaster for a little while but with no information, it was just a series of explosions, eruptions and death. Hardly something he wanted to stand and watch for the rest of the day. He turned to leave, but one of the other citizens must have recognized him and blocked his path.

“You’re one of the survivors aren’t you?” he asked.

Great, just what I need, a democratic acolyte.

Xenophon glanced about, suddenly feeling vulnerable in the street. It looked safe enough, but he had heard rumors of resistance groups looking to restore democracy. Of course, there was no chance of removing the Laconians by force. They were too strong and too well equipped. His way of assisting the Thirty was the quickest and safest way, but he knew deep down that the average citizen would not see it that way. He thought back to one of Earth’s ancient leaders whom he admired greatly, the British Prime Minister, Winston Churchill.

What was it he said? Oh yes, I remember. It was something like the best argument against democracy is a five-minute conversation with the average voter. He almost laughed out loud at the wit and truth of it.

In the distance, the plainclothes security men moved into position, and one seemed to be reaching down to something inside his jacket. He looked back at the man, but his interest seemed to already be waning, as though he thought he had made a mistake. Even so, the security men looked like they were about to draw firearms.

I can stop this.

He took a deep breath, moved one step closer to the stranger and into the line of sight of his guards. It was a risk, but he didn’t want the blood of his own citizens on his hands.

“Yes, I am Xenophon.”

The man nodded, and a wry smile appeared on his face.

“I thought as much, you spoke after the surrender. You spoke out against violence during the occupation by the Laconians. Difficult decision.”

Xenophon nodded, but said no more. He was already starting to have doubts about that day, but it would make little difference now.

“Any way,” the old man continued, “I just wanted to say thank you for not running with the herd. I know most people here wouldn’t say that. I’m not most people, though. From one old soldier, I can tell you the Laconians won’t just go away because we throw a few rocks at them. They are a hard people, and they are not easily beaten. It was a mistake to go to war with them, but time will work against them. They are always vulnerable at home and they lack numbers. They don’t want to be here, just as much as we don’t want them.”

Xenophon was intrigued. It was unusual to come across any citizen who had even the slightest inclination as to what was going on in the real world of politics.

“Thank you, friend. Indeed, that’s why I voted against going to war.”

“Really? Well, you were in the minority, then,” laughed the man.

“You said, fought them? The Laconians, I mean,” asked Xenophon, now genuinely interested. There were fewer and fewer veterans of the old wars, and in his experience, they had much to offer in terms of wisdom and general anecdotes.

“Yes, I was part of the Armada that defended our planet in the Archidamian War, right at the start of the Civil War. They came in strong that time, but we smashed them in orbit. Back then our fleet was invulnerable. We had double the ships and were faster, more agile and better armed. Those were the days when Alliance ships ruled the space lanes, and there was peace.”

Xenophon nodded, recognizing the battle from his teachings by Kratez.

“My mentor, Kratez, fought at that battle also. He said it was an example of how careful judgment and a steady hand could change the future,” he explained.

“That is true. Kratez, did you say?”

Xenophon turned his head slightly, intrigued that the man seemed interested in his old mentor.

“Indeed, he is a good friend of mine.”

“Fascinating. Yes, I knew him. Actually, he was the XO of my ship. As for timing and judgment, he was all hell and high-water back in the day. Well, when you see him again, let him know Critios says hello.”

Xenophon nodded politely.

“I will. I must apologize, though; I have to return to the civic centre.”

The old man nodded in acknowledgement and stepped aside to let him pass.

“I understand. Watch your back, young Xenophon. I know your heart is in the right place, but most here will see you as one of the anti-democrats. You know what the mob does to enemies of democracy.”

Xenophon nodded and moved past the old man. He knew full well what the mob would do, and it had little to do with law or democracy.

If democracy returns, then at the very least I’ll face exile at a public vote.

He shook his head at the thought of being kicked out of his home. Even so, he knew he had saved many lives already by intervening rather than letting Laconian forces carry out their duties in the city. His local security forces were infinitely preferable to heavy infantry on the streets; at least he hoped they were.

He moved down the hill and towards the heart of the city, the oldest and most significant single location in the entire Alliance. As he moved closer, he could see the great stone structures of the old buildings, and the Ecclesia itself sticking up proudly. Although hardly ancient by the standard of Earth, it was still generations old and made from the finest marble in the Alliance.

A loud noise caught his attention. It was a column of three military transports. They moved in quickly from his right and made their way past the checkpoint and into the secure zone. The vehicles were tall and well armored. Their six bulky wheels lifted them high off the ground and gave a good view of their ‘v’ shaped hulls. He recognized the configuration.

Laconian heavy infantry.

Once past, he continued on his walk and moved towards the outer perimeter of the safe area that was lightly guarded by members of the city security forces. At first glance the area seemed quiet, but he knew that the full might of the occupation forces were hidden discreetly from view. The men recognized him and waved him through; barely even stopping to check his face matched the authorized personnel on the site. Still, this was all low security, and it was more for show than actual protection.

What was all that activity on Laconia all about? Last time there was something like this was back in the early years of the war, and if my memory is correct, the entire planet had erupted into a deadly period of civil war. I’d better get to the Ecclesia and fast!

He moved past a military checkpoint on the main artery road, and it was clear there had been some major changes. He was now past the low security zone, and already the permanent defenses and weapon emplacements were becoming more obvious. Two anti-aircraft mounts scanned the sky, and machinegun emplacements covered the main road, protecting this part of the zone from a direct attack. The weapons were all Laconian and looked heavier, more powerful and in their own way, much cruder than the equipment he was used to seeing. He moved further until he reached a series of concrete barriers that blocked access to the old Alliance public buildings. A crude gateway had been erected and was guarded by a group of a dozen security contractors. Xenophon approached them and was quickly spotted.

“What’s your business?” asked the nearest. He was similar in height and build to Xenophon but wore a grey jumpsuit with flak jacket over the top. A dark visor that was part of his helmet covered the upper part of his head, including his mouth and eyes. In his hands, he carried a Laconian issue pulse rifle, their standard issue weapon, and a device that was capable of shredding a man, armor or even a vehicle with a single burst of fire.

“I have business with the Thirty,” replied Xenophon. He cocked his head slightly and looked back at the man.

“You’re local, aren’t you? I recognize the voice.”

The man looked at his comrades then back to Xenophon.

“Listen, buddy, I ask the questions around here. You got an appointment?”

“Of course. As I have already said, I have business with the Thirty. You are welcome to check with them if you want?”

The man looked dejected, almost fearful of the prospect of the Thirty. He nodded to one of his comrades who then brought out a thick case. It was made of what appeared to be dark green plastic but with a roughened surface, much like Kevlar armor. He lifted the lid to reveal a dual display. Xenophon tried not to make a noise at seeing something so antiquated. Nothing like this had been used in the Alliance for hundreds and hundreds of years, and even then it would have been considered obsolete by all but the most basic standards of the day.

“Name?”

“Xenophon.”

“You’re the son of Gryllus?”

“The same, why?”

“You can come through, this way,” said the man, in an almost apologetic tone. He moved away from the checkpoint and along the path that had been laid out almost five hundred years before when the capital buildings had been rebuilt. The two walked, and it was clear the guard was trying to avoid his gaze.

What is he worried about?

They walked past the statue of the fallen warrior, a testament to the sacrifices made in the two victories against the invasions by the Empire nearly a century ago. Xenophon glanced at the stonework. There were markings and scratches along the torso that he hadn’t seen before.

“What’s happened here?” he asked.

“Uh, nothing much. A few rioters broken in last month and attacked the civic buildings. We sorted them out.”

“Sorted them out. As in, you broke some skulls?”

“Well, if they choose to break the laws of the occupation, then they’ll pay the price.”

They were in front of a staircase that led up inside the debating chamber of the now defunct Boule. Xenophon placed his foot on the first step. The guard leaned in and placed his hand on Xenophon’s shoulder.

“The word is the Thirty are revoking citizenship to the families of anybody involved in the war. Is it true?”

Xenophon shook his head.

“I doubt that. Surely, we’d all lose our citizenship, unless you’re one of those that didn’t vote?”

The man stepped back, ready to move away. Xenophon called out to him.

“Well, did you?”

He looked up at Xenophon, but his look of arrogance from earlier had vanished. Perhaps the thought of the loss of status and security with the changes brought by the Thirty was beginning to affect him.

“Yeah, I voted alright. I voted to finish them off once and for all.”

Xenophon nodded, not in the slightest surprised. He turned and started to climb the steps. He managed a dozen before the guard called up to him.

“What about you?”

He turned back and shook his head.

“I voted against. It seemed a bit stupid to risk it all in one battle. I guess I was in the minority.”

He turned back to the steps and continued upwards. The path followed the contour of the large rock formation used as the heart of the civic centre in the city. Each step brought him higher and gave him a magnificent view of the old city. In the generation since the end of the war with the Empire, many new structures had been erected. There were towers, landing platforms and habitation clusters that rose half a kilometer high. He reached the final step and approached the grand entrance. There were again signs of violence with bullet holes and scorch marks at various points along the walls. Waiting outside were two more guards, but these wore the uniform of the Laconian military. The men were big, much bigger than him. As he approached them, he wondered if this was normal, or if the occupying power had chosen them simply to intimidate. They wore no armor, just their uniforms of gold and red with braid on their shoulders. Both carried pulse rifles across their chests and curved blades, much like ancient scimitars, on their belts.

The door opened and out walked three men in suits. Two carried the braid of the Laconian military, but the third wore the markings of the Attica Alliance, specifically the Boule. As the man turned, Xenophon recognized the jaw.

“Father?” he asked in surprise.

“Xenophon, my boy, excellent. Let me introduce you to Archon Crixus, the leader of the Thirty.”

The tall Laconian warrior stood erect and confident before him. He extended his arm out in front in a gesture of friendship. Xenophon paused, but only for a second and then grasped the forearm.

Gods, his arm is like granite!

“Your father has told us much about you. I understand you studied rhetoric under Kratez and even a little armed combat. Not really your style, is it, Gryllus?” asked the man with a laugh.

“No, not really. My son has been working on various ancient weapon forms, including some of those I understand your ancestors used.”

“Really? I thought we were the only Terran colony that gave the old ways even a moment’s thought,” he said to Gryllus but looking directly at Xenophon.

What does he want? To challenge me? Xenophon wondered.

Crixus pointed to the great hall and indicated for them to step inside. They moved out of the light breeze and into the calm serenity of the hall. It was designed to accommodate the hundreds of veteran citizens and appeared barren without them.

“You are probably wondering why you have been summoned here?” asked Crixus.

Here it comes. He nodded politely.

“It is simple. Since the change of administration, some might have thought we’ve been a little, well, tough on some citizens.”

“Tough?” laughed Xenophon’s father.

Crixus lifted his hand in annoyance at being interrupted.

“The fact of the matter is that we never sought war with Attica. Our allies struggled with some of yours, and that is true. We never need to fight. You have nothing we want, hence why we left you in peace with just a token security force and a council of thirty to lead the colony through a period of transition. It is our intention to leave as soon as possible, but only when we can be certain Attica will not simply rise up and attack us again. This is the reason we have allowed honest men, such as your father, to be represented in this group. You understand?”

Xenophon shook his head.

“Not really. What does this have to do with me, and when did my father become one of the Thirty?”

Crixus nodded.

“Yes, a good point. Attica and Laconia have much in common but not governance. Your people have a desire, to the level of zealotry, with regards to an idea of democracy. I know of the desires such a system brings out, but it breeds contempt and mob rule. How many stable democracies exist in the Terran worlds? Your citizens demand a vote, and in hours you have made the decision. What about your experienced citizens, like your father?”

Xenophon said nothing, but deep down he had to admit he couldn’t disagree with the man.

“You’re still not telling me why you wanted me here.”

The man stood and looked at Xenophon for a few seconds, saying nothing but looking for something. As he stood there, a few items of note caught Xenophon’s eye. First was a series of dots, almost like puncture wounds along the man’s neck, and the second was a gently covered up scar just below the man’s ear.

“Come and look at this,” he said, the long pause finally interrupted.

He walked to a table upon which stood a projected three-dimensional model of the city. The detail was impressive and evidently Alliance technology. He waved his hands and pointed at the equipment.

“Few would argue the advances made in the Alliance with equipment such as this. Even now though, your own people plot to bring down the Thirty and aim to restore democracy. What are your thoughts on this?”

Xenophon said nothing at first. The Thirty were not known as the Thirty Tyrants for nothing. Since the unconditional surrender of the Alliance, they had replaced all democratic functions. Each of them made life or death decisions that affected every single person on the planet. Some had been placed in charge of important positions of the state, while others just kept their position to debate and vote on matters of the day. It was a major humiliation for Alliance democrats, but incredibly, the state was performing more efficiently and in many ways better than before.

“Well, democracy is one of the founding principles of the Alliance. The Thirty will only ever be seen as a temporary stopgap until the full restoration.”

“Really?” answered Crixus.

Xenophon caught the glance of his father who seemed to be trying to encourage him to change subjects. At the very least, he looked sweaty and uncomfortable. He knew his father would have nothing in common with dictators, so they must have made major concessions to get him involved.

“Your father told me that both of you would do whatever was necessary to keep Attica safe and secure. Is that true?”

“Of course,” he replied in a calm tone.

What is he after, an informant?

“Good,” answered Crixus with a slight smile forming at his lips.

“We do not intend on staying here forever, just long enough to ensure we will not be turned on by vendetta and revenge. What we need is new blood, people that can take the place of the Thirty as a transitional stage.”

“I…don’t quite understand you, sir. You want me to find people?”

“No, no,” laughed Crixus.

He pointed out to the skyline of the city.

“I don’t want just anybody. Attica needs people who are conservative, those that understand stability and security, as well as growth and prosperity. The proletariats don’t know their own asses from their elbows, as I’m sure you know.”

Xenophon shrugged in agreement. It was hard to argue against it.

“Look, your father has already agreed, and I would like you to join him in replacing two of my compatriots in the Thirty.”

Me, one of the Thirty? Is he mad?

“Yes. I will stay as the senior member, but the two of you would take the place of the two youngest in my group. You will help liaise between the Attican bureaucracy and also vote amongst us.”

“But why?”

“You have seen the damage being inflicted by various underground groups here, I’m sure. They want us out, and I can understand that. The harder they push though, the harder we have to be. We will leave when it is right for all of us. If you can help keep the population under control and hold back these groups, I think you’ll find the Thirty will be gone in, well, perhaps less than a year.”

“You hear that, son? A year and we could be back to normal.”

Xenophon looked at them both carefully. The idea sounded all well and good, but he seriously doubted it could change that quickly. The thought of being one of those that almost every citizen hated was something he hardly relished.

“Thank you, but no. I have no real interest in politics. I am happy to try and help get us through this difficult period, but I really will not become one of the Thirty.”

“You disregard us that much?” asked Crixus with mock surprise.

“Not you, but my countrymen will never forgive those that collaborate.”

Crixus looked disappointed but didn’t push it.

“I understand, and I expected as much. Perhaps we could offer you a compromise instead. One that would help steer this conflicted state away from war, and at the same time, help keep order in the city.”

Xenophon looked a little confused.

“What exactly did you have in mind?” he asked.

“If you will not serve with us, then you might take one of the more ceremonial roles. A public position, one that will show that members of the old established order are moving back into control. It will allow us to give ground slowly until we will finally leave you and your city. The position of deputy Praefectus urbi is still vacant. It would be a powerful symbol to put an Attican citizen in charge of the historical centre of the capital.”

Xenophon thought about it for a moment. It was an odd choice, and he was deeply suspicious of the offer of free power in the city. What did they have to gain by putting him there?

“Of course, by becoming Deputy Prefect, you would assume the responsibility of the safety of the civic centre and most of the inner wards of the city.”

“Deputy, how exactly would that be a position of authority?”

Crixus smiled, clearly enjoying the little game.

“Fair enough. Look, I have placed a Laconian officer, one of my trusted lieutenants, in this position. As a deputy, you would be the public face for the office. If all goes well, when we leave, you will take his place. To all intents and purposes, you would be the prefect. If you don’t do this, then I will simply not appoint a deputy. Since we took over, the armed forces have been disbanded, and we need police and security forces. I could bring in Laconian troops, but in my experience that just creates more trouble. If you helped in this area, it would help us, and it would help the city. You would have full authority over police and paramilitary forces within the prefecture of the inner city wards.”

Xenophon looked over to his father and looked at his face, trying to gauge his reaction. The idea of working for a faction he had been so recently fighting irked him, but was that a reason to simply walk away? Seeing nothing on his father’s face, he looked back to the leader of the Thirty.

“If I did this, I would be a turncoat working for the regime. They’d execute me for treason.”

“Who would? Would you rather a Laconian administration? I offer you a free hand in controlling the prefecture of the city, without interference by my forces.”

Xenophon looked back to the glass windows and the view of the city. His heart told him to turn and run, but where could he go. In theory, he would be doing this to help his own friends and citizens, but would they see it that way? He looked back to Crixus who waited patiently.

“Well?” he asked.

“Put your Laconian officer and his voices under my command, and I’ll do it. The public will see right through this unless an Attican citizen is in control. It will make no difference to how things are run.”

Crixus waved to a group of Laconians and a similar number of Attican officials. One of them was a woman, a well-known city politician called Erika Montoya. Xenophon had already seen her public addresses on behalf of the occupying power. She had been the first Alliance member to join the body, and rumor had it that her family was actually of Laconian ancestry.

“This is the man you were telling me about,” explained Crixus.

“Ah, you must be Xenophon, our resident war hero,” she said with a hint of bitterness in her voice.

“No hero, just one of the few that survived the insanity of going to war with Laconia.”

Crixus looked at them both, and then placed his hands on each of their shoulders.

“Very well. It was not my intention, but I accept. From today, Xenophon, son of Gryllus, will become the Prefect of the Inner Wards. You will report directly to me.”

The woman glared at Xenophon, but he couldn’t tell if it was because he was in a more prestigious position, or because Crixus had made the decision without giving her a chance to give her approval.

*

Xenophon approached the barricades with caution. Behind him moved a force of security troops picked from the few ex-military that had joined the new government’s forces. Part of the debris mixed in with the barricade had been burning for hours, and it sent columns of smoke up into the sky.

“Who goes there!” called out a man from the shadows of the structure.

Xenophon stopped and examined the temporary wall. It was almost five meters tall and manned by nearly forty people. Behind it were hundreds more, as well as press and a mixture of citizens.

“Prefect Urbi Xenophon of the Inner Wards. I want to speak with your leader.”

“What?” shouted the man.

“You heard me. Now bring me your commander!”

There was a mixture of sounds as people moved about behind and inside the barricade. As he waited, he looked back at his guards. Each wore the uniform of the Attican Militia rather than the Alliance and were all armed with Laconian weapons. He just hoped this wouldn’t turn to violence. A shape appeared along the wall and looked down at him.

“Xenophon?” called the man. His voice was familiar.

“Yes, who is that?”

“Glaucon, you idiot. What the hell are you doing? Tell me you’re not working for them?”

Xenophon strained his eyes against the bright sky to see the figure of his old friend. In the months since the surrender, he must have fallen on hard times. He wore ragged clothes and carried a bandolier across his shoulder.

“I’ve been helping with the transitional party, and we’re working on re-establishing democracy as soon as possible.”

“What? How exactly?”

Another man appeared on the barricade and moved towards Glaucon. He carried a rifle in a sling.

“Hey, what’s going on?” he called out to him.

“You know Xenophon. He says he is helping with the transitional party.”

“They’re all traitors,” snapped the man. “You’ve seen what they do to our own people. We have dozens in police cells because of people like him.”

“No, that isn’t true. Let me up to talk,” called out Xenophon.

A dozen more people appeared on the top of the wall, some pointing firearms, others simply waving sharpened metal poles. His own guards spread out and pointed their rifles at the silhouetted targets. Xenophon turned to them and lifted his hands.

“No, lower your weapons. I am in charge here.”

The men all wore visors on their helmets, each fearful of what the crowds would do if they found they were working for the transitional authority in the city. Three lowered their rifles, but the others stayed exactly as they had been, afraid to give up the safety their weapons offered.

“Xenophon!” called Glaucon. “I know you think you’re helping, but it isn’t going to work. The Thirty are tyrants, nothing more. Until they are forced out, we will never have peace here. Go back and tell them we will not go until they have. If your guards come back here again, we’ll shoot on sight. You got that?”

Xenophon shook his head.

“You know they won’t just leave like that. We started the fighting, and we lost. Either we work to get them to leave peacefully, or we start a violent uprising. You know how that will end. The Laconians will make us suffer like you cannot believe.”

“Get out of here!” shouted a woman from behind a piece of corrugated metal. With a throwing action, she hurled a chunk of pottery that landed nearby and smashed into tiny shards. One broke off and skimmed along his cheek, drawing a fine line and bringing beads of blood to his skin. He wiped his face with the back of his hand and indicated for the rest of the unit to withdraw back to their group of waiting troops transporters.

“Fall back!”

As he stepped away, one of the troopers was caught in the face with a piece of broken masonry. He fired a short burst of gunfire at the barricade before he could be restrained.

“Everybody back now, hold your fire!” he shouted.

Xenophon was the only person in the unit who was showing his face, the group of black-clad guards looked faceless and dispassionate as they moved back. The two transports moved towards them and pulled past them to form a defensive wall. They were thickly armoured, six-wheeled vehicle with ‘v’ shaped hulls and protected with additional mesh armour placed to protect the more vulnerable parts of their structures. The hatch opened at the rear of the first, and two men jumped out. Both wore full tactical body armour of the Laconian pattern and carried pulse rifles in their hands. Like Xenophon, both had open fronts to their helmets. He recognised them as Laconian heavy infantry, the regular combat troops of the enemy, and the personal guard unit of the Thirty.

“Prefect, word from the Thirty. There is trouble at the Ecclesia.”

Xenophon waved for the rest of his men to climb into the vehicles. They moved quickly. None of them seemed keen to spend a single minute more than necessary in this part of the city.

“What kind of trouble?” he asked.

“I don’t know, Sir. My orders are to extricate your unit and bring you back to the safe zone inside the civic centre.”

“What about the barricade? They have legitimate grievances.”

“So? My orders are to bring you back. Are you coming?”

Xenophon looked back at the barricade. It stretched the full width of the street, and like the dozens more around the city was designed to block parts of the city off. He looked back to the guard and then climbed inside the transporter. The rest of his men were sat inside, each waiting patiently for them to leave. No sooner had the doors shut, and they were already ripping off their helmets. Xenophon knew none of them very well as they spent their time with their comrades at the barracks. He ignored them and brought up a colour display on the wall of the vehicle. It showed the civic centre as well as the disposition of militia units that guarded the outer perimeter. He looked to the Laconian officer.

“I don’t understand. I thought you said there was trouble?”

“We’ll be back shortly. I’m sure the Thirty will be able to answer any more questions you might have.”

It was clear the conversation was over, and he was left to gaze at the display as they bumped and jostled their way through the centre of the city until finally reaching the parking plaza near the Ecclesia. With a screech they came to a halt, and the rear door flipped open. Bright daylight almost blinded him, but his eyes quickly adjusted. The officer climbed out first, and Xenophon followed closely behind. As his feet hit the ground, he stopped in shock. The plaza was full of Laconian heavy infantry, all wearing thick body armour and carrying a mixture of weapons.

“What’s going on here?” he demanded.

A number of men approached, one of which was Crixus. Xenophon waved to catch his attention, and he quickly diverted his route to the vehicles.

“What’s going on?”

“There’s been a massive series of earthquakes on Laconia Prime. Casualties are in the millions. Look,” he said with genuine horror.

The man tapped a device on his arm, and a video stream appeared of a collapsed city burning in the darkness of night.

“When did this happen?” he asked.

“In the last six hours, we are told. I am returning to coordinate the relief effort, so it will fall to you and the other members of the Thirty to keep Attica under control.”

“Okay, that shouldn’t be a problem. But why are your troops here?”

“We are leaving.”

“We?”

“I’m sorry, Xenophon. I know I promised we would leave when it was suitable for both our people. This is a black day for us. Laconian citizens are few, and this is a catastrophic loss for my people. I am leading a full withdrawal from Attica and leaving the Thirty in charge. Your father will take my place, and Attican seconds will take over from the other Laconian representatives. You have your world back, so try and keep them under control.”

Before Xenophon could even begin to think a response, the man was already being ushered off into a transport. His bodyguard of heavy infantry closed in around him. More people arrived at the scene, and he spotted his father moving towards him. He stepped away from the transports and towards the small throng of Attican citizens.

One of the transports lifted up in a cloud of dust that obliterated any sign of the others as it moved away. Two more followed, until only a handful of Laconian soldiers remained. The dust started to clear slightly and Gryllus and two militiamen approached.

“Son, they’ve made me Archon.”

“I know, father. They are leaving us.”

Crixus and his men boarded the final craft, and in seconds it was lifting up. Xenophon could just about make out the shape of the man near one of the windows. He was looking down at the city, but it was impossible to tell what he might be thinking. As it pulled away, Xenophon stood next to his father, Gryllus, and the remaining militiamen. He expected a joyous look, but something about Gryllus made him think the better of it.

“This is troublesome, Xenophon, and we need to manage this carefully.”

The Captain of the Guard approached and stopped in front of Gryllus.

“Sir, with the Laconian troops gone, we’ve had to withdraw to the inner security fence.”

“What about the barricades? Have they heard?”

“No, Sir, it won’t take long though.”

Gryllus turned and indicated for Xenophon to follow. He made his way through the throng of people until reaching the grand staircase that led inside the Ecclesia building. The other members of the Thirty were already inside, and a heated argument had already erupted. They moved up the steps and into the beautiful marble structure. A tall woman shouted down from her raised platform. It was Erika Montoya, the Minister of the Interior for Attica, and the strongest supporter of the Laconian presence in the city.

“Listen, we must take this an opportunity. It is unexpected, but with the Laconians gone, we have a chance to rebuild Attica.”

“Rebuild into what?” shouted Marcus Barber, the youngest member of the Thirty and a decorated officer from the Civil War. “We took these posts as a chance to try and reduce the brutality of the occupation force. Without us, the people of Attica would have been treated no better than the synthetic slaves the Laconians keep in their colonies. We should have nothing to fear from our own people.”

“You are both correct!” called out Gryllus, as he stepped into the centre of the almost completely vacant Ecclesia. It was designed for the thousands of citizens, not the tiny group of Thirty.

“Sadly, we are all too aware of how our own citizens will react to the situation. Take it from an old man. This will turn violent. We will all be seen as collaborators, and there will be a reckoning. We can try and maintain our position and run Attica as a benevolent oligarchy, or we can announce the return of democracy.”

“Democracy?” shouted down Erika Montoya. “Do you not remember why we are in this position already? Our democracy is weak and easily angered. We lost thousands in the last war, and it brought us to our knees. Would you take this back so easily, without even a moment’s consideration for what might prove better?”

Xenophon watched them all. It was clear something was going to happen, and in his experience it usually wasn’t for the better. He stepped forward, and Gryllus gave him the nod to speak.

“I voted against the war, yet I was also forced to fight in it. I, like many before me, did my duty, and I was one of the lucky ones that survived the Battle of Attica. I urge you all to find a way to move Attica forward in a safe, reasonable manner. I promise you that if democracy is restored today, tomorrow we will be once more at war.”

Three more members of the Thirty entered the great space of the Ecclesia and moved to their allocated positions. Behind them walked Glaucon and one of his men from the barricade. He moved towards Xenophon and stopped just a few metres away. He nodded to the three members that had brought him inside. They were evidently either working with him or had made a deal.

The sneaky, self-serving animals! All they want to do is save their necks and use us as the scapegoats. Xenophon thought.

“Citizen Glaucon. Why are you here, and under whose authority to you approach the Thirty?”

Glaucon looked up irreverently at the rest of the Thirty who sat in their seats.

“I am here under the authority of the Transitional Council. We…”

Ms Montoya stood from her seat and glared at the man who had interrupted their official proceedings.

“You have no business here, citizen,” called down Montoya. “Guards, throw him out!”

Two of the helmeted guards stepped closer, but Glaucon lifted his hands.

“I suggest you reconsider. The Laconians have gone, and there is no need for you anymore. The Thirty Tyrants have no place in our society. Within twenty-four hours democracy will be restored, and there will be a reckoning. I am here to demand the complete…”

“Get him out, now!” shouted Montoya.

The guards moved in quickly, and with a rough tug managed to force him back. Glaucon struggled, and one of the men struck him hard in the back of the leg. He dropped to the floor in pain and flailed about, trying to keep his balance. Xenophon pushed ahead and to the assistance of his old friend. The closest guard took his movement as a hostile attack and flipped out his stun baton and slashed at him. Xenophon was far from a tough, hardened soldier, but he was fast and his agility was what saved him. He dodged the strike and grabbed the guard at the elbow.

“Leave him. He is a citizen of Attica, and he deserves to be treated as one.”

The guard turned back to Glaucon and held him down.

“You see, Xenophon. You claim this is some kind of benevolent oligarchy, but it isn’t. This is just martial law run by a group of demagogues for their own ends. You should leave before it is too late.”

He tried to say more, but the guards dragged him to the door.

Montoya called down from her raised platform.

“I am receiving reports of disturbances in outlying cities. The news is already getting out about the withdrawal of the Laconians. We have to send a signal, and one that will let the citizens know who is in charge.”

“What?” demanded Xenophon.

“We cannot face another war with the enemy. There must be peace, even if some of our citizens will have to sacrifice a little of their liberty. My recommendation is full-scale martial law, and the call up of all civil defence and emergency militia forces. We can have the capital clamped down and secure within six hours.”

Xenophon stepped in front of the platform and looked at the other members of the Thirty. Each had been chosen for their conservative views as well as experience in previous wars. Their collective experience was vast, but their views appeared wildly divergent to the will of the majority.

“This is madness. If you do this, the city will collapse into civil war and anarchy. I will not condone this action,” he shouted angrily.

Gryllus placed his hand on his son’s shoulder.

“Listen to yourself, son. The citizens are stupid, and you know that. We need people like us in charge to make sure the state remains secure and safe.”

Tyrol, a short, balding man stood up to speak. He was the Minister of Trade and had vast commercial interests through Attica.

“Business revenue is up, violence is down and taxation is under control. I see no reason to allow bringing back the risks of violent mob rule to Attica. I agree with my honourable comrade Montoya that a short period of martial law may be required during this transition.”

Xenophon glared at him, angry at his selfish, arrogant attitude.

“If this is the will of the Thirty, then I remove myself from you. This organisation was a necessary evil during the occupation. It was the only way to stop the Laconians from ruining the nation. I dislike the vagaries of mob rule as much as the rest of you. Even so, it is through just rule of law and order that we will prevail. Dictatorship under martial law will end only one way. Good luck!”

He turned and marched for the door. Two heavily armed guards blocked his path, but he kept on towards them.

“Let him leave!” barked Montoya as he stormed out and into the sunlight.

CHAPTER FIVE

Occupied Attica

Xenophon moved away from the Ecclesia building as quickly as he could. More police units and security forces were arriving by the second, and scores were setting up defensive lines at the main routes to the civic centre. Overhead, a large military transport moved towards the landing platform at the side of the Assembly building. He glanced at it, fascinated by the size and power of the craft. It was shaped like a large box with four small stubby wings, each attached to a powerful thrusters unit. On the flanks of the craft were two small cupolas with fitted pulse rifles.

Xenophon almost smiled to himself as he thought about the Thirty Tyrants locked away inside; I thought they understood Attica. I thought they understood our people. They still think they are safe, locked away in their ivory towers and making decisions that affect everybody here.

His respect for them had decreased significantly since learning of their refusal to take into account what the people themselves wanted. Although he agreed with a lot of what they had to say, he couldn’t believe they would trample on the rights of the citizens so easily.

They aren’t interested in oligarchy or anything else, just maintaining their own position, no matter the cost to Attica or the Alliance, he thought angrily.

He lowered his head and continued forwards and to the perimeter wall. It was beautifully carved in the same style as the Ecclesia. Relics of the old struggles against the dictatorship prior to the introduction of democracy were a common theme. He gazed at two, but his eyes were drawn to a larger, more recent construction. It was yet another monument dedicated to the victory against the Empire.

So much time and money spent commemorating something we could never do again. The irony was not wasted on him at all.

The depiction of some of the ground battles against the Empire were somewhat fanciful, and he had serious doubts that Alliance troops could have ever stood up to the Empire in open battle. His reading had suggested the Laconian heavy infantry had done that part of the fighting. He thought back to Kratez and his classes over the last few years. This was one of he topics they had discussed in some detail. His old teacher had never mentioned his role as a warrior in the past, but he clearly knew his history well. It was his opinion that the combination of the Alliance Navy and the Laconian infantry had won the day. It had proven a dangerous topic, and one that had resulted in Kratez’s classes being banned for nearly six months. Xenophon smiled to himself and moved on towards the exit. His thoughts returned to the present, and a sick feeling instantly pushed into his stomach. Things in the old Alliance were looking far worse than he had expected. Then he spotted the guards from earlier; they were busy kicking a man on the ground.

“Hey!” he shouted, but they were far more interested in their target.

He rushed forward and barged his shoulder into the two men. Surprised at his arrival, they both staggered back and left the man free, if only for a moment. Xenophon bent down to check the man. It was Glaucon.

“Xenophon? You need to pick a side and fast!” he laughed, spitting out blood to the floor.

“Tell me about it,” he replied.

The two guards were back, and they looked less than impressed at the attack. Xenophon had no doubt they would take it as both a slur on their job and also as an insult to their manliness. The first pulled out his stun baton, and the second drew a sidearm. The stun rod was bad enough, and a weapon easily capable of knocking him unconscious with a single light tap. The sidearm was another thing entirely. Pulse pistols could smash through the thickest of armour, and Xenophon was wearing nothing other than his normal clothing.

“Put your hands up, citizen!” said the man with the rod.

“Yeah, do it, now!” barked the second.

Xenophon stayed with Glaucon and tried to help him to his feet. The guard with the baton moved closer until he was just a metre away and with the rod held high.

“I’m not telling you again, buddy. Back off or be arrested. Your move.”

He stood up and positioned himself between him and his fallen friend.

“Do you know who this is?” he demanded.

It was clear from their expression of confusion that the two men had no idea at all who he was. Not that it came as much of a surprise to him. He tried to speak again, but the dust cloud and noise from the landing transport became louder and messier until he could barely see or hear the two men. He ducked down to avoid the swirling storm of dust and dirt.

“Get down!” somebody shouted, and then a bright yellow flash lit up the skyline. There was no immediate noise, but the shockwave struck Xenophon in the torso like a freight train. He flew back almost five metres before crashing to the ground on his back. He shook his head, but the noise and the heat of the blast had completely disorientated him. He pushed down and forced himself up into a seated position.

What the hell is going on?

He looked about to try and ascertain what was happening at the place. A huge column of smoke gushed upwards from the Ecclesia, and there was no sign of the transport.

It must have crashed.

In answer to his question, another two blasts ripped part of the security barrier apart. Through the breaches surged untold hundreds of citizens, each pushing and striking out with pieces of wood and metal at the defending officers. Xenophon lifted himself up, but he was weak on his feet from the concussion. He looked to his left to find Glaucon still on the ground. Injured security guards ran in all directions. He moved over to his fallen friend and was gladdened to see he was still conscious.

“Xenophon, you’re still here? Come on, we have to get you and your father out of here!” he said weakly.

Xenophon reached down and helped lift Glaucon to his feet. With his arm draped over his shoulder, the two moved slowly from the scene of devastation and back into the heart of the civic centre.

“What is happening?” he asked.

Glaucon groaned in pain. Something was hurting his stomach, but they didn’t have time to stop.

“I tried to warn the Thirty. There are factions out there that want nothing less than revenge against you all. One, the Democratic Alliance, had plans to strike the capital buildings next month.”

“What, you knew this would happen?”

“Of course not!” snapped back Glaucon. “But I have a good idea who is behind this. Until things calm down, you and your family are in great danger.”

The two staggered past the smoking remains of a military transporter and to the entrance of the Ecclesia. Part of the outer wall was in rubble, and several bodies lay near the blast area. From the dust came a small party of men and women, most were security forces, but Xenophon recognised a few members of the Thirty. He blocked Montoya’s route as she tried to rush past.

“Where is my father?” he demanded.

“What the hell are you still doing here? Your father is dead!”

With that revelation, she and her armed group pushed past and vanished behind him. Xenophon stood there, dumbfounded at the news of his father.

“That’s not true, no way. Come on, get inside!” shouted Glaucon. He tried to move off on his own, but the pain in his lower stomach forced him to reach out for Xenophon. The two moved through the debris and inside the Ecclesia itself. A number of bodies lay on the floor, and he recognised at least three as being members of the Thirty.

“Father!” he shouted.

From outside, a gentle crackle of gunfire indicated there was trouble along the perimeter. It sounded like pulse weapons, but at this distance there was no way to be certain. Xenophon slid Glaucon to part of a broken pillar and pulled open his jacket. There were no obvious external wounds, but the skin around the ribs was swollen and bruised.

“Is it bad?” he asked through clenched teeth.

Xenophon was already looking for his father. He turned back and double-checked the injuries to his friend.

“Might just be heavy bruising, could be internal. We need to get you to the medical centre.”

“Your father?”

“I can’t see him here, so he must have escaped.”

A loud noise from twenty metres or so caught Xenophon’s attention. Part of one of the many damaged columns fell along the floor to reveal a group of four people. All of them were on the floor around the rubble. Xenophon ran over, only to find he was moving through blood. The realisation caught him by surprise, and in a confused panic, he slipped and crashed down amongst the bodies. Incredibly, he managed not to damage anything and was able to lift himself up. Around him were the remnants of a bag of some kind. His interest was caught by what looked like a burnt detonator cap.

Explosives, in here?

He reached out and grabbed the burnt remains. Placing them in his pocket, he lifted himself back to his feet and moved around the bodies.

“Any luck?” called out Glaucon. He had already pulled himself up and was starting to slow his breathing.

“Not sure, looks like a bomb was planted in here.”

“In the Ecclesia? By whom?” asked Glaucon.

“That is the real question, isn’t it?” replied Xenophon.

He scrambled over a pile of debris and spotted a leg from under the broken stone and metal. He grabbed at whatever he could reach and cleared enough to free the person. A slab of masonry covered the torso, and with great effort he slid it to one side to reveal the body.

“Xenophon?” asked the weak, frail sounding voice of his father.

He resisted the urge to reach out and grab him. His first aid training kicked in, and he went through the mental list of what to check. The explosion could have caused all manner of damage to his body and moving him might be the final stage before killing him. He was able to speak, was breathing, and there didn’t appear to be any obvious wounds.

“Yes, it’s me,” he said with the calmest voice he could manage.

He looked over to his shoulder and spotted a pool of dark blood nearby. He leaned in for a closer look. As expected, it was from a shoulder wound, quite a deep one. He tore off part of his shirt and tied it around the wound area.

“Serious?” asked Gryllus.

“Not sure,” he replied.

As he attached the cloth, he tried to find where the entrance wounds were. It looked like nothing had passed through the body, yet the puddle of blood was still substantial. He started to panic, worrying there might be a severed artery or body part he couldn’t see due to the rubble and dust all around them. The noise outside had started to subside, and he could only hope the attack or whatever it had been was now over.

“Son, come here,” said Gryllus with a weak voice.

Xenophon leaned in but continued to look for injuries.

“Listen, it was Montoya and her guards. Some of us wanted to stand down. She shot two, then a bomber ran in.”

“What, how were you hurt?”

“I tried to fight them off, but one had a vest with explosives. He must have detonated it inside the building.”

“Why? Did Montoya let him inside?”

Gryllus shrugged.

“I don’t know. There’s something else, she said more would be here.”

His eyes flickered, and then he passed out. Xenophon couldn’t tell if it was related to the injury, pain or exhaustion. Glaucon staggered over to the two and bent down to help.

“We need to get out of here. This isn’t my people. It must be a revolutionary group we haven’t come across.”

“Maybe, but I bet Montoya is behind it. Take out the Thirty, she can blame whoever she wants and try and claim asylum.”

“Maybe, or she might be looking to regroup and was removing the competition.”

A dull crump from an explosion shook the building’s foundations. Dust and small chunks of stonework fell to the ground. The two men reached down to the old man and between them lifted him up. He wasn’t heavy, but it took time for them to drag his wounded figure to the ruptured wall. As they moved, the sound of a battle became louder.

“He was right, somebody is coming here. We need to get out of this place and fast!” said Glaucon.

They pushed on and out through the breach. Outside, the dust had turned to smoke from dozens of fires burning through the old buildings. They moved on past a number of dead security guards and down the gentle path that led to the transit station. A dozen heavily armed guards ran past them but paid no attention. Something changed in their wounded patient. Xenophon stopped and looked down to his father.

“What is it?” asked Glaucon.

“He’s stopped moving. Put him down.”

They lowered him to the floor, and Xenophon placed his jacket under his dust-covered body. He leaned over and placed his ear over the man’s mouth. He waited for a few seconds then jumped up in a panic.

“He isn’t breathing!” he exclaimed.

Glaucon already had his fingers on the man’s wrist, checking for a pulse. He looked up to Xenophon and shook his head. Xenophon ripped open his shirt and started to massage his heart as he’d learnt years before. Glaucon looked for further signs of injury before he slipped back and slumped to the floor. Xenophon kept pumping away, but to no avail. He glanced over to Glaucon to see him slumped on the floor with a bitter expression on his face. He looked up at Xenophon with an almost apologetic look on his face.

“It’s too late, forget it. He’s been shot four times in the back, the bastard!”

Xenophon bent down and rolled his father slightly to the side to find more blood dripping from behind him. He moved him further and tore back the clothing to reveal the entry wounds. His analytical mind was already trying to understand why there had been no exit wound. Only a pulse weapon placed all of the energy and damage in the target area.

“Laconian weapons,” he sighed.

He rolled his father back and looked at his face. The blood had already drained from his skin, and his eyes were dull and lifeless. There were no visible marks on his face, but the trauma to his body was obviously more substantial than it looked.

“What can we do?” asked Glaucon, but his tone was resigned, almost defeatist.

“It’s pulse weapons all right. If they hit skin, they disrupt tissue around the wound. Nothing can be done to fix that kind of damage.”

He looked back to the broken body of his father.

“He’s gone.”

Another group of security guards ran past. This time they were armed with standard Alliance equipment. Xenophon recognised them as members of the city militia forces.

They must have been called up to deal with the unrest.

A series of blasts ripped through the damaged Ecclesia, and several large chunks of masonry flew across the sky. It reminded Xenophon of the final battle on board the Valiant. Images of the explosions and flashes on that poor ship were burned into his mind, and they rushed back vividly. A shock wave of surprising intensity rippled from the structure, and the outer wall finally gave way under the pressure.

“I don’t like this, come on!” shouted Glaucon.

The two stood and Xenophon reached down to drag the body of his father. Glaucon put his hand on his friend’s shoulder. He was about to speak, but from the ruined Ecclesia, a dark crowd of people appeared. They pushed through the smoke and towards the thin line of security reinforcements.

“We don’t have the time, you know this. It’s the mob, and they want revenge. Any member of the Thirty is fair game right now.”

Xenophon looked down as his father one last time and back to Glaucon.

“I know, but she’s going to pay for this.”

Glaucon staggered away, and Xenophon quickly caught up and placed his friend’s arm around his neck so that he could take some of the weight. They moved past three parked security vehicles, and then it was as if nothing had happened. The plaza near the transit station was sealed off, and only four guards were anywhere in sight. They continued towards the entrance to the station and moved inside. The computerised security unit scanned their retinas as they entered and gave them automatic access to the public transport system. Inside the structure was radically different to the classically designed civic buildings that filled the centre of the city.

“We’ll take a car,” said Xenophon.

He led the way through the station and towards a ramp that took them down a gentle gradient. At the bottom waited a dozen small vehicles, each about five metres long and cylindrical in shape. He moved to the one at the front of the queue and approached the side. It was already open and exposed to reveal a light leather style interior, gently lit with soft lights. He jumped inside and pulled Glaucon in beside him. The gull wing shaped door slid down quietly behind them, sealing them into the public cab. From the inside, it looked more like a private lounge with comfortable seating and wide windows.

“Destination?” asked the faceless computer system.

Glaucon looked to Xenophon then spoke.

“Attica Main Terminal, take the expressway.”

“Thank you, our estimated journey time is seven minutes.”

With an almost unperceivable hum, the vehicle moved from the waiting area and onto the narrow road surface. Other vehicles made their way along the road with military precision. In Attica, it was illegal for manual control of vehicles on public highways. The overwhelming majority of the vehicles on the road were actually haulage and heavy load carriers, each making their way to a myriad of destinations and carrying a great variety of cargos.

“Main Terminal?” asked a confused Xenophon.

“Yes, you need to get off the planet. At least for a while.”

“Don’t you think that is a bit of an over-reaction?” he asked with some degree of scepticism.

Glaucon shrugged and turned to the side of the vehicle.

“Computer, show us the public news channel, local network.”

The wall flickered to life as a number of presenters started to speak as if directly to them both. Neither was interested in what they had to say as the video streams told them the full story. An aerial view of the capital showed columns of protestors occupying the capital buildings, and a great number of fires were burning throughout the streets.

“How did this happen so quickly?” asked Xenophon.

“Listen, I don’t think you realise quite how hated the Thirty are. With the military protection of the Laconians gone, it’s like the victims of murder and rape now have access to the prisons. They want vengeance, and they aren’t going to stop, not for a while anyway.”

“I wasn’t one of them. I don’t understand.”

“You’ve said it enough yourself. This is now mob rule. Until democracy is fully restored, and order is brought to the streets, you can expect vigilante violence and hangings.”

Xenophon slumped back and watched out of the windows of the vehicle. They were moving at least ninety kilometres an hour, and scores of other vehicles were doing the same. The further they made it from the capital, the less of a military and security presence could be seen.

“This isn’t right. There should be city militia forces even out this far.”

“Xenophon, listen to me. With the Thirty gone, anybody with links to the old regime will be in hiding. Only a fool would stand at his post as the mob runs riot. This is going to get ugly before the end.”

“Before?” demanded Xenophon angrily. “My father has already seen the ugly end.”

Glaucon nodded in agreement.

They sat in silence and watched the live streams from across Attica as news of the departure of the Laconians spread. It started as a number of confused reports and quickly expanded into a vast story that engulfed the planet. Security forces melted away in a matter of less than an hour, and the two watched in amazement as every single major city was absorbed by public demonstration and celebration. It was the end of the oligarchy, and it couldn’t be long before the return of the vaunted democracy. After a journey that seemed to take a whole day, they arrived at the main terminal. They moved from the transit station as quickly as possible. They made it thirty metres before somebody in the crowd recognised the two of them.

“One of the Thirty! It’s the City Prefect!” shouted a woman. A man nearby reached out and grabbed at Glaucon. In one swift motion, he unhanded the man and threw him backwards.

“Keep off me,” snapped Glaucon.

“You, you’re helping him escape!” added the man as he staggered back. He looked to the crowd starting to gather near them.

“Traitors, both of them!” shouted a woman from the back.

Xenophon pushed past the people that were milling about near the entrance, dragging Glaucon behind him.

“Come on, we really don’t want to be here!”

They moved away and joined the masses of others who, for one reason or another, felt they needed to leave Attica, and fast. The crowds were increasing by the minute, and it was clear that at some point soon, the place would probably have to close, or at the very least restrict the numbers arriving.

“Is it me, or are there a lot of people who don’t want to stay?” Glaucon asked.

“We need to get to departures before it fills up!” said Xenophon.

They ran through the foyer but hit huge crowds for the local transport gates. It seemed most people wanted to escape to the moons or other planets in the system. The local vessels were by far the most common and also the cheapest. A ticket to one of the moons would cost the equivalent of one or two months’ salary. Any further, especially out of the system, could cost ten times more, and a price only the richest could afford. The place was overwhelmed.

“We can’t stay here. The mob will force this place to be shut down to stop anybody escaping. You need to get out of here,” said Glaucon.

“Me, what about you?”

Glaucon smiled, “Look, they want you, not me. I’m not the guy that colluded with the Thirty.”

“Colluded? I think you underestimate their capacity for anger.”

As if to emphasise the point, a group of four men moved in to block their way.

“What?” demanded Xenophon.

“The shortest of the group took a step closer and held up an identity card. We’re bounty hunters, authorised by the provisional authority to bring in former members of the occupation forces and their accomplices.”

“Like hell you are,” said Xenophon, who then tried to push away from them. One of the men grabbed his hand and tried to place a pair of handcuffs on him. Another stepped closer to Glaucon to do the same. Xenophon tried to struggle, but two more grabbed hold of him.

The first bounty hunter slipped the metal frame of the cuff around Xenophon’s wrist and continued speaking.

“We know who you both are. There’s a bounty out from the provisional authority already. Other members have already been taken into custody.”

“Yeah, buddy, it’s payback time,” said another.

Glaucon gave Xenophon a quick look, an almost pleading, questioning stare that only the two friends could ever have identified in such circumstances. They moved quickly into action. First Xenophon pushed the man backwards. As he stumbled, Glaucon flicked out his leg and smashed it behind his knee. The man fell flat on his back with a crash. The two then leapt on their attackers with a ferocity that was completely unexpected. They rained blow after blow on the men until they were on the ground or running. The fourth man fumbled with the baton on his belt, but it was all too late. In less than ten seconds, all four were unconscious and on the floor.

“We have to move. We’re attracting too much attention.”

“Where? This will take hours, and they’ll just come and drag us away.”

They moved from the scene of the fight and ran down the nearest flight of steps that took them to the older part of the terminal. There were less people there, but it was still crowded.

“Do you have any money?” asked Glaucon, panting from the exertion of the fight and from their running from the scene. They moved to the end of the corridor and took shelter near one of the many automated ticketing machines.

“One sec,” said Xenophon as he fumbled about in his pocket. For a second he thought it was missing, but then he found it.

He pulled out his wallet, a small and rather old-fashioned leather item now rarely used by citizens. All that was required these days was the ID card. It gave access to money, security systems and transport. Provided one carried the item, they could carry out all of their day-to-day tasks. Some people were being fitted with biometric chips in their bodies that were doing away with the cards altogether. Xenophon slid out the card and checked it was still in one piece after the scuffle. It was a small plastic device with a large holographic image of his face on it. He held it out and pressed his thumb onto a patch near the base of the card. It flashed three times, and then displayed a simple chart outlining his credit account.

“Yeah, how much did you have in mind?”

“A lot, come on, with me.”

Glaucon rushed off to the long haul shipping part of the terminal. It was a quieter area that was filled with a small group of men in suits, as well as workers for the mining stations and long distance freighters that travelled on yearlong expeditions. Glaucon moved past them all and towards the darkest part of the terminal. As they reached it, a guard stepped out and blocked their path.

“Sorry, this is for cryogenic long distance traffic only.”

“Yeah, that’s us.”

“Where are your papers?” he asked with suspicion.

Glaucon ran his eyes along the destination board along the rear of the desk. It showed a list of dozens of places. Only one was easy enough to read at a distance.

“We have urgent Alliance business on Tartarus,” explained Glaucon.

“Tartarus? We’ve only got one transport going there, and it leaves within the hour. I’m not showing any missing passengers.”

“You don’t understand. We’re survivors of the Attican government, and you must have seen the news. The city was hit by suicide bombers, and we have to reach the Alliance leadership that is in hiding before it is too late!”

The guard looked at them both. It was clear he didn’t buy their story at all, but he was also not sending them away. Xenophon pulled out his identity card and held it out.

“Look, you can see how many credits I have available. These funds are for our safe travel to Tartarus. Will you help us?”

The card and the projected credits now enthralled the guard. Xenophon watched with contempt as the man’s scruples faded before their eyes. He took the card from Xenophon, saying nothing, simply nodding to the desk behind him. They moved past him and to the desk where an automated booking system proceeded to arrange their trip.

“Tartarus, why?” asked Xenophon.

“It’s the only place I could read from there. Look, it’s either Tartarus, or you stay and take your chances here.”

Xenophon looked past the guard and to the crowds of people swarming about in the public departure area. He looked back to Glaucon.

“You do realise there is a reason they are all avoiding the long distance trip to Tartarus, don’t you?”

Glaucon laughed nervously.

“What, apart from the long journey, the price and the chance of being killed when you get there?”

CHAPTER SIX

Tartarus Trading Post, Neutral Space

Xenophon’s first impression of Tartarus was not favourable. In his mind, it would have been a cosmopolitan hive of traders and travellers from across the galaxy. The stories he had heard right from being a child was that it was filled with every possible colourful combination of strange and unusual. Tales of odd creatures, epic adventures and mysterious journeys often began at Tartarus. In reality, it was nothing of the sort, and Xenophon felt more than a little disappointed at what he found. The massive space station was little more than a hive of crime, drugs and as best as he could tell, prostitution. Bars and casinos filled the structure on every floor, and groups of armed men prowled the wide-open corridors. Tartarus was big, much bigger than anything he had been on before. Even the Plymouth Station was dwarfed by this metal behemoth.

What am I doing here? He now felt completely out of his depth. Back on Attica he had been a reasonably wealthy young man with status, family connections and an official position. The more recent post of Prefect may have caused more problems than anything else, but it was nothing compared to his self-imposed exile on this artificial world.

This was a big mistake.

He stood in an open plaza that must have been large enough to land a star freighter inside. Trading stalls and dealers filled the area, and thick smoke ran from their stoves and pipes, making vision difficult. The busiest part by far was at the far end and the glowing red lights of the seedier part of the place. It was from that end that a dull throbbing thump of bass came from. Glaucon walked at his side. Any sign of the bruising and trauma he had sustained had now worn off from a mixture of rest and very high strength restorative drugs. He reached out and stopped Xenophon.

“What?”

Glaucon looked towards the less salubrious part of the plaza and leaned in closer to Xenophon.

“I’ve heard some pretty weird stuff about this place. Just remember, it’s independent. Alliance and League laws mean nothing out here.”

“I know, it’s not like we had much of a choice though, is it?

He was about to continue, but the slender forms of two automatons walked past them. These completely artificial beings were the pinnacle of engineering. Created to emulate human life, they were expensive, relatively unintelligent but completely loyal machines. On the outside, they looked like pale humans but slightly shorter and of a much thinner build. Their somewhat ambiguous shape gave them a look that was neither male nor female. Xenophon gazed at the nearest one’s face as it moved away. The skin on the face was almost translucent with a pearl-like quality. He turned backed to Glaucon.

“Automatons. Have you ever seen one before?” he asked.

“There were quite a few on the Sarmatia pleasure ships, remember?”

Xenophon smiled, for a moment forgetting the perilous situation they now found themselves in. Pleasure ships, was something of an understatement. It was more a convoy of black-market merchants that trawled the shipping lanes between colonies. Unlike Glaucon, however, he had not opted to partake in the many opportunities the ships offered on their journey. He did recall the automaton dancers, possibly the most exotic and elegant dancers in the known galaxy. Xenophon shook his head, partially to try and remove the image of the dancers and also to convey that Glaucon has misunderstood him.

“Come on, you know what I mean. The workers, the slaves, like the ones the Laconians use. Like the ones that just walked past?”

“What’s the difference?”

“Well, these are the androgynous ones. Look, they are slightly heavier built for manual work, farming, factories and the like. We’ve been trying to get permission to use them in the Alliance for years.”

Glaucon looked disinterested, even a little irritated.

“What?” asked Xenophon.

Glaucon waved his hand out to point to the large numbers of people moving about.

“We’re homeless, have limited money and are in one of the most dangerous parts of Terran space. Maybe now isn’t the time to gawp at automatons?”

Xenophon nodded slowly at him, and he couldn’t really argue with his statement.

“Fair enough. My suggestion is we find somewhere to hold up for a few days and get our bearings. We need to work out what we are going to do. With all the retribution and anarchy back home, I think we might be away for some time. There are bound to be jobs we can do here.”

“Jobs? What, like cleaning windows?” asked a bitter Glaucon.

Xenophon smiled at him.

“No, I’m thinking of something that might be better suited to our talents.”

He looked about the open space and watched more people walking past them. Each one seemed to have a purpose, and all were in a hurry. It was clear that a good part of the traffic, especially for those that looked as if passing through, were heading to the glowing red lights.

“I don’t know about you, but right now, I could do with a drink. A big drink, and more than one!”

Glaucon nodded in agreement and placed his hand on Xenophon’s shoulder.

“For once, we are in complete agreement. Where did you have in mind?”

Xenophon pointed to the red glow further inside the station.

“Really, isn’t that a little seedy for you?”

Xenophon grinned back.

“We need to get our bearings, and it looks like the busiest place here, so come on.”

They moved off along the open plaza. Scores of people from all lifestyles tried to peddle their various wares. Some sold nothing more complex than cooked snacks while others sold clothing and electronic goods. It took several minutes to push their way through the stalls until they finally reached the middle of the plaza. At this point, they had a much better view of the place, but it was still by the smoke. Outside a small café, a group of people were laughing about something. They all wore thickly padded pressure suits, of a similar design to those used by atmospheric pilots.

“Hi, we’re new here, I don’t…”

The largest man in the group moved to within a metre of Xenophon and glared at him.

“Listen, Attican, your kind ain’t exactly popular around here. What do you want?”

“The club at the end, what can you tell me?”

The man started to laugh, and the rest of his group joined in. Glaucon approached and dropped his right hand down to a pouch on his belt. The larger man quickly spotted the movement and took a step back, his own hand dropped to his side.

“Hey, weapons are banned here,” he said sternly.

“Like my friend said, we’re new here. Now, the bar?”

One of the women in the group stepped closer.

“What bar?” she asked.

Xenophon pointed down to the red lights in the distance.

“That’s no bar. That’s the merc recruitment place. They’re taking people on all the time. Why, you looking to make some money?”

She stepped around Xenophon provocatively. He watched her but said nothing in reply. Glaucon moved a little closer and whispered in his ear.

“Mercs? That could be a way to make a few credits. Better than waiting out here. We seem to be attracting attention.”

Xenophon looked to his right and spotted at least a dozen more people that had stropped whatever it was that they were doing and were now watching them. Movement further away showed three security guards, all wearing heavy armour and carrying rifles.

“Let’s go and see this merc place,” suggested Glaucon.

Xenophon recognised the change in tone, and it wasn’t a suggestion. He nodded to the group.

“Thank you, that’s all we wanted to know.”

He turned and moved away, his feet moving as quickly as he dared, but not wanting to look too suspicious. They moved through the throng of people, and passing a dance troupe performing some kind of bizarre dance. As they worked their way through the crowd, Glaucon nodded towards the guards who seemed to be following them.

“Come on, move it!” he said, but this time not bothering to be discreet.

They increased their speed and forced their way through the crowd and to the large, red-lit doors outside the merc centre. There were six armed men waiting outside, each in an odd collection of clothing and armour and all aiming their weapons at them.

“What do you want?” asked the closest.

He was easily two-metres tall and covered from head to toe in worn red armour. A solid metal helmet protected his head, so that only his upper face could be seen through the smoked visor.

“We’re looking for work,” spluttered out Xenophon.

“Work? This is an independent merc contractor. You don’t look like mercs.”

The noise from inside was much louder than either of them had expected, and it was difficult to make out the man’s voice over the sound of the music.

“We’re looking to get started,” explained Glaucon in a conciliatory voice.

The man looked at them both, starting at their feet and moving up to their faces. It took a few seconds before he finally nodded at them.

“Well, lucky for you, we’re always looking for fresh meat. This month is the busiest yet. Head inside, we need all sorts for contracts.”

He paused for just a moment, and then extended his hand to them both.

“Either of you carrying? If you’re caught with a weapon, you’re banned from the facility, permanently.”

Both Xenophon and Glaucon turned their heads. The guard gave them one final look and indicated to one of the large sets of doors.

“Go on, then.”

Xenophon moved first, and as he approached the metal frame, it hissed open to reveal darkness, flashing lights and even louder music. He looked back to Glaucon who looked doubtful. A number of dubious looking men pushed past them and moved inside. Xenophon pointed past him, and Glaucon turned to see the pursuing guards moving towards them. It was all he needed to persuade him. With almost a stumble they both moved inside, and the door hissed shut behind them.

It didn’t take long for their eyes to adjust to the interior of the place, and the first thing that caught their attention was how much bigger it was on the inside. The part guarded by the armed men outside gave the impression it was the size of a large bar. In reality, it was more like a small town. Steps and elevators took people up to at least another two floors, and the large open space near the door was filled with recruitment desks and people. Xenophon leaned in to shout into Glaucon’s ear.

“I heard they recruited lots of mercenaries here. This might be just what we need.”

Glaucon shrugged, still looking unconvinced at their current course of action. They moved to the first desk that was manned by two scruffy looking men, both in suits and doing their best to ignore Xenophon. Even so, he stepped forward and sat down in front of them. On the table was a small headset and sheets of paper. It was all very low tech and very different to what he had expected. He slid the headphones on to find startling tranquillity.

“This is Eureka Security, what do you want?” asked the gruff man. In the headphones, his voice was as clear as it was angry.

“Uh, the two of us are looking for work.”

“You S4 security cleared?” he snapped back.

Xenophon looked down and noticed the sign on the desk. He hadn’t even noticed it before, but it stated clearly that they were looking for experienced S4 cleared candidates for work on a government contract.

“Uh, no,” said Xenophon sheepishly.

Glaucon tapped him on the shoulder and pointed to a large group of new arrivals making their way to one of the staircases. They were an odd mixture. Some wore their old Alliance military uniforms, others just casual civilian clothing. Xenophon placed the headset back on the table and nodded apologetically.

“That looks more like us,” said Glaucon.

They walked away from the desks and towards the large group. As they reached the staircase, a man in a Laconian military uniform blocked their path and glanced over the group. He spotted somebody and indicated for two men to pull him from the group. With a nod, they were then let through. The staircase was long, and it took almost a minute to reach the third level where a line of desks stopped them, each manned by mainly Laconian recruitment officers. They were now far enough from the music downstairs that they were able to speak normally.

“Laconian military? What are they doing here?” asked Xenophon.

“Xenophon?” asked a friendly voice.

He spun around, for a second unable to place the sound. He was confronted by the tall figure of Roxana Devereux, his old friend from Attica and now a well-known Alliance war hero. She was flanked by two hulking Laconian soldiers, both wearing their uniforms, but unarmed. Next to the three of them stood a man in the golden clothing of the Imperial Army, the elite military forces of the Empire. At least he thought it was a man. The officer’s face and skin was pale, not too dissimilar to the automatons, in fact. Xenophon had never seen anybody from the Empire before and was even more surprised to see him standing with a former Alliance officer and two Laconian soldiers. The Imperial Army warrior was far more slender than the Terrans. It wasn’t surprising though, the Terrans were famous for being the strongest but also shortest lived of the known races.

“Roxana?” he exclaimed in surprise.

She smiled and turned to her comrades to excuse herself. Xenophon motioned for Glaucon to follow, and they moved to where she waited. Xenophon was entranced by her, not helped by the more roguish-looking clothing that she wore, a dark brown bodice with what looked like a Laconian bandolier across her shoulder. She had black leather boots that ran almost to her knee and tan coloured combat trousers. It was a far cry from her conservative uniform when they served together in the Alliance Navy.

Wow! he thought, and his pulse quickened at the sight of her.

She looked at him, waiting patiently for him to respond in some way, any way. He glanced over to Glaucon who seemed more amused than surprised. He coughed politely to get his attention. Xenophon glanced at him and turned back to Roxana.

“You’ve met Glaucon, haven’t you?” he asked, remembering his manners.

She smiled. “Of course, who could live on Attica and not spend at least some time at one of his parties?”

Glaucon smiled and bowed slightly.

“What are you doing here, and with Imperial and Laconian warriors?” asked Xenophon.

Roxana raised an eyebrow at his question.

“Well, since the occupation, I’ve been working out here in the private sector. Not all of us have done so well since the installation of the Thirty. Working with them has proven, well, very interesting and very profitable.”

“You’ve not heard?” asked Xenophon.

“About what? The restoration or the contract?” she asked, feigning surprise.

Xenophon looked confused, even surprised at her words. He wasn’t quite sure what to say, and Roxana could see the problem.

“Yes, information gets here fast. You might think Tartarus is a backwater, but it is one of the most vibrant and explosive places I’ve visited in years. I assume you are confused about what is happening back home? Democracy was reinstated nearly two weeks ago. I keep getting messages from the military high command, requesting I return home for debriefing. It seems the public want to avenge the defeat to Laconia,” she said quickly.

Xenophon started to speak, but she interrupted him immediately.

“Wait a second, you both left before the restoration. Are you on the run?”

She tilted her head slightly and looked at them.

“Xenophon, are you in trouble?” she asked coyly.

Glaucon looked to Xenophon, not wanting to say anything incriminating. It was clear from his body language that he was hiding something. Xenophon, on the other hand, wanted desperately to tell her what was happening but was never going to discuss their situation in a public place such as this. He glanced about and spotted a number of men, all wearing Laconian uniforms that were speaking to a military advisor.

“What’s going on here? Is it me, or are there a lot of military types signing up for work?” he asked.

“You noticed, huh?” asked Roxana.

Xenophon looked back at her and moved in closer.

“Can we go somewhere more private?” asked Xenophon.

She looked at him and gave him a look that told him in no uncertain way was she interested in spending private time with him.

“No, you misunderstand me.”

“Do I?” she asked.

“Yes, I need to talk to you about Attica, the Alliance, and us,” he said, pointing his hand at himself and Glaucon.

She waited for a few seconds and turned to her Laconian friends who were busy arguing about something. As she spoke, one of them looked around and sniggered at the two men. It wasn’t clear what he was being so dismissive about, but Xenophon had a few ideas. With a nod, she wandered back and spoke quietly.

“Come on, I’ll buy you both a drink in the bar upstairs, and you can tell me all about it.”

Glaucon looked to Xenophon and smiled. Xenophon just studied the large number of people and tried to count the different nationalities, occupations and even species. If he wasn’t mistaken, there seemed to be representatives from every world he had ever heard of here.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Tartarus Trading Post, Neutral Space

The bar was unlike any place Xenophon had ever visited before. Creatures from every corner of the known Galaxy stood and drank, chatted, argued or flirted in the subdued lighting. Xenophon, Roxana and Glaucon sat in a quiet corner of the bar and huddled over their drinks. Their glasses were filled with a pungent green liquid that gave off an odd scent. From the top of the glass, an even stranger lowlying mist dripped down the sides and moved about the table. The effect was much like dry ice, but the smell and movement was very different.

“You recommend this stuff?” asked Glaucon.

“It’s their specialty, apparently,” Roxana answered. “Now, are you going to tell me why you’re here?”

Xenophon leaned in closer to her.

“We were in the capital when Crixus and the rest left. They just announced it, and then they were gone. It took less than an hour for every single Laconian civilian and soldier to leave the city.”

“Okay, that doesn’t tell me what you are both doing here though, does it?”

She turned to Glaucon who was already distracted by a number of dancers at the far end of the bar.

“Glaucon, what were you doing there? I thought you were the ardent democrat?”

He smiled back at her, and perhaps a little surprised she remembered anything about him, especially his political views.

“Well, until a few weeks ago, I was the most ardent democratic supporter of all. Hell, Xenophon and I met over a barricade. You know he was the Inner Ward Prefect in the city, right?”

“Prefect? Yes, I heard rumours that the son of Gryllus was working with the occupying government.”

“What was I supposed to do? They wanted to leave, but not if it meant leaving behind a pro war party in their place.”

“You believe that?” she replied sarcastically.

“Well, now that they’ve gone, what has happened on Attica? I will tell you what. The mob has forced a return to democracy, and the first thing they want already is revenge. I promise you, they will happily go to war over this perceived slight even if it means turning the planet to glass.”

Roxana placed her glass back onto the table. She appeared somewhat surprised at this loud and continuous outburst by her old friend.

“I’d forgotten how passionate you can get about certain subjects.”

“Glass?” asked Glaucon, genuinely confused.

“It’s Xenophon, just trying to be cryptic. Centuries ago, back when we were threatening each other with thermonuclear weapons, it was a common phrase. By using powerful hydrogen bombs, the thermal energy would literally boil people, objects and buildings.”

“Turning them to glass?” added Glaucon.

“Exactly. I think you’ll find it’s just Xenophon trying to be clever.”

Xenophon shook his head, evidently unimpressed by her comments.

“What about you then, Roxana? What are you doing in a place like this? And with such, well, colourful company?”

She leaned back and took a long draught from her glass. The alcohol was potent, and with each breath she was becoming less stern and a little merrier. With a clunk, she brought the glass down and glanced about the room. It truly was the most bohemian of locations, but nobody seemed to be particularly interested in the three Terrans.

“Okay, here it is. I met a group of Alliance officers who would be offered some security work on one of the colony freighters off-world. This was right after the surrender, and if you remember, at that point many Alliance military were being locked up. I joined a crew, and we spent the next three months guarding the convoys. Pretty easy work and the pay was good, really good.”

“You, a private security contractor?” asked Glaucon.

Roxana glanced at him and turned to Xenophon.

“Anyway, when we got back from the last job, I met this Imperial Army guy.”

“The one that was downstairs earlier?”

She nodded before continuing.

“He was with a group of Imperial agents, and they were moving between ships and the station to recruit all sorts of people. That’s when they offered me a three-month deal to help retrieve some items.”

“Retrieve?” asked Xenophon with a hint of irony.

“Yes, treasures stolen from the Emperor himself some twenty years ago. We did the job and came back here for payment.”

“Well?”

She pulled out her ID card and flashed it in front of him while at the same time hitting the credit button. The holographic display showed the credit state of her account.

“Wow, that’s a lot of credit. All of that from one job?”

Roxana nodded and then leaned in even closer.

“There’s more, though. Rumour has it that he is back and recruiting for an even bigger team for a special operation. They’re looking for all types, soldiers, engineers, techs, even translators.”

“What kind of a job would need all of that? Don’t they already have the manpower in the Empire? What do they want us for?” asked Glaucon.

Roxana took another sip from her glass and slid back into a more comfortable position in her chair. She was quiet for a moment, perhaps thinking about what to share, or it might have simply been the alcohol slowing her down.

“Why do you think there are so many Laconians here? He is offering them more money than an Alliance solider earns in a lifetime, for one job. How much does a Laconian soldier earn?”

Glaucon shrugged, and Xenophon shook his head in disappointment.

“Glaucon, you know full well that Laconians only train for war, and that is their sole role in life. The automatons provide the labour in the cities and fields so that they can work on their fighting skills. They earn nothing, and the state provides them with food, clothes and a home, nothing more.”

“Exactly, and this job can make every one of them rich beyond their wildest dreams.”

Xenophon threw back a sip of the liquid and instantly regretted it. The warm drink rushed down his throat and sat in his chest, burning hot and heavy inside. He coughed to try and clear it, but it didn’t help. After a few more seconds, the discomfort started to subside, and he tried to look as calm and comfortable as he could.

“So, you’re signing up for this adventure, then?” he asked.

“Definitely. You’ve seen the reports back home. I’m just as likely to be lynched as given a friendly welcome. This way, I get to keep away and have some money behind me.”

“What about afterwards? What will you do with the money?”

“Who cares?” she said with a cavalier tone. “You know how this works. Money makes life much easier. Maybe I’ll start my own agency, return, buy a farm. I’ll decide when I get to it. But for now, it is good money and guaranteed work for at least six months.”

“Six?” asked Glaucon.

“Yes, at least. That’s the rumour, anyway. You two thinking of coming along?”

The two young men looked at each other, both trying to gauge what the other thought. Xenophon was by far the most eager, but Glaucon looked confused. Xenophon looked back to her.

“There’s something else.”

“Go on.”

“My father. He was killed during the changeover.”

Roxana looked crestfallen. She had been a friend of the family for many years, and right back to when Xenophon had been a boy. She had known his father well, so her anguish was genuine and heartfelt.

“I’m so sorry, can you tell me what happened?” she asked quietly.

“It was murder. That bitch Montoya, one of the Thirty and her cronies, shot him in the back and left him to rot.”

“Why? What did she have to gain?” asked Roxana.

“We didn’t have the opportunity to find out. Half the city was trying to break through the perimeter, and as you can see, they are looking for anybody with links to the old regime with a vengeance. That’s one of the reasons we’re here.”

Roxana tapped the table and a computer display popped up, projected directly in front of her. With a few quick hand gestures, she brought up the latest public reports from Attica and the outlying worlds of the old Alliance. Page after page slid past until she stopped at one in particular. She stared for several seconds before turning to Xenophon.

“You have a problem. Have you not seen this?”

Xenophon stood up and moved around to sit beside her. He looked at the data, specifically the images and text on a publically issued police report. There was an attached warrant for both him and Glaucon.

“What does it say?” asked Glaucon, but his voice implied he already had a good idea what it was about.

“It’s my father. There’s a public warrant out for our arrest in any former Alliance territory.”

“What? That will be Montoya and her friends. What does it say we did?”

Roxana moved the page and brought up extra information from the local news sources. One image more than any caught her eye. It was of the civic buildings, each of them burning from the fires of public disorder. The old Ecclesia, a structure famed as the symbol of democracy, was heavily damaged. Multiple explosions had smashed the famous front facade, and much of its structure now lay in ruins. Large segments appeared untouched, but the information around the images explained it would probably need to be demolished and a new one built on the ruins.

“No, it can’t be. The reports say a group of hard-core supporters of the old regime refused to hand over power to the people. When the moderates in the Thirty tried to hand over power, this group tried to start a coup. It says Gryllus was the leader with military support from me and an underground revolutionary party led by you, Glaucon.”

“What? The group I was in was pushing for democratic change. It was a political protest movement. You’re telling me we’ve been blamed for the explosions, violence and carnage in the capital?”

Xenophon leaned back and shook his head.

“It’s worse than that. The official line is that we fought with my father over control and ended up killing him.”

“Bullshit!” snapped Glaucon in a rage.

He stood up, and Xenophon was forced to drag him back down before he drew too much attention to their quiet part of the bar. Two or three unsavoury characters were already watching them. Xenophon looked back to Roxana, and he was having a difficult time gauging her thoughts.

“You don’t believe this, do you?” he asked.

She smiled at him.

“Xenophon, I’ve known you and your father for years. I cannot see either of you doing anything other than what you might think is best for Attica. As for this trouble, and the death of your father, it is rubbish. But that’s not really the issue, is it?”

Xenophon nodded in agreement.

“Yes, you’re right. With the change of government, and this lie being told, we’re essentially outcasts from Attica. If we travel anywhere near there, we’ll be arrested and returned for a trial.”

And when I say trial, I actually mean a show trial where we all get strung up and left to rot. There’s no chance in hell we’d get a fair deal back home, not yet anyway.

Roxana turned the virtual display around so that it displayed correctly for the two men. The detail was impressive, and the quality good enough to read from where they sat.

“No, it is much worse than that. In the last hour, envoys have been sent to the old worlds of the Alliance. It looks like they are trying to draw up a new treaty arrangement.”

“Treaty?” asked Glaucon.

“The Alliance, they are going to try and rebuild it, and then make all the same mistakes they made last time. I warned them about this. Actually, Crixus and his people warned us as well. The only reason they stayed as long as they did was to try and persuade us to not go down this road again. You realise that the Laconians won’t let us off so lightly next time? I wouldn’t be surprised if they flattened Attica so as to make an example.”

A loud noise erupted from the right of the bar as a group of three people entered. They were all dressed in long flowing robes, and each was of a different colour and pattern. They moved with an elegance and grace that Xenophon assumed they were women. A number of the men in the bar were quite vulgar in their language towards them, yet they slipped past and made their way to a table. One by one, they removed their hoods to reveal their slender, smooth faces. Each was longhaired, with flowing locks that ran down past their shoulders. He almost forgot to swallow at the sight of such perfection.

“Ahem…” muttered Roxana, noticing the enthralled Xenophon and Glaucon, both busily watching the new party. Xenophon turned back sheepishly.

“Don’t you have better things to do right now?”

He said nothing but looked over to Glaucon who grinned, the tension of their conversation already starting to fade.

“Have you ever seen anything like them? You don’t see women on Attica like that now, do you?”

Roxana shook her head.

“You know I am still here?” she asked, feigning being insulted.

Glaucon looked back, but Xenophon continued to watch them. Roxana was about to speak again but noticed his body language. Something was up. She leaned towards him and whispered in his ear.

“What is it?”

“There’s something going on over there, near the doorway.” he replied quietly.

Roxana started to turn, but he grabbed her arm and held her still.

“Slowly, don’t draw any attention, something is about to happen.”

She tried to relax and looked past the group of women and to the bar. From the corner of her peripheral vision, she picked out the shadows Xenophon had been referring to.

“I see them. Who are they?” she whispered.

Xenophon watched them and managed to isolate two men in the shadows plus another two who looked like they were watching the entrance.

An ambush, it has to be.

He turned to Glaucon and Roxana and spoke as quietly as he could, yet still loud enough for them to hear him over the music.

“There’s going to be trouble. Four men, two at the side and two more at the entrance.”

Roxana nodded and waved her hand to control the computer display in front of her. She moved a number of news stories about to hide as much of the communication screen and log as possible before contacting the security desk on the ground floor of the mercenary recruitment centre.

“Yeah?” said the man on the display. He wore a dark uniform and armoured shoulder pads. He gave a rather poor impression of the security, but it was his job to help keep the place secure.

“There’s trouble in the high level bar, four intruders, possibly armed.”

“Armed?” answered the man. There was something about the word that forced him upright. He looked to his right and waved at somebody out of view. A moment later another man appeared. This one looked much more competent and wore the insignia of the station security on his chest.

“A team is on the way, but what is happening up there?”

Roxana tried to speak, but the display and a dozen similar ones instantly deactivated. It must have been one of the men that had just arrived. She looked to Xenophon and Glaucon who were already bracing themselves for trouble. The music cut abruptly, and in the brief moment of quiet, she whispered to them both.

“Stall for time, security is on the way.”

The lights flashed brightly and turned the bar from a dark and drab space to a bright place where nobody could hide. It was as though a great floodlight had been activated, causing instantaneous discomfort. As they tried to adjust their eyes, the group of men moved in. All wore civilian clothing and carried a rough looking firearm. It was larger than a pistol but looked crude and unsophisticated. One turned it towards Xenophon’s table and flicked it, indicating for them to move.

“Hands on the table,” he then moved into the centre of the room and raised his weapon to the ceiling. “Everybody cooperates and nobody gets hurt!” shouted the man.

From behind the bar emerged a tough, tattooed man brandishing a metal bat. It wasn’t the most sophisticated of weapons, and probably all he was allowed to carry in case of emergencies. One of the men threw back his hood to reveal the face of a Median civilian. He had the normal slender body and soft skin of his race, but his face was scarred; one of his eyes looked different, perhaps mechanical.

“Old man. Get back and drop your bat. We won’t tell you again,” he snapped.

He then clicked a button on his firearm and pointed it directly at the face of the barman. Even then he refused to drop it.

“What the hell is a Median mercenary doing making trouble in my bar? You know the penalty, right?”

Without a moment’s hesitation the man pulled the trigger. The blast was nothing like the pulse weapons used by the military. In fact, Xenophon was certain it was a simple projectile weapon, powered by a chemical process. It hurled a cloud of shot that slammed the man back two metres and into a stack of glasses and bottles. He crumpled to the floor, presumably dead. Several women at the fringe of the bar started to scream, but by simply pointing their weapons at them, the criminals soon quietened them down.

The largest of the group also threw back his hood, revealing a rough, almost reptilian face. He was of a similar build to a human but with a broader chest and substantially greater muscle mass. He wore some kind of respirator device built into a crude metal facemask.

“Mulacs,” whispered Xenophon.

The creature heard the sound but could not work out who had spoken.

“No more mistakes. Keep your hands where we can…see them,” he said, a slight pause mid-sentence at he hissed through his respirator.

Mulacs? What are they doing here? They’re nothing but petty criminals and slavers, thought Xenophon.

The creature moved to the group of newly arrived women. He seemed interested in them alone. The closer he moved the more they recoiled, as if they had been expecting trouble. From his position it was impossible to hear what he was saying, but it was clearly aggressive in tone. One of the women stood up, only to be struck in the face by the Mulac.

“Bastards!” swore Glaucon, his control starting to waver. Xenophon glanced towards his friend and tried to dissuade him from action. It was to no avail, the young man’s blood pressure seemed about to boil. One of the thugs spotted him and moved closer, his weapon aimed squarely at Glaucon’s chest.

“Don’t try and be a hero, Alliance boy,” he laughed.

Xenophon watched what was happening and could only pray that Glaucon didn’t do something stupid. Although they had much in common, there was a big difference when it came to situations like this. Where Xenophon was calm and also dispassionate, Glaucon was easily excited and prone to rushing in without thinking. When Xenophon had been reading or translating old texts, Glaucon had been playing at sports or hosting yet more parties. It was incredible they had become such good friends with them being so far apart.

“Hey!” shouted one of the men as he spotted a young woman entering the bar. She must have been in a side room as she stumbled in, half drunk and almost crashed into the bar. She wore old-fashioned denim trousers with a light blue top. Over the top was a rough but sturdy black leather jacket. Her hair was dyed a vivid blue colour.

“Uh, what’s going on?” she muttered and then flipped down onto the bar. One of the guards started to move towards her but stopped when it was clear she was either unconscious or asleep. Roxana tilted her head slightly and looked to the girl’s left leg. Xenophon followed her glance and spotted the item on her thigh. It looked like a black holster, and the young woman’s hand was moving towards it.

“That’s enough surprises, everybody show us those hands. You three are coming with us!” snarled the Median. One of his henchmen approached the three women and lifted them up, one at a time. He carried sets of manacles that he expertly placed on their forearms. One started to move, and in a flash the Mulac henchman struck her across the face, knocking her down but not hard enough to hurt her. It was then that Xenophon spotted her skin and face. He realised they weren’t women, not by the standards of the Terrans anyway. They were the androgynous automatons, the manufactured slaves of the Empire, and almost certainly from one of the many pleasure ships that ploughed the shipping lanes.

Incredible. They are supposed to be as beautiful and attractive to any man or woman that looks on them. I wonder if that is true.

Almost as soon as they had arrived, the group of criminals were making their way slowly to the door with their prize of imprisoned automatons. Glaucon turned to Xenophon and Roxana, a look of pleading and anger about his face.

“Wait for it…” whispered Xenophon, for he knew something explosive was about to happen. It was pointless jumping forward into the sights of a group of desperate criminals. He spotted a flick of movement from the blue-haired girl as she pulled an object from the holster. Without even checking around her, she slid back and tumbled out into the open. The criminal thugs watched open-mouthed as she raised a snub barrelled pistol and pointed it at the Mulac’s forehead. With a single flash, the back of the creature’s head exploded in a cloud of blood. He staggered back and dropped to the floor, killed instantly by the explosive power of the low velocity slug. The other three surged towards her with their weapons at the ready.

“Now!” cried Xenophon.

Both he and Glaucon were out from behind their table and lurched across the open space to tackle the Median thug. He was much stronger than he looked, but the impact caught him by surprise and threw him roughly to the ground. His firearm clattered away uselessly. For a second Xenophon thought they had him under control, but no sooner had they hit the ground, and he was rolling away. With a flick of his leg, he caught Glaucon hard in the stomach. He jumped ahead to Xenophon, but another blast from a different weapon struck him in the torso. The impact knocked him back to the floor, and a gaping wound on the front, the obvious sign of a violent blast wound. He rolled to the right and spotted Roxana on one knee, aiming the firearm that she must have taken from the fallen enemy. She took careful aim and loosed off another shot. Xenophon spun around and spotted a third of the gang drop down clutching at his leg. The girl with the blue hair slid along the floor and struck her weapon at the man’s head, knocking him out cold before he could respond. The bar was now completely silent as the fourth and final man stood and waited. He carried a larger weapon in his hands. It was multi-barrelled and looked like a heavily modified carbine. Roxana and the blue-haired woman aimed their weapon at him, but Xenophon and Glaucon were still unarmed. They stood and waited like the rest.

“Put down the weapon, Tamor!” shouted the girl.

The man laughed, evidently refusing to comply.

“We should have killed you when you first came to us,” he said bitterly.

It was a standoff, each waiting for the other to move first. The man wore crude looking armour, the kind a lot of mercs and freelancers used to get the rougher types of work. But no one needed to make a move as the reinforcements had arrived. The main doors burst open, and in walked a great hulk of a man. He was taller than any of those stood in the bar and almost as broad across the chest. He pointed his right hand at the man and spoke slowly but firmly.

“This is a public place, and I have Laconian troops on site. Drop your weapon, or face the consequences!”

The man gazed at the new arrival, trying to gauge whether he could shoot him down in the time it would take for him to draw his weapon. The wait seemed to last forever as the small group stared at each other, looking for the sign that would signal their intention. Either the stress or the fear finally took hold, but the man threw his weapon to the floor. The Laconian man stood and watched, still unmoving as he watched his target.

“Okay, you win,” he said nervously.

The tense standoff continued until a shake of the guard’s left hand brought in a group of six security men. Each wore body armour and carried electrified stun rods and riot pulse pistols. It was the kind of gear used by riot police for non-fatal confrontations. They rushed past him and grabbed the man, placing cuffs on him and then dragging him out. Two more grabbed the injured criminal and forced him to his feet so he could be removed, albeit in great pain. Only the leader of their unit remained, the tough looking Laconian.

“My apologies for the intrusion,” he said in a monotone voice and turned to leave.

“Wait!” called out Xenophon. He moved up to the man and stopped to speak with him. Next to each other they almost looked like a teenager and a middle-aged man. They were that apart in bulk and general build.

“Yes?” he asked.

“What about the bodies? Don’t you want to know why they were here?”

The Laconian looked throughout the room, glancing at the dozens of individuals as well as the casualties on the ground.

“They are dead, the suspects are in custody and the escapees are safe,” he said and left the room. Xenophon stood there, speechless and confused. He knew the Laconians were famed for their use of subtle language, but this seemed to be taking the idea to absurd levels. Glaucon and Roxana moved up to him, both as surprised at the events.

“You have to love the Laconians, they don’t waste their words do they?” said Roxana.

The group of automatons approached them and each bowed in turn. They were lithe and stunningly beautiful, nothing like Xenophon or Glaucon had expected. One, in a long black dress spoke with a smooth, gentle voice.

“Thank you, your assistance was not necessary. We are here only to serve.”

Xenophon reached out and touched her arm.

“Are you all unhurt? What did they want?” he asked.

The second automaton smiled at him, her skin barely moving as she spoke.

“We are exiles from the Cilician Gates, and they were bounty hunters.”

“Cilician Gates?” asked Glaucon.

“They’re the group of worlds clustered along the outer border of the Median Empire, not far from where Fort Plymouth was. It is the gateway to the Empire.”

“You’re Imperial slaves? I thought you were completely loyal, and that you had no free will?” Glaucon asked.

“Why would you think that? We are manufactured, but our lack of freewill comes from indoctrination and history, not mechanics or genetics.”

The first woman bowed again.

“We thank you, but we must leave. Our ship awaits us, and we wish to avoid further trouble.”

She turned and the others followed. The rest of the clientele in the bar watched them go with the same level of surprise and interest as Xenophon, Glaucon and Roxana. A medical team came through the door along with a station official, who headed directly for the injured, but still breathing, bar tender. Xenophon indicated back to the table.

“We need to talk,” he said quietly.

They moved to their table and leaned in closely.

“We don’t want any unnecessary attention from these people. Do you have somewhere we could crash for tonight?”

Roxana nodded. She turned her head slightly, spotting movement in the shadows near to their table. A man moved and sat down next to her. She lifted her left hand as though expecting trouble, but the stranger raised his hands in a peaceful, almost conciliatory gesture.

“I’m not looking for trouble. You’re not from around here are you?” he asked.

“Who is?” answered Roxana.

Xenophon glanced at the man; he was definitely not from Attica or any of the nearby worlds. His build and overall physique was that of a strong man, quite probably a warrior or perhaps a labourer of some kind. It was more likely to be the latter. Most of the physical work in the Laconian territories was undertaken by the slaves, or as they liked to call them, indentured workers. There was a chance he could be a worker from one of the Alliance worlds, somewhere where the use of slaves was still banned. His clothes were covered by a cloak-like robe and masking much of his torso. The man pulled his robe slightly to one side to reveal a metallic looking breastplate underneath.

“Another Laconian soldier,” muttered Xenophon.

“Hey, I’m looking for people with certain skills to sign up for this enterprise. I can see you can handle yourself in a fight. Nice work here. I take it you’ve heard about the operation?”

Roxana gave a subtle nod to Xenophon and Glaucon, and they both recognised the sign. Glaucon might not know her as well as Xenophon, but the body language was universal.

She wants us to keep quiet.

“Which one? We’re keeping our options open.”

The man scowled, unimpressed with their position on the subject.

“There’s only one job people are talking about, so what do you think everybody else is doing here?”

He pulled out a small device and placed it in the middle of the table. It was made from a dull black plastic and with a gently tap produced a detailed three-dimensional model of a starship. It wasn’t massive and looked civilian rather than the heavily armoured warships they had seen moored around the station.

“My ship is a scouting vessel. We’re looking for techs, engineers and software specialists to help crew her.”

“Why aren’t you recruiting like everybody else here?” asked Xenophon.

“Well, we run a special kind of ship. One where we don’t ask questions when we recruit or when we pay. You see, most of the captains that are taking on crew have to run them through the legal filters. If you are clear, you can join. If you can’t, well, you’re stuck here.”

Glaucon shook his head and pushed towards the man. He looked suspiciously at them and reached down, implying he was about to reach for a weapon.

“Look, friend, we’re not looking for trouble, and we’re not looking to sign up with freebooters.”

He looked at the three and then leaned back, putting his small projection device back inside his pocket. He lifted himself from his seat and took a step away before turning back.

“We have a room upstairs near the firing range. If you change your minds, come and find me, but don’t take too long. The recruitment fair will be over in less than three days, and then we move out. If you don’t find a ship, you won’t be coming, and everything here costs money. You don’t have work, so you’ll find yourself in somebody’s pocket, and fast.”

He nodded to them and slinked away into the darkness. No sooner had he left and Glaucon started talking excitedly.

“Less than three days? Are we staying here, or are we looking for work? What if he’s right? We could end up stuck in this place and with nothing to do. We used all our funds to get here. Something tells me we won’t be able to access any more money since the trouble back home.”

As he was talking, Roxana returned to the computer system and ran through the floor plan of the bar and recruitment part of the station. The larger agencies had permanent offices and rooms, but over half was reserved for part-time agencies or special events. She stopped and glanced at one section in particular, outlined in purple.

“This is interesting,” she said as she continued reading the screen.

“What is it?” asked Xenophon.

“Clearchus is here, and he is recruiting.”

“What?” demanded Glaucon in an almost angry tone.

“THE Clearchus? The Laconian General himself?” asked Xenophon. Roxana nodded at him, but said no more. Although the display was reversed, due to him looking at the back, he could make out the face of the old General, but the text was almost impossible to work out.

“That’s him. I’d know that face anywhere. He is one of the most famous Laconian soldiers we know of. If he’s here, it can only be for one of two reasons. Either he is recruiting for an operation of his own, or…”

“Or he is here for the same reason as the rest of us. He needs work,” added Roxana.

Xenophon nodded, “Exactly.”

“There is no way I am serving with a Laconian officer, especially one like him, forget it!” Glaucon snapped.

Roxana looked to Xenophon, lifting her eyebrows in a questioning expression. He didn’t need to explain as Glaucon continued his rant.

“You know that Clearchus and the troops aboard his Titan were responsible for the deaths of two of my brothers, don’t you? He might be a great hero to the Laconians, but he is a sworn enemy to my family. We lost almost an entire Alliance fleet to his forces, and a lot of good friends,” said Glaucon.

Clearchus. I’ve heard only the most experienced crew serve with him, but Glaucon will never go for it, Xenophon thought. Unless the rewards were too great to avoid, of course.

Xenophon turned to him.

“I know. I was there for the funeral. But that is for another day. Right now, all we can do is ensure we survive. We have to do something, and from what I’m seeing on the public broadcasts, somebody will be out looking for us. You saw those bounty hunters back on Attica. If the price is high enough, we could expect that in other places.”

“I’ve met him,” said Roxana, surprising both of them. Her announcement stopped them talking immediately. They both knew her reasonably well, but there was a time period they knew little of. It was mainly her military service that seemed to throw up all kind of odd anecdotes. Though Xenophon had served with her more recently, she had already spent time in the Navy. Even stranger were the contacts and experiences she had made since the surrender. Xenophon tried to imagine her as a mercenary or pirate, but it just didn’t seem to work in his head. He looked to her with a confused look.

“How is that possible?” he asked.

“Just after the surrender on Attica, he and a delegation of senior Laconian commanders surveyed the destruction of the rest of the Alliance Fleet. I was there when he arrived. A group of engineers were supposed to destroy the Valiant, and they were actually on board when he arrived. He stormed aboard and forced them out, even physically throwing one from the entrance when he refused.”

Xenophon took a sip from his drink and scratched at an itch on his eyelid.

“Why?”

“That is the interesting bit. He didn’t want to see the ship destroyed when it had performed so well in the battle. Trust me, you might have been out for the count, but she kept going. I’ve never seen a ship of the line take as much punishment and keep going.”

“The battle? You mean our last battle?”

”Exactly. It seems the Valiant has a bit of a reputation amongst the Laconians, probably not helped by the disdain they show for every other ship in the Armada. Actually, it was the only ship still fighting when the surrender order was given. Not that any of us knew that at the time.”

“I don’t remember. The last thing I saw was blackness.”

Glaucon sighed and made to leave them for the bar. Xenophon reached out for him.

“Hey, where are you going?”

“You two seem to be having a great time reminiscing about your glory days in the war. I’ll get a drink in the meantime.”

“Wait, why don’t we head down there now and see if they’re recruiting?”

“Are you mad? I doubt they’re recruiting, and if they are, why would they want us?” asked Glaucon.

Roxana stood up and shook her head, letting her hair flow more freely.

“Simple, we’re heroes from the Valiant. I bet I can get an audience with him. I tell him old stories, and you two put on your best charm.”

Glaucon shook his head.

“No way, I’m not serving under the man that saw my brothers killed. You two can go if you like, but I’d rather work with freebooters or people traffickers than with people like them.”

Roxana sighed angrily.

“Fair enough. What if we can’t get on with anybody else? You heard what the freebooter said. Time is limited, and if we get stuck here, we could end up in a world of trouble.”

Glaucon took a step away. He was looking angry, and Xenophon knew from experience that it was best to let it go. So he let him move a little further away before making his offer.

“I tell you what. First thing in the morning, we’ll hit every stand and find us a ship and crew we can fit in with. Clearchus and the freebooters are the last option, and the choice we will only turn to, only, and I mean only, if we have no other option. Deal?”

Glaucon grunted something at them and moved away. Xenophon looked at Roxana.

“Is he okay?” she asked.

He nodded slowly. “We’ve been through a lot, and the loss of his brothers hit him badly. Clearchus might be the perfect option, but it’s going to be hard, and I mean really hard, to persuade him.”

She smiled at him. A low buzz came from her communicator. She lifted it and checked the display. Her face turned from a gentle smile to one of annoyance.

“Dammit,” she muttered.

“What is it?”

“Prices on the market. They just went through the roof. The merc pay just doubled, seems they are extending the contract and limiting the field to experienced military personnel and technical crew only. It isn’t going to be easy finding a crew.”

“With our military records that should get us somewhere, right?” he asked.

Two Laconian men entered the bar and spotted a comrade. They marched past, and even their off-duty movement seemed militaristic.

“Have you seen how many Laconians there are here? How can we compete with them?”

Xenophon shrugged. He had no answers. Roxana watched them until they sat down with their friend. She turned back to Xenophon.

“Let’s get some rest, and I’ll meet both of you downstairs in six hours?”

“Why six?”

“That’s when they open the place back up. We can go down there now if you want, but last time I checked, it was full of drunken Laconian soldiers. A few more hours and the staff will clear up ready for the next batch of recruits. We need to be at the front of the pack.”

“Good idea,” replied Xenophon. He stood up and glanced over to Glaucon. He was already at the bar and throwing back a glass of some foul looking liquid. Xenophon knew well from experience that he needed to keep Glaucon as far away from women and drink as he could. The last thing they needed was a tab they couldn’t pay, or a woman chasing him for false promises.

“I’ll let Glaucon know. We’ll see you in six, then.”

“Don’t be late!” she said with a grin.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Tartarus Trading Post, Neutral Space

Xenophon and Glaucon waited patiently in the main foyer as the recruitment crews and officers from a hundred ships took the resumes of the prospective candidates. They might have expected it to look more organised, but the reality was something more like a bar and marketplace than a place to get work. Along one side was a business selling armour and weapons, and they were selling hand over fist. They carried no actual weapons, but the displays were full of inert weapons to handle and experiment with. Everything was for sale, from primitive projectile weapons, to military grade pulse rifles and carbines. Xenophon was sure he spotted a Laconian assault carbine, but two guards grabbed it and took it away.

Two expensive or too illegal? he wondered. This place is a goldmine if you have people or weapons to sell.

All the doors in the many side rooms had been thrown open to reveal all manner of civilian, military and alien crews. Some wanted a medic or tech specialists, while others looked for entire units of troops to create whole companies of warriors. By far the largest crowd had gathered around the Arcadian mercenary Xenias. Apparently, this renowned commander was also responsible for providing a picked corps of the best fighters. This elite unit was rumoured to provide security for none other than the brother of the Median Emperor Artaxerxes, the rich and powerful Cyrus. Xenophon watched in fascination as a group of retired soldiers from a Terran world he had never heard of signed up. Each wore the same armour as the Laconians, but their headgear and colours were different. They all wore the traditional breastplates and must have been men of substantial experience to wear their gear openly.

Must be from a Laconian colony, unless they are mercenaries that have fought for the Laconians in the past? he considered.

Glaucon, on the other hand, was barely interested in the proceedings. He looked the worst for wear, having downed double the amount of alcohol he had intended, just six hours earlier. Though he was slower than normal, his mood did seem to have improved since his outburst about Clearchus back in the bar.

“Where is Roxana?” asked Glaucon through misty, sick-looking eyes.

“No idea, she was supposed to meet us.”

“Running late, nice.”

“I doubt that,” said a concerned but also very confused Xenophon.

Glaucon watched something off to the side of the room with suspicion. Xenophon tracked his gaze towards a slightly damaged metal bulkhead around which were a number of cases, each stacked haphazardly on top of another. Two guards walked past and stop to speak with a man. They were busy chatting, and one of the guards pointed towards them.

“Who is that?” asked Xenophon.

“I don’t know, but I’ve been watching them for the last minute. He’s been asking questions, and he’s looking for somebody.”

“Bounty hunter, must be,” said Xenophon. “You think he’s looking for us?”

Glaucon shrugged. “Maybe, do you want to wait and find out?”

Xenophon tilted his head to one of the doors further along where two odd creatures were speaking. They had the look of Mulacs, the famed pirates and mercenaries, but with much darker skin. He moved past them. Glaucon followed, doing his best to fit in. He was bigger than the average and drew attention in a crowd. They entered a room where a dozen people played a holographic game on a large circular table. Two armies were arrayed, each with primitive armour and weapons from ages past. Xenophon was intrigued and stopped to watch, only for Glaucon to grab him and push him away and into the shadows.

“I thought you were the smart one. We need to keep a low profile and get on a ship, fast! Did you see the announcement board coming in here?”

Xenophon shook his head.

“There’s a list of the most wanted from Attica, and we’re listed as terrorists. There’s a price on our heads.”

Xenophon waited. He looked confused but said nothing. Glaucon couldn’t tell if it was worry, fear or simple confusion. Then he smiled.

“How much?”

“What?” Glaucon answered angrily.

Through the door walked the stranger, flanked by two men in long black coats. All of them wore tall hats like something from Ancient Earth’s past. It was then that Xenophon spotted the firearms being carried by all three.

Weapons, this isn’t good.

They stopped in the middle of the room and looked about. Xenophon started talking with Glaucon, doing his best to not look suspicious in the darkness of the room.

“I’m looking for a couple of escapees, terrorists from Attica.”

The man held up a display unit with images of two men showing prominently. One of the men looked up at the bounty hunter and also a sideways glance to Xenophon. He shook his head and snorted.

“Get the hell outa here. This is for mercs, not some political prisoners.”

The man looked down to his game and continued. Xenophon did his best to slow his heart rate, but he could feel the blood pulsing through his body.

The three men moved further inside the room and proceeded to work their way around. They checked each alcoves, table and seating area thoroughly. They came to one table where a man refused to look at them. He was busy reading something on a display.

“Sir, look at me,” said the bounty hunter.

The man said nothing, not even twitching at the sound of the hunter pulling his pistol and cocking the mechanism.

“By the by-laws of this station and Krakow Agreement, I am ordering you to face me!”

The man looked up slowly, revealing a scarred face and thick beard. The bounty hunter stared carefully at him, mentally checking his details against those on his file. It seemed to take an age before he stepped back and replaced his firearm.

“Thank you, sir, just a routine check.”

Footsteps announced the arrival of the mysterious blue-haired girl. She rushed inside and looked about as if trying to find someone. She spotted Glaucon but didn’t seem to acknowledge his presence.

“There’s trouble outside, some escaped Alliance rebels or something!” she said excitedly.

The bounty hunter moved passed her and out through the door. His two accomplices followed directly behind him, drawing their weapons and checking them. As they left, the girl tapped her head in mock salute and then danced away. As Xenophon and Glaucon looked at each other in surprise, she popped her head back around the door and towards them.

“Well?”

Xenophon moved first and approached her as discretely as he could.

“We met, last night.”

She laughed at his odd introduction.

“I’ve signed up with the Laconians, under Teleklos. You looking for a crew?” she asked.

Xenophon looked to Glaucon who seemed more concerned at the return of the bounty hunter than what she had to say. He turned back, but she was already making to leave.

“Look, I saw you both and your friend in action last night. If you’re looking for a good crew, you’ll want to work with the Laconian commanders. They have the best gear and training.”

“What about Xenias?” Xenophon asked.

“Xenias? He’s a showman. Yeah, you might make more money, but are you here for that or to stay out of the public for a while?”

“Why do you care?”

“Let’s just say I’ve heard rumours about trouble back home. All isn’t what it seems, Xenophon, son of Gryllus. If you’re interested, meet at Hangar seventeen in twenty minutes, and don’t be late, the last recruits are signing up.”

Xenophon tried to chase after her, but two more men entered the room. He moved back to Glaucon and the shadows.

“What do you think?”

Glaucon looked around and back at him.

“We need information and that means time and money. Alliance space isn’t safe, and neither is here. Either we find a way off this rock, or we hand ourselves in. I don’t know about you, but I want some payback. Your father was killed, and a warrant is out for us.”

Xenophon smiled grimly.

“Agreed. We sign up for the first ship we find. We get out of here and make enough money to return to Attica. But we go back on our terms.”

Glaucon nodded in agreement.

“What about Roxana?” he asked.

“You’re kidding, right? You try holding her back from another lucrative contract!”

*

The hangar area was on the other side of the station and far from the recruiting areas being used by the other merc outfits. The distinctions were obvious. For starters, there were over twenty Laconian soldiers, all in full battle attire and watching their equipment carefully. The second even more obvious sign was that an armoured transporter sat in the hangar. It was large enough to carry thirty or more people and looked very heavily armoured. Multiple turrets instantly marked it out as a military vessel. Unlike normal Laconian vessels, however, this one was marked up with the personal symbols of a man, presumably the Laconian officer in charge of this contingent. Xenophon made for the group of soldiers, but Glaucon pulled him back.

“Look, I’m sorry about last night. If we’re going to do any paid work for mercs, I agree with you, it would be best to stay with the professionals. The last thing we need is to get dumped on some crappy freighter when we could have worked with professional crews, better weapons and military ships. Just let’s try and not end up on his personal ship, okay?” explained Glaucon.

Xenophon nodded politely.

“No problem, hey, they probably won’t let us in anyway, and if they did, do you think they would even let an ex Alliance officer serve on one of their sacred Titans?”

“True,” replied Glaucon.

There were only three more people in front of them, and they were being processed with alarming speed. Glaucon was about to speak when a gap appeared in front of them to show a Laconian officer waving him through.

“You military?” asked the soldier.

Xenophon nodded but said nothing. The soldier turned his head and looked to Glaucon.

“What about your friend?”

Xenophon answered before his friend could say something he might regret.

“We both served in the Alliance Navy.”

The man raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“A little young aren’t you?”

Xenophon wasn’t quite sure what to say when Roxana pushed past them.

“They’re with me. We crewed on the Valiant. I’m Lieutenant Roxana Devereux.”

The man looked at the three of them but didn’t check anything on his computer system. The harder Xenophon looked, the more he realised the man didn’t have any electronic devices near him. It was as if he was just giving a simple face-to-face interview.

“Valiant, huh? I didn’t think anybody made it off her?” said the man.

“Not many, but some.”

“Okay, you’ll do,” he answered and turned to point to a series of doors behind him. “Take the second door, and join the rest of the potentials. Next!”

The three looked at each other, all surprised that they had reached this stage without any trial or test. Roxana moved first and made straight for the door. The other two quickly followed, not wanting to hold back in case the man changed his mind.

“You got my message, then?” asked Xenophon as quietly as he could.

She ignored him and pushed open the door to reveal a small room with about twenty people inside. They were an odd mixture, mainly human but all rough and angry looking. Some of the men wore old military uniforms, others security guards and at least half in scruff civilian clothes. Xenophon leaned towards her and whispered.

“Not exactly special forces, are they?”

“And you are?” she whispered back.

Glaucon did his best not to laugh, but a large Laconian soldier pushed inside the room, bumping him slightly as he move inside. Behind him moved the blue-haired girl from the night before. Two more soldiers followed who then closed the door shut behind them. She ignored them and moved off to the side. A man cleared his throat and called out from the front.

“My name is Lochagos Teleklos, and I am here to recruit experienced mercenaries to join the stratiotes in the Armada.”

The audience of prospective recruits quietened down as they listened to the words of the Laconian soldier. Xenophon was probably the only person there that even realised a Lochagos was a military rank, the leader of the Lochos. This was a particular type of formation used by the Laconians. To the best of his knowledge, it was used for a force of around three hundred warriors. Not a large amount by any standard, but when combined with light infantry it was a force capable of a great variety of missions. He could only assume Teleklos was looking to bolster the numbers in his own small force.

“As you already know, Lord Cyrus of the Median Empire has undertaken a programme of mercenary recruitment for service outside of the Terran worlds. It means you will be technically in the service of a foreign power. This may have implications for your legal status back home. This is an issue for you to examine, not us.”

Xenophon looked to Roxana and Glaucon who appeared disinterested in the comment. It might not worry them, but to Xenophon it meant another barrier to be broken before he could redeem his name and avenge his father.

Like our status on Attica could get any worse!

“It is a massive military operation to clear a number of threats, ones that are causing problems to both people and the main trade routes. The campaign will be a rolling offensive to clear out pirates, raiders and a number of alien incursions into Median territory. This is where the bulk of the raiders are hiding out, and that’s why this is a commercial volunteer operation rather than a military one. As you might expect, Artaxerxes and his Imperial forces wouldn’t look too kindly on a Terran operation on their own soil. This will be paid for out of the treasuries of the Empire. The money is good, damned good, but the risks are equally high. There are stations, ships and colonies that will need to be pacified, and we expect there will be casualties.”

He stopped for a moment and looked at the faces of the eager volunteers. They were hardly Laconian soldiers, but there was much experience amongst them. He spotted the blue-haired girl and paused, perhaps recognising her from the inevitable report of the previous night’s events.

“Now, it is important that you understand this is not a Laconian operation. Thousands of mercenaries are flooding the market in the hopes of getting in on this conflict. Our contingent will not be the biggest, but it will be led by Laconian professionals and include a good percentage of Laconian soldiers. This will give us the edge and the best fighting force in the Armada. General Clearchus is in charge of the military operation, and contingents from most Terran worlds are supplying forces. We are providing one thousand heavy infantry and eight hundred light infantry for the operation. Our heavy infantry are mainly volunteers from the Laconian military. We still need volunteers to help fill the light infantry role, as do the contingents from the other worlds and colonies. Dukas Xenias, the Arcadian, is also looking for recruits for his stratiotes as well as his spatharios. If you join my group, you will support the heavy infantry with light armour and weapons, skirmish and provide tactical reconnaissance in battle. Warships and transports are being provided by Pythagoras and Tamos, the two largest private military contractors in the Terran territories.”

Teleklos paused for a moment and waved for a group of four soldiers to come to the front. As they moved, Glaucon placed his hand on Xenophon’s arm and leaned in.

“You sure you want to do this? It’s not like we’re going away for a few days. This could be months of work, and it looks pretty dangerous.”

“You’re worried it will be dangerous?” answered a bemused Roxana.

He grimaced at her feigned insult.

“Of course not. This just isn’t the kind of thing we were looking for. We came out here because there was nowhere else to go. Now we’re talking about joining some mercenary adventure for fame, money and glory. Is that what you want?”

Xenophon smiled at him.

“I don’t know about you two, but the sound of a little fame, money and glory has a rather nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

Roxana beamed at them both.

“I especially like the money bit.”

Teleklos cleared his throat once again and extended both of his arms so that he drew attention to the soldiers.

“These are mercenaries, not Laconian soldiers. You’ll note they are wearing some Laconian armour that has been loaned to us by our government. All four of these men have served in border skirmishes with the Alliance. But since their fall, our friends have found work hard to come by. These men have earned decent money in the past and have fought well. This oration will earn each of you ten times what these men were paid to fight against the Alliance. Now, as you have been listening to me, each one of you has had a full and detailed background check performed. As a Laconian led unit, we are not interested in your past, unless you have any known history that could compromise this unit. Two of you have failed these checks, the first because both of you have robbed Laconians installations in the past and second, because you have killed Laconian civilians in previous operations.”

He pointed towards two men near the front.

“Both of you, out, now!” he roared.

Neither of the men hesitated, and in seconds they were out of the door. Teleklos looked back to those that were left and smiled.

“Now, we are due to leave in three hours, and I believe you are all ready to join my contingent. This is your last opportunity to turn away. Once you board this transport, you are signing yourself up as an official mercenary on Cyrus’ expedition. The commander of your contingent will deduct twenty percent of your earnings to help pay for equipment, weapons and supplies. This is non-negotiable. Those of you that come with us will be properly briefed upon arrival with our ships. It is there that you will be assigned a unit and ship. Some will serve with me, others with Xenias and maybe some with the other Dukas.”

He stopped and looked about the room, watching each of the new recruits. Xenophon was convinced he spent more time looking at him, even so he said nothing else and continued looking before finally nodding in a self-satisfied manner.

“Very well, welcome to the Armada.”

*

It took a week for the ship to reach the rendezvous with the rest of the Armada. They met at the well-travelled refuelling point at Tarsus. The military transport, their home for the last week, moved in a tight formation with another dozen similar vessels. From inside, they were afforded clear views of the assembled ships. At the centre was the mighty hulk of the Laconian flagship, the Titan LLS Valediction. Dozens of other vessels moved around it, the vast bulk being the heavily armoured assault carrier. These antiquated ships were used by many of the Terran colonies and formed the backbone of all human led military interventions.

Xenophon, Glaucon and Roxana waited near one of the many viewing points on the ship and gazed at the flotilla. A number of others stood by and watched, including Tamara, the blue-haired girl from the station who had become friendly with their small party. They were all still wearing the clothes they had brought with them, and there had been nothing other than news and shipping information on the journey.

“So, are you all ready to join the adventure, then? You know we get our first payment at Tarsus, right?”

“Why Tarsus?” asked Glaucon.

“That is where Clearchus is waiting. The supply ships will give us our gear plus distribute payment to those going along. Don’t forget, the leader of our unit gets to keep twenty percent.”

“Suits me,” said Xenophon. “It’s about time we got some money.”

Another group of three wandered over. Glaucon spoke to them first, and Xenophon joined them. Once busy, Tamara looked over to Roxana to get her attention.

“You said you’ve done operations like this before?”

“What do you mean?” she replied.

“Mercenary work.”

“Oh, not really. I’ve worked on a few bases, the odd ship. Mainly security jobs, protection, escort, you know the kind of thing. It wasn’t easy finding work after the surrender. People like me were on wanted lists for months,” she said and then stopped. There was something about Tamara that didn’t seem right. “Wait, I thought you’d been doing the same thing?” she asked, a little confused.

Tamara looked to the ships and said nothing. The others continued talking with the other volunteers. They were talking about weapons, at least that was what it sounded like from where she was stood. Roxana moved to the young woman and stood next to her, trying to appear as friendly as she could around somebody she knew very little about. She waited a little while longer before asking her.

“What happened to you?”

There was a short pause before Tamara turned her head slightly. She scratched her forehead before speaking.

“It’s a long story, but I’m sure you don’t want to hear it.”

She turned so that the back of her head and her bright blue hair faced Roxana. It seemed her attire was fairly limited. She was still wearing her battered leather jacket and denim clothing. Roxana looked down at her long boots and noticed they were in a much poorer state than she had first thought. From a distance she looked like a tough, dangerous woman, but the closer she stood the more girl-like she became.

“Look, we’ve all been there. Do you think it was easy for me to leave everybody behind? My family, friends, even my career? I had prospects in the Alliance Fleet, promotion and decades of service ahead of me. Next thing you know, I’m on the first ship out of there and looking for work, just like those two.”

Tamara looked to Glaucon and Xenophon for a moment. They were both still engrossed in their discussion, but it seemed to be turning into an argument. That, or one of them was just being surprisingly passionate about something as mundane as a sword. She listened for a minute, intrigued by the detail and interest.

“Look, I’ll agree with you that the body shields are indispensible equipment. But you have to agree that the Laconian use of the shielding is much more efficient,” said Xenophon, the implication being they had already discussed this point.

“Yeah, but what about the weight? It’s not just the projector. The generator gear adds over twenty kilograms to the equipment carried. It will slow you down, so why bother with the close quarter weapons?”

Glaucon was watching with a bemused expression on his face. He was certainly bigger and stronger looking than Xenophon, but what he had gained in bulk he lacked in imagination or intellect, at least that was how is seemed to Tamara.

“I don’t understand. Explain again the difference between Laconian and Alliance soldiers,” asked one of the new arrivals.

Glaucon raised an eyebrow at the question. Tamara looked at him and back to Xenophon who seemed to relish the question. It seemed he was made to argue, or perhaps he just liked to hear his own voice, she thought.

“Alliance soldiers had similar armour and weapons to the Laconians. In battle, they would place a number of body shield generators on the ground to provide static defences. This gave them cover from high power weapons, including plasma and pulse rifles. To move, they would have to pack up the gear and take it with them, or leave it behind. This is why Alliance troops often take additional vehicles or engineers to carry and deploy the generators. The side effect is that Alliance troops need substantial support troops and are slow to move. They are powerful in defence but suffer against more mobile or powerful enemies.”

“And the Laconians?” asked the man.

“They train, all of the time. They are physically stronger and fitter than any Terran military. Their heavy infantry carry the shield generators with them, actually on their backs as they fight. They wear the projectors on their arms to create a half shield in front of their bodies. That’s why they can move into close range in battle without sustaining heavy casualties. In their left hand they carry the shield projector, and in the right, they carry the Asgeirr-Carbines.”

A woman, a short, stocky mercenary wearing a dark grey jumpsuit with an odd bandolier running along her shoulder, snorted at his comments.

“You’re telling me the Laconians go into battle carrying their shield generators?” They would collapse in an hour.”

“You obviously haven’t met one before,” said Glaucon.

“He’s right. If you’d met a Laconian warrior, you would see that they train all the time to carry this heavy equipment and not just carry it. They are expected to be able to fight in hand-to-hand combat with their pulse carbine at the same time.”

“But why?” asked the first man. “Surely with modern weapons it is smarter to pick off targets at range. Why bother advancing on them with all this heavy equipment, just to use closer range carbines. Why not rifles?”

Xenophon indicated towards one of the half tables near the window. The group moved towards it and sat down. Tamara watched with interest as Xenophon laid out a number of glasses.

“Okay, this is the Alliance defensive position. It is a fort, defended by a hundred soldiers. They are all armed with standard issue rifles. At points along the perimeter, the shield generator creates an impenetrable wall from which behind they can fight from. The Laconians arrive and advance on their position. They take heavy fire, but their body shields absorb the damage and allow them to close to point-blank range. That is when they move in and attack with their Asgeirr-Carbines. Have you ever seen them?”

Tamara smiled to herself, and she understood the point Xenophon was making. The group fell silent, none of them willing to admit they had never actually seen one of these fabled weapons. She strolled towards them and placed her hands on the table.

“I’ve seen a Asgeirr-Carbine. There was one for sale on the black-market a few months ago. It went for a very high price.”

“Really? What was it like?” asked the woman.

“It fits in the fist and lower arm and combines a razor sharp blade and a cut down pulse carbine. The entire unit is compact and very light. Apparently, the range is poor, but it is very powerful, and the blade can punch through most armour.”

She turned, left them to their discussion and approached Roxana who was still waiting along the glass. She looked out at the ships with her. She had relaxed a little, perhaps partially down to joining in with the conversation, or maybe she had just needed minute or two to think. She looked to the woman.

“I ran away, a long time ago. I fell in with a group of mercs from Arcadia, a rough bunch. But they did show me how to collect bounty on criminals. I worked with them until last month. Since then I’ve been looking for a new home.”

Roxana considered her comment for a second.

“Home? You chose to join a mercenary task force as your new home?”

Tamara shrugged, almost smiling.

“At least this is regular money, somewhere to sleep and food and clothing supplied. I was a few days away from having to offer my services to one of the pleasure barges.”

Roxana shook her head in irritation.

“Why not go back to your parents?”

She laughed in response.

“They don’t care. From when I was little, they sent me away to boarding school. They were never happier than when I was away. I promised I would never go back, not after the last time.”

“What happened?”

Tamara shook her head. It was obviously a topic she would not be discussing, not yet anyway. The two looked back to the window and the arrayed ships. They were now much closer and could see the details and weapons fitted to the Laconian Titan. They were interrupted by the sound of the ship-wide sound system.

“We are approaching the Valediction. Orders from General Clearchus are to bring in all new recruits to one of the assembled Titans for processing and selection. We will be docking with Olympia, the renegade Titan from Arcadia, commanded by Dukas Xenias. He has the largest contingent of warriors in the Armada. In seven minutes please ensure you have all your belongings ready for disembarkation.”

Xenophon said his goodbyes to the rest of the recruits and headed towards Roxana and Tamara, closely followed by Glaucon who was torn between joining them and gazing at the great shape of the Laconian Titan.

“We’re going aboard that thing?” he asked rhetorically.

“Looks that way,” answered Tamara. “What I don’t understand is how they managed to get a Titan in the fleet.”

Xenophon looked through the window before moving back to Tamara.

“A Titan? Haven’t you seen the roster? We have four Titans, including one from Laconia.”

Tamara looked confused.

“What’s the problem?” asked Roxana.

“Well, I was under the impression the Titans were some kind of epic ship, the kind of thing no government would lend for somebody else’s operation. Why are the Laconians giving one up?”

“Good question,” said Xenophon. “Either way, we’d better get ready. You heard what the Arcadians said yesterday about the tests when we get there. Last thing we want is to get stuck with cooking detail.”

The group moved away from the viewing area and along the corridor. It was wide rather than tall and designed to hide much of the internal ribbing and bulkheads. The ship was almost aesthetically pleasing from the inside, apart from the sections used to stow spare equipment and weapons. Like all other vessels heading to the Armada, this one was carrying both people and supplies. They moved into a larger waiting area where a larger group of recruits waited. There was an obvious distinction between the ex-military and those looking to make a quick bit of cash. It wasn’t just the physical size and fitness levels of the professionals, it was also the way they held themselves. Xenophon and his group entered the waiting area and found a place to sit and strap in.

Roxana moved next to him on one side and Glaucon and Tamara sat opposite, facing them both. They looked at each other. The journey was ending, and once they reached the Titan, they could expect a new life of training, hard discipline and danger.

“You ready for this?” asked Roxana.

Xenophon nodded eagerly.

“Yes, I think we all need this. My contacts on Attica have come up short, and with no more money, they simply aren’t interested.”

“What about the information my contacts in the military sent over?” asked Roxana.

He shook his head.

“People just aren’t talking. Somehow, Erika Montoya and her cronies have managed to get in with the leadership of the reinstated democracy, and they are hell bent on capturing and trying anybody tied in with the old regime.”

“It’s worse than that, you heard what happy to Antonia, my friend from the city. Her brother was working for the city security forces. The entire family has been arrested, and somehow he died in custody before he could be tried.”

Xenophon nodded in agreement.

“Yeah, convenient pattern. I don’t know about the rest of you, but if I’m going to get anywhere with Montoya, I’m going to need to be prepared, and that is going to cost money.”

“A lot of money. At some point, we both will want to head back to Attica, and I’m not doing that without a couple of bodyguards.”

Tamara chortled to herself, apparently not in the slightest bothered that the others could hear her. She looked up to see Roxana, Xenophon and Glaucon staring at her with a stoic line of serious faces.

“What?” she asked innocently.

“You think our situation is funny?” asked Xenophon.

Tamara straightened her back and was about to speak but was interrupted by the loudspeakers.

“Docking procedure started, please remain in your seats,” said the dull voice. Tamara looked back at them, each awaiting her answer.

“Look, I thought your world was supposed to be this glowing beacon of democracy and tranquillity. Hell, half the people I know keep telling me how they wish the Alliance would be reformed as it was. They are all desperate to reconnect with the old mother country.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not like that anymore,” said Glaucon bitterly.

Xenophon, however, leaned forward.

“Tamara, they might think that, but in reality, Attica was never a place of tranquillity. Democracy can be dangerous, and our form put a lot of power into the hands of the citizens. They are fickle and volatile, quick to anger and vicious when pushed.”

Tamara nodded, noting the passion with which both men spoke. It was clear the trouble on Attica were more than just a simple, local problem. Neither really wanted to be on the transport, and it was just as likely they had no real interest in being mercenaries.

Maybe we have more in common than I thought.

A loud crunch followed by several bursts of gas, probably steam, erupted from the ceiling pipes. Tamara looked worried, but Roxana placed her hand on the girl’s shoulder and spoke quietly.

“Don’t worry, it happens quite often. A landing on a ship producing a gravity field this strong can put a lot of strain on the vessel as it lands. It isn’t like the old days of zero-gravity in ships.”

Red lights flashed along the one door near the first airlock seal. Several more thuds and blasts of steam poured from various parts of the transport, but after Roxana’s explanation, they seemed unperturbed. The lights increased in tempo until staying fixed. A loud hiss erupted around the frame, and the airlock itself opened to a cloud of vapour. It took several seconds to clear before revealing the secondary airlock that was already opened. The speakers voiced one final message.

“You may now leave. Please check you have removed your personal items. All transports will be leaving in four hours.”

Xenophon released his strap and stood up. He stretched and grabbed his small bag containing all his remaining possessions. Several passengers moved to the airlock, and he fell in behind them. Glaucon followed, and several more passengers arrived, forcing the rest of their group to the back. It didn’t take long to move through the narrow doorway and into the landing bay inside the ship. Xenophon emerged from the door and stepped onto the solid floor. The bay itself was unlike anything he had ever seen before. It looked more like a giant cave than the bays he’d seen on other ships. He glanced back to find Glaucon stood staring at the same. The rest of the passengers continued past them both.

“Have you ever seen anything like it?” asked Glaucon.

Xenophon shook his head. The walls were rough in finish, but he knew this was a side effect of the hardened material used in its construction. A dozen transports, each of similar size to the one they had landed in, were laid out in a loose line. Scores of new arrivals moved out in long columns and made their way to what looked like a large security checkpoint. A group of half a dozen potential recruits walked behind them and back onto the ship. They looked bruised and tired as if they had just emerged from some gruelling ordeal. Roxana and Tamara reached them both and tried to get them to move.

“Come on, we need to get through clearance. Apparently, they are turning some away.”

“What?” asked Glaucon.

“The one guy, him over there,” said Tamara as she pointed to the man in question. “He said they wouldn’t take him because he’s on a security risk list.”

“That’s just great. What are the chances we’re on it?” muttered Xenophon.

“Let’s go and find out. Either way, our transport is leaving soon. We need to know, one way or the other.”

They moved away from the transport and joined the large queue of prospective mercenaries. It was a good opportunity to examine the interior of the mighty ship. The Titans were famous, not just for their rarity, but also their ability to operate as self-contained fleets. There were not just transports in this part of the ship. There were over thirty heavy fighters as well as landing craft, gunships and bombers. It was a veritable mobile fortress.

“Where are you from?” asked a scruffy woman. She must have been in her late twenties and wore a pair of well-worn overalls. Her accent was thick, nothing like the gentlemanly voices of Glaucon and Xenophon.

“Uh, Attica, you?” answered Xenophon, unsure as to the reasoning behind her question.

“Ah, Alliance mercs then. We’ve got a couple of yours with us. I reckon we’ve got volunteers from every Terran system. You joining the infantry?” she asked.

Xenophon glanced to Glaucon, and he just shrugged. Xenophon sighed at his friend’s complete lack of help. He looked back to her.

“We don’t really know. I guess we’ll find out soon enough.”

The queue was moving quickly, and from where they were stood, it was very clear that prospective mercenaries were being split into two main groups. Xenophon tried to determine what each group had in common, but it was very clear.

“You thinking what I’m thinking?” asked Roxana.

“The groups?” asked Glaucon, also concerned at what was happening.

There was no more time to discuss it further as they were now at the security point. The guards were not regular military, but they were armed with a variety of heavy weapons. A man with the mark of a sergeant approached.

“You all signing up together?” he asked as he glanced at the group of four.

Xenophon nodded.

“Yes, Sergeant, we’re looking for mercenary work in the expedition.”

“No Sergeant here, son. I’m a Dekarchos in this operation. Now, do any of you have experience with the heavy infantry?” he asked, giving special attention to Glaucon who was undoubtedly the largest of the group.

“No, most of our experience is with the Alliance Navy,” explained Roxana.

“Alliance, huh? Well, I guess that means no to the heavies. We don’t need any more crew or technical staff. Right now, we’re looking for heavy infantry and a small number of skirmishers, light infantry and support troops. Interested?”

Xenophon glanced back to the other three, but they clearly had no problem with his offer. He looked back to the Dekarchos and nodded.

“Good, take the door to the right and drop your gear off. You’ll be issued with fatigues and prepped for your selection.”

“Selection, I thought you’d given us the options?” asked Tamara.

“Options? You misunderstand, Miss. We choose where to send you, and right now we don’t know what you have to offer. The transports leave in four hours. Before that, you’ll know if you’re staying or leaving. Dukas Xenias is looking for bodies to fill out his two thousand troops, and more than anything, we need frontline combat troops. If you can’t use a blade or fire a weapon, then we can’t use you, understood?”

Tamara nodded, but there was a look of doubt on her face.

CHAPTER NINE

Arcadian Titan ‘Olympia’, Median space

Xenophon moved to the door and glanced over his shoulder to spot the others moving slowly behind him. Out of all of them, Tamara looked the most concerned. Once through the door, they entered a narrow corridor that was filled with at least fifty other recruits. Each of them looked as bewildered as themselves. A faint voice much further inside shouted out towards them, but it was too muffled to hear clearly. Luckily, they were moving at a walking pace and covering the distance at a reasonable speed. It was getting warmer the further they travelled. The corridor opened out into a wide-open space decked out with benches and fabric screen that must have only recently been set up. In the centre of the room were a number of crates containing overalls and equipment. Six soldiers stood to attention and handed them out to the new arrivals.

“Get your fatigues here!” called out the nearest.

Xenophon walked over and was about to speak, when he was blocked by a tall, black soldier. The man wore a grey uniform with several patches indicating previous tours of duty. He was obviously a man of experience, but Xenophon didn’t recognise his unit’s markings.

“Move it. All potentials grab your fatigues and get into the training arena. Your trial starts in ten minutes.”

A pair of fatigues was thrust into his hands, and he found himself pushed to the next person who held out a box. It was made of thin wood and already had his name printed on it. He was confused at first as to how they knew who he was, but then it was obvious. When they had originally signed up, they had been photographed. A full Alliance dossier would have been easy for them to access.

“Your gear and personal items in here. No weapons, comms devices or sharp objects.”

He emptied his pockets, but there was surprisingly little to give them. When finished, he was directed to one of the temporary booths to get changed. It seemed a little excessive, but then he remembered this was a mixed unit of men and women. It was probably a good idea to offer at least a little privacy to get started. In his experience, the military tended to not spend much time worrying about these kinds of details. He pulled off his clothes as quickly as possible and threw on the overalls. They were equipped with a series of small belts to adjust, and with a little effort they almost fitted correctly. Once satisfied, he emerged from the privacy of his booth to join the rest of the new recruits. Glaucon was already waiting, but there was no sign yet of the other two. The soldier with the wooden box took away his clothes and placed them on top of the rest of his belongings. He didn’t say anything but pointed further along the hall to where a man in tactical armour was waiting.

Okay, I wonder what challenge they’ve set for us.

He walked towards the man and waited. About twenty more people were also stood waiting patiently. With all of their gear removed, everyone looked roughly the same. Men outnumbered the women by about two to one, and there was a wide range of ages from late teens up to the sixties.

“Are you ready for this?” asked Roxana as she appeared behind him. He glanced back to her, noting how calm and collected she appeared in this situation. A fraction taller than him, she was easily the most combat experienced of them all. She’d tied her long hair up into a bun. It was an odd look but hardly surprising due to their current predicament. Xenophon had said nothing yet, so she spoke again.

“Look, these kind of tests are pretty common. They throw us in some kind of fight, and it will let them choose which branch to transfer us to.”

Glaucon and Tamara arrived, both looking distinctly unimpressed with their new clothing. Tamara especially seemed irritated by the looseness of hers.

“If we want to be in the same unit, we need to stay together, understood?” asked Roxana.

They all nodded, apart from Tamara who was too busy watching the armoured soldier at the front.

“Tamara?” called Xenophon, trying to get her attention. She looked and glanced at him.

“Listen to her. If we don’t work together, they’ll split us up. Okay?”

She looked away. Xenophon sighed in irritation but was interrupted by the soldier who had lifted his right hand to get their attention.

“This little test is one of skill, fitness, speed and aggression. Your performance will determine which units and position you will occupy. We assume a basic level of skill and military knowhow. If any of you lack this, I suggest you leave now. We are a mercenary outfit, not a training camp. If you can’t work in one of our units from tomorrow, then we won’t be able to use you.”

He bent down and lifted up a rifle.

“This here is the Doru Mk II training rifle. It is the same weight and size as the battlefield versions our Arcadian infantry use. This is the standard weapon used by our light infantry for scouting and special operations. The Doru MK II uses a high velocity pulse round, is capable of long distance interdiction and can penetrate most modern armours. Almost a quarter of our contribution to the Armada will be equipped with this weapon. You will rely on stealth, cunning and accuracy to win. Light infantry do not carry personal shields, just one generator pack per ten man squad.”

A murmur of discontent spread through the crowd, especially from those with Laconian or Alliance experience. Some tried to interrupt the man, but his harsh stare and silence stopped them.

“As for heavy infantry, we favour the Laconian model and have developed a system that mixes our strengths with theirs. We use the lighter and more mobile deflector units.”

He held up a metal gauntlet that was thickly padded with plates and wiring. A number of tubes and cables ran from inside the plates to a backpack. He slid it onto his left hand and tapped the button on the side. A dull audible pulse echoed inside the hall. From the gauntlet, a blue light expanded until it produced an oval energy shield of half the height and width of a man. It shimmered as it defused light travelling through it. The soldier lifted his arm so that the shield stood in front of him and towards the recruits.

“Our body shields are half the weight of the Laconian designs, but they are nowhere near as powerful. Whereas a Laconian shield is built to absorb kinetic and thermal energy, ours merely deflect them. Our shields can only deflect small arms fire at long to medium distance. It allows out heavy infantry to close the distance to make use of our specialised weapons. The closer we get, the more we have to rely upon cover and firepower.”

He switched off the shield with his right hand and lowered the gauntlet to the table. Next he lifted the projectile weapons. The first looked like a cut down battle rifle; the second was much broader, more like a grenade launcher or similar.

“Plasma launchers and pulse carbines are our weapons of choice for the heavy infantry. The carbines are extremely effective at short to medium distances, whereas the plasma launcher provides firepower for armour and structural destruction.”

He lowered the weapons and paused for a moment as the recruits watched in interest. It was clear that some were already familiar with the items on display, but a good proportion looked less than convinced. After they settled down, he lifted up the final item. It looked like a large metal fist with a series of bumps and fittings on its surface. He fitted it to his hand and lifted his fist to the ceiling.

“These are on loan from our Laconian friends. They are rare, and in my opinion, pointless unless you have their shielding to go with them. They are the infamous Asgeirr-Carbines.”

A murmur of recognition spread quickly through the crowd.

“Nice, I want one,” said Glaucon in a hushed voice.

Xenophon smiled and leaned in closer.

“Actually, I think I’ll take a pair!”

“This weapon incorporates an internal pulse carbine of a similar design to ours. Due to its reduced size and capacity, you will find it lacks both the ammunition and the range of our native firearms. Even so, it is deadly at close range. As well as the firearm, you also get this as a bonus.”

With a swish sound, a wicked looking blade, much like that of a large bayonet or short sword, pushed out from the fist. Its edges and tip looked as though they could stab through any material.

“Incredibly, there are some who still train to use this kind of weapon. In my opinion, if you can get close enough to your opponent to stab them, well, you can simply shoot them. We have training versions of all the weapons plus body shields for those that want them.”

He motioned for them to look past him, and a series of large doors opened up to reveal a training arena. It was easily the size of a major sporting stadium with a high ceiling and enough space for thousands of people. In the centre, taking up most of the space, was what looked like a ruined town. Buildings were partially collapsed and burnt out vehicles littered the mock streets. The ruins themselves were dwarfed by a large mound in the centre that was topped with a damaged turret or tower of some kind.

“In the centre of the ruins is your objective. You will be split into two teams of fifty. The objective will be to capture and secure the tower. Whichever team controls the tower at the end of the time limit wins. You may use reasonable force in the exercise, but remember we need fighters, not casualties. Anybody causing permanent damage will be kicked out. If we can’t trust you now, why should we on the battlefield? You can divide yourselves up, one half of you will head to the blue light that is flashing to the left, the rest to the red on my right.”

The group started to move before he interrupted them one last time.

“The exercise will run for one hour, so use it as your job interview. What you do here will choose your path for months, maybe even years to come. Good luck.”

Roxana didn’t hesitate and pushed ahead and towards the blue light. A number of other people followed her, each eager to reach the light and the soldier waiting to explain the details further. Xenophon, Glaucon and Tamara were close behind. It was only a short distance until they reached a sandbagged emplacement. Inside, a red light glowed brightly. The soldier inside stood silently, waiting for his full group of fifty to arrive before speaking. Xenophon glanced at his comrades briefly, checking they were all there. Each appeared calm, apart from Tamara, who once more seemed nervous, and even a little suspicious.

“What’s up?” he whispered to her.

She shook her head. “Nothing, let’s just do this.”

Strange, she says she has so much experience, and we’ve seen her fight. Why the nerves? Something certainly isn’t right, he thought. Then he spotted her hand shaking slightly. Narcotics, it has to be!

“You’ve been briefed on the mission. It’s a standard king of the hill scenario. You have a choice of weapons. It’s up to you how you divide up or plan the mission. The only distinction between sides is the colour of your weapons.”

He held up one of the rifles. It was the normal grey colour but carried a series of blue bands across its centre.

“You will start in two minutes, so grab your gear and come up with a plan, fast!”

Xenophon was about to move forward when he spotted slight movement ahead. He looked up to see a series of gantries from which military personnel were watching. Either this would be a spectacle for them, or they were the officers or trainers watching to see how they performed. As he watched them, over half of the lights shut off to give the impression of a dusk battlefield. Smoke generators must have activated, as the site quickly turned into a dusty, poorly lit battlefield. Xenophon smiled inwardly, surprised at the quality of the training scenario.

If there wasn’t so much at stake, I might actually enjoy this.

Roxana moved to the middle of the group and spoke loudly.

“My name is Roxana Devereux, former Alliance officer. I have some ground combat experience. Who else has leadership experience?”

Most of the other fifty ignored her, but a handful stepped closer to listen. At the same time, a large man, easily a head taller than Glaucon pushed ahead and grabbed one of the shield generators and a carbine. A dozen men picked up similar gear and stood near him. He looked to Roxana and back to the recruits.

“Rexor, Arcadian heavy infantry, retired,” was all he said.

The bulk of the others grabbed equipment, most opting for the shields and carbines, but a few took the rifles instead. Xenophon stepped to the table and examined the gear. It looked like the weapons were loaded with tranquiliser shells, a common training bullet that would cause no more than a bruise, but stun the victim for several minutes. He looked back to Roxana who was speaking with several of the volunteers in her group. He counted eleven people include him, not many.

“Listen, this is a built-up area with lots of cover. I suggest we go light, ditch the heavy shielding and sneak forward to the tower.”

Rexor laughed at her.

“Alliance cowards. We take the shield and big guns. Push through the main streets and directly to the tower. We have protection if they try and stop us. You stick together as one group.”

His comrades around him cheered in agreement.

“One group or one target?” said Roxana before turning to her much smaller team. A boy, barely a teenager, waved a pulse carbine in front of her.

“If we’re quick, we could grab the tower before their heavies get in. I bet I could run the entire way if I just take this,” he suggested.

Roxana smiled at him, impressed by his confidence but also wary of throwing away people too quickly.

“A good idea, but if our reinforcements are held up, you’ll be trapped with smaller numbers and lighter weapons. I suggest we form two groups and make for the tower. The first will rush it,” she turned to the teenager. “You can be part of that group.”

She then looked to the rest. “We’ll all follow them with the heavier weapons and watch for infiltrators. We will provide the backup ready for when the heavies get there. What do you think?”

The small group appeared to have little to say other than a woman of similar age to Roxana.

“The name’s Erika, I’ve got some experience in private security, escort and protection work. What gear do you suggest?” she asked.

Xenophon held up a selection of the weapons.

“Anything other than the shields. A mixture is probably a good idea.”

Roxana nodded in agreement. The group split off to select their weapons, and Glaucon and Xenophon pulled out several items of interest. Glaucon picked one of the plasma launchers. It was a big weapon, but in his hands looked more like a large rifle. Xenophon, on the other hand, was torn between the carbine and the Laconian Asgeirr-Carbine. He looked to the soldier.

“Where is the spare ammunition?” he asked.

“On your enemies,” answered the man in a curt tone.

He looked back to the weapons and pulled an Asgeirr-Carbine onto his right arm. He looked at it with admiration. He paused for just a second, and then grabbed second one.

“What are you doing?” asked Tamara who was busy checking the carbines.

“Well, the ammunition is limited, so I might as well take two. Double the blades and double the firepower.”

Roxana stepped between them and examined the weapons. She spotted Xenophon and his odd choice.

“ Let’s just hope a few of them get close enough for us to hit them and take their ammo.”

“Thanks,” answered Xenophon in the most sarcastic voice he could manage.

The teenager moved to the front of the group and called out to Rexor.

“We’ll go ahead. You back us up!” he shouted.

The large group of mercenaries burst out laughing at the high-pitched voice of the youngster. With his carbine held in his hands, he looked woefully inadequate compared to some of the burly, experienced soldiers in the group.

“Do what you like, little man, and we’ll try not to trip over your feet!” he bellowed.

“Hey, kid, what’s your name?” asked Glaucon.

The teenager spun around and glanced at him. “Kid? I’m no kid.”

Roxana tried a softer approached.

“No, you’re not a kid. But what’s your name? I’m Roxana. This is Xenophon and Glaucon, two of my close friends.”

“Does it matter? Just call me Jack for now,” he said as he turned his back on them.

Xenophon checked his weapons. They were lit as inactive on the side readout. He just hoped that would change at the start of the exercise. He nodded to Glaucon.

“You know once we start, most of them are going to make for the tower. If they’re anything like our bunch, they’ll come up through the middle.”

“Jack!” Roxana called out. She waved for him to join the other two to listen to the plan. At first he stood there, but eventually he wandered over with a sullen look on his face.

“We’ll take the right. Light weapons ahead, second team twenty metres behind. Don’t stop till you’re inside the tower, got it?”

Jack nodded but said nothing.

“Okay, people, you have ten seconds, get ready…” shouted the soldier.

Rexor pulled back the bolt on his carbine and faced the ruins. His left hand was extended out, ready for when the shield activated.

“Behind me!” he roared. The rest of his group formed up in a dense block, the shielded warriors on the outside and the rest inside. It looked impressive, but Xenophon could easily see the problems they were creating for themselves. He looked back to see Roxana shaking her head.

“Fool, just one plasma charge, and they’re all gone.”

A loud whistle blasted from the soldier, and at the same time the weapons and shields activated for each of them.

“Go!” shouted Roxana.

Jack and his comrades rushed ahead and to the right of the large band of warriors led by Rexor. They all moved to the rubble around the outside of the simulated warzone and entered the main street. Rexor’s mob moved up through the middle of the road, but Jack leapt over the nearest wall to the right and vanished from view. The street looked remarkably realistic with buildings on both sides and a smashed military vehicle in the centre. At the end of the street were a series a barricades and behind them the lower levels of the mound that led up to the tower and the objective. Xenophon reached the wall and stopped to help the rest over. It didn’t take long until their small group was over the wall and moving at a quick jog along the parallel street.

“They’re nearly there!” called out Glaucon, spotting Jack and the rest working through the barricades to the tower. There was no sign of Rexor and his mob as the buildings obstructed their view.

“Spread out!” called Roxana, perhaps becoming nervous at the lack of action. Xenophon moved to the right and looked down to check his weapons as he moved. They were lit as active, and he was tempted to fire off a shot to see what happened. With a limited number of rounds, he just couldn’t do it; not that firing off rounds for no reason was a good idea anyway.

They reached the open space in front of the barricades and were now able to see part of the street to the left. There was another ruined vehicle but no sign of the rest of their team.

“Keep moving, we don’t want to get pinned down out here,” called Roxana.

Xenophon nodded and leapt over the first barrier and through the rubble. He landed hard and straightened himself only to see a man of similar age and build to himself. The most obvious difference was that he was carrying a red marked rifle and an active shield in his left hand. He tried to move it, but in the confines of the damaged walls, Xenophon was able to duck to the side and lift up his left arm. Without even bothering to pull the trigger, he stabbed forward instead. The blunted training blade shot out, and he punched the man in the chest. The impact didn’t seem great, but one of the tranquiliser darts must have been triggered because the man staggered and collapsed to the ground.

“Nice work!” said Roxana as she moved past him. She didn’t stop and pushed through the debris to reach the winding path running around the base of the tower. The rest of the group did the same, leaving Xenophon looking at his first kill of the scenario. He was about to move when he spotted movement in the buildings behind the tower. A flash was all he needed to throw himself to the side. It wasn’t a moment too soon, as a volley of six projectiles clattered uselessly against the wall behind him.

Close! he said to himself.

The quiet was broken by dozens of rifles and carbines opening fire. Xenophon kept low and pushed ahead, only glancing briefly over his shoulder to try and assess what was happening. He rounded the next corner to find the rest of his team pinned down.

“You okay?” asked Tamara.

“Yeah, what’s happening?”

“Most of their team are heavies. They spread out in a wide skirmish line and are putting down fire all around the end of the street and the base of the tower.”

“Jack?” he asked.

“I’ve not found any bodies. Either they got lost, or they made it up there,” she answered, pointing up to the top of the turret.

More sound came from below as both forces clashed, each trying to hit the other team with a mixture of training rounds. The shields seemed highly effective in this environment. The one side effect was they were now distracted by the arrival of Rexor and his group.

“This is our chance, come on!” called out Glaucon.

He lifted himself up and rushed ahead. It was a narrow path that led to the tower, but they covered the ground quickly and made their way into the lower level. Without stopping, they pushed on towards the side and a staircase that led up to the high level floor. Glaucon moved first with Xenophon following. Roxana was next and Erika last. They moved as quickly as possible, but Erika didn’t make it in time before the first group of the red team. They spotted her and blasted her with a dozen rifle rounds. Roxana barely avoided the impact before rolling inside.

“Stop them!” she called out, still disorientated by her scramble inside.

Xenophon spotted them approaching, but from the higher floor, he could do little except add what limited firepower he had into their number. He aimed his right hand carefully and pulled the trigger. The metal fist shook slightly as it released the training rounds. He loosed off six in total and spotted at least two of the attackers fall. Glaucon lifted his plasma cannon over the edge of the turret and aimed it down at the group. They were already spreading out when he fired. Unlike the real weapon, this one fired a single round that burst upon impact. It sent a cloud of quick evaporating gas around the target area stunning four more of the enemy. Xenophon did his best to try to avoid thinking about what an actual superheated plasma projectile would do.

“Good timing!” called out Jack, as he and his group emerged from the top floor and joined them out on the low battlements. Each pointed their weapons over the edge and fired at any enemy that came close.

“Okay, Commander,” said Xenophon sarcastically. “We’ve secured the tower, what now?”

Roxana smiled and nodded towards the approaching enemy forces on the other side. The odd impact from a rifle or carbine round bounced off the wall ineffectually.

“Well, I’m surprised we’ve got this far already! I suggest we dig in and hold them off until Rexor and the rest make it to us.”

“When? You mean if?” laughed Glaucon.

From their raised position, they could just about make out the glowing shapes of the body shields as the two large formation of fighters met all around the tower. It looked like they had met head on, and both sides were trying to outflank each other. Rexor and his group were still fifty metres from the tower, and it seemed they were pinned down by heavy weapons fire. Jack turned around and called out.

“Two groups are moving in from the left. They’re between Rexor and us. I think they are trying to outflank him. What do we do?”

“If we stay here, we’ll hold the objective, but Rexor and his team could end up cut down. It looks to me like they are content to leave us here, so they will finish him off and then come looking for what’s left of our force.”

Roxana nodded in agreement and lifted her carbine to check the state of her ammunition. She was already down to less than a half, and the enemy had not even started their main assault yet.

“Alright, here’s what we will do. I will stay with the long-range weapons and help defend the turret. Xenophon, Glaucon, Tamara and Jack, you will climb back down and work your way behind their team. Do not assault their positions unless you have the advantage, but try and catch them in a crossfire. If you can break them up, it will give Rexor a chance to break out to the tower.”

Glaucon and Xenophon nodded, neither agreeing nor disagreeing on the plan. They were already moving to the steps when Roxana grabbed Xenophon’s arm.

“Grab the ammunition from the ones downstairs, you’ll need it.”

He smiled and then disappeared out of view.

The small group moved down the tower and did their best to keep in the shadows. Glaucon was the only one of them carrying a heavy weapon, so he stayed further back, constantly on the look out for enemy movement. At the bottom, they found the semi-conscious bodies of the enemy, still panting from a mixture of exhaustion and probably the drugs they had been induced with. It took seconds to strip the magazines from their weapons, and they were on their way. The sounds of the main battle were coming directly ahead, and it sounded terrible. A mixture of gunfire, shouting and the crump and flashbang grenades rumbled through the streets. They made it to the damaged outer wall of a ruined home and stopped. Jack kept low and glanced through the gaping hole in the walls and out into the street. He watched for a few seconds before slipping back.

“There are dozens of them, looks like a melee.”

Xenophon pointed to the right but said nothing. They moved around the building and picked their way past the wrecked vehicles until they were in a position right behind where the red team should actually be. A number of cracks and explosions made them drop to the floor. They came from behind, but it was impossible to tell whether the reds had made it into the tower, of if they were simply engaged in a major firefight.

“There!” called out Glaucon.

Behind an upturned truck were about twenty member of the red team. They were behind cover and pouring fire into a similar number of blues who had been caught out in the open. Most of the rounds were bouncing from their body shields, but every now and then a shot made it through. As Xenophon and his own team took up position, a powerful blast from a plasma cannon hit the centre of Rexor’s formation. The gas charge put half a dozen fighters on the ground and disrupted their formation, making them even more vulnerable to attack. Xenophon double-checked his Asgeirr-Carbine and pulled Glaucon down to his level.

“On my command, you hit the centre of the line with everything you have. The rest of us will move out and hit them at close range. Understood?”

He nodded in agreement. Tamara and Jack were both armed with carbines and stood waiting.

“Ready?” asked Xenophon, and they nodded instantly. He turned back to Glaucon, “When you’re ready!”

He lifted his heavy weapon and rested it on the damaged wall. From their position, they had a perfect view of the rear of the red team. Glaucon aimed the weapon carefully and fired all his rounds, one after the other. He only had four left, but the effect of all four was devastating. He dropped the weapon and chased after the other three who were already charging at the team. Jack and Tamara blazed away with their carbines while Xenophon fired single shots from his own weapons. They only brought down a small number of the enemy, but the effect of being hit at close-range from behind shattered their formation.

“Get back!” shouted Tamara. A dummy round barely missed the two of them as Jack and Tamara took cover behind a metal container. More rounds clattered against it, but for now they were safe. While the gunfight continued, Xenophon rushed in, his bloodlust up. At close range, he was able to use his two Laconian weapons to perfection. His first bursts of fire cleared a path through their position, and then he was amongst them. Ducking and leaning, he avoided their clumsy attempt to shoot him while he stabbed and fired at close range.

Glaucon moved as quickly as he could, but he was forced to slow down as targets of opportunity arrived. A small group of four of the enemy had taken refuge behind a wall and were putting down considerable gunfire. Glaucon fired twice and dropped low to avoid their fire. He kept shooting, as well as moving closer to them, and could see Xenophon jumping about in the middle of the group. He seemed to be causing more confusion than casualties, but that was fine, disruption worked in their favour. He moved to the left to try and work around the group, but his left leg gave way.

“Great!” he cried in irritation, as he stumbled and collapsed to the ground. One of their projectiles had struck him above the knee and put him out of the fight. He tried to watch the rest of the training scenario, but the drug on the round started to kick in, and his vision quickly blurred.

Glaucon might be down, but there were now less than a dozen of the red team remaining. Only the handful that had turned on Glaucon were left, and they stood to try and run, only to be cut down by the renewed weapons fire from Rexor’s own advancing position. It was a devastating crossfire from all involved, and as the gunfire stopped, Xenophon found himself in the middle of the defeated red team’s position. Rexor moved out from the centre of his unit to look at Xenophon and Glaucon, both of whom were dripping in sweat. He was about to speak when a single remaining red team member lifted herself up and aimed her plasma cannon directly at Rexor. The expression on his face showed that he knew his time was up. Two flashes from the container further away was the only signal that Tamara and Jack were still in position. Their carefully aimed shots hit the woman in the back and knocked her to the ground.

“Not bad,” he said with a forced smile.

A loud siren filled the arena, and the lights on the training weapons switched off. Large flood lamps flashed on, and for a few seconds all of those involved felt almost blinded by the bright lights. From above, a round platform of perhaps ten metres in diameter was lowered. It took almost twenty seconds to reach to the ground. In the middle stood an Arcadian senior officer plus an entourage of warriors, each dressed in full combat attire. A group of medics and technicians stepped down from the platform to tend to those that had fallen and to administer the drugs to allow them to stand.

A small group of the blue team appeared from the left as the survivors of the tower, led by Roxana, emerged from their cover. They were covered in dust, but the look of satisfaction showed they had won a good victory.

“Excellent work. You will be pleased to note that all of you have passed and are deemed of satisfactory standard to serve with our ad-hoc combat units. Most of you have shown you have the gumption to serve with our heavy infantry, please join the Komes here. He will give you your postings and information on your service aboard the Olympia.”

The recruits started to move but were halted by the commander.

“I want each of you to stay, please,” he said pointing at Xenophon, Roxana, Tamara and Jack. He then pointed to the prone shape of Glaucon on the ground.

“Him as well. Give him a hand up.”

Rexor glanced at them and nodded as he left. He didn’t seem particularly disheartened to be leaving. He was presumably off to join the others with the heavy infantry. Xenophon watched him walk away and wondered what that would mean for him. The commander waited until most of the others had left before inviting them over to meet an officer. This man looked even dourer than the rest of the Arcadian soldiers they had met.

“This is Komes Pasion, leader of my scout force. I think you would be ideally suited to serving with him.”

He turned and moved back to the platform without even waiting to see what they had to say. The Komes looked serious, with not even a hint of humour or compassion about him.

“My force is a picked unit of three hundred fighters, but we are down on numbers. We travel light and are expected to conduct all manner of missions from recon through to raiding and assault. You need to be able to fight with rifles, carbines and close quarter weapons. You’ve shown initiative, independence and improvisation. These are the three key criteria for being in my unit. Return to the changing area and collect your belongings. You will get your orders from the Dekarchos, he already has your information.”

He paused and then smiled, or at least that was what it looked like to Xenophon. It could equally have been a grimace.

“Welcome to the Night Blades.”

The small group looked at each other in surprise. The officer walked away to leave them in the middle of the training arena.

“Night Blades? Is that a good thing?” asked Jack.

Roxana nodded while Xenophon tried to support the dead weight of Glaucon. He looked unconscious, but Roxana seemed unconcerned at his state.

“Well, we will earn more credits, but there is a greater risk. They are the elite unit on this ship, so we’ve struck gold here,” she said with a very surprised look.

CHAPTER TEN

Scout Ship Odysseus, Cilician Gates

Kentarchos Anaxandros watched the distortion with interest. The Cilician Gates were one of the most famous parts of space, and he never tired of watching the strange optical effects in this region. This particular triple star system was one of the richest and most densely populated planetary formations known to mankind. With over thirty planets, it was the perfect supply, engineering and construction site for hundreds of light years. As kentarchos of his vessel, it was his job to keep the Armada notified of local traffic, celestial phenomena and any other issues that might arise prior to their arrival. It wasn’t the first warship he had commanded, but it was his first operation as a mercenary officer. His new rank of kentarchos was an odd one. In his home, in the Arcadian military, he had been a captain with a well-proven track record. Since forced retirement, he had hit hard times. The opportunity to spend time earning substantial rewards with the mercenaries, under Clearchus, was an offer he could not refuse. That still did not help him getting his head around the use of the archaic ranks used by the Laconians.

The Laconians, he thought, nodding his head in agreement with himself. At least with them in charge, we might actually have a chance of coming back alive.

It might be a pan-terran operation, but it was clear who was running the show. His thoughts were interrupted by a loud voice.

“Sir, engineering are experiencing an issue with the secondary propulsion controller. They want to take it off-line for assessment,” said Ka’Veras, the ship’s kybernetes, or executive officer.

“How serious is it?” asked Anaxandros.

The kybernetes moved his hands in front of his display as he made direct contact with the relevant crew. A number of figures appeared, and he moved quickly between them as he disseminated the information. It wasn’t a large vessel, no bigger than a Laconian frigate; the ship was small and lightly armoured. It still packed quite a punch with its array of plasma cannons. These weapons were more than capable of destroying civilian ships five times her size and even giving some military ships something to worry about. She was ninety-two metres long, capable of faster-than-light travel and carried a complement of one hundred and nine crew.

“Sir, not critical, but there is a low probability of an injector failure if we are forced to use all drive units.”

Kentarchos Anaxandros scratched his chin as he considered the options. The ship was equipped with three main propulsion units, all powered from the main core. The Primary engines were the FTL drive, and it was what allowed the vessel to jump great distances in the blink of an eye. The secondary engines were much like those used in conventional rockets and ships to change orbit and make low speed manoeuvres. These engines were critical for movement in battle or docking at stations. The final, emergency system was the gas projection system. Archaic by all standards, it was only ever used as an emergency if the secondary engines failed. The gas system could only be used to alter direction or make fine adjustments, and the ship couldn’t do much else with it.

What if I take the engines off-line and enemy ships jump in? Our only option would be to jump out of here.

“What about the FTL drive, will it be affected?” he asked.

“Either way the FTL drive will be taken off-line.”

He shook his head at the last comment.

“We’re a scout craft, so without speed we are sitting ducks. Our job is to report on any possible enemy movements in this sector and to report back to the Armada. We’ll get the system checked out when we get back.”

“Sir.”

He looked back to the displays and the odd light formations in space. Occasionally, a flicker of light would indicate the movement of one of the massive transports as it moved through the system. Light from the suns would glint from its hull as it passed by. He started to relax, and the muscle in his back easing for just a second before the storm hit. It started with a flash of light followed by the dimming of the ship’s interior lights. Alarms triggered throughout the Odysseus. He looked to his screen and spotted an object entering the system.

“What is it?” he cried.

Dekarchos Ezekiel, his tactical officer, checked his screen.

“It’s Imperial…give me a second…yes, Sir, it’s a Median battleship. Our database confirms its configuration as a Scythian Class heavy battleship. I think it’s the Elamite, Sir.”

He looked back to his own computer display and the projected design and configuration of the ship. It was massive, maybe half a kilometre long, but nothing as vast as the Terran Titans.

“Tissaphernes’ ship? I thought he was supposed to be off fighting the Lydian pirates, six systems away? What is he doing back here?”

The Kybernetes looked at a sequence of flashing symbols on the central computer display.

“By the Gods, something is coming in, something even bigger!” he said excitedly.

Almost as he finished speaking, the first of hundreds of smaller vessels arrived. No two were alike, but most were about the same size as the Odysseus. He unbuckled himself from his seat and moved to the main display in the centre of the deck. The Kybernetes and Dekarchos Ezekiel joined him, each gazing at the images in surprise.

“Kentarchos, I have match on the audio channels,” said Auletes Sarjek.

The ships communications officer spoke with a smooth, almost artificial voice that appeared from the side of the deck. She was the tall automaton, and a freed worker from one of the border worlds who had managed to wrangle a spot on his ship. Anaxandros hadn’t been keen to have her in his crew, but just a cursory glance at her resume showed she had immense skills and knowledge of language and dialects in this region of space. She was the perfect communications officer. A number of the rest of the crew were not happy at her being elevated to the rank of a junior officer without prior military training. This was a private venture, however, and the rules were, well, unique.

I‘m still not sure I understand if Sarjek is male or female, he thought, distracted for a second by the exotic crewmember. She had expressed confusion at having to choose a sex and had asked the Kentarchos of the ship to choose. Based on her looks and soft voice, he had chosen female, but it still felt odd, prescribing something so private. He shook his head, annoyed at himself for taking his thoughts away from the task at hand. He had to think for second while he tried to remember what she had said.

“Yes, the audio channel?”

“Channels,” she corrected. “I have over twenty different languages, the most common one being use is a dialect of the Mulac language. I am also detecting some Terran languages plus Median.”

“Why are they not encoding their traffic?” he asked, partially to her and also to himself.

She looked at him as if to say he should already know the answer. Sensing he wasn’t sure, she raised an eyebrow and spoke, again in that mellow, almost soft voice.

“Perhaps they weren’t expecting anybody to be listening in on them?”

He checked the main screen, but the number of ships entering the system kept increasing. In all his time as both a civilian and a military commander, he had never seen so many ships in one place.

This has to be an invasion force of some kind. Where the hell are they all heading?

“I need information and fast. Where have they come from? What is their full disposition and more importantly, what are they doing?” he asked his bridge crew.

They all nodded and moved to their computer displays. With nothing but large visual units in front of them, they checked all the data coming in from the ship’s sensors.

“Sir, I have identified the ship with the most signal traffic. I think it might be their flagship,” said Dekarchos Ezekiel.

Kentarchos Anaxandros smiled at the speed and precision of his deck crew. They had been well chosen, each of them the best in their fields and drawn from the military and mercenary forces of a hundred nations in the Terran territories.

“Good work, put it on the main viewscreen. What do we know about her?”

There was a short pause before the silhouette of the vessel appeared on the display. It was massive, a vast warship that bristled with antenna and weapon mounts. The shape from the side was like that of a deep-sea predatory fish. The front was squashed and gave the impression of a snout. Scores of lights lit up the exterior of the vessel, probably as much for safety as intimidation.

Dekarchos Ezekiel examined the shape in detail but could make little headway in determining its class or origins. He looked over his shoulder towards the Kentarchos.

“Sir, the ship has the same power signature of the larger Mulac vessels. Its origins, however, remain uncertain. My best guess is that the ship is a command carrier or battleship for this force. Most of the comms traffic is between this vessel and the other ships. The hull is heavily shielded, so I am unable to scan any deeper without being detected.”

Anaxandros moved to the side, looking at the shape of the ship. It was definitely unfamiliar to him, and its shape and structure suggested military. The weapon turrets and ports were also unfamiliar to him.

“Sir, new signals. The transport ships are lowering their shields.”

“Really? Either they feel safe, or they are about to release something,” said the Kybernetes. “If we want to scan them, this might be our only chance.”

Anaxandros listened to his executive officer. It was of course correct that this was the perfect opportunity, but it was also a great risk. If they were detected, they would have to leave the area, leaving the Armada without intelligence.

What if they are preparing a trap or a weapon of some kind? The doubt built in his mind until he was convinced it was a danger to their own force.

He tapped the communications node near his ear and below his skin. A faint click told him it was activated. Rather than selecting individual crew using the computer, he simply thought of the entire ship, the system automatically placed him on the internal tannoy system.

“This is the Kentarchos, all crew prepare your stations for battle.”

He looked over to his bridge crew.

“On my command, I want a thorough scan of those ships. Do it fast and with minimal trace signatures. I want all stations ready for trouble. We might need to move fast.”

They all nodded, immediately understanding the risk they were about to take. The Kybernetes checked the status of each department on the ship before looking back up.

“Sir, all stations are ready. Shield generators powered and ready to activate, weapon system armed and engines on-line.”

Anaxandros took a deep breath.

“Do it!”

The command deck flashed with new light as a dozen displays brought up detailed information on the enemy ships. With their shields down, they were able to scan right inside each vessel. Dekarchos Ezekiel moved the image of the large warship to show dozens of small vessels exiting the transports.

“This isn’t right. I’m getting thousands and thousands of people on skiffs and barges preparing to leave the transports.”

“People? Refugees?” asked Anaxandros.

“No. The signals indicate small power sources from the people themselves.”

He brought up a detailed model and scan of a small craft. Inside were thirty-two people, each giving off unusual readings.

“This is strange, these are chemical readings, and they match firearms, weapons, they’re warriors!”

Anaxandros knew what he was looking at right in front of him.

“This isn’t a raiding force. We are looking at a full-scale invasion fleet,” he said.

An alert flashed on the main screen that quickly spread through the command deck. On the main viewscreen, the scanners brought up two vessels, and they were turning and moving towards the Odysseus.

“Sir, we’ve got a problem!” called out Dekarchos Ezekiel.

A quick glance revealed the danger. The two ships, both of at least cruiser size and configuration, were making fast progress towards Odysseus.

“Have they detected us?” asked Anaxandros.

“Weapons charging, they’re going to fire!” cried Ezekiel.

That’s it, now we’re in trouble!

“Battlestations!” shouted Anaxandros. “Get us out of here!”

As soon as he called out the alert, the ship bustled with activity. Officers and crew moved through their routines with speed and precision. The small vessel was agile, and they were already pointing away from the other ships. Anaxandros watched the energy field indicator run along the perimeter of the ship, and the shields were now at full strength and the engines powered up. A shrill whine built up inside the hull as the FTL drive spooled up to launch the ship through space. Nothing happened.

Anaxandros slammed his fist down on the side of the unit. The main display showed the enemy ships had already closed half the distance to them.

“What the hell is going on? Why are we still here?”

“Gravity well, they have an interdictor in their fleet,” called out one of the officers. He couldn’t see who it was, and right now he didn’t care.

“Secondary engines, evasive action! Get us away from the well…now!” he barked.

The conventional engines kicked in and pushed the ship forward at high speed. Compared to the movement of the ships in orbit, they were moving quickly. But in the vast distances of deep space, it would take millennia for them to reach even the nearest star at this speed. The enemy warships didn’t need to catch them, they just needed to line themselves up to use their forward weapons. Anaxandros watched in dread as two purple beams appeared from the front of both ships. They were powerful cutters and hit the Odysseus before they could take evasive action. The first struck aft and smashed into the engines. The shields absorbed over half of the energy, but it still wasn’t enough. One engine was cut completely off, and a dozen pipes and feed rods sheared off to leave a series of gashes in the hull. The second beam missed but then arced across to hack through the same section.

Anaxandros flew across the deck and crashed into the line of chairs and displays being used by the rest of the officers. Explosions wracked through the interior, and one explosion ripped out a chunk of the ceiling. Exposed pipes and cabling dropped down to strike one of the officers. Anaxandros lifted himself and turned back to see the carnage aboard his ship.

“Return fire, evasive action!” he called.

But it wasn’t necessary. The gunners were already working away, all of them working as a team to fire salvoes of plasma at the approaching ships. Multiple hits were scored, but their shields deflected most of them. One of them must have struck part of the manoeuvring system, as one of the two ships pulled away from the chase and started to spin uncontrollably. It wouldn’t stop her, but it would keep her out of the chase, at least for a few more minutes.

Ka’Veras left his post for a brief moment and helped Anaxandros to his seat. He then brought up the tactical operations display and continued sending specific orders to the gunners and engineering, while conferring with Dekarchos Ezekiel. Anaxandros might be in charge of the ship, but it was the role of the kybernetes to pass the orders of the commander through to the relevant parts of the ship. It took just seconds for him to seal the breached sections of the ship, increase their speed and direct their gunners against the single remaining pursuer.

“Good work. News on the FTL drive?” asked Dekarchos Ezekiel.

“Another three minutes until we are out of range of the gravity well.”

Another beam flashed nearby, but the helmsman expertly avoided it with a spin of the ship across its length. It was a flashy manoeuvre and avoided the impact by a matter of just a few metres. Three flashes appeared in front of them, and only the skills of the crew enabled them to avoid smashing into the path of three more warships. These were even larger than the ship that was pursuing them.

“Sir, signal from the new ships. It is their commander. They wish to discuss our surrender,” said Auletes Sarjek.

Anaxandros shook his head.

“Jam them, put all reserve power into the shields. We have to get through!”

The warships unleashed a torrent of plasma fire, sending hundreds of superheated projectiles hurtling towards the small ship. Even the skill of the crew couldn’t withstand the ferocity of the bombardment. Multiple strikes to the centre section of the ship severed the fuel cells and started a number of massive fires. Alarms announced the critical damage, and emergency crew ran about, each trying to minimise the damage caused. Anaxandros watched the destruction and knew it was over. They were a scout and not a warship, and they were already outnumbered. They were never going to make it out of here. He just had one last job to do.

“Get me through to Clearchus and the Armada, quickly! Before it’s too late!”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Laconian Titan LLS Valediction, Tarsus Assembly Point

Cyrus, the tall and enigmatic half-brother of the Emperor watched the fleet review with a mixture of excitement and pride. It had taken many months of subterfuge and cunning to bring together so many people from such diverse parts of the human domains. From his position on board the Laconian flagship, he had the perfect few of his Armada. The Tarsus system was the last area of neutral space between the worlds of the humans and his own race. Just a short distance from there were the feral borderlands, occupied by a mixture of humans, Mulacs and a myriad of other races. For the last two hundred years, this area had become one of the most important bridges between the empires of the humans and the greatest power in the region, the Median Empire. The two great civilisations had moved into the same territory at the same time, with bloody consequences. In total, the Terran worlds contained only a fraction of the planets and inhabitants of the Empire, yet they flourished when they should have been consumed centuries earlier.

The interior of LLS Valediction was unlike any of the other heavy warships in the fleet. A Titan was something out of the ordinary as it was, but this vessel was even more unusual. Valediction was the oldest of the Titans, and the most famous ship in the Laconian fleet. She had been present at the great battle of Sala when the combined Terran fleets had smashed the invasion force sent by the Median Empire. It was an epic battle of which scores of poems, songs and plays had been constructed to celebrate the achievements of humanity. With hundreds of decks, many corridors and untold rooms, the ship was more a society in space as opposed to an actual vessel of war. Cyrus has listened with interest days before when a human, an old engineer from the supply fleet, had explained to him about the Titan. He had said that to Terrans, the Titans were mobile colonies, more a marching polis than a ship of war. Each Titan contained enough citizens, warriors and supplies to operate for years. They were fully self-sufficient and could function in deep space without even an escort.

What I would give for my own fleet of these behemoths, he wished.

The command deck was wide and large enough to house a hundred officers. Banks of computer displays ran in columns, each one attached to the ribbed inner skin of the ship. What really made this ship special was its large-scale virtual observation system. The entire inner surface of the deck was controlled at a molecular level to give it the characteristics of a flawless three-dimensional video display. Standing on the deck was like flying through space, with the full ability to see outside of the ship, past the armour and into space itself. It was as if only the command deck itself existed, and there was no more to the ship. Lesser versions of the technology were used on frigates and cruisers but nothing on such a grand scale. Dozens of officers moved about, some checking the scanners, others leading security patrols throughout the ship.

Cyrus watched the scores of Laconian military personnel and smiled inwardly.

So many warriors, all so dedicated to a cause they don’t even know yet.

He looked to the inner skin of the command deck and noted the positions of the many ships, great hulks of Titans, long and slender cruisers plus the small but deadly wings of destroyers. In a much larger formation above the Armada was his own fleet of Imperial ships. Unlike the rough, angry looking shapes of the human ships, the ships of the Median Empire were small, sleek and looked incredibly fragile. What they lacked in brute strength, they more than made up for in sheer numbers. Each vessel was crewed by contingents of completely loyal automatons, the artificially created slaves used throughout the Empire. Cyrus thought of them pale and weak compared to humanity; but they could drown the human colonies in numbers they couldn’t imagine.

Humans, he thought. They prefer Terrans, don’t they? I have to remember. They are never happy when referred to as humans, a strange people, very strange. Too many people and too many customs. This will change when my mission succeeds, I think.

He looked out at the assembled ships and tried to hide a smile. As well as the four mighty Titans, there were scores of other Terran ships. Cruisers, battleships and transports waited in formation for the order to move. Their vessels looked crude and ungainly compared to his own, but he knew their strength and had no doubts what would happen if a Terran capital ship faced off against a Median vessel. Even so, a quick glance to the sides of the fleet showed even more ships from his own worlds. Over fifty Median cruisers had answered his call, and twice as many smaller vessels moved about the fleet in small groups.

Terran muscle and Median finesse, an interesting combination.

Cyrus, like most Imperials, shared a common but uncertain link with the Terrans. At some point in the distant past, there had been a crossover of genetic material. Scientists, scholars and ministers of various religions had all proposed different hypothesis. No matter who was asked though, the inarguable conclusion was that the two races shared a common heritage, and one that seemed to draw them together in the most unlikely of scenarios, but never in peace.

Will this be enough? he thought, watching the vast fleet before him. I have the Terrans, their Titans and my own forces. Can I do what must be done, or should I wait and build up my forces? If I wait, I lose the element of surprise.

He watched the Laconians move about their business, each moving efficiently, but never stopping for idle gossip or conversation. One officer approached him and stopped directly in front. He saluted and handed a document, a simple sheet with a list of captains in the fleet. Cyrus nodded, glancing at the man before he moved away. The Laconian was strong certainly, but he moved with a sluggish pace, so different to his own species. Outwardly, Cyrus appeared of a similar build to a human man, but with a few significant differences. Due to his race’s more sophisticated development, they had modified themselves to increase both their lifespan and tolerance to disease and illness. His features were smaller, almost feminine, and his skin was tighter and smoother than an equivalent human. He looked like a man in his prime rather than over ninety years old. Clearchus, the Laconian commander stepped forward.

“My Lord. The Armada is assembled and awaits your command.”

Cyrus nodded, but said nothing. He looked at the human with a mixture of awe and dismay.

He sighed. They are so strong, so powerful, and yet their lives are short. They burn brightly before fading forever. Tragic, but for me, useful. If they could ever do the things we can, the Empire would be torn apart.

Clearchus was a famous General, possibly the most famous human leader in the last hundred years. As a Terran male, especially a Laconian, he was the exact opposite of the elegant, almost beautiful-looking Cyrus. A little shorter, at two metres tall, his torso and arms were thick and toughened by continuous training and conflict. Stood next to each other they gave the impression of a warrior and a dancer, in terms of their physique and stature. Clearchus tapped a device on his left arm, and a model showing the entire fleet appeared as a detailed, digital projection.

“Every kentarchos is ready.”

“Thank you, General Clearchus. Just a few more minutes, I am waiting for one last contingent before we make way on our adventure. What is the status of your own contingent? I understand you have been busy while waiting for my arrival?” asked Cyrus with a smooth, elegant voice.

“Yes, Tissaphernes implied that the situation at the gates required our attention, and that you had already promised our services to him. We were attacked by a number of raiders before you arrived.”

“Yes, that is what I heard. I will be discussing this with him shortly. Tissaphernes is a strong friend and ally of my brother, the Emperor. But do not let this fool you. He is a lord and mighty ruler in his own right. My brother may rule the largest domain in the galaxy, but he does so with the cooperation of his Satraps. Each has control of many worlds, soldiers, even ships. It is through the support of the local Satraps that he wields his power. But Tissaphernes is something else. Do you know what he did when my brother became Emperor?”

Clearchus fidgeted uncomfortably. Court and political intrigue was something he really didn’t enjoy. He’d come from a state that valued military service and loyalty above all else. That had not stopped him being exiled from his own people after his victory over the Alliance. It seemed the one thing they feared back home, even more than defeat, was a victorious general. He’d managed to miss the end of the war with the Alliance and been left to rot in one of the League’s many border stations. Strategos Lysander, one of his archrivals, had won acclaim in that war, and he wouldn’t forget the betrayal. Cyrus watched him, intrigued by the man’s change when the subject shifted from combat to politics.

“Well, the short version is that Tissaphernes implied that I was against him becoming Emperor. We almost came to blows, even as my father lay dead but still warm.”

“That is why you forced yourself into involuntary exile to your own borders?” asked Clearchus.

“In part, yes. Watch Tissaphernes. His interests lie in one place only, himself. He would sooner kill either of us than see his own position affected.”

He looked out at the assembled Armada. It was a mighty force, but he could also see the precarious position they were in. Unlike the Terrans, he knew the size of the enemy. Even Clearchus couldn’t comprehend the numbers arrayed against them if they were not quick. He turned back to Clearchus.

“As it stands, we cannot start the campaign along the border until we have established a series of staging posts. We are not fighting one fleet but a coordinated series of attackers. The last thing I want is to end up trapped and with limited supplies. We need substantial fuel and supplies before making the next series of jumps, and this area is the only place within ten jumps that can provide this.”

“Why the urgency?” asked Clearchus.

Cyrus watched him, waiting before answering. The General knew the basic plan and the mission, but did he want to give him the details for his real objective? The longer he withheld the specifics, the harder it would be for the Armada to turn away. There was a chance they would simply turn and leave if he told them the truth.

A little truth will hide the lie. A smile formed on his face. He knew well the strengths and weaknesses of most of the Terran factions. The Alliance was proud and easily angered. The Laconians were quiet, stoic but irresistible in battle and violence. It would be easy to goad them into battle when it suited him.

“We have a large fleet, but even the most foolish of enemies will have scouts and spies. The longer we take, the greater the chance he will have to bring in more forces. I am just worried we will increase the difficulty by waiting, that is all.”

“Numbers don’t concern me,” said Clearchus with a strong sense of pride.

They should, my young friend. Cyrus almost felt pity for the man’s hubris.

“The Armada is in excellent shape. You have done your work well. The Terran contingents alone are already enough to provide over thirty bandon. I do not know of any ground force that could stand to their number or quality.”

“You think this, even of your non-Laconian troops?” asked Cyrus, somewhat surprised at his comments.

“They may not match my Laconians, but they are still strong, well drilled and trained. With your coin, we have sufficient quality weapons and armour to equip the entire force. Every Terran here has military experience and training and are more than a match for any Medes, Mulac or even Mycona.”

“I see, and your ship?”

Clearchus nodded at the question.

“As you would expect, my Laconian infantry are fit, trained and ready for battle. They are itching to get stuck into the enemy, my Lord. What of this contingent? Do we not already have enough troops?”

Cyrus smiled at the General.

These Laconians, they seem simple with their constant training and desire for conflict. Yet there is something about them, something simple perhaps to admire. Their courage, or is it the simple pleasure they take from doing something well?

“I’ve heard about your ship, one of the last twelve Titans still in existence amongst your people. My father tried to destroy them all, you’ll recall? They proved somewhat difficult. As for the contingent, they are a last minute addition from the Ionian Realm, and they have their own special talents.”

Clearchus smiled, but due to a small scar above his lip, it looked more like a snarl. He had no great vendetta against the Empire, but he did wear that self-satisfied expression worn by most Laconians because they all knew, man for man, they had no equal.

“I see. Yes, the Ionians are probably the best shipbuilders and engineers we’ve yet encountered. Still, I don’t see what use they will be in this expedition. I’m sure you have your reasons.”

He waited, but Cyrus said nothing. It was clear he was not interested in discussing it any further. Clearchus might be officially in charge, but Cyrus held the purse strings, and in a mercenary adventure such as this it was all about the money. He thought back to his comments about his ship.

“Lord Cyrus, your people in the Empire may have infinite resources, people and ships, but none are a match for a Terran Titan and her crew. A hundred Median vessels would be hard pressed to even board a Titan. And why would you ever want to board one? Especially one protected by Laconians!”

“Quite. You would do well, young Clearchus, to not become too smug about your position with the Terrans. Your people and your ships are strong, but nobody, not even Laconia, is invincible. Perhaps if you had a few more people of your own, your own planet wouldn’t be in such a poor position. A few earthquakes and a slave revolt, and suddenly you are without money or manpower. Remember my offer, The Median Empire is prepared to make a sizable offering of our own automatons to help your people. They may not be as strong and durable as your own slaves, but they are numerous and loyal.”

Clearchus snorted with derision at the prospect of having Median automatons toiling the lands that his ancestors had protected and built.

“Never. We are not perfect. I will give you that. But we will rebuild, and with the money from this expedition, the Laconian League will become the strongest and dominant empire amongst all Terrans. Don’t misunderstand our use of indentured workers in our society. They are treated well and are able live long and stable lives on Laconia. The use of artificially created life is outlawed on every civilised Terran world.”

Cyrus nodded as if agreeing.

He cannot see it. The weakness that he feels is his people’s strength.

“The slave revolt on your planet would suggest otherwise, though?”

He watched the General’s reaction and quickly regretted his words. It was critical that the Laconian general would command his forces in battle. He might be an able politician and administrator, but there was no doubt who the true masters of war were. He looked at Clearchus and spotted the tension building in him.

They are so quick to anger, so passionate and so willing to fight.

“I’m sure your friends in the Alliance will be glad to hear that Laconia will once again be powerful and well resourced,” laughed Cyrus, doing his best to calm the situation and avoid a possible confrontation.

Clearchus was no fool and noted the change in Cyrus’ voice. The Median nobleman had clearly realised he had overstepped his mark. He avoided the earlier comments and smiled, at least as close to a smile as he could muster. Cyrus relaxed a little, glad that they were back on neutral territory, for now.

“It amazes me how with all of the worlds and empires run by you humans, you seem to spend more time fighting each other than a common enemy.”

He crossed his hands in front of his body and smiled.

“Not that I am complaining, of course. Because of your constant fighting, you have produced the finest fighting men and women in the known Galaxy.”

He turned and looked out through the thick, reinforced window.

“And that is no easy feat, when you see some of the warriors in my brother’s Empire.”

Clearchus laughed out loudly.

“Trust me, we’ve thought about that. Luckily for you, we have enough to worry about with the rest of the Terrans to have any designs on your own empire…” he said, and then paused for effect, “…for now!”

Cyrus laughed, but the comments did hit home. He was beginning to think the same thing. The Terrans were an asset, but they also posed a grave risk, and one he would have to manage carefully. He watched the ships for a moment, the number and size of them was impressive, but it was the Titans that really caught his eye. In his many years he had seen them, sometimes in battle, but most of the time waiting at some starbase. Only once before, had he been able to witness three in one place. Now there were four of them in formation, each surrounded by hundreds of smaller cruisers and destroyers. It was a force capable of destroying entire fleets, possibly even empires. He smiled inwardly as he thought about his plan and turned back to the General.

This will work. I will make it work, he decided.

“Why did you think I hired so many of you? With four Titans and the best-trained warriors in the Galaxy, there will be none who can stand before me. When this is all over, it will lead to a lasting peace and I hope, a period of mutual trust and understanding between both our peoples.”

Clearchus nodded in agreement. Although many might doubt the intentions of one of the most powerful men in the Empire, he considered himself to be a good judge of character. Cyrus had always been clear with him right from the first time they had met The armada of mercenaries had been assembled from the rusting remains of a dozen fleets, and each thrown together into a hasty but well equipped armada. Only the Laconian ships were in decent shape, but like most things Laconian, they lacked the numbers to be able to go it alone. He just wished the Laconian League had the resources to carry out this mission for Cyrus alone, rather than having to involve warriors and ships from every part of the Terran territory.

A change of Laconian guards approached. They wore the grey uniform adopted by the Ten Thousand, but like Clearchus, they also wore their own Laconian armour over the top. This advanced equipment was relatively thick and provided strong protection against projectile weapons and thermal charges. Their helmets were tall, crowned with an imitation of an ancient plume to increase their height and foreboding. On the left arm of each warrior was the body shield device. Weighing nearly fifteen kilograms, it was often carried in a pack by other Terran soldiers. The Laconians trained to use it on their arm, so they could make use of the projected shield as both a defensive and offensive weapon. When activated, the device created a metre-wide disc of energy that was proof against all man portable weapons. They stood in front of the six men that were currently stood watching over Clearchus. Cyrus nodded in the direction of the guard party, and they moved through their standard procedure for the changing of the guard. It was partly practical and partly tradition, but it also maintained their position as the pre-eminent practitioners of war in the fleet.

“Your men carry their full panoply wherever they go? Even on board ships?” he asked in surprise.

Clearchus returned the salute from his men, and they formed up neatly around him and Cyrus, all waiting and watching for signs of danger.

“Of course. They are my personal guard, and a picked unit from my ship that follow me wherever I might go. Of what use would they be if unarmoured or armed? What about your guards?” he asked coyly, tilting his head slightly to the right.

Cyrus looked to the darker part of the ship where two men waited silently. They were Imperial agents but carried no visible weapons or armour.

“What guards?”

Clearchus laughed out loudly at the poor attempt to conceal armed guards on his bridge. He indicated with his hand and in less than a second, the six Laconian guards had activated their body shields on their left arms. The devices flashed and created a semi-transparent glowing shield that extended around the hand and into an oval that covered half of the body. At the same time, they raised their right arms, pointing their carbines directly at the Imperial agents. Almost as quickly, the two agents drew small metallic objects and pointed them at the Laconian soldiers. They were tiny, but Clearchus was certain they would be powerful and deadly weapons, especially if being used by the personal protectors of such an important man.

Cyrus laughed, “Okay, you make your point well. They are bound to me, and each is the newest son of their families. They have long provided guards to protect the sons and brothers of the Emperor and are completely loyal. They serve the same purpose as your own warriors.”

Clearchus indicated for his guards to stand down. They moved back to their positions and deactivated their carbines and shields. They stood still, almost like statues apart from their heads. Unlike most ceremonial guards, these men were always busy and checking the area around them. Also unlike Alliance soldiers, who usually planted the shield generators on the ground to provide cover to fight behind, only the Laconians trained to carry theirs into battle. In the right hand of each warrior was an Asgeirr-Carbine, the weapon that marked out any Laconian soldier. Though it was no more powerful than a pulse rifle of the Alliance, or any other Terran colony, it had advantages. It was half the length of a rifle. This reduced the effective range, but it made the weapon more manoeuvrable and combined with the built-in blade, it turned the right hand into a combined projectile and close quarter combat weapon.

A door to the side of the command centre of the ship hissed open revealing a three-man delegation. They wore the distinctive garb of the Ionian territories. A disputed area that had once been under Terran control, it had now been carved up into a dozen separate territories, each controlled by a powerful Ionian warlord. The high gravity world had helped breed a swarthy but short people who specialised in shipbuilding and high-energy weapons. The woman in the centre approached Cyrus and bowed down low.

“Lord Cyrus, our siege vessels are here and ready for work.”

Cyrus nodded in pleasure.

“Excellent, may I introduce you to the leader of our expedition, Strategos Clearchus of the Laconian League.”

The woman bowed again, though this time not quite as low.

“I had no idea we had the pleasure of Ionian troops on this operation,” he said with suspicion.

“Well, not even the Laconians can match our technology when it comes to the kind of fighting we can expect on the borders of Empire space.”

Clearchus well understood the barbed insult. It wasn’t just that their technology was more advanced; the woman was referring to the failed attempts by the League in the last few years to reclaim the lost territories run by the cartel of Ionian warlords.

“Perhaps. Even so, you are now under my command.”

The leader of the Ionians looked to Cyrus in surprise, but he nodded in agreement also.

“In that case, we are now all ready. I suggest you return to your ships as quickly as possible, and we will leave in approximately thirty minutes.”

The party of Ionians bowed politely and left through the door from which they had arrived. Further away, a number of officers moved about the command centre, checking the status of the hundreds of ships. Cyrus stepped to a large display that showed each contingent, its commander and the ships under their command. The Ionians appeared at the bottom, a tiny but powerful addition to the vast Armada.

“So, my friend, what does this bring our total to?”

Clearchus examined the display for a moment and moved several icons about as he calculated their forces. It didn’t take long for him to finish.

“Just over ten thousand four hundred Terran mercenaries, sixty ships including our Titans plus your own forces. By my reckoning, we have nearly twenty thousand automatons under the command of Ariaeus, if he ever turns up.”

“Excellent. Well, my ships and troops will be useful, but it is your Terran warriors I am counting on to win the day. Ariaeus is a bold tactician and with twenty thousand of his own warriors, he will be able to keep the battle going, but your spatharios will decide it.”

He stepped closer and examined the ships in detail.

“So, we have roughly ten thousand Terran mercenaries, interesting. That is what you shall be called until the expedition ends. A fitting name for such a venture.”

“Name?” asked Clearchus, a little confused at his statement.

“Yes, you are the Ten Thousand, and a name that will be remembered for thousands of years. Now, for more pressing matters. We will leave and start our mission.”

Clearchus moved closer so that only Cyrus could possibly hear him. He whispered into his ear.

“Is it not time to inform the fleet as to our true intentions?”

“Soon, I have several important communications to make with my own forces that are due to arrive. Then we will meet for a fleet briefing in the command centre where both of us will stand together and explain the full purpose of our expedition.”

Clearchus nodded and watched as the Median nobleman moved out of sight. From the shadows emerged his two topoteretes who had been waiting and watching from a discrete distance. Clearchus stepped to the main computer system and moved through a series of gestures to bring up a starmap of the region of space on the border of the Median Empire. Pleistoanax and Kleandridas were his most senior commanders and normally commanded half of the military forces at any one time. Perhaps more importantly, they had sworn a blood oath of protection for Clearchus. When he entered battle, at least one of them would always be present with him, the second usually assisting in the command of the army. All three of them wore their traditional crimson Laconian uniforms, topped with their iconic helmets, even when on board a ship. As well as the long flowing robes, they also wore the common infantryman’s breastplate. An archaic looking device, it was actually made of an advanced polymer compound that was proof against many common weapons. In the past, there were occasions where the armour had even withstood direct fire from plasma weaponry, an impressive feat. Only the senior commanders and the elite bodyguard unit were entitled to wear the red tunics and armour. Other Laconian units were allowed to wear the crimson cloak but only for ceremonial purposes.

“Now that Lord Cyrus is away, we can discuss the details of our force. He might be nominally in charge, but we know where the true power lies in this fleet, and it is with the Laconian commanders and its rigid structure.”

Both men nodded but to a level that only a man paying extreme attention would have noticed due to the barely discernible movement.

“As you both know, only ten percent of our heavy infantry is Laconian or trained by our forces. We might have armed them like us, but trust me, they aren’t the same as us.”

The two topoteretes smiled, both well aware of the obvious insult.

“I want you to check with each Dukas that their Tagmata are drilling and training to the standard I laid out. It might not be strictly the system we normally use, but it is better than the training they get in their own militaries. Officers from Komes upwards are to use Laconian orders and organisation during this operation. I understand that some of the Megaran troops under Pasion are trying to drill in the Alliance fashion. Explain to them in words that they will understand that this Armada is an attacking force, and we do not hide away behind our shields. We need aggression and drive to win our battles.”

A young auletes approached. He wore the uniform adopted by the fleet, of field grey, almost black with the colours of his leader on his shoulder. He stopped and saluted, waiting patiently for the commander to acknowledge his presence. He finally turned to face the young man.

“Strategos, we have picked up an urgent distress signal from one of our scouts in the Cilician Gates sector. The Kentarchos says it is a matter of life or death. His words, Sir.”

Clearchus nodded and pointed to the large display unit that was showing the starmap he and his comrades had been studying.

“Put him through here. As you were.”

The man saluted and then tapped a device on his wrist. With a simple gesture, he moved the connection from his own device and to the map display unit. As soon as the video stream arrived, he left. The three senior officers stepped closer to see the video. It showed the interior of a ship that was evidently sustaining heavy fire.

“Strategos, I am sending you detailed information on a large fleet of ships in this sector. It would…we cannot…Mulacs…invasion underway…” said the commander of the ship. Over half of the video stream was damaged, and the audio was barely intelligible. As Clearchus continued listening, he beckoned to one of the senior auletes who rushed over. He turned and spoke quickly before returning to the feed.

“I need detailed analysis on this feed, immediately!”

The image flickered and jumped as though it was going out of phase. When the image finally cleared, the scene was one of carnage and destruction. Bodies lay throughout the ship, and only a handful remained at their station.

“This is Strategos Clearchus, Commander of the fleet, what is your status?” he stated in a clear and surprisingly calm voice.

There was no response, and the audio stream on the transmission cut, followed soon after by the audio stream. He waited for a few more seconds, but it was clear nothing more was coming through. Clearchus looked to his two deputies and considered the situation.

“There are only two possibilities,” he explained. The two men nodded in agreement. Pleistoanax spoke first.

“Either they are unable to transmit, or they are unwilling. I would say that based on the videostream, the former is the most likely.”

“But who were they attacked by, raiders or a patrol from Tissaphernes? This is, after all, his own territory,” added Kleandridas.

Clearchus rested his chin in his hand as he considered the problem. He didn’t like the news, and it was a distraction from their primary mission. Even so, it could not be ignored.

“It may be Tissaphernes’ territory, but we are operating as a military force that is sanctioned by the Median Empire. The commander of that scout vessel gave us a few vital clues. Firstly, that an invasion of some kind is underway. Why would this have anything to do with Tissaphernes, unless he is mobilising a fleet to go somewhere? The most telling of all though is the Mulacs.”

Kleandridas nodded.

“I agree. The Mulacs are a menace in this region of space. The last reports Cyrus gave us showed that dozens of raiding parties, each upwards of five thousand mercenaries and a dozen ships, have been recorded. That’s more than enough to raid stations and small colonies on their own. If they have united under the banner of one Mulac leader, they would have the logistics and numbers to attack an entire colony, maybe even a planet.”

Clearchus moved his hand and brought up a diagram of the force’s structure. At the top were him and Cyrus. A simple movement of the hand, and the system proceeded to establish a secure connection.

“Clearchus, is there a problem?” asked Cyrus.

“Yes, you need to come back immediately. Our scouts have detected a large invasion force, possibly Mulacs at the Cilician Gates.”

“I’ll be with you in three minutes. Assemble the Dukas. We might be starting the campaign early.”

*

The battlestations alarm was the sound Xenophon was dreading. For the last week they’d been conducting drill after drill, and it was starting to bore. That dreaded sound meant getting up early, throwing on clothes and then more physical exercise. Sometimes they rehearsed ship boarding action defence, and other times they met in the landing bay to prepare for an assault. If nothing else, they had started to get to know the rest of the three hundred members of the Night Blades. Their leader, Komes Pasion, was a rigorous teacher and leader. In just days, he had already transformed Xenophon and Glaucon from their often slovenly ways, to keen and aggressive members of the group.

“This is your commander, Dukas Xenias. We have just received urgent information from Strategos Clearchus. All units are to assemble in your ready rooms for an immediate briefing. This is not a drill. We will be jumping within the hour.”

Xenophon stumbled from his bunk and landed a short distance from Glaucon who was already pulling on his grey uniform. Since joining up, they had been issued their uniforms, dull grey overalls with mounting points for plating, equipment and webbing. It was much better quality gear than would normally be issued to troops, and undoubtedly down to the lavish funds made available to the mercenaries.

“I thought we weren’t going to be going into action for a few more weeks?” said a confused Glaucon.

Xenophon nodded in agreement.

“Something has obviously changed. It’s not like they have told us much, anyway.”

In the bunk opposite, Roxana jumped down. She was already in her overalls and grabbed her boots from the rack. She had obviously listened to their conversation, as she joined in where they had left off.

“Our job is to rid the border territories of raiders, pirates and anybody else who shouldn’t be there. What if they’ve found a patrol or a raiding party?”

“Could be,” replied Xenophon. “Let’s get to the briefing and find out.”

Glaucon was ready first and already out of their dorm and heading along the corridor to the briefing room. Dozens of other mercenaries were also making their way in the same direction. All of them wore the grey uniforms of the mercenary force, and the only difference between units being national or unit emblems. Unsurprisingly, the image on his chest and shoulder displayed a darkened blade with a lightning strike running through it. A young woman ran back to her room, evidently having left something behind. She said something that Glaucon couldn’t quite catch as she rushed past, something to do with Mulacs.

He entered the room and was soon followed by other members of the unit, including Tamara, Xenophon, Roxana and lastly, Jack. The room was packed, and they were forced to the side where some of the other members of the unit waited. A few seconds later their commander, Komes Pasion, walked in. He didn’t wait, and he moved directly to the middle of the podium and launched into his briefing.

“Men and women of the Armada. As you know, this force was assembled and funded at the expense of our host, Lord Cyrus of the Median Empire. We have been organised with the sole purpose of operating outside of Terran space. This is a legal requirement for most of your homeworlds. You might be mercenaries, but this operation is something much nobler than the norm. Over thirty planets and colonies had been raided or attacked by a variety of hostiles factions in the last eighteen months. Most of these areas are located inside the borders of Median space.”

He pointed to the wall, but nothing appeared. He looked about until he spotted two technicians who were rushing to set up a device.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he said impatiently.

Luckily for them, the device flicked on, displaying a three-dimensional model of the area of space around the Median Empire. The hundreds of worlds were impressive, especially when compared to the modest number of Terran worlds arrayed against it.

“Now, if you look here, you will note that there are people in our galaxy other than our two peoples. The Median Empire itself is a confederation of hundreds of races, yet their core systems are inhabited by the Medes themselves. The Core Worlds are secured and guarded by the elite troops of the Emperor himself. The worlds outside of Medes control are something else, however.”

He pointed to a section of the map near the border of the Empire. It zoomed in to show the planets in detail.

“This part to the top of the map is one of the most sparsely populated but richest parts of the Empire. A regional governor called Tissaphernes controls it. The Medians call these leaders Satraps, and they exercise full control over their territories. This region in particular has come under a number of attacks in the last few months. So far, their military has been able to hold off most of them. That was until the capital was virus bombed three months ago. Most of Tissaphernes’ troops were killed, and they have been fighting a holding action ever since.”

He pulled back on the map to show other areas of the Empire.

“Other Satraps are experiencing similar problems, especially with the newer, more aggressive races here, and here. One in particular, the reptilian Mulacs have been attacking almost continually. Their empire has never been explored by either the Medes or us. We do know they are able to strike with scores of raiding parties, each containing thousands of warriors. These are our primary targets for this campaign.”

He paused for a moment, letting the news of the enemy, the target and their operation sink in. He was well aware that many of the mercenaries would have been expecting, potentially hoping, for an easy ride through this fight. He nodded to the two technicians who proceeded to bring up a model of the Median Lord Cyrus himself before adding one last comment.

“Lord Cyrus and Strategos Clearchus have received new intelligence, and I will let them explain it to you directly.”

He moved to the side, but not before making the map zoom out slightly to show more of the area of space they would be campaigning in. He ensured that one area in particular was centred. It was an area of space where the Median worlds extended, with one sticking out like a spearpoint directed towards the Terran worlds. The frozen image of Cyrus flickered and then burst into life. He wore the same clothing as the rest of the Ten Thousand, but there were minor alterations including insignia, headgear and a sash.

“Greetings from the Median Empire to all members of the Ten Thousand. You are the best-trained, equipped and motivated military force seen in this region of space for a hundred years. It was my intention to move through my Empire’s lands, so that we might collect additional forces on our way to the border regions. Our Satraps in these areas are suffering greatly at the hands of pirates and raiders. This will have to wait, however, due to an unforeseen crisis. You will note that on the display is a system known as the Cilician Gates. Some of you may be familiar with it. This area is the closest Imperial system to any Terran world. It is also the first point in a series of jumps that can take us to throughout my Empire. Whoever controls this area of space, also controls the gateway into my Empire. A few hours ago, a massive invasion force of Mulac raiders smashed through the defences and started a full-scale ground invasion of the Cilician homeworld. We cannot proceed with our campaign if this enemy blocks the path into my Empire. They are stopping our movement but also blocking all trade and communications in and out of my lands.”

He stopped and motioned to somebody out of sight. Unlike the normal video streams, the three-dimensional transmission could only show one object and not its surroundings. He disappeared and a distortion field replaced him. Roxana pulled Xenophon and Glaucon to her, taking advantage of the lull.

“I’ve heard of this Tissaphernes. He’s a powerful warlord in his territory and definitely not on friendly terms with Lord Cyrus. There are rumours he has fired on Terran and Median ships.”

The image coalesced into the shape of Strategos Clearchus. He also wore the uniform of the Ten Thousand, but over the top were the various parts of Laconian armour that he was rarely seen without. He even wore his archaic military helmet.

“This is a serious and worrying encounter before our expedition has even started on its course. To clarify, our scout ship, the Odysseus, was destroyed in a coordinated attack by more than one unidentified ship. We suspect that everybody on board was killed in action or taken prisoner. That is over one hundred crew, and people that were due to travel with the fleet and take part in our grand adventure. This part of space is supposed to be heavily guarded by Median forces, but it would appear the rot of raiders and slavers has already pushed this far out into the frontier. We are being paid by Lord Cyrus and by extension, the Median Empire, to help restore their border territories and to drive out all and any hostile forces. Back home most of us would be without work, but out here we are well paid and have the potential to provide for our families and ourselves for years to come. Whether these enemies are Terran pirates, Mulac raiders, Medes rebels or even the Mycona, it makes no difference. We have been paid well to fight, and we will eliminate them all.”

Two officers entered the hall followed by four men struggling under the weight of a much older projection unit. They lowered it carefully in place and then stepped back. It wasn’t Terran technology; it had the effeminate look of Median equipment.

“Ever seen anything like that?” asked Roxana.

Xenophon simply stared at the item, enthralled by the exquisite detail along the shape of the unit. Carved figures of many different creatures ran around the lower part. General Clearchus continued his briefing. A beautifully detailed model of the planet appeared with emphasis on a large mountainous landmass. The largest mountain was covered with antenna and small towers that betrayed its design as something much more than just rock.

“Regional information has been provided by Lord Cyrus with regards to the defences and standard dispositions in this region. The main world is Cappadocia, and it is the home of the regional grand fleet plus at least one royal army. Lord Cyrus has information on at least three Mulac raiding fleets that have travelled through here in the last year, so there is a good chance this is one of them. We could bypass this region, but it will slow us down by many weeks and leave us with a hostile enemy behind us. I have therefore decided the Cilician Gates will be the first test of the Ten Thousand. We will secure this region, collect additional supplies and show Lord Cyrus we are worth every credit we are charging him.”

A quiet murmur of agreement travelled throughout the space. The General couldn’t see their reaction, however, and continued speaking.

“We leave in one hour for the Cilician Gates. Upon our arrival, we will show both the Medes and anybody that wants to try and stop us what we are capable of. This is the territory of Emperor Artaxerxes, and therefore by extension his siblings, who include Lord Cyrus. He has asked us to recover this territory, and we will do so as quickly as possible.”

Xenophon was surprised at the mention of the Median Emperor. He had only recently taken power. At least that was the rumour, since little information came from the heart of the Empire. As well as being immensely rich and powerful, the Empire was infamous for its use of agents, spies and assassins.

Are we working for Cyrus or Artaxerxes? he thought.

“We will immediately establish space supremacy in the system, and this will be provided by an advance jump by the Titans. If, as we suspect, the enemy is in the process of attacking Median colonies or outposts, we will assist by launching ground assaults against any of their camps. We do believe this is likely to be a Mulac operation, and it will prove a useful experience for our later campaign. Your commanders will continue your briefing.”

The image vanished, and the room fell silent. Dukas Xenias stood alone and looked out at the assembled troops. Everyone looked both eager and confused at the news. He nodded at them and smiled.

“Our previous experience suggests the Mulacs don’t rush their attacks. They use large numbers of ships and ground troops to blockade a moon, station or even an entire planet. Once secured, Mulacs then strip the site of everything they want. This includes loot, weapons and especially slaves. Assuming any of the inhabitants of Cappadocia are alive, they will have retreated to the royal fortress, the mountain Citadel, here.”

He pointed at the model the soldiers had brought in. The Citadel was gigantic, perhaps almost a kilometre tall when measured from the base. The rest of the city paled in significance to this imposing structure.

Xenophon looked to his comrades and spoke quietly.

“Look at that thing. Are they serious about attacking this place?”

“Who says anybody is there? I bet we’ll jump in and find nothing but the Median fleet wanting to know what we are doing,” answered Tamara.

Dukas Xenias pointed to a number of large industrial sites based around the Citadel.

“This is it. The lands of Tissaphernes are rich. This planet is critical to the Median Empire, and therefore to our paymaster. We will be greatly rewarded for helping to clear them of raiders. Get your gear and wait in the landing bays. I suspect we will be action as soon as we arrive at the Gates.”

He paused for a brief moment before finishing with a simple, “Good hunting.”

He turned and left, leaving the room to the assembled troops. As soon as he exited the door, a great din erupted from the scores of men and women. Glaucon shouted over the noise.

“This is it, then? We’re going to war.”

Jack beamed with excitement, and Tamara stood still, a look of dumbstruck confusion about her. Even Xenophon looked less than excited at the prospect of battle. Glaucon put his arms around the group and beamed.

“Come on, how much trouble can a few thousand Mulacs give us?”

Xenophon said nothing; he just looked directly at him and tried to remember what he knew about the Mulacs. Try as he might, he simply couldn’t find anything positive to say about them. All he could think about was the Citadel and thousands of heavily armed alien warriors.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Cilician Gates, Median Border Lands

The Titans were the first ships of the fleet to arrive. Each of the massive warships jumped into the system at key points around the main worlds. LLS Valediction and the Olympia, with their larger contingents of mercenaries, moved into position over the fortress planet of Cappadocia, the capital of this sector. Seconds behind the mighty ships followed another two-dozen warships plus scores of escorts. The planet was larger than the old human planet of Earth but from space looked similar. Three small moons circled the world, but none were inhabited. Inside the landing bay of the Olympia stood hundreds of mercenaries. All were in their matching grey uniforms and carrying a selection of weapons, shields and armour. Dozens of dromons were lined up, all waiting like a horde of angry insects. These were the standard swift gunboats used by the Terrans to move warriors into battle. At fifty-five metres long, they were slightly smaller than those used by the Laconians. At key points in the landing bay were map projectors showing the system they had arrived in.

“What’s happening?” asked Glaucon.

Dekarchos Maxentius pointed to the planet on the display.

“No intelligence yet, so we must wait. Show patience, stratiotes. When our commanders have established what is happening here, they will choose our targets and objectives. Just be ready.”

Xenophon reached out and placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder.

“Don’t worry about getting into action too quickly. There are more than enough enemies in this region. You’ve seen the reports, the same as me.”

As if to emphasise the point, the map changed to show the planet and a number of ships in orbit around it. There was at least one Median battleship a short distance away as well as dozens and dozens of unidentified vessels.

“What are they?” asked Tamara.

Roxana looked at them for a few seconds. She was by far the one amongst them with the most experience in terms of ships and naval warfare.

“I’ve seen these configurations before,” she said firmly.

Dekarchos Maxentius looked dubious.

“Really, I was an officer in the Alliance Fleet. These ships are Mulac cruisers, heavily armoured and filled with landing craft. We came across one on a routine patrol back before the Fall. One of the cruisers can carry hundreds of warriors and their gear. Trust me, if they are here, then they intend on putting ground forces somewhere.”

“Assuming they haven’t already,” added Xenophon.

As they watched the display, the Mulac ships powered up to escape. A volley of gunfire rippled along the flank of the Median battleship, but the Mulacs were already rushing away. Close behind them followed half a dozen Terran cruisers. In seconds, the orbit of Cappadocia was deserted of all but the Terran ships and the single Median warship. The Dekarchos was already on his communication unit, presumably to pass on the information from Roxana. It took only a few seconds before he lowered the unit and stepped towards her.

“Good work, stratiotes, that’s the kind of specialist knowledge we need in hostile territory like this. The Medes, the Mulacs, none of them can match the skills we have in this fleet.”

Roxana nodded politely and looked back to her comrades. She smiled, almost embarrassed at the attention. Something must have occurred to her, as her expression quickly changed.

“If these are Mulacs, they will be looking for loot and slaves. We will have to act fast to stop them.”

Dekarchos Maxentius stepped towards them and started to speak but was interrupted on his communication device. He stopped for a moment and turned to the projector unit. The map had changed to show the planet in more detail. He replied with an acknowledgement and then looked to his group.

“This is it, grab your gear. Briefing will take place on the dromon.”

*

From the command deck of the LLS Valediction, Strategos Clearchus and Lord Cyrus had a perfect view of the planet below. The Virtual Observation System could confuse an unwary officer into feeling they were actually outside the ship, if only for the briefest of moments. The other planets in the system were much too small to be seen this way, as they were hundreds of thousands of kilometres away. Below their feet moved a swarm of dromons blasting away from the ships and making their way down to the surface. As each craft entered the atmosphere, it created what looked like a fireball that transformed into a smoke trail down to the surface. Smaller escort fighters followed them down, each craft bearing the double stripes of the expedition. It was an impressive sight, even to an old veteran like Clearchus. His attention wasn’t on the ships making their way to the surface. It was to the wretched weasel of a man on the main screen.

“Thank you for your assistance,” said a smooth, almost silky voice.

Clearchus looked at the image of the governor of this area with distaste. Satrap Tissaphernes was everything that he despised about the Medians. He was thin, much too thin, and had the soft skin of a man that had never needed to do a thing for himself.

“We’re glad to be of assistance,” answered Lord Cyrus. He looked to the Strategos before continuing his conversation. The look he gave the General was an odd one, as if he was telling him that the Satrap was not telling the truth. Either that, or he was feeling constipated.

“You estimate that around five to ten thousand Mulacs have landed and are in the process of assaulting the outer walls of your fortress island?” he asked.

Before the Median governor could answer, Clearchus spoke, doing little to hide the disgust in his voice.

“Satrap Tissaphernes. We have already scattered the small number of Mulac vessels. Our escorts are in pursuit. What I do not understand is this fortress of yours. It has the capacity to hold over ten thousand warriors plus a hundred times that number of civilians. How can such a small number of Mulacs be causing so much trouble?”

Tissaphernes smiled with the kind of suave look that made a Laconian warrior like Clearchus burn with irritation. He looked to Cyrus, ignoring the Terran soldier.

“Lord Cyrus. As you know, my local forces are engaged in a long and drawn out war on the frontier. We are making headway against the Lydian pirates, but they have enlisted the help of Mulacs to split my forces. Cappadocia has only one habitable island, and at its centre is the fortress city.”

Clearchus took a step closer to the screen, ensuring he gained the attention of the Satrap.

“Yet you are here, and neither fighting the Mulacs or the Lydian pirates?”

“My troops are more than capable. There were, however, rumours that the Mulacs might try and hit our undefended planets, but I was too late. When I arrived, they had already landed. The initial attacks were against the outlying settlements, and they have all been demolished by orbital bombardments. The animals used atomic weapons on the surface. The survivors are inside the fortress city and doing their best to defend it.”

“That is why we are unable to perform effective scans of the surface?” asked Cyrus.

Tissaphernes nodded.

“Exactly, but it is more serious than you might think. If the fortress falls, they will be able to hold it indefinitely. I cannot state how important it is to this sector that Cappadocia is kept under the control of the Median Empire. It isn’t just a fortress. It is also a massive foundry and manufacturing complex. Half the citizens of the planet work there. Ships, weapons and supplies can be built or assembled in almost limitless quantities. If the Mulacs are successful, they could establish an almost impregnable base here.”

Clearchus was becoming less and less patient. He interrupted the two leaders.

“Perhaps if you had garrisoned it with sufficient forces, this wouldn’t have happened.”

Lord Cyrus turned to his military commander and lifted one eyebrow.

“Strategos, perhaps you could monitor the operation on the surface. I will conclude this matter with Satrap Tissaphernes.”

It was perfectly clear this wasn’t a request. He nodded to both men and turned away from the display. The large three-dimensional model of the planet’s surface was in the middle of the command deck and the dromons were making good time. He stepped in closer and watched the progress of his forces. Kleandridas was busy giving orders and spotted his approach. He finished whatever it was that he was saying and turned to his commander.

“Strategos, our first wave, under the command of Dukas Xenias, has made planetfall, and they are due to land at the coordinates given to us by Tissaphernes in the next ten minutes.”

Clearchus appeared satisfied with the information, but something was eating away at him. He examined the landing site dispositions.

“Good. Do we have any intel on the region yet? I do not like sending in nearly two thousand troops to an area we know nothing about.”

“Nothing solid. Tissaphernes says this is one of the main camps for the Mulacs. We managed to burn through the radiation twice, and our scans confirmed there is a camp there. We don’t know much else.”

“I see.”

He lifted his right hand and moved it over the icon for the command dromon. It was marked slightly different to the rest of the small craft making their way down to the surface. A video feed appeared from inside and showed the Dukas and his immediate commanders.

“Dukas.”

“Strategos. We’re due to land shortly. I will send the signal once we have established a solid beachhead in the enemy lines.”

“Good work. How many troops do you have available?”

“I’ve brought half of my spatharii, so just under two thousand warriors plus all of my three hundred stratiotes. Pasion is commanding the rest as a reserve force aboard Olympia, should we need assistance.”

“That should be more than enough to secure the objective. My own troops are already on the way. They should be striking the higher levels in approximately twenty minutes.”

“Understood, Strategos. My forces should be able to occupy the besiegers on the lower levels so you can land unmolested,” he paused for a few seconds and the feed jumped a little. “We are in visual range, taking light anti-aircraft fire. Wait, I am detecting substantial air defences and counter measures. Wait, I can see…”

The signal decayed to the level that only the odd single word came through.

“Sir, the radiation must have blocked their signal,” explained one of the junior communication officers.

Clearchus felt uncomfortable. He had always been a front line commander, but this was not the kind of combat he was familiar with. Laconian Dukas and Strategos were famous for fighting in the front ranks of the ground forces.

“Signals don’t just vanish, and I’ve never come across radiation causing this much trouble. Something is wrong, and I’m not about to let us lose an entire tagma of troops to a mistake. Prepare my spatharii. I want them ready to leave in ten minutes.”

His officers rushed about, all sensing something sinister was going on. The loss of this many troops would stop the campaign, and their employment, before it even started. What rankled Clearchus the most wasn’t the casualties they might sustain. No, what really annoyed Clearchus was that the first battle of the Ten Thousand would be spearheaded by mercenaries, and under the command of an Arcadian, rather than a Laconian.

Something about this place doesn’t seem right, he thought, as he walked from the command deck and left the operation in the capable hands of his topoteretes. The further he got from the deck, and the closer he moved to his command dromon, the happier he felt.

*

The Night Blades spearheaded the wave of Arcadian dromons as they sped past the mountain range and on towards the Citadel. From a distance, the massive structure looked like a single mountain, but the mapping software showed it was actually a mountain range of at least a dozen peaks. The five closest had been used to create a fortified ring around the centre that contained the bulk of the manned structures. The group of nearly thirty spacecraft looked like a dark cloud of angry bugs. Each left a stream of vapour behind as they moved through the low level clouds. Columns of smoke on the ground were telling reminders of the devastation already done by the Mulac atomics. Small groups of fighters circled the fortress, but a surprisingly significant amount of defensive fire cut upwards. At least two fighters tumbled down in a black trial of smoke and wreckage.

“This is incredible,” said Roxana, as she watched the burning downs flash past them.

“Why nuke the place if they want to loot it?” asked Glaucon. It was a good question, and none of them appeared to have any kind of an answer for him.

All of this was new to Xenophon. He had never been in a dromon before and certainly never into battle. Unlike the ships he had served on during his brief time in the Navy, this vessel was completely different. It was an assault ship and decked out with thick armour and a large bay for the troops. It looked much like a beetle with its extended landing legs and multiple engines fitted. The nose bristled with six large calibre pulse cannons capable of shredding walls, vehicles and men. None of this compared to the dorsal turret that sat directly above them. It carried a pair of heavy pulse cannons, each one able to fire a projectile the size of a man’s fist. As well as giving the dromon substantial firepower during landing, it allowed the vessel to be used as a static defensive position once on the ground. At least, that was what Xenophon had been told. He thought a little more about what Glaucon had asked.

“Perhaps they only want or need the fortress?”

Dekarchos Maxentius looked through one of the tiny observation windows and back to his small team. The unit was divided up into ten man teams. An experienced dekarchos commanded each team.

“Get ready, we’re nearly there!” he called out over the din of the dromon’s engines.

“Remember, our job is to smash a hole in their line, and then establish a secure landing zone for follow-up waves. The Laconian spatharii can’t hit the higher levels until we have pulled enough of their defenders down to engage us. We are the bait, and the Laconians will be the hammer.”

Xenophon and the rest of his squad sat in silence, thinking about the plan and the risk in the part they were about to play in it. The Night Blades were the lightest of the infantry being put on the ground and would be extremely vulnerable if not provided with the numbers and protection offered by the spatharii. He glanced at the rest of the men and women inside the vessel. There were fifteen squads armed with the best weapons, armour and equipment any Terran army had probably ever had access to. Following their success in the initial trials, he had experimented with a variety of different weapons, but he kept coming back to the dual Laconian Asgeirr-Carbines. Out of those in his ten-man squad, Dekarchos Maxentius stuck out more than any other. Whereas the rest of the squad were busy checking their gear, he was spending all his time either watching the rest of the unit or looking at their landing site. Xenophon glanced at him, trying to imagine what he was thinking as they hurtled towards battle. Maxentius was a hard teacher, a man with years of combat experience and an almost unfathomable sense of humour, but he was also an excellent shot and a skilled warrior. Xenophon was nervous, but serving under a man such as their Dekarchos gave him great confidence.

Tamara and Jack were busy arguing about something to do with weapons. It was a trifling point to have caused such a furore, but at least it was keeping them from worrying about the landing. A great vibration ripped through the craft, and at first it felt as though the vessel itself had been hit. The Dekarchos looked to his team and smiled at them.

“The heavy pulse cannons,” he explained with a pointing gesture above his head. He tapped the side of his helmet where the communication and telemetry unit was attached. It provided video feeds and tactical data between all the troops in the Armada. It would also let him check the on the tactical surveillance provided by the gun cameras fitted to the dromons. It took only a few seconds for him to establish what was happening.

“Looks like targets of opportunity. The enemy compound is close and already taking heavy fire from our fighters.”

He removed his hand and did a final check on his weapon, a heavily modified Arcadian Doru Mk II pulse rifle. As well as an improved optical sight, it was also fitted with a co-axial low-velocity plasma projector. Xenophon’s attention was taken by an image that appeared on the video helmet mount. It showed the leader of the Night Blades, Komes Pasion.

“Night Blades, we will hit the ground in sixty seconds. It looks like the enemy have already breached the fortress walls and are fighting along the perimeter. We will take their primary forward operating base and eliminate their siege artillery. This will allow the rest of the dromons to land near the ground levels of the fortress. Unit commands are being uploaded to your Dekarchos, good hunting!”

The video vanished and was replaced by a similar feed from Maxentius. It would allow him to stay in permanent contact with his immediate commander. The helmet also showed detailed tactical information on the helmet’s heads-up display.

“Ten-seconds,” he said with a firm tone.

The engines roared as the dromon altered its height to bring it down to the enemy forward base. It was almost deafening in volume and then stopped almost as soon as it had started. The four main doors blew open and ramps dropped from each to give them quick and easy access to the ground. Dekarchos Maxentius was the first out of the ship, closely followed by Glaucon and the remainder of the squad. Xenophon ripped off his straps and jumped out after them and into the open. As his feet hit the ground, he realised it was the first non-Terran world he had ever set foot on. He didn’t have time to take in the moment, as hundreds of projectiles were already smashing around the landing site. He looked up to see the low walls running in a ring around the Citadel. According to the plans, the Mulacs were trying to break in, yet the gunfire appeared to be coming directly from the walls.

“Get into cover, now!” barked Maxentius.

Xenophon ran after the rest of their group, only to see the two in front of him disintegrate from a high explosive blast. He had no idea who they were and ran past their crumpled remains, praying it wasn’t one of his close friends. Glaucon was already dug in behind a rocky ridge and returning fire with his plasma cannon. Unlike the training weapon, this one was hurling deadly glow orbs of white-hot plasma at their tormentors. Dozens more of the mercenaries were already dug in, doing their best to avoid the deadly barrage of fire.

“What’s going on?” he shouted, forgetting that their helmet communications ear was easily capable of sending clear audio signals. A series of unguided rockets rushed overhead and slammed into their recently vacated dromon. The first two rockets did little but tear holes into the fuselage, but the third must have hit a fuel line or ammunition store. It exploded in a bright red flash, sending large parts of its structure over an area of nearly fifty metres.

“Return fire, keep them busy till the heavies get here!” ordered Maxentius.

Xenophon looked over the ridge, being careful to not leave himself too exposed. He could see over a dozen dromons lined up almost as if on parade. The armed variants were blazing away at a series of improvised defensive positions along the outer wall of the Citadel. Along the parapets were hundreds of enemy soldiers. They were all wearing dull metal armour and using an odd mixture of pulse and conventional firearms. He took aim and fired a short burst from his right carbine. The bright muzzle flash partially obliterated his view, but he had the satisfaction of watching a number of the enemy duck down. But he couldn’t tell if he’d hit them, or they were taking cover. The image of Komes Pasion appeared, and he was partially obscured by a cloud of dust.

“It’s a trap! We have lost contact with the fleet since landing. Get into cover, we need to find…”

A bight flash cut the feed, but gave no indication as to what had happened to the commander of the Night Blades. All along the ridge, the remnants of the unit unleashed an accurate and deadly rain of fire into the enemy positions. Plasma shells tore holes in the thin walls, and pulse rounds picked off one Mulac after another. Another dromon landed, and from front its door spilled multiple squads of spatharii. These heavily armoured warriors switched on their shields as they hit the ground and formed up into a loose line, twenty men wide. Pulse fire glanced off the shielding, and for a moment it looked like they might have a chance. The Mulacs redirected their efforts against the new arrivals, and the gunfire striking the ridge cut back drastically.

“Now!” shouted a Night Blades Dekarchos, as he clambered over the ridge and made it ten metres before being struck by three unguided rockets. Half of his squad fell around him, leaving just four to drag themselves back. Xenophon reached out to his commander.

“Dekarchos, where are the rest of the spatharii?”

He shook his head.

“They have pulled back, and only one from the first wave made it. The rest are waiting to come in, but the defensive rocket fire is holding them off. We need to keep them busy before they can help us.”

Xenophon looked up to the enemy positions and tried to assess its strength. The wall wasn’t continuous, as it was constructed directly into the rock of the mountain. This particular section was the only part with enough flat ground around it to land dromons. The wall was roughly two hundred metres long and flanked by two rocky outcrops. The real problem was the centre of the wall where a small turret protected a rocket crew. Flanked by thick slabs of reinforced masonry, it was almost invulnerable from the ground. Around it were multiple heavy weapon emplacements, and then the hundreds of Mulac defenders.

These bastards knew we were coming. I bet that Median Satrap is behind the whole thing. He must have a plan, some kind of scheme to put us all in this situation.

He shook his head angrily and then looked along the line, checking who was left and trying to see what equipment they had brought. He could see mainly pulse rifles, but there were at least three plasma cannons and a number of shield generators being activated along the ridge.

“Sir, I have an idea about the wall. I think I can put a hole in it, right there!” he said, pointing to the centre of the fortified section.

The Dekarchos fired a blast with his pulse rifle and ducked down to speak.

“To what end? A hole won’t bring it down.”

“Not just a hole, I can bring down a fifty metre wide section, knock out the rockets and give us time to land the dromons.”

Dekarchos Maxentius thought about it for no more than two or three seconds then nodded in agreement. Xenophon smiled, surprised at being given the chance to get them out of the situation.

“Give me half the squad and two generators, and I’ll keep them busy on that wall.”

The Dekarchos looked at him in amusement but could tell the young man had a plan, and at the rate they were losing men, anything was worth a try. He looked around him, checking on the gear and immediately picked out a dead soldier with a shield pack on the ground.

“Okay, Xenophon, whatever you’re going to do. Do it fast!”

He waved to Glaucon who was forced to crawl along the ground to reach him.

“Yeah?”

“I need you, Tamara, Roxana, Jack and one more to come with me to the wall.”

Dekarchos Maxentius leaned in close.

“Count me in, you can take this one, Komes.”

Xenophon almost smiled at the joke, but to him it felt like the greatest compliment a commander could give to one of his men.

“Okay, grab all the plasma weapons you can find and two shield generators. Meet me there, behind that dip,” he said, pointing off to the left where the ridge dropped a little in height. It was also the closest point between the position held by the Night Blades and the base being held by the enemy.

They split up, with all of them keeping down as low as possible. The gun battle continued along the ridge with streaks of gun and rocket fire moving back from both sides. It was tempting to join in, but Xenophon knew they could do little to alter the outcome of the battle. What they needed was to silence those heavy weapons to give the rest of the spatharii an opportunity to land in the open space. Tamara and Jack appeared, both already filthy and dishevelled from the dirt and muck on the ground. Tamar lifted up a plasma cannon, and its large size dwarfed her small frame. Jack, on the other hand, dragged one of the shield generator units and dumped it next to Xenophon.

“Good, that’s a start. Where are the rest?” he asked, looking out for his friends.

Maxentius arrived with no extra weapons, but he did carry two large magazines for the plasma cannon.

“Might come in handy,” he said with a grimace.

“Yes, that is perfect, the more the better.”

Roxana and Glaucon appeared behind. They dragged the body of one of their soldiers, his generator kit still strapped to his body. They rolled him alongside the group, much to the surprise of Xenophon.

“Why not just remove the generator?” he asked.

Roxana rolled the man over to show his front. He was carrying a webbing belt with four distinct pouches. Roxana reached down and opened the nearest. From inside she removed a small metal device with a glowing blue rim. Maxentius moved closer to examine the items. Overhead, a pair of Laconian fighters screamed past them and fired two streams of cannon rounds at the wall. Several Mulacs were blasted apart, but the defences remained strong. As the craft pulled away, a guided missile, as well as scores of tracer rounds closely followed them from the Mulac rifles and heavy weapons. Maxentius shook his head and looked back down at the small orbs.

“Plasma grenades? Where did he get those?”

“We’re too far away to use them though, aren’t we?” asked Jack.

Xenophon indicated for them to look at the wall. Flickers of light ran along the to from the muzzles of the dozens of weapons still blasting away at the Night Blades. His voice sounded almost calm through their communications gear as he explained his plan to them.

“The grenades, they could be useful, but not yet. Okay, here’s my plan. We will move when the next fighter attack starts. Jack and Tamara move to the front and carry the shield generators. The rest of the group will follow them closely behind, so the shields protect us. We rush the open ground to the wall, and I’ll do the rest.”

Glaucon lifted the plasma cannon and slid in a new magazine. The neon-blue ready light blinked along its side. He looked down to the weapons and equipment they had scavenged.

“I don’t understand. Those grenades won’t do much, even at that range.”

Dekarchos Maxentius placed his hand on Glaucon’s shoulder.

“It’s okay, I think I have an idea about his plan, let’s do this.”

They stayed low and watched the wall, waiting for the moment. The spatharii that had landed earlier were making slow progress, but at a distance of fifty metres, they had been halted by concentrated rocket fire. Not even the shields could protect them completely from such a continuous bombardment. They split into several small groups and joined the Night Blades amongst the rocks and cover. Xenophon looked up at the fortified Citadel. It was clear that on the planet this single structure was the most important location, possibly even the most populated. The short briefing on the flight down had explained that Cappadocia was hit frequently by heavy dust storms, rendering much of the planet uninhabitable on the surface. The fortress was built around a formation of five peaks that provided a natural defence against the elements.

“Here they come!” called out Jack.

Behind them, the two fighters were moving in for another strafing run.

“Now!” shouted Xenophon.

The six warriors jumped down from their position with Jack and Tamara at the front. The shield generators were heavy, but between them they were able to keep moving forward with the shimmering shields in front. As the rest of the group huddled in close, they gave the impression of an ancient mantlet being pushed up to a castle wall. Pulse fire bounced harmlessly from them as they moved closer.

“This is your plan?” shouted Glaucon, irritated at the constant patter of gunfire hitting the generator.

“Just keep moving. We need to get close to the walls,” answered Xenophon.

Gods, I hope this works, he thought nervously.

They were making good progress and reached the halfway mark when the Mulacs must have spotted them. A rocket hit the ground nearby and sent a shower of rock and metal at the flanks of the group. Their armour held, but the impact knocked them all to the ground, exposing them to pulse weapon fire. Maxentius was struck twice in the leg, and Glaucon used his great strength to drag him under the protection of the two shields. The wounded Dekarchos reached up and grabbed Xenophon’s arm.

“You have to keep moving. We’re sitting ducks out here. You’re in charge now, so move it!”

The group tried to continue, but more weapons fire continued to strike around them. Another rocket arced in, and this time heading for their left flank.

“Watch out!” cried Xenophon, but there was nothing they could do. The smoke trail seemed to travel in slow motion as it flew down. Xenophon tensed, waiting for the pain of the strike, but instead three armoured men blocked his view.

Spatharii? he said to himself.

More shields lit up around them as the survivors of the heavy infantry massed on their left to provide extra protection. More gunfire blasted them, but for now they had the protection they needed to push forward. In seconds, they pushed ahead and were even able to drag the wounded Dekarchos into cover behind one of the hundreds of boulders littering the ground. Once at the base of the wall, Xenophon grabbed the plasma cannon and aimed it at point blank range at the base.

“Keep clear!” he barked and then pulled the trigger. At this range, the weapon blew a metre-wide hole in the wall that travelled nearly half a metre inside.

“Tell me you’re not going to shoot your way inside?” asked Tamara, her patience starting to wear thin.

Xenophon ignored her and motioned for the rest of his team to hand over their gear. The spatharii continued providing protection, as well as picking off any Mulacs that leaned over the wall trying to hit the Terrans with their weapons.

“That’s it, and those grenades. Put them all here.”

Xenophon placed all the equipment inside the hole, as well as the spare magazines from the cannon. He then motioned for Glaucon to hand over the pulse cannon itself.

“What?” he asked, looking confused and little annoyed.

Xenophon reached out and grabbed the weapon.

“Just give it up. We don’t have time.”

He took it and pulled open the side panel to reveal the maintenance panel. It was small and consisted of a tiny readout that showed error codes and diagnostic information. He’d only done a few rudimentary sessions on the equipment, but from what he remembered, it used a standard plasma coolant core. With a few minor adjustments, he hit the overcharge button, closed the lid and then threw it amongst the rest of the grenades and magazines.

“That’s it?” asked Jack.

“Yep, it should blow in about thirty seconds,” answered Xenophon.

Roxana looked inside the hole and back at Xenophon.

“You’re kidding, right?”

He shook his head and pointed to the cover near where they had left Maxentius.

“Everybody back from the wall, now!” he cried.

They stepped backwards but continued facing the wall, each shield carefully positioned to try and avoid the worst of the fire. The spatharii did the same, but not even the shields could stop all the fire. By the time they had withdrawn from the wall, another five Terrans lay dead on the ground. From the safety of the rocks, Xenophon looked out at the wall, keeping as low as he could. The Mulacs were running about, evidently concerned at what they couldn’t see.

“Shouldn’t it have blown by now?” asked Jack.

A bright blue flash answered his question. The entire centre section of the wall vanished in a devastating pulse of energy that shook the very ground they stood on. The shockwave was immense, and anybody unfortunate to be exposed was hurled to the ground. Behind the blast came a thick cloud of dust, completely obscuring the Terrans.

“Inside!” shouted the commander of spatharii.

Along the line, the dust-covered soldiers picked themselves up and rushed to the breach. Visibility was down to less than ten metres, and whereas before they had been taking considerable fire, the enemy could no longer see them. Glaucon and Xenophon helped carry their wounded Dekarchos inside the walls and pushed on forward until reaching an open command post. By the time they reached it, the spatharii had already cut down the surviving Mulacs and secured the area. The gunfire dropped to just a flicker, and the dust cloud was already clearing.

“Good work, you might be a Night Blade after all,” said their Dekarchos through a grimace. The pain from his injuries was obviously substantial, but the effect of the drugs built into his suit seemed to be helping, at least a little.

As more of the dust cleared, the damage caused by the overcharged plasma cannon became obvious. A massive rupture had split the wall down through the middle and left a hole nearly fifteen metres wide. Smashed rock and crushed Mulacs lay all around from the force of the impact. Nearly fifty Mulacs were stood in a confused group, surrounded by Terran soldiers who were busy searching them for weapons.

“Look at this place,” said Roxana. She stood up to examine the inner section of the fortress. The wall was a good distance from the base of the fortress and open. Tents and various apparatus littered the area that clearly had been used as the Mulacs forward base.

“I don’t get it. Why did they camp out here instead of inside? Is this it? There can’t have been more than four or five hundred of them in the base, and most were on the wall waiting for us.”

Jack pointed to something in the distance.

“That’s why. If you look carefully, you can see their faces, and they ain’t no Mulacs.”

Xenophon tapped the button on his helmet to increase the magnification of the visual unit. He could see hastily erected defences at the windows and doorways of the fortress. The faces looked almost human, but they had the same thin faces and pale skin he had seen on their commander, Lord Cyrus.

“Medes, they must be the survivors.”

A number of Night Blades soldiers checked three tracks leading out of the base. Xenophon walked over to look.

“What is it?” he asked.

“They had some heavy wheeled vehicles here. The tracks lead out through the gatehouse there.” He pointed back to the wall. The gateway was heavily damaged from the battle, but the gate itself was still intact.

“If you ask me, I bet they send a force to attack another part of the Citadel.”

The man’s voice was nearly drowned out by the arrival of dozens of dromons, bringing the rest of the spatharii. With the wall breached, it was finally safe to land the rest of Dukas Xenias’ forces.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The Citadel, Planet Cappadocia

It took less than twenty minutes for the rest of the ground troops to land their vessels and start unloading heavy equipment. The dromons were dusty and some damaged from incoming fire. Even so, they discharged their cargos of equipment and troops with great speed. Most had landed outside, but one had made the dangerous trip inside the Mulac compound. It was an incredible feat of flying and placed the troops on board directly into the heart of the operation. As it touched down, the door blew open, and a man in heavy Arcadian armour stepped out from the cloud of dust. Some of the spatharii nearby spotted him and knelt down.

“Dukas Xenias,” whispered Roxana.

The armoured man moved forward, closely followed by an armed bodyguard of elite spatharii. He moved into the compound, looked at the damage, and then up to the rest of the Citadel. His armour was far more impressive than anything worn by the regular troops and was covered in ornamental flourishes. A dozen dekarchos rushed up to him and updated him of their progress. Xenophon moved forward to try and hear what was happening but was stopped by another man in heavy armour; it was Komes Pasion, the commander of the Night Blades.

“Stratiotes Xenophon, isn’t it? You brought down the wall?” he asked.

Xenophon didn’t know what to say and simply nodded in agreement. The Komes was a warrior from a completely different background to himself. Whereas Xenophon was lithe, young and intellectual, the Komes was well built, strong and hardened by years of conflict.

“Excellent!” replied the Komes. He wore similar armour to the Dukas, and at this range the detail and inscriptions in his helmet and breastplate stood out. He was not just a mercenary; he clearly had substantial military experience. The Komes walked towards their senior commander and motioned for Xenophon and his comrades to join them. The Komes saluted, and the Dukas looked first at him and then over to Xenophon.

“So, with all the spatharii available to us, it was a simple stratiotes of the Night Blades that gained entry for us. Impressive.”

He looked about as though trying to find somebody else.

“This is your unit I see, but where is your Dekarchos?”

Roxana spoke in reply, keen to be noticed by the old commander.

“Wounded, Dukas. During the assault on the walls, he was struck by pulse rifle rounds.”

“Then I hope he will recover soon. This force has much to be grateful for. If not for this breach, we may have had to call off the mission and lose up to half of my troops.”

Lose? He would just leave his men behind? Xenophon thought, now not quite as impressed as he had been.

The Dukas turned back to his bodyguard and to the newly arrived Komes. They spoke for a while, and every few seconds one of the men would point up to the fortress. More fighters flew overhead, circling around the mountains. Xenophon watched them and almost smiled at the increasing numbers. The operation looked like it was all working well.

That is when it happened. When the operation moved from total victory into a great defeat. It began from the highest point on the low right peak, about eight hundred metres up. From what looked like an observation platform, a great blast erupted. It wasn’t an explosion, and the mountaintop wasn’t damaged. It was more like an area of effect weapon that sent a faint red distortion wave out in all directions. Sensors built into the troops’ armour on the ground instantly picked up the energy weapon threat.

“It’s an enhanced electromagnetic pulse weapon!” shouted one of the junior officers.

The small number of fighters circling the mountain spun out of control. Their control systems were compromised by the close contact to the blast wave. Those aircraft that were further away altered their course to move well away from the mountains. He watched as one of the dromons that had already lifted off and accelerated up into the sky to start its return trip to the fleet. No sooner had it reached the height of the field than a series of odd occurrences started. At first a number of flashes ran along its stern. Seconds later, the vessel was falling from the sky. The Dukas watched in anger as it continued on its depressing course until smashing into a nearby rocky outcrop.

“The bastards have blocked us in with shields!” he snapped.

Komes Pasion checked a portable tactical unit that was still functioning. Xenophon looked at his hands and breathed a sigh of relief that both weapons were showing as functioning.

I can do without non-functioning weapons if we’re trapped here!

“It’s not just that, Dukas. We’ve lost all communications above the shield. They must be interfering with our digital traffic.”

A loud cry like that of a wailing banshee burst from the lower levels of the Citadel. The high-pitched scream caught the attention of all the Terrans. Xenophon felt a shudder run down his spine at the sound. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good. He looked in the direction of the sound and spotted movement along the lower levels. It looked like people were breaking out from the structure. For a second it looked like the civilians, but then he saw the armour.

“Mulacs!” shouted a spatharios.

Like a kicked ant’s nest, the trickle of Mulacs quickly turned into a surge of thousands as they charged out of every doorway or shadow. The look on the face of Dukas Xenias changed from interest to near panic. Komes Pasion identified the threat immediately and took control. He rushed over to the nearest unit and pointed up to the Citadel.

“This is a Mulac trap. Form into defensive positions, now!”

Xenophon heard his voice appear inside his helmet’s communication unit.

“This is Komes Pasion. Mulacs are surging from the Citadel. Take up defensive positions, and prepare for assault.”

Almost as soon as he started to speak, the Mulacs slowed their progress and proceeded to spread out, creating a wide front that in a matter of minutes would surround the Terrans on three sides. The enemy artillery opened fire, some from the Citadel and more from the other peaks dotted around the fortress. The first shots were high explosive, and soon followed by the much deadlier plasma shells that dropped down from high weapon installations. The Terrans scrambled into cover, using everything from Mulac cargo containers to pieces of equipment or even the rubble from the smashed Citadel walls for protection. Hundreds of humanity’s best warriors, who until a minute earlier had been revelling in their success, now found their position reversed. They took shelter inside the part of the fortress they had so recently captured and awaited the terrible onslaught of the Mulac attackers. A group of the last four remaining fighters launched a series of missiles at the peak in a vain attempt to destroy the weapon. Before the missiles covered half the distance, they were plucked out of the sky by accurate automatic pulse cannon fire.

Xenophon and another five squads of stratiotes from the Night Blades moved to the right side of their force’s deployment area. Once in cover, he looked up to the peak and checked the magnification on his helmet. He could see turrets that far up plus movement.

“What is it?” asked Roxana.

He looked at her for a moment. Her armour was filthy, yet she seemed to be almost enjoying the rigour of combat. She spotted him smiling at her and looked back up at the peak, trying to hide her embarrassment. He checked the readings in his helmet again, doing his best to avoid thinking about their awkward glance.

“There are definitely people up there. They must have heavy weapons to protect the tower from aerial attack or missiles,” said Xenophon.

“Let’s see how they like this,” grumbled Glaucon.

He grabbed a pulse rifle from one of the fallen stratiotes that littered the ground and checked the magazine. He lifted it and took careful aim. With a firm squeeze, he sent a round to the top of the tower. Xenophon watched through his helmet’s optics, but there was no obvious effect.

“Nothing.”

The rest of the Night Blades were now well entrenched in the ruins and all checking their weapons. The Mulacs were only a few hundred metres away, and the periodic artillery fire would soon change to that of close ranged firepower. Komes Pasion appeared in front of them all, his armour still looking surprisingly clean. Three of his bodyguards erected shield generators behind him to protect their leader from the odd pulse round that landed nearby.

“Stratiotes, we need to shut this shield generator down. Clearchus will not risk sending more troops to assist us until he can break through. I need two squads to climb that peak and destroy the transmitter.”

He pointed up to the low mountain and the structure just over halfway up.

“It’s at least an eight hundred metre climb, but we have nothing that can reach it.”

Jack lifted his hand. “I used to climb. I can make it!” he called out.

Roxana placed her hand on his shoulder and pulled him closer.

“What are you doing, you fool? That climb is a death trap. Nobody who goes up there is coming back.”

Glaucon placed his hand on the youngster’s arm and nodded in agreement with Roxana.

“Watch out!” shouted Tamara.

Xenophon looked up and spotted a number of heavy projectiles coming from the mountaintops and down onto their positions. It was too late to move as they smashed into the Terran positions. Many were smashed to pieces by the impact, but even more were set alight by the burning fires they left behind.

“She’s right, look at it. They are fortified and well prepared. We need aircraft to get up there.”

Xenophon moved from cover and in front of his commander.

“Komes, I think we should withdraw from this position. They have greater numbers and artillery on the high ground. Until we can silence those positions, we are sitting ducks.”

The leader of the Night Blades nodded in agreement and turned to walk away when he spotted something behind them. Xenophon recognised his expression. It was the look of defeat, and of a man that had seen the inevitable. He climbed up next to the man and looked in the same direction.

“Gods!” he exclaimed.

From the hills and rocky outcrops about a kilometre away, a lowlying cloud had appeared. On closer inspection, it was actually made up of thousands of individuals.

“Mulacs!” muttered the Komes.

“They must have been in hiding underground. The radiation will have masked them when we landed,” shouted Xenophon.

The Komes watched for only a few more seconds and turned to Xenophon and the rest of the Night Blades. More shells and rockets continued to explode around them as the bombardment continued. The hundreds of other Terran troops were still dragging anything they could find to create more cover. Two units had climbed the ruined walls and were setting up some of the captured Mulac heavy weapons. It was starting to look like a fortified outpost, right in the heart of the enemy camp.

The hunters have become the hunted, Xenophon thought with little amusement.

Komes Pasion spoke briefly on his communication unit as he discussed the situation with Dukas Xenias. It was short between them, and they made a quick, yet troublesome decision. He looked back to his stratiotes.

“Look at them. They will be here soon, and that will leave us trapped. The base of the transmitter spire is only four hundred metres away. Once they are past it, we will be unable to reach the base. We will be surrounded, and we will die. Dukas Xenias will manage the defence. We have other work to do. You all know what has to be done!”

He looked at the peak and nodded to himself, making up his mind.

“We will climb. Night Blades, with me!” he cried.

Without even checking to see what the rest did, he rushed forward and towards the base of the lower mountain. His bodyguards ran after him, along with Jack and a handful of the other stratiotes. Glaucon looked to Xenophon.

“He’s right, you know. If we stay here, we’ll all be dead in a few hours. The only chance we have is to shut off that weapon so that Clearchus and the air support can come in. They’ll annihilate them.”

*

The Laconian flotilla spread out to avoid the ground fire around the Citadel. The energy field might prevent signals or electronics, but it did nothing to stop projectile weapons from firing through. One dromon took multiple impacts but continued flying, and a black smoke trail was the only sign it had been struck.

“What the hell is going on down there?” demanded Strategos Clearchus.

He looked at the visual display inside his command dromon, but nothing other than the red haze could be seen for up to a hundred kilometres in any direction.

“We can’t see through the field, or send craft through it, Strategos.”

“I know that!” he snapped back angrily.

Kleandridas knew full well that his anger wasn’t directed at him personally. The entire wave of Laconian troops was waiting to move in and assist the Arcadians. Three dromons had already gone down upon moving near the field.

“Can’t we just hit the transmitter from up here?”

“No, Sir. The equipment appears to be based inside the mountain and is protected by substantial turret and missile batteries. Our records show they match known Median configurations.”

“Okay, then we bring in bombers from the fleet, and destroy the mountain with atomics.”

Kleandridas nodded in agreement.

“Yes, that is a possibility, but we will not have them for at least three more hours. Also, what will Lord Cyrus have to say about Terrans using atomic weapons on their sovereign soil?”

Clearchus looked at him as he thought on the options. He knew that the Median Lord wouldn’t give him permission to use his most powerful weapons. If he did so without permission, it would mean his dismissal and possible breaking up of the Armada. Even worse would be the wrath of Tissaphernes and his fleet. Right now, it was one formidable battleship. His intelligence staff had already estimated he had access to just as many ships as the Terrans, but they had no idea where the ships actually were at present. He sighed to himself, angry that he couldn’t strike out at his tormentors.

“Show me the geographical data again, how close can we land?”

Kleandridas pressed a button and changed the view to one of the surface of the planet. A red dome appeared covering the Citadel and everything out to a hundred kilometres.

“We can land on the periphery, but it will take more than a day’s hard march to reach the Citadel. The last signal that came through said Dukas Xenias had cleared the outer wall, but not that the Mulac threat was over.”

Clearchus pointed to a range of lower peaks to the north of the Citadel.

“What about here?”

Kleandridas turned the map around and zoomed in. The lower peaks were only ten kilometres from the Citadel but well inside the shielded zone. He looked up, confused. Clearchus smiled.

“Look. We come in at the correct angle to intersect the shield. From here, we are protected from the tower weapons by this higher mountain range,” he said, moving his hand over the map.

“We cut the engines and glide in under manual hydraulics, to this point. We’ll set up a landing zone ten kilometres away from the Dukas and be only a few hours from the Citadel.”

Kleandridas looked dubious.

“Glide? Can it be done?” he asked.

“We’ll find out soon enough. Send the command, we’re going in.”

The first hundred metres had passed without incident on the mountainous peak. The rocky path must have been cut centuries before, perhaps millennia, and little now remained of the original work. Where before, there had been deeply cut steps, now there was crunched rubble and split stones. Even so, it was not as bad as it had looked from the Citadel. The Komes was still at the front, along with a handful of the fitter soldiers plus Xenophon and his comrades. Of the three hundred Night Blades that had landed, only ninety had made it to the base of the mountain. The rest were scattered either amongst the other defenders or among the casualties of the battle.

From his raised position, Xenophon glanced back to see what was happening at the Citadel. He was shocked to see the great horde of the enemy had now completely encircled the defenders. He tapped Glaucon’s shoulder.

“Look.”

He looked down and shook his head.

“They won’t last long against that,” he said firmly as something caught his eye.

“What is it?” asked Xenophon.

Glaucon pointed to the bottom of the path they were following. A group of shapes were moving in the same direction as the Night Blades. He tapped his optical unit and found his first close-up view of the Mulacs. They were of a similar build to Terrans but broader shouldered and encased in crude metal armour. Their heads were much shorter and wider than a human; almost like a thick disc fitted on top of a short but wide neck.

“They’re coming after us, come on!” called out Xenophon so that the rest of the unit could hear him.

Komes Pasion and his bodyguard stopped for a second and looked to see what he was referring to. Two small puffs nearby were the only signal that the Mulacs were trying to hit them with long-range rifles. A number of the stratiotes armed with the longer-ranged pulse rifles took aim and fired back. The Komes turned and continued up the steep and rocky path, and his voice appeared inside the helmet of each of them.

“Ten men with rifles stay here and hold them off. Everybody else keep moving. We have to stop them before it’s too late.”

None of Xenophon’s team carried such a weapon. Even the rifle now carried by Glaucon was just a standard issue device, and hardly suited to the sharpshooter role. They pushed on forwards, leaving behind two small groups of stratiotes. Xenophon glanced at them as he moved away, a feeling of fear and guilt as they left them behind. His attention was immediately drawn to the increasing violence back inside the Citadel. From his high vantage point, he could make out a concerted attack from the Citadel side of the enemy. Hundreds of Mulacs were trying to break through the thin lines of defenders. Though the Mulacs were quite hard to discern from a distance, it was much easier to spot the Terrans, especially the heavier armoured spatharii with their shimmering body shields. Flashes of blue plasma and yellow explosions ripped all around the battleground.

“Incoming!” cried one of the stratiotes from further up the mountain.

The gunfire arrived at almost the same time as the man’s warning. It started as a few dozen pulse rifle shots, but then continued to include rocket fire. Tamara looked out from her cover and blazed away with her carbine. She must have loosed off an entire clip before Glaucon reached her.

“Save your ammo. You can’t do anything from down here.”

The eighty stratiotes moved on in two long snaking columns, each just a man wide to reduce the effect of the incoming fire. By the time they reached the halfway point, a dozen had been killed or wounded. Anybody that couldn’t make it any further was left behind. They could come back for them if, and when, they succeeded, the Komes had explained. Down below, the ten in the rearguard had been involved in a long shooting match with the following Mulacs. They were doing good work, but the number of Mulacs had increased by a factor of five. Soon they would crash through the rearguard and on their way to hitting them from behind.

The noise of massed heavy weapons drew Xenophon and Glaucon’s attention. It was much closer than the weapon mounts and appeared to be from a section of the mountain just thirty metres in front, not far from where Pasion was. Two stratiotes stumbled back and tumbled down the mountainside, and the rest of the unit ducked down to avoid any more gunfire.

“Report?” whispered Xenophon on his radio. The frequency was filled with continuous chatter from the dozen dekarchos leading the troops. None listened to him, for a mere stratiotes was low priority amongst the chain of command. One, an older woman that he recognised, was waving for them to fall back. A few followed her commands, but she was grabbed and pushed back by a large black dekarchos.

“We can’t go back!” he roared before jumping around the corner. Another burst of heavy weapons fire struck him in the chest. He took the full brunt of the attack and joined the other fallen. The remaining troops scattered. Their ascent now stalled by the hidden enemy.

“Xenophon, can we try that trick of yours again?” asked Roxana.

He shook his head.

“No, the overcharged weapon only works with the plasma cannons, unless you’ve got one spare?”

Nobody come forward with the required item.

“It doesn’t matter, anyway. The blast would probably blow up from the mountainside in the time we’d have.”

Jack clambered down the rocks and narrowly avoided a pulse round that must have been fired up from the pursuing Mulacs. Xenophon looked down to see them approaching at a distance, but there was no sign of their rearguard.

“Dammit, they’re through already. Anybody have any plasma grenades left?”

One of the dekarchos nearer to the front held up single grenade.

“Glaucon, with me,” he said, and then worked his way up the path to where the officer waited. He held out the grenade to Xenophon who handed it back.

“No, I need you roll it around the corner on my mark.”

“Why? I can’t hit them from here.”

“Just do it when I say, okay?”

The man nodded but looked completely unconvinced at his suggestion. More gunfire erupted along the rear of their group, and Roxana spread out the stratiotes into a skirmish line to hold them back. The concentrated fire from two-dozen of the Terran soldiers was withering and forced the Mulacs into cover. Xenophon leaned in towards Glaucon and the Dekarchos.

“Once the grenade goes off, we rush the place, got it?”

They both nodded.

“Do it!”

The man placed his hand on the rock and hurled the grenade towards where the gunfire had come from. There was short delay, followed by a flash of blue light and a loud vibration.

“Now!” cried Xenophon.

He jumped around the corner and charged into the dust, unable to see a thing. Behind him followed Glaucon, the Dekarchos and half a dozen more stratiotes who assumed the area was now clear. Xenophon reached within two metres of the fortified entrance before he was able to see inside. It was a thick stone archway. A tripod mounted heavy pulse cannon was fitted in the centre, around which four men operated it. Xenophon shouted out and jumped at them, firing from both of his Asgeirr-Carbines. Two of the men were cut down, but the other two were able to open fire. Glaucon and Xenophon were past the gun and inside, but two of the men following took the gun blast and vanished in the dust.

Unable to turn the gun far enough, the two Mulac gunners drew fighting blades and attacked Xenophon and Glaucon. The Dekarchos jumped inside and blasted away at the weapon emplacement with his carbine and moved into the darkness.

“Watch out!” shouted Glaucon, as he spotted the first Mulac driving a blade towards Xenophon. He parried it to the left and then stabbed his right hand with its extended blade into the alien’s chest. The monofilament point of the precision blade easily burst through the armour and embedded itself almost its full length inside. The two stumbled to the ground, leaving just one. Glaucon ducked past the creature’s attack and locked its arm, spinning it around. It was a classic move he and Xenophon had practiced in their training back home. He twisted the arm behind its back and then pushed down hard, neatly snapping the bone. It cried out, but its sound was cut short by the wounded shape of Pasion appearing. He jumped inside, his shimmering body shield on and his carbine in one hand. Blood dripped from two wounds to his shoulder.

“Animals!” he screamed and blazed away, and dozens of the rounds cut into the Mulac.

It was over in seconds, and the enemy strongpoint was theirs. From inside, it was clear that the doorway was one of many minor entrances that led into the heart of the mountain. A tunnel ran inside and into a large hexagonal room about fifty metres wide. It was difficult to see what else was there due to the blasts of gunfire. The Terran warriors, buoyed up by their success, rushed in and ran directly into the path of a dozen Mulac warriors. Gunfire moved back and forth as the weight of numbers prevailed.

Komes Pasion signalled for them to stay close to the walls. He tried to move forward, but whatever wounds he had sustained must have caught up with him. He slumped down, his breathing heavy and his face pale. Two of his bodyguards knelt beside him while a third connected a medical diagnostic device to the port on his forearm. The wounded Komes looked up to see Xenophon and Roxana nearby.

“Dekarchos!” he called out.

They looked at each other and then at those around them. The dekarchos were split among the rest of the group and none within earshot.

“Yes, you two. Come closer!” he snapped.

It wasn’t clear if he was dazed, confused or just being plain irritable. Even so, they both moved to the man. The gunfire had dropped to a trickle as the Terrans secured the level. The Komes was about to speak, but one of the senior Dekarchos, a man called Calum, approached and knelt down beside him.

“Komes. The lower level is secure. There is a large access tunnel leading up to the higher levels. There is only one way up.”

“We need to get up there, and fast,” added Xenophon.

A low rumble from further down the mountain signalled the approaching Mulacs. As if to emphasis the urgency of their situation, a volley of rockets exploded outside the archway into the lower level.

“I’ll hold them off down here. You go!” said Roxana.

The Dekarchos looked at her and then to his Komes who simply nodded at him.

“Assault the higher levels, destroy the weapon and get Clearchus down here, fast!”

His eyes fluttered and he passed out of consciousness. Roxana bent down to check his breathing. She waited a moment and sighed.

“He’s breathing.”

The Dekarchos signalled to the guards to help carry the wounded commander into the relative safety of the lower levels. Roxana and Xenophon followed them and into the large, hexagonal room that marked this level of the mountain stronghold. In the middle of the room was a pit that filled nearly half the space. Xenophon leaned over its precarious edge and looked down. It was pure black. Taking a small rock from the ground, he dropped it, only for it to take an age before a gentle clunk signalled its landing.

“Let’s not fall down there,” suggested Roxana.

The guards dragged the Dukas to the far side of the room and at the base of the tunnel. It was a more recent addition and in a much better state of repair to the entrance. At a point of fifty to sixty metres up the tunnel, it split into a series of corridors and rooms.

“We’ll need time to find the weapon or its power source,” said the Dekarchos. He glanced at Xenophon and Roxana.

“You’re the stratiotes that blew the wall, right?” he asked.

Xenophon nodded.

“Good, you’re with me. Roxana, you know your way around command, don’t you?”

“I was an officer with the Alliance.”

“Yeah, I heard that. Rumour has it you were at the last battle around Attica.”

“We both were,” added Xenophon.

“I need experience, and most of these are newly recruited commanders. I’m giving you a field promotion, Roxana Devereux. From now, you’re a junior Dekarchos in the unit.”

He stood up and waved over to the other leaders. Most of the stratiotes took cover and watched for any signs of the approaching Mulacs. Several of the commanders had already been killed on the ascent, leaving just a handful to move back. Once gathered around the wounded Pasion, he began.

“Stratiotes Devereux has been promoted to junior Dekarchos. She is the most experienced of you all. I want her plus half of the unit to stay behind and keep the Mulacs busy. Start in this room.”

He extended both arms and looked about the large hexagonal room.

“Use crates, junk, even bodies, and fortify the area. You need to buy us the time to get to the higher levels, and take out the weapons. Understood?”

They nodded in silent agreement and jumped into action. The room itself contained a number of crates and abandoned or broken down machines and equipment. With over thirty stratiotes on the one level, they made quick progress. Tamara and Jack threw themselves into work and helped barricade the doorway, and at the same time doing their best to avoid the sporadic gunfire from the Mulacs outside. Jack chanced a quick looked out of the door and barely made it back inside, as a dozen shots smashed around the arched doorway.

“They’re massing for an assault, so whatever you’re going to do, do it fast!” he shouted.

Dekarchos Calum nodded and moved to the tunnel, closely followed by Xenophon, Glaucon and almost thirty more stratiotes. Komes Pasion and his guards stayed where they were, helping to protect the commander and their position. Xenophon moved into the tunnel to feel a hand grab him. He spun around to find Roxana pulling him forward. He was taken so by surprise that he almost struck her with his Asgeirr-Carbine. She planted her lips firmly against his and pulled him against her body. It was a brief moment, and Xenophon was speechless. She stepped back and moved to her group, looking over her shoulder.

“Don’t do anything stupid. I’d like to see you again, and in one piece.”

Xenophon looked back to the tunnel to see his old friend Glaucon smiling, almost sniggering at him.

“About time, old son!” he laughed.

*

Multiple streams of pulse cannon fire blasted into the sky around the group of dromons. A single round was easily capable of tearing a metre-wide gash in any of them. The longer they stayed in the air, the greater the chance they would be struck. The lead craft was the command dromon crewed by Clearchus, and it already showed several sections of minor damage on its fuselage.

“How close are we to the landing zone?” asked Clearchus to the kentarchos of the dromon.

The officer checked his display. He pressed several buttons and checked the vessel’s navigation readouts. A green tunnel indicated their path through the energy field and down to their landing zone. With a final check, he twisted his head to look over to his commander.

“Seventeen minutes, Strategos. We hit the shield in just under a minute, and then we cut the electronics and glide on in. We can use our mechanical thrusters to provide extra thrust. It’s not enough for powered flight, but it does mean we can come in lower and faster.”

The pilot looked concerned, and that worried Clearchus. He wasn’t a man that left anything to chance, and the idea of crashing and burning was one he was keen to avoid.

“Can you do it?”

“No problem. It won’t be easy, but these birds are designed to make glider landings from breaking orbit. That’s what they were originally built for, back in the day.”

“Understood,” replied the Strategos. He nodded in satisfaction and turned to his personal unit waiting patiently inside the vessel. They were the best of the Laconians, and that meant they were the best that existed, at least in the eyes of the Terrans. The warriors wore the uniform of the Ten Thousand along with the armour, helmet and accoutrements of the Laconian infantry. Clearchus looked at them with a mixture of comfort and pride. He had no doubt there wasn’t a single obstacle they couldn’t overcome. He exhaled and thought about the Citadel, trying to imagine the battle that Xenias must have become involved in. His mind was so busy that he barely noticed Kleandridas indicating towards the mapping unit.

“Strategos, I have information from Pleistoanax. He says he has received reconnaissance data from high level probes that indicate something big is happening at the Citadel.”

“Big?” Clearchus asked.

“Energy output, radiation levels and communication traffic. So far he has been unable to pinpoint anything specific, but it looks like a massive ground operation is ongoing.”

“Dukas Xenias, he must be in trouble,” added Clearchus.

Kleandridas nodded and moved the map to show their landing area.

“Tactical analysis shows the main peaks around the Citadel would be ideal locations for aerial defence and artillery. My suggestion is to drive to the Citadel, and then attack the primary peak here.”

The lower peak filled the screen; it was small compared to its cousins around it but still a large structure.

“This is the source of the energy shield. Once eliminated, we can make use of the high ground at these points to mount temporary heavy weapons.”

He selected the open channel that would put him through to all the Komes and dekarchos in the force. He took a breath and a final glance at the skyline.

“This is Strategos Clearchus. We will break the shield barrier in a matter of seconds. Check your gear, and prepare for combat landings. Speed is paramount. We must reach the Citadel as quickly as possible. Xenias and his people are depending on us.”

Alarms triggered inside the dromon, followed by the lights dimming and the sound of the vessel’s system cut to silence. All that remained were the loud rumbles coming from the turbulence and friction of the dromon moving through the air. Kleandridas looked at him.

“This is it,” was all he said.

A bright red aura ripped through the interior, starting at the front of the craft and then moving to the rear. It was all over in less than a second. Clearchus felt the nose of the dromon drop as they countered the lack of power from the engines by sacrificing height. Luckily, they were of sufficient height and travelling at the correct speed to allow them to reach their destination without the use of the engines.

“Look!” shouted Kleandridas over the tremendous noise of the unstable transport as it hurtled downwards. With the electronic displays all out of action, they were forced to lift the blast shields behind the energy portholes; the tiny windows that all atmospheric craft were equipped with for such emergencies. Clearchus looked through his window and for the first time saw the Citadel and the surrounding peaks. Streaks of weapons fire flashed in all directions. The odd stray shot from the mountains also fired down at the dromons, but they were hard pressed to even find their range, let alone hit them.

What has Xenias run into? he asked himself.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Roxana and the surviving Night Blades had so far held off two assaults. The arched entrance had fallen nearly half an hour earlier, but they had managed to halt the Mulacs in the lower level. It had taken concentrated gunfire, and the use of their last few grenades to hold them back.

Jack, Tamara and three stratiotes dragged a heavy container into position. As they moved it, a dozen Mulacs rushed forward. At this distance, their heavy weapons and thick armour were proving extremely effective. Three made it to the container. The rest were cut apart by rifle volley fire. The first rolled over the top and dropped down behind the group. One stratiotes was decapitated in front of Jack, its blood spraying over his face. He lifted his carbine and fired almost a full clip of pulse ammunition into the second one, yet it staggered on and plunged the spiked bayonet into his chest. He stumbled back, crying out in pain.

“Get down!” cried Tamara, but Jack couldn’t hear over his own voice.

She swung her carbine over her head and smashed it down onto the creature’s arm. It barked in some strange alien language and knocked her back with its left hand. A blast of gunfire from Roxana struck it in the face, and the others withdrew to the nearest cover they could find. As Roxana was helping to drag Jack from the container, another wave of Mulacs charged forward. Roxana dropped the wounded Jack and raised her rifle.

“Stop them!” she screamed.

*

Xenophon crept out from the tunnel into what looked like a massive generator complex. Pipes, cables and machines seemed to be everywhere. The rest of the unit fanned out. They were all looking for the critical machine or item that would shut down the shield.

“What now?” asked Glaucon.

Dekarchos Calum moved out into the open along with most of the stratiotes. Without shields, they were vulnerable but also hard to spot in the gloom of the cold level. An icy chill blew in from the large arched windows running along the outer rim on one side.

“Wait,” said Xenophon as he spotted a series of massive power couplings. They were several metres thick and ran from a point in the wall to a large junction about thirty metres away. Many other similar couplings led to the same place. Above their heads, they could feel the throbbing of the generator. It continued to send out its deadly pulse that shielded the Citadel for kilometres in all directions.

“I see it!” called out the Dekarchos.

He rushed forward and into the centre of the room. Xenophon watched the direction he was moving in and spotted a structure the size of a ship. It was placed behind a dozen thick stone columns and flashed with red energy. In front of the device were dozens of figures busy working on the great machine. One must have spotted them because a line of yellow lights flashed. Dekarchos Calum and five more stratiotes were cut to ribbons.

“Come on!” Xenophon shouted.

He moved off to the right and hugged the wall. Glaucon and another half a dozen warriors followed close behind. The remaining stratiotes in the open were forced to take cover from the withering defensive fire. They were quick, and their accurate rifle and carbine fire proved effective against the small number of Mulacs. The group led by Xenophon made it around the outside and almost to the pillars when a large metal door hissed open. Stood in the centre was the massive hulk of a Mulac, but this one was different. At almost half a metre taller, he was evidently a commander, and perhaps even their leader. Like the other Mulacs, he was encased in armour but his more far more elaborate and much thicker across the neck and chest.

“Get down!” cried one of the stratiotes, but it was too late. The monster of a warrior leapt between them and swung a mace-type weapon. The first impact struck Glaucon in the shoulder, instantly dislocating the arm and throwing him to the ground. He swung again, and this time struck one of the younger stratiotes. Each impact rang out, and almost like a bar of metal striking a gong. The group of Terrans were poorly equipped to deal with such a beast, especially due to the preference for long-ranged weapons. More noise came from the tunnel as another dozen Mulacs, all carrying firearms and edged weapons, surged inside and overwhelmed the Terrans.

“Get to the pillars!” shouted Xenophon, instantly recognising the benefit the cover could provide. He rolled low and stabbed at the nearest Mulac. His Laconian weapon proved its worth and punched neat holes into the alien’s armour plating. Two more Mulacs spotted his success and jumped over to deal with him.

“I don’t think so!” he snapped and lifted both hands. The built-in carbines proved their worth and cut the Mulacs down in a hail of armour piercing projectiles.

Glaucon lifted himself from the ground and angrily barged himself into the wall. It was a savage and painful way to set his arm, but it worked. He grabbed a fallen Mulac’s mace and rushed into the middle of the melee. His skills, speed and strength quickly told as he felled the nearest two Mulacs. The remaining warriors in the rest of the level now met, and a sprawling melee spread throughout the structure. With roughly equal numbers, it came down to the speed and experience of the Terrans versus the strength, violence and brutality of the Mulacs.

Glaucon and Xenophon pushed as far ahead as they could but were stopped by the remaining Mulacs who blocked their route to the columns, and the prize that lay behind it. Xenophon used the last of his ammunition to cut down two more Mulacs, but there were enough the fill the gap.

“We have to get through!” he cried out.

One of the stratiotes fell near Glaucon’s feet, a Mulac landing on top and smashing away with a mace. Glaucon kicked the beast over and brought his own weapon down on its face. Blood sprayed up and hit him in the forehead and eyes. He twisted and spluttered.

“I know, get through. I’ll keep them busy.”

He lifted his mace high and roared with every ounce of strength he could muster. The surviving stratiotes fought their way to him to form a close knot of defenders. Gunfire continued, but in this level of close proximity, most of the firearms were discarded once their magazines had run dry. Glaucon extended his arms and rushed the nearest Mulacs. He took a round in the shoulder as he charged, but it was enough to force them to the ground and create a small opening in their line.

“Now!” he cried as he struck the hard stone floor. Xenophon didn’t hesitate and ran forward, throwing himself over and into the open space behind him. In a flash, he was past the pillars and in amongst the cables, machines and computers. It was the control centre of the mountain, and the source of the pulsing red weapon. He looked up at the flashing red lights of the great machine, and then down to the only weapons that remained, his two Laconian Asgeirr-Carbines.

What the hell can I do now? He looked around for any sign of a way to shut the equipment down. He could see a main computer display and system at the end of the room. It was on a raised pedestal with optical cables running from behind it and into the system.

That has it be it. Otherwise, we’ll just have to bring this entire place to the ground. He lifted his arms up to shoot, but nothing happened, only the click of the empty chambers.

“That’s just great!” he muttered angrily.

“You, now you die!” came a familiar voice from behind. He ducked to the right and spun around to find the leader of the Mulacs confronting him. In his left arm he held the still body of Glaucon. A pang of fear ran down his spine at the sight of the monster that had bested his friend. It was stronger, faster and more powerful than him in every way.

He looked down at his inert weapons, and for a second felt a very real sense of despair. If it beat Glaucon, what will I be able to do?

He lifted his head and stared at the face of his enemy. Behind him, the surviving warriors on both sides continued their death struggle. The stratiotes gave as good as they got, but it looked doubtful either side would win decisively. He looked back to the snarling Mulac and spotted the item strapped to the creature’s leg and smiled.

A plasma pistol! Now that is exactly what I need!

He pushed his left leg forward slightly and adopted a strong fighting stance. His left hand pulled close to his body in a punching gesture, but with the Laconian blade sticking out towards the Mulac. He lifted his right hand to the right of his face and extended the blade in the same direction as the first.

“You first, you bastard!” he shouted, and then ran forward.

The Mulac almost seemed to relish the challenged and looked down for a moment to see what it was Xenophon had been staring at. He must have worked it out, as he drew the pistol in his left had to fire. But it was too late, and Xenophon was already close enough to attack. His first slash caught the leader’s wrist and clanged off the armour. The pistol dropped away to the floor, leaving neither of them with a functioning firearm.

“Tissaphernes has plans for you!” he snarled, stomping forward, and at the same time swinging the mace. Xenophon lifted his hand to parry the blow, but the creature’s strength was too great, and he was pushed back.

Remember; use weakness against strength. He was reminded of Kratez’s teachings.

He relaxed his arm and sidestepped to the left. The Mulac stumbled past him, exposing his back and flank. Xenophon took the opportunity to jab hard into his ribs. The armour was thick, and it took all his strength to form the blade into his flesh. A loud roar of pain signalled he’d been successful. But the injury didn’t slow him down. On the contrary, it angered him and seemed to rejuvenate him into greater violence. With the blade stuck, Xenophon was in trouble. The Mulac spun around and grabbed him around the throat. His grip was like a vice, and in seconds, his vision started to blur.

Have to get my hand free.

He flicked the interior lock switches in the gauntlet and felt it loosen. With all his effort, he pushed hard and felt his hand slip out. His vision faded further until he could barely see the shape of the Mulac. His hearing was the last thing he could discern, and it was the Mulac’s voice that raged in his ear.

“Terrans are weak. We will burn your worlds next!”

He expected the end, but instead felt pain in his arm. His vision started to clear, and he stared up to find himself on the ground and looking at the figure of the Mulac on one knee. Stood next to him was Glaucon, blood dripping from a number of wounds. In his hand, he held one of the Mulac’s maces that ran thick with Mulac blood. Xenophon’s own blade was still stuck in the creature’s flank.

Glaucon swung it down hard, yet the wounded Mulac was still able to parry the attack with his left hand. Glaucon lifted the weapon again and pounded down, one after the other, each hit trying to beat through his defence. Xenophon however was starting to regain feeling in his body.

Get up, you fool!

He lifted up to one knee and almost fell back down. He looked to his right hand, but the blade had all but snapped off. He had no weapon, and Glaucon seemed unable to finish the beast off. Incredibly, the Mulac roared and started to lift up from the ground, its armour creaking as he moved.

Xenophon lurched forward and grabbed the Asgeirr-Carbine gauntlet that still hung from the Mulac. With a quick pull, the blade slid out. He didn’t hesitate and stabbed down into the Mulac’s neck. He managed three heavy stabs before the Mulac even realised what was happening. He turned to try and stop him, but it was too late. Glaucon rushed in, and with a final powerful blow, brought his mace down on the creature’s head. With a sickening crunch, the leader of the Mulacs fell in a lifeless heap.

The two stood like a pair of survivors of some terrible and bloody crime. Both were battered and bloody and barely able to stand. They turned back to help their comrades, but the surviving Mulacs were already running for one of the many archways to escape.

“The generator, how do we stop it?” asked Glaucon.

Xenophon looked about and spotted the plasma pistol lying on the floor. It looked similar to the much more powerful cannons used by the Terrans. He held it in front and flicked the power on. It hummed for a moment and flashed blue.

One of the surviving dekarchos ran up to them. He clutched a mauled arm but was still keen to complete their mission.

“What’s the plan?” he asked.

Xenophon looked at him and smiled. He turned and pointed the weapon at the cooling pipes and electronics of the great machine. With a flick of the pistol, he set the weapon to its maximum setting.

“I think something like this might work.”

*

Roxana and the small group of surviving stratiotes were in trouble. The lower level had fallen, and the Mulacs had broken through their last line of defence. Jack lay bleeding out on the ground while Tamara did her best to stop the blood loss. She picked up her carbine and aimed it down the corridor where their tormenters were regrouping for yet another attack.

“How many?” asked one of the few stratiotes still able to fight.

“At least thirty, I think there are fresh reinforcements coming in as well. We need to get up to Xenophon and his team. We’re sitting ducks down here.”

“No, we can’t leave the wounded!” replied Tamara angrily.

Roxana shook her head, knowing that the youngster simply wouldn’t understand the decision. She grabbed her arm and pulled her back.

“Leave him. We stay, and we die.”

She moved back and fired several shots to keep the Mulacs busy. The other stratiotes did the same, but Tamara refused to move. Instead, she drew her carbine and blasted away with her remaining few rounds.

Stupid child, what will she do when she runs out of ammo? Roxana watched with a mixture of anger and pity.

Unwilling to wait any longer, she grabbed Tamara and forcibly pulled her away from the fallen Jack. A quick glance showed he was near death, and there was nothing any of them could do. Two of the men grabbed his arms and lifted him, running as quickly as they could up the corridor. Seeing them move, the rest did the same, leaving the defensive position in tatters. Roxana and Tamara ran, just seconds before the Mulacs burst from below and rushed after them. Inaccurate shots fired from the hip clawed at the Terrans as they tried to escape. Most made it, but three were wounded and dropped behind. Tamara tried to turn back to help them, but Roxana pulled her on.

“Run!” she screamed.

They kept moving, doing their best to blot out the screams of the wounded as the Mulacs overrun their previous position, butchering those still left. A mighty roar shook the mountain as something powerful exploded or ruptured above them. It was followed by a powerful shockwave that quickly dissipated. Intrigued, but also fearful for the lives of her team, she continued up the tunnel and through the corridors, the sound of the Mulacs close on their tails.

Xenophon stepped out from behind the pillar to examine his handiwork. The coolant rods were destroyed, as were the control units for the generator. It had stopped working in seconds, and the blast wave seemed to pass in every direction. Incredibly, none of them had sustained anything more than light injuries. He was about to speak when the communicator in his helmet burst to life.

“It’s Clearchus, they are through the shield,” he said with a smile.

“Somebody is coming!” shouted one of the stratiotes. He was standing near the entrance they had all originally arrived from. It could mean only one of two things.

“Take cover, watch for friendlies!” shouted Xenophon.

The stratiotes moved around the entrance, using the fallen Mulacs and stonework to protect them. Xenophon grabbed a fallen carbine and checked the magazine. It was half full. Lights flashed in the dark hall, and voices and shouting marked the arrival of somebody.

“Wait for my order,” whispered Xenophon, eager to avoid friendly fire.

Roxana emerged from the tunnel along with just a handful of bloodied stratiotes. Tamara stumbled forward and fell to the floor. A metal spike from some kind of projectile weapon was stuck in her leg. A few more moved in, carrying the wounded body of Jack. A rocket whistled up the tunnel and struck the wall behind them. The blast of explosion, along with sharp and broken masonry, crashed around the stratiotes and Jack. Xenophon rushed forward and grabbed Roxana. He felt a mixture of pleasure and fear at her bruised and bloodied body. As he pulled her from the ground, he spotted Jack’s broken body. His torso and neck were cut open by the razor sharp masonry. Around him were the bodies of three more stratiotes.

“Poor Jack,” she muttered miserably. Tamara dropped to the floor, despair and fear in her eyes. Roxana held out her hand and Xenophon helped her up. She looked back at the tunnel and checked her carbine.

“There are more coming, behind us!” she called out.

They appeared, almost on cue and charged into the open space. The first Mulacs were cut down by gunfire, but a small number made it through and towards Xenophon and his comrades.

“Not again!” snarled Glaucon, who ran in, swing his captured Mulac mace.

Clearchus watched with anger the battle that was raging outside the Citadel. There were a large number of fires along the perimeter, and thousands of Mulacs were still fighting a close-range battle with a smaller than expected number of spatharii. From his position in his command dromon, it looked like Dukas Xenias had captured the outer wall and part of the lower levels of the Citadel. Kleandridas pointed to a wave of a dozen dromons he had diverted to make a combat landing.

“Strategos, I am picking up a signal from the mountain there.”

“The generator platform?” asked Clearchus.

“Yes, a stratiotes called Xenophon. He says they have destroyed the equipment, but they are under heavy attack.”

Clearchus pressed a button to retask the dromon’s camera assembly. The image changed to show the low peak from which multiple columns of smoke were belching. Halfway up its height were hundreds of the enemy, and even more were working their way up to join them. Clearchus nodded to himself.

“Get me Dukas Chirisophus,” he ordered.

In just a few seconds, the face of the senior Laconian commander appeared.

“Strategos.”

“I need you to redirect your forces. You have all of your seven hundred spatharios with you?”

“Affirmative.”

“Good. Take them to the peak that is swarming with Mulacs. We have troops on the higher levels. Land on the lower levels, and hit the Mulacs hard. I will send Dukas Sophaenetus with his thousand spatharii to assist you. Take no prisoners.”

“Yes, Strategos.”

He changed the camera to the original forward facing angle and watched with pleasure as the first wave of dromons disgorged their spatharii directly into battle. He could already see them surging through the damaged wall and into the lower levels of the Citadel.

“They are already breaking through,” said Kleandridas in a calm voice.

“Good, change course and bring up to the higher level of that peak. I think our friends need some help.”

“You don’t want to land at the Citadel?” asked a surprised Kleandridas.

“No, our forces will defeat them in a matter of minutes. Land us, quickly!”

The command dromon swept low over the battlefield and past the raging battle below. The odd stream of rounds arced towards it, but they were able to move into position alongside the mountain and near a small landing pad. It was far too small to make a landing, so they were forced to hover in place. A small group of Mulac fighters tried to stop them by firing at point blank range into the dromon. Clearchus released his magnetic harness and moved to the doors. Kleandridas and his heavily armoured bodyguard joined him.

“We don’t stop until the place is secured!” he growled.

The door blasted open and let in the howling wind from this far up. He glanced down to see that the pad sat nearly five metres below them. He didn’t hesitate and leapt out. He crashed to the pad and rolled to the side. Kleandridas landed beside him, and they set to work on the unfortunate Mulacs who tried to stop them. Both men blasted away with their Asgeirr-Carbines. More of the crimson armoured bodyguards joined them, and the pad was clear.

“Follow me!” cried Clearchus who rushed through the nearest doorway. His eyes adjusted to the darkness, revealing damaged equipment and a large melee at the far end. He could make out a small group of stratiotes busy fighting a desperate battle against a growing horde of Mulacs. He powered forward and picked off three Mulacs that had strayed from the group.

Xenophon didn’t even see Clearchus until the crimson shape burst past him. The Terran leader and his bodyguard crashed into the large group of Mulacs. Gunfire and edged weapons tore a bloody swathe through them. It was over almost as soon as it had begun. The Mulacs were quickly halted, and in a blind panic turned and fled back into the tunnel. The bodyguards continued after them, but Clearchus stopped and turned to look at the small and exhausted group of stratiotes. Xenophon approached him and placed his fist across his chest, the traditional Laconian salute. Clearchus smiled.

“You must be Xenophon.”

He nodded but said nothing, physically and mentally exhausted.

“This is one damned good piece of soldiering, son. I commend you.” He looked to the rest of the survivors. “All of you.”

Kleandridas approached and leaned in towards his commander.

“Strategos, there is word from the Armada.”

Clearchus grimaced, expecting the worse. “What is it?”

“Lord Ariaeus, the second-in-command of Cyrus’ Median troops, has arrived. His fleet is, well…it is truly massive, my Lord. Double the size of our own forces.”

*

The journey back to the Armada was a blur to Xenophon. He must have either passed out or been asleep, because the first thing he remembered was the buzzing sound of the ramp lowering and the door opening. He and the survivors of the Night Blades walked down the ramp of Clearchus’ dromon with a look of confusion and exhaustion. He remembered Roxana talking to him and something about their victory, but most of it was a blur. The exhausted stratiotes were looking forward to the warmth and comfort of their own ship. Instead, they entered the landing bay of the Laconian Titan to the sound of cheers and shouting. News of their exploits must have reached the crew well before their arrival, as hundreds were already waiting in one great mass of people.

“What the hell?” muttered a bruised and battered-looking Glaucon.

Strategos Clearchus had already stepped out onto the ground and waited, along with his topoteretes and the survivors of his personal guard. They stood to attention, and the formality caught Xenophon and his friends by surprise. Roxana reached the bottom of the ramp first and was surprised to see two Median nobles stood waiting.

The taller of the two bowed at her and her comrades. The second merely tilted his head, as though forced to do so out of necessity, rather than by choice.

“Welcome back to the Armada, my friends. I am Cyrus,” said the man as he turned to his comrade. “This is Tissaphernes, Satrap of this region and the Lord of the Cilician Gates.”

The second noble nodded again before speaking.

“I thank you, all of you, for your part in clearing my domain of these Mulacs.”

Clearchus stepped forward and alongside them.

“These are the survivors of the Night Blades, an Arcadian unit who have almost proved themselves worthy of fighting alongside Laconians,” he said in jest. Those near enough to hear him, chuckled with amusement at the sarcasm, but it appeared to be totally lost on the Medes.

A loud hiss from the second dromon to land announced the opening of its doors. From the steam and dust moved the figure of Dukas Xenias. He walked down the ramp, assisted by his personal guards. A medical team rushed up to assist him, but he brushed them aside and continued down to reach the line of senior officers. He started to kneel before Clearchus, but the old General reached out and grabbed the man’s arm.

“Really, Xenias, that will not be necessary,” he said with a genuine smile, something that was rare between rival nations such as theirs. Lord Cyrus approached and placed his hand on the man’s arm.

“Thank you, Dukas Xenias. Your forces have cleared the Cilician Gates and removed a great evil from these lands. Neither Satrap Tissaphernes, the commander of this region, nor I will forget your service.”

Xenias nodded politely and turned to the medics, speaking quietly to them. It was clear he was in great pain, and with the help of his guards he was able to continue onwards and away from the dromons. Clearchus looked back to Xenophon and the other Night Blades.

“Lord Cyrus has offered to pay all those involved with the action at the Cilician Gates double the offered salary. This is intended as compensation for your struggles and for your great efforts to preserve his domain. Tissaphernes had also offered to make an offering to the fleet of fifty ships, as well as a large contingent of his own automatons to our project.”

Xenophon smiled as best he could, but the news that such a contingent was being given to them rankled.

Why could they have not been used to stop the Mulacs to start with?

The two topoteretes moved around them to speak with the other members of the group. Clearchus, however, stayed where he was. He seemed particularly interested in Xenophon and Glaucon.

“Your efforts were impressive, very impressive. You destroyed the wall, eliminated the shield generator and held, when all hope seemed lost. It is clear to me that with these kinds of skills, we will be able to breach any defence and crush any fleet that opposes us. For your efforts, you are all to commended.”

A dekarchos stepped forward with a box, and he lifted the lid to reveal a series of stripes. He held up the first two to Clearchus, who took them and then handed them to Xenophon and Roxana.

“For your efforts, you have been promoted to Dekarchos. This is a position you have both earned and already acted under. You will be responsible for a full ten-man unit in the Night Blades.”

He then took more insignia from the box and moved to Glaucon.

“You and your new Dekarchos are inseparable. I cannot see how a pair of warriors could be any more effective. You are immediately promoted to his side as Pentarchos. This is an important and honoured position in the unit.”

Glaucon took the stripes and smiled at Xenophon and Roxana. Clearchus stepped back but noticed the look on Tamara’s face. She looked both disappointed and anguished at being left out.

“Child, you are not yet ready for the rigors of command. What is it that you wish?”

Tamara looked at him, dumbfounded at the request.

“I want my own unit,” she spluttered.

Clearchus laughed, amused at her comment.

“Not yet, perhaps after a few more battles!” he added with a laugh.

The Strategos walked away along with his entourage, leaving the members of the Night Blades to the still cheering crowd. Dukas Sophaenetus, a man they had never even met before, approached.

“Come with me, please. We have somewhere for you to rest before your victory meal with the Strategos later this evening.”

Xenophon nodded and glanced to the others. They all looked equally exhausted to him. The bulk of the Night Blades followed the Dukas, but Glaucon, Roxana and Tamara stayed back for a few more seconds. Roxana spoke quietly in his ear.

“So, what do you think about being a mercenary?” she asked him with a coy expression.

Glaucon interrupted him before he could speak.

“I think he likes it quite enough. Now, I don’t know about you lot, but I need a shower and then food, a lot of food.”

Tamara nodded feverishly in agreement. “And drink!”

Glaucon and Tamara moved off, leaving Xenophon and Roxana amongst the last few near the dromon. Xenophon looked to her and beckoned towards the others.

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asked.

Roxana said nothing, but she simply nodded and pulled him forward and towards the rest of the unit.

“That will do for starters!” she laughed.

*

The briefing room chosen by Strategos Clearchus had been cleared so that only he and Lord Cyrus were present. It was an intricately detailed room, often used to entertain high-ranking dignitaries. It operated as an antechamber to the great hall that was embedded deep within the heart of the Titan. Sculptures and trophies taken from scores of defeated enemies covered the walls. In one cabinet was a complete set of armour taken from the fallen Mulac commander. The hole created by the pulse rifle and wounds caused by Xenophon and Glaucon were still present. The room was designed to remind the Laconians of their past, just as much as to remind their friends and enemies as to their power. Clearchus smiled to himself as he looked at the Mulac.

We have the trophy even though the victor was actually a previous member of the Terran Alliance. Ironic that the trophy falls to us.

In the centre of the room was a lavishly decorated wooden and stone granite table. It was excessive for a starship, even more so for a Laconic ship. Floating above it was a detailed star map. It was more than ten metres wide and coloured with all the stars and nebulae in the known galaxy. The Cilician Gates were prominent to the left, and the remainder taken up by the vast realm of the Median Empire. The small amount of space taken up on the far left showed up markedly compared to the vastness of the Empire.

“You realise that Tissaphernes must have had a hand in what happened at the Gates?” he asked.

Cyrus looked at him, surprised that the Terran had thought that far ahead.

“Yes, I agree. He is no friend of mine, and I am suspicious that this was an attempt to weaken or discredit me.”

Clearchus said nothing for a moment, confused at the Medes suggestion.

“You think he did this as a trap, to corner and kill you?”

“Perhaps, at the very least to weaken me so that I would not be a threat to him. It can hardly be advantageous to his position or ego to have the brother of the Emperor running about doing his dirty work. If I had been defeated and humiliated by raiders, it would have left me isolated.”

Clearchus shook his head in confusion.

“And yet you let him leave in one piece?”

Cyrus laughed loudly and stepped forward, placing his hand on the Strategos’ shoulder.

“My friend, you have much to learn about politics. He feels safer, and we can go about our business. It will be worth bearing this in mind when we next have to deal with him though. Median politics has always been a little, well, how do you day it?” he asked, pausing as he tried to think of the words. “Yes, there is much cloak and dagger in my lands.”

He smiled at the Laconian commander and then turned back to the map.

“So, as you can see, our Empire contains hundreds of races and incorporates many domains and empires. There is nothing else like my lands in the known Galaxy. At the centre lies the old Median worlds, and these are the oldest, richest and most heavily defended planets you can imagine. It is also the home of the Royal Fleet, commanded by none other than, the Emperor.”

Strategos Clearchus smiled at the hubris, but chose to ignore it. He gazed at the map, and the vast disparity between the hundreds of smaller Terran worlds and the great collective Empire of the Medes. They were so different, yet the Terrans had much strength, something he had so far failed to see in the Medes.

“I appreciate the breadth of your brother’s domain, but I do not see why I need to know this to continue our operation to clear the borders of pirates and raiders.”

Cyrus looked at the star map and then back to Clearchus.

Is he ready for what I must tell him? he thought. Would he rise to the challenge, or demand his money and return to the Terran world, an exile of Laconia, but a rich one?

He pressed a button and altered the map to show the centre of the Empire. He brought up the Imperial capital, the ancient world and centre of the Galaxy to his people. Clearchus was busy examining a series of reports from the fleet concerning the new arrivals from Arcadia. Cyrus looked back to the Capital world and smiled to himself.

My brother, Emperor of the Medes. I am coming for you.

BLACK LEGION: ASSAULT ON KHORRAM

By Michael G. Thomas

PART of the BLACK LEGION SAGA

Copyright © 2012 Michael G. Thomas

Published by Swordworks Books

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PROLOGUE

Arcadian Titan ‘Olympia’, Thapsacus Sector

The Black Legion was finally assembled, an elite fighting force spread across scores of ships into a mighty Armada. Their name was a simple one, taken from the appearance their dark grey, almost black uniforms gave. It was a mixed force with a great variety of vessels of every shape and size and from a hundred Terran worlds. The heart of the great fleet was the Titans, massive behemoths that carried thousands of crew and warriors. Every single ship and unit trained and equipped for battle. It was Ten Thousand of humanity’s finest warriors, bandits, swashbucklers and looters; each of them ready to take on or attack any enemy they came across. They were different to any army that had gone before them. Unlike the forces of the Terran colonies this was a mixture of warring factions, drawn together by the money of the alien lord, Cyrus. This man, for want of a better word, had much in common with mankind. He looked almost identical, though with a much slender figure that moved with speed and grace. His race, known as the Medes, controlled the largest empire known to the Terrans. A thousand worlds, each ruled by the iron fist of their Emperor and protected by the Imperial Fleet and his legions of warriors. In years past, the Medes had made war against the scattered Terrans, but each time they had stopped their petty squabbling to fight them off. Times had changed though, and now the Terrans were in the pay of their old enemy, the Median Empire and looking to make a great deal of money in the process.

From the window in the observation lounge, Dekarchos Xenophon looked out at the vast Armada. It was an impressive sight; there was no doubt about that. He was surprised to see so many of the Medes own warships nearby. In fact, the more he looked the more he noticed how few Terran vessels there were. No other Titans filled his view, and he could count the Terran capital ships on one hand.

They must be escorting us back to the border worlds, he thought. The memories of the last few hours were confused, and he was still not entirely sure where they actually were, other than on board their home Titan, the Olympia. The upturned cabinets lay out in a low wall suggested something untoward. A gentle but growing sound of footsteps and shouting came from several directions but all outside of the room. In his right hand, he adjusted his Asgeirr-Carbine; a Laconian close quarter weapon fitted onto the fist and lower arm of a warrior and combined a razor sharp blade and a cut down pulse carbine. Glaucon nodded as he slid out the cartridge from his Doru Mk II Rifle, the standard weapon used by most of the soldiers on the ship. He spoke quietly, doing his best to avoid drawing any attention to them.

“They’ll be here soon. I can hear them in the corridor.”

Dekarchos Devereux snapped back the cocking handle of her own rifle, and it clicked with a satisfying sound. With her weapon ready, she then took up position alongside the blue-haired Tamara. She moved with the confidence of a woman with significant experience in the military. She was tall, even when compared to the burly Glaucon. Xenophon glanced to the main doorway on their left that led inside the observation lounge. It was a large room, and easily capable of holding a hundred people, perhaps more. The space from their improvised barricade to the doorway was nearly fifteen metres away.

“Are you sure it’s Xenias’ warriors?” asked Glaucon.

“I don’t know. All we know is that since the decision to leave, there has been a lot of unrest on the ship. Just remember, we aren’t looking for trouble, we just aren’t going back with Dukas Xenias. We are going to leave this ship at the earliest opportunity,” said Xenophon in as reassuring a voice as he could muster.

“Yes, Dekarchos,” replied Glaucon in a low and slightly muted tone. Xenophon could easily hear the sarcasm in his voice, not least because Glaucon rarely used his friend’s rank except when around other warriors on the ship.

“Don’t be so sure. Maybe it’s Xenias, but maybe it’s Clearchus looking for trouble. It could even be a coup. My advice is to keep your head down and wait for it to pass. You’ve all seen the bodies out there.” Added the old warrior they had met during their short spell in the brig. Marcus was a seasoned warrior, and for the last twenty minutes he had been helping erect the barricades to defend the place.

“Why do they want us?” asked Tamara, her voice shaking with nerves.

Dekarchos Devereux turned her head but stayed in her defensive position.

“Maybe they don’t, there are lots of factions on this ship. We were pretty vocal about rejoining the Armada though, and that isn’t going to make us many friends.”

They all waited in silence, each listening to the sounds outside.

Xenophon might be in charge, but his rank was recent in this company and few took him too seriously. It wasn’t helped by the fact that half of his unit had deserted to Xenias already. His promotion was more honorific than anything else, even though it matched that of sergeant in other militaries. His command of ten warriors, an honour awarded to him by the Strategos himself, was proving more a hindrance than a benefit right now. It had been granted following their first bloody action at the Cilician Gates. The battle was a messy affair and had resulted in nearly all the deployed Legion’s forces being captured or killed. Fortune, and a spur of the moment decision, had saved Xenophon and ultimately the operation.

“Why don’t we just go back with the Arcadians?” asked Tamara with a desperate, almost pleading tone to her voice.

“Because, my dear, if we go back, we don’t get paid. Xenophon and I are both wanted men back on Attica. Until we have money and help, we’ll simply be clapped in irons as soon as we set foot on the ground,” explained Glaucon.

“Not us, though?” she continued, this time looking at the stern figure of Roxana Devereux. She said nothing for a moment before almost being forced to turn to the girl and say something.

“Well…I don’t know about you, sweetie, but I need the work. No more Alliance and no more military contracts. Girl’s gotta eat.”

Tamara shook her head in an irritated fashion, but it was simple. None of them was in a position to leave, not yet anyway. The expedition organised by Cyrus had taken a lot of time and effort to get on board with, and so far they had suffered but earned little. The payoff would be great, but it wouldn’t be for a few more weeks.

They waited, as they had for the last fifteen minutes. Each wore their dark grey, almost black uniforms, and every one of them was heavily armed and expecting trouble. They each had their own special skills and attributes. Xenophon was widely regarded as the smartest but lacked some of the more subtle skills in communication. He was also the tallest of the four; with Devereux close behind him. His build was slender and almost feminine, especially when compared to most of the gruff Arcadians on board the Titan. His cropped blonde hair and dark blue eyes made him stand out from a crowd, and a trait that did not match his introverted personality. Stood next to him were his three companions; the stalwart, if cocky, Glaucon; Roxana Devereux, the ex-Lieutenant from the Alliance Navy; and lastly, Tamara. Unlike the other three, Tamara had no political or military expertise. She was a young runaway, and her only experience, as far as the others could tell, was in crime and minor merc work. Her electric blue hair and frequently worn leather jacket seemed specially to draw attention to her wherever she went.

Xenophon looked back out of the window and remembered what the great Armada had looked like just hours before. Each of the ships had sat waiting for their orders. He could see them all now, especially the four great Titans; the largest Terran ships ever built. Each was the size of a small city and fitted out with the troops and firepower to match an entire planet. Scores of capital ships waited in loose formations around the Titans while squadrons of fighters screamed past on the lookout for potential problems. It wasn’t just the Terrans though, no, only a short distance away sat the Median fleet under the command of Ariaeus. This suspicious looking Median noble was a close friend of Cyrus and his right hand man when it came to managing the Median contingent. This force was easily double the size and included even more heavy warships.

So many different nationalities and cultures, is it a surprise that there would be so much trouble at this betrayal? He considered the events of the last few hours.

It was a massive force made up of Attican sailors, Laconian warriors and Arcadian scouts, each the sworn enemy of a hundred worlds but now brothers in the great enterprise. The trouble was that since the decision by their commander, Dukas Xenias, to leave, they were now on their own. The Armada of hundreds of ships was now at least one jump away and moving further away with every minute. Like many of the experienced warriors, he had found work after being exiled from his own lands. Even his experience and training wasn’t enough when trouble started. The trouble, or more specifically the schism in the fleet, could not have happened at a worse time. It had been only two weeks since the violence at the Citadel, deep in the heart of the Cilician Gates; a time when nearly three hundred Terrans had been killed and the same number injured. Compensation from Satrap Tissaphernes had proven substantial, but the losses were still keenly felt. It wasn’t the fighting, the money or even the casualties that had caused the dissent. It was the news from their paymaster and overall leader, Lord Cyrus of the Median Empire that had arrived earlier that day. The entire Armada was tearing itself apart, and there was nothing Xenophon or his comrades could do about it.

For the fiftieth time, he looked down to his Asgeirr-Carbine and checked the ammunition.

We will be ready!

CHAPTER ONE

Twelve Hours Earlier, Laconian Titan ‘Valediction’

Strategos Clearchus, Lord Cyrus and Ariaeus, his Median deputy, stood in silence. They waited in the antechamber briefing room that was positioned at the far end of great hall, deep inside the Laconian Titan, Valediction. Although part of the mighty ship, the cavernous interior could easily have been inside a fortress, monastery or even an underground cave complex. The walls were rough, almost like bare rock, and there was a deathly silence that cooled the expanse of emptiness as easily as if they were all stood in the vacuum of space. Stone columns rose to the ceiling and led the eye along to the great arched entrance to the anteroom. In this smaller part of the hall stood an ancient altar upon which sat a number of worn and damaged relics. Most were weapons taken from numerous battle sites; some even taken from the recent action at the Gates of Cilicia. The walls were adorned with stylised artworks and tapestries of glorious actions. The majority of these concerned land battles, but at least one showed a massive space battle, specifically the defeat of the Terran Alliance. The Median noblemen looked a world apart from Clearchus, the seasoned human commander or Strategos as he was known to the Black Legion. Their thinner bodies, pale skin and narrow faces gave them a mythical quality, like a character from an ancient tale of monsters and heroes.

Lord Cyrus took a deep breath before finally speaking. “So, gentlemen, we are agreed then, on my course of action?”

Ariaeus nodded in agreement, but that was hardly surprising. The man was a close ally of Cyrus, and it was rumoured they were blood related.

“Of course, my Lord, my forces are ready for your command. With the extra support of Clearchus and his Legion, we will be able to overcome any opposition.”

Clearchus however looked less than impressed. He glanced at Ariaeus but quickly dismissed him and moved back to Cyrus.

“Support? The Black Legion is the force with which we will win. If your Median forces were so powerful, then you wouldn’t need us, would you? Even so, this isn’t what any of them signed up for, is it? You must appreciate the dissent this will cause in the Armada?” he asked sternly.

Cyrus looked taken aback, but it was hard to tell what the truth was and what was put on for show. He lifted his left hand and rubbed it across his lightly defined chin.

“Strategos Clearchus, I disagree. Why should it be an issue? The Legion is paid from my coffers to do my bidding, are they not? They are mercenaries, not conscripts or family bodyguards. No, they will fight where and when I tell them to do so.”

Clearchus shook his head.

“No, they are not. The Legion was formed specifically to operate in the borderlands, to clear pirates, bandits and other hostile forces. This is a policing operation, no more. What you now suggest is much more serious. It could start a series of devastating conflicts in our own territories. Even worse, it could bring us into direct conflict with your own Empire.”

Ariaeus lifted his hand but ignored Clearchus; even cutting in and interrupting the human commander’s speech. It was a gesture that could expect a serious punishment in the Legion. As it was, the fact that the Terran commander stayed his hand was an impressive feat of self-control.

“They will go where they are…” he started, before the firm hand of Clearchus grabbed him across the forearm. His fist clamped down like a vice and the Median nobleman winced with pain at the pressure.

“Learn some respect, Medes!”

He stepped closer so that he faced the taller figure. He looked up at his face, the expression showing a fascinating mixture of anger and disgust.

“Did they not teach you the simple basics of manners and diplomacy as a child? I seem to recall my father taught your ancestors the meaning of civility nearly a century ago. Perhaps you need to be reminded.”

Cyrus laughed and placed a hand on the shoulders of each of the men. His voice betrayed a nervous tone, and one that even Clearchus picked up on.

Perhaps it isn’t all going quite as he had hoped, he thought.

The Median Lord waited until Clearchus released his second in command. It was a tense standoff. But ultimately, Cyrus was in charge, and while he controlled the purse strings, he also controlled the Legion.

“I know you both have reservations about my plan.”

He looked to Ariaeus whose face betrayed almost no emotion of any kind.

“Ariaeus, my old friend, we have studied and trained alongside each other for many years. There is nobody I trust more with weapons than you. Even so, your mighty forces will not be enough on their own. I do not wish to just win a battle. I must dominate the battlefield. When the dust settles and the reckoning begins, all must know that it is I, Cyrus, brother of the Emperor of the Medes, who is the victor.”

He then turned to the Terran commander.

“Strategos Clearchus. Your skill and experience as an infantry commander are second to none. We all have known the power of the Terran heavy infantry. I even faced your ancestors a generation ago on the battlefield.”

He immediately noticed a look of confusion on the face of the Terran.

A generation ago, Lord Cyrus fought my countrymen?

“You are concerned at what the Legion will have to say at my proposal, and you perhaps feel that some, maybe all, will refuse to come with me?”

A clattering of bolts and metal indicated the opening of a dozen doors into the great hall. A large number of Terran officers proceeded inside and made their way to the three commanders. Clearchus scowled in irritation when he spotted his senior officers making their way to him. Cyrus stood up tall and faced the approaching group. He glanced briefly towards Clearchus who was still fuming.

“It is perhaps just as well that I have already invited the commanders here.”

Ariaeus smiled at the fait accompli, and it took great self control on behalf of the Terran commander not to lurch across and strike him. He looked back and recognised the senior officers from each of the four Titans. The Dukas were the most significant, each in control of between six hundred and four thousand warriors. There were ten of them, and he was sure he could see at least six in the crowd. Larger numbers of the junior commanders, known as the Komes, took up most of the space. From another door entered the contingent from the Arcadian Titan. The first to move inside was Komes Pasion, a man that Clearchus recognised from his dealing at the Gates. Stood near to him was his commander, Dukas Xenias; an arrogant but brave officer and a worthy member of the Legion.

“How many did you bring here?” hissed Clearchus through clenched teeth.

“My dear, Strategos, I invited all the Dukas and their Komes to this meeting. It seemed only fair. These officers represent the entire Legion, from Pasion, the Megaran, over there to Menon and his two thousand warriors. We will find out very soon what they have to say.”

Clearchus looked into the eyes of Cyrus and tried to imagine what further schemes or plans he had hatched. Cyrus was rich, undoubtedly, but how far could he be trusted?

This isn’t good, not good at all. If he addresses the Legion, they will tear him apart for his betrayal. This needs a Terran. I need to take control of this announcement, and I need my topoteretes in here now!

Clearchus looked out at the large number of Terran officers who were stood in a large horde in the open. As he glanced at them, he discreetly pressed a hidden button on his sleeve. It went unnoticed, at least he hoped so. Cyrus took a step forward, and it was clear he was about to speak to the assembled troops. The Dukas were all at the front with their contingents stood around them. It gave the effect of an ancient warband from the history of Old Earth. The Terrans wore their dark grey uniforms, and in the low light of the great hall it looked more like black. Some bore the symbols of their old states such as Arcadia or Attica on their chests, and others carried personal markings or even the symbols of their companies or families. It was a disparate group of men and women, but all of them shared a common experience in the violent work of the mercenary.

The Median commander inhaled, about to speak when in walked Kleandridas and Pleistoanax. These were Clearchus’ two deputies, and his most experienced and loyal officers. These mighty warriors were the equal of Clearchus in close quarter fighting and looked both massive and powerful. As they moved down the hall, the assembled officers moved aside to create a corridor that led directly to the end and the antechamber. It was almost ceremonial and took nearly a minute for them to make the journey. By the time they reached the three commanders, the Great Hall was completely silent with every single warrior watching them. The two men wore their official uniforms as well as their traditional Laconian armour and crimson cloaks. They stopped in front of Clearchus and knelt down before him. He nodded to them, the signal for them to stand and move to his flanks. He took this as is his cue and stepped out ahead of Cyrus.

He thought to himself: I need to make this good or this Legion is finished. No Legion, and I’ll have to return to Laconia, and they will want to know how I was able to commandeer a decommissioned Titan!

It was time to speak, but there was little time to think of the treason back home and his violent struggle from his homeworld. It gave him little pleasure knowing he could not return, at least not until he had achieved great victories and trophies to bring back with him.

“Men and women of the Legion, you have been brought here for a great announcement.”

He held out his arms as if welcoming them all to the hall.

“This mighty ship might be from old Laconia, but in this fleet we are all Black Legion. We have joined this endeavour for many reasons, some of us for money, others for fame, and perhaps even a little glory.”

A low chortle rippled through the crowd. Clearchus grinned to himself, satisfied that he seemed to have their attention and support, so far at least. He took another deep breath and continued.

“There are others, like myself that have found themselves forced from their homes. I have been away from Laconia for some time, and yet not one day passes where I wish I were anywhere else. Never in our history have so many warriors been assembled for such a bold enterprise.”

Here it comes, make it good!

“You joined to fight for Lord Cyrus here,” he waved with his right arm over to the Median Lord.

“He sets the objective, and then we take care of it. I am pleased to tell you that we have not been assembled to simply deal with pirates and rebels. No, we have been assembled for a much nobler and much more dangerous campaign, and one that will be remembered for generations to come.”

He looked back to Cyrus who was now smiling in his own discrete manner. Clearchus relaxed, if only a little when he saw him.

All I have to do now is sell the plan and make it sound good.

He pressed a button on the massive stone table. Above it appeared a projected model of the galaxy. A few deft gestures and he had programmed in the ultimate destination. The starmap started to pan across but slow enough that he could continue speaking without giving it all away.

“Lord Cyrus is the brother of the Emperor, a man known to us as Artaxerxes. This man is a tyrant, worse than many of his predecessors. Since coming to power four years ago, he has made numerous enemies and even murdered most of his close family. He is no friend of ours and still claims our lands as his own.”

He glanced to the starmap and noted the display had move passed Terran territories and was working through the borders of the Median Empire.

“My friends, our objective will secure peace and stability for all our worlds and create a friend amongst the Medes. Our campaign will be to the heart of the Empire, where we will find and defeat Artaxerxes so that his brother, the noble Lord Cyrus can take his place.”

The great hall erupted into noise as the scores of officers realised what their commander had just said. The talking and muttering quickly turned to shouting, and it took almost a full minute for the noise to die down. Dukas Kratez, the Achaean, stepped forward, resplendent in the insignia of his homeworld, and around him stood his personal guards, including a dozen Komes warriors. He voice boomed throughout the hall.

“Strategos Clearchus, are you actually suggesting that a Terran mercenary force of just ten thousand can move through heavily defended Median space to strike at the Imperial capital? This is surely madness?”

Dukas Xenias followed immediately afterwards without giving Clearchus even a moment to respond.

“We have four Titans, enough to defend against a major Median attack, but surely not enough to survive in hostile territory for so long? My forces signed up for border wars against enemies of the Medes as well as enemies to our own Terran worlds. They did not sign up to join a Median civil war. This could have dire consequences for all Terrans.”

Clearchus again lifted his hands for silence.

“I hear your worries, but let me explain. Our intelligence over the last week has shown collusion between Tissaphernes and the Mulacs. He has contacted us to help suppress a revolt between him and the Psidian traders that are apparently blockading several trade routes. It seems that these are all ruses to blunt our combat power of the Legion and to reduce the influence of Lord Cyrus.”

He pointed to each of the Dukas that stood at the front of the crowd.

“Each of you commands a contingent that is more powerful than an entire Median army. This is what Artaxerxes fears, and he is using his local satraps to wear us down.”

Cyrus himself moved closer and pulled back his robe to reveal elaborately detailed and jewelled armour. It was so close fitting it looked almost rubberised.

“May I?” he asked Clearchus in a quiet, polite tone.

Clearchus nodded and took a step back to join the others.

“My comrades of the Legion, all this is a game to my brother. He is a tyrant and a warmonger and will stop at nothing until he exerts complete control over the border lands. Trust me, he will not stay there.”

He paused and tried to assess the crowd, especially their mood.

“The only reason I have been able to assemble a force of this kind was by playing along with this feud with Tissaphernes. He brought in the Mulacs I am sure, to try and break me and this Legion. But you all proved him wrong.”

There was nothing, not even a gesture from the audience; they simply stared at him with empty eyes as he spoke.

What is wrong with them?

He waited, watching them but nothing changed. The longer he watched them, the more he thought he could see anger or disdain in their faces. Perhaps the ruse of recruiting them to deal with pirates and raiders had been a little optimistic, but still, they were only mercenaries.

Mercenaries, of course, he said to himself, all I need to do is to appeal to their most base nature.

He nodded in satisfaction at his realisation. It was only when he could see one of the Dukas watching him that he caught himself and stopped the physical gesture.

Okay, perhaps this will get their attention.

“This is all politics and diplomacy, and for that I apologise. What is of much more importance is what I want you to do and what your rewards will be for doing it. You are mercenaries, the best I have ever seen and worthy of the greatest pay.”

That seemed to make a change, and already a number of the lower ranked Komes were busy speaking quietly to their comrades.

Yes, nothing gets the attention of a mercenary quite like the idea of money, now does it? He almost laughed to himself at his tactic.

“For those of the Legion that follow me against my brother, I will offer you this. First, an immediate payment to the value of triple pay, plus…”

He waited, letting the suspense build up.

“Plus a percentage of the loot from the spoils of my brother’s defeated army, and this will be substantial.”

Now this statement caught the Legion’s attention. Pay was one thing, but the chance to take a chunk of the loot from a defeated Median army could be enough to make a man rich. It was the dream of any mercenary to face such an opportunity.

Dukas Xenias lifted both of his arms for silence, and most of the officers quietened down with the exception of a handful from the Boeotian contingent commanded by Proxenus. He called out, his booming voice echoing across the great hall.

“I’m sure you are aware, Lord Cyrus, that as Arcadians, we have a treaty with Emperor Artaxerxes. It is not just us, but the Laconians also have the same non-aggression agreement with the Empire. If we join you then we, as citizens of Boeotia and Laconia, would be considered enemies of the Empire.”

Cyrus smiled at the assembled warriors.

“Only if we lose,” he replied with a mischievous grin that made even Strategos Clearchus smile.

*

Xenophon waited along with the many hundreds of other stratiotes warriors in the landing bay of the Arcadian Titan, Olympia. Like the rest of his comrades, he was armoured and equipped as a light infantryman. This meant he wore quality armour plus a variety of ranged weapons. Unlike the more heavily equipped spatharii, they didn’t carry the heavy energy shields that made the other troops so devastating at close quarters. To his right stood Pentarchos Glaucon, his faithful, if somewhat excitable, comrade from Attica. Tamara, still with her electric blue hair, stood further along the column. Xenophon looked across the open space to the other line of warriors and quickly spotted the rest of the stratiotes. They were part of the same unit and wore the patches of the Night Blades, the adopted name of the unit. Stood to the right of the group was Roxana Devereux, his close friend and one of their newest dekarchos.

“She looks pretty good with ten men at her command, don’t you think?” whispered Glaucon slyly in his ear.

Xenophon struggled not to laugh, but a brief splutter caught the attention of one of the more senior dekarchos. He swallowed and looked straight ahead as if nothing had happened.

“Attention!” shouted one of the commanders. Every warrior stood straight and waited for their leader. The door hissed open and out burst Dukas Xenias and his retinue. It was clear from the shouting that something had annoyed him. Rather than speaking to his troops, he simply stormed off along the landing bay and to one of the many ramps that followed on up inside the Titan. Only Komes Pasion and a handful of his junior officers waited behind.

“What the hell is going on?” muttered one of the stratiotes. The Komes heard the man and glared at him but said nothing. A colourful argument continued before he followed after the Dukas into the darkness.

“Okay, people, dismissed!” shouted a woman at the end of the hall. It wasn’t clear who she was, but in a flash the landing bay was filled with the movement of hundreds of warriors. Xenophon walked over to Roxana who was busy speaking with the members of her own unit. She spotted his approach and finished up in time to turn to speak with him.

“Xenophon, what’s going on?” she asked.

He shrugged and glanced in the direction the Dukas had taken.

“I know the Dukas was taking part in an operational meeting with the Strategos.”

“He must have heard something that didn’t agree with him,” suggested Glaucon with more than a hint of his usual sarcasm.

Tamara ran over and joined them. She looked almost excited and interrupted them all.

“I’ve just heard about the Dukas, have you?”

“Heard what?” Xenophon asked.

“The Dukas is deserting the Legion.”

“What?” snapped a tall, black dekarchos who was marching past with his own group. He walked over and looked at the blue-haired Tamara.

“Who told you that crap?”

“I heard from the transport pilot if you must know,” she replied irreverently and then turned back to Xenophon. “Apparently, there was a big argument, and the Dukas refused to continue on the campaign.”

Roxana nodded in agreement as the young girl spoke.

“That makes sense, you saw how pissed he was when he landed.”

A high pitched whistle stopped their conversation. It was the warning that usually preceded a public announcement.

“This is it!” said Glaucon.

There was a short crackle on the speakers, and then at key points on the ship a number of holographic models of the commander appeared. About ten metres from where Xenophon stood the closest public address image appeared. They walked over and joined the dozens of other fighters as they crowded around. Dukas Xenias was an imposing figure and was now wearing his full parade dress, including tactical armour and weapons.

“Crew and warriors of Olympia, it grieves me to inform you that this ship and her complement of warriors will not be participating in the campaign under the command of Lord Cyrus. The terms of our enlistment into the Legion have proven false and make my taking part illegal if I continue. All Arcadian warriors are also unable to continue. For the rest of you, the same is true. You have signed up to fight for me, and it is my intention to take this ship and our escorts back into Terran space. We will conduct our own operations against the Psidians and have been offered substantial rewards by Satrap Tissaphernes to participate.”

Glaucon flashed a glance over the Xenophon.

“Tissaphernes?” he whispered.

Roxana moved closer to Xenophon, so close that he forgot what the Dukas was saying for a few seconds as he felt her breath on his face. Her quiet voice brought him back to the present though. He looked at her face and realised she had been speaking.

“Xenophon, are you listening?” she asked. “Is he serious?”

He looked at her and back to the holographic model. The Dukas gave the impression he was looking directly at him. It was of course nonsense, the communication system being used was one way, but the illusion was impressive.

“Lord Cyrus intends to depose the rightful Emperor in a bloody civil war. He will use the Legion as the spear tip of this war and will throw our best Terran warriors into a conflict that could spread to every Terran world. He plans a full scale expedition into the heart of the Median Empire.”

Glaucon unintentionally laughed. Xenophon pulled at his shoulder, but his noise had already spread and started off several of the others.

“Is he serious? A civil war with Artaxerxes?” he asked, doing his best to keep a straight face.

Xenophon nodded.

“It looks that way. I hope Clearchus realises how long this could take. The Median Empire is over a thousand worlds that are spread out in the known galaxy. If he wants the Emperor, then we will have to travel to the capital to find him,” he explained.

The figure of Dukas Xenias vanished for a moment and then reappeared.

“The plan of Cyrus will require a journey of almost a month. It will travel through the barren wastelands of the Su’bartu Maelstrom; a place so dangerous only one in three ships ever makes it through. At the Median side of the Maelstrom is the massive fortified Babylon Sector. The entire area is filled with bases, fortresses and factory worlds. As you all know, it is also the home of the Imperial Fleet. It will have to be captured, destroyed or bypassed just to clear a route to the capital and the Emperor. No ship can approach the Core Worlds until this area is neutralised in some way. Even if this works, the Legion will then have to face his personal fleet and ground forces. It is a suicide mission, and the Olympia will play no part.”

A low rumble started to shake the Titan. For anything to have that effect, it would have to have been substantial.

“FTL engines!” called out one of the junior officers.

With a low hum, the Titan shook even more and then everything settled again.

“This is our first jump on the return journey. All units will return to their allotted quarters and await orders. At our destination, a number of transports will be made available to take anybody that doesn’t wish to continue with this unit. Dukas Xenias, out.”

Xenophon stepped back from the display and watched a small number of the Night Blades moving away. He looked back to the rest of his friends, and each appeared to be waiting to hear what he had to say.

“Well, looks like we’re heading home, then.”

“What?” snapped back Glaucon, “No chance, you know what will happen if we set foot on Attica. We’re wanted men now, and both of us are implicated in the bombings in the capital.”

The speakers activated again, but this time without the video transmission. The voice wasn’t familiar, and the slight low level of compression in the signal suggested it was a pre-recorded loop of audio.

“Security update for all personnel. Under the terms of our treaty, we may not offer or contribute services to any enemy of the Empire. Any member of this ship’s crew attempting to leave for the Legion will be considered a traitor and thrown into the brig. Report to your stations and await further orders.”

Xenophon sighed.

“That’s just great, so now we’re stuck here.”

Tamara looked confused and reached out to grab his shoulder.

“Bombings? You never told me about that.”

“What?” replied Xenophon, confused by her question, but Roxana knew full well what she was referring to. Tamara was the most recent addition to their little group, and although they had worked together for some time, they didn’t have the bond of friendship that tied Roxana, Glaucon and Xenophon together. It wasn’t her fault. It was simply due to the fact that the three of them already knew each other from back home on Attica. She looked at Tamara and tried to calm her.

“It wasn’t them, of course it wasn’t,” she explained.

Tamara frowned at her comments, evidently not pacified.

“Then why are they outlaws?”

Roxana looked to Xenophon who nodded an unspoken agreement to let her explain what had happened to them back on Attica. It was a sad tale, and one that none of them liked to discuss.

“Xenophon’s father was murdered in the coup after the occupation forces left. He lost everything, including his home, money and possessions. Since the coup, there has been a massive clampdown on anybody that opposes the new democracy.”

Glaucon laughed at her use of the word democracy. She waited for him to stop before continuing.

“Lots of citizens have been added to the lists, and apparently, a large number have been executed for treason.”

Xenophon nodded in agreement.

“That’s right, the two of us can’t return until either something changes back home, or we can guarantee our safety.”

“And you can’t, right now?” continued Tamara.

“Of course not, we would land, and security forces would take us immediately into custody. We need work, and right now the Legion is the single best hope for us. Mercs are not being used, so this is it.”

Glaucon moved for the ramp first, and the others followed. It was wide enough for a wheeled transport. The last few soldiers came with them, leaving the landing bay to the deck crew and transports that sat patiently. Tamara stopped and looked back.

“Hey, we could just grab one of those and get out of here now?” she said with more than a sense of mischievousness in her voice. The transports were mainly made up of the standard issue dromons, each waiting for a crew and a mission. These were the standard swift gunboats used by the Terrans. They could carry warriors, equipment or supplies both in space and inside an atmosphere. They were big, and at fifty-five metres long, they took up a large part of the landing bay.

Interesting, thought Xenophon. What would happen if they stopped us, though? How far would we go if the guards became violent?

He lifted his hand in a stop gesture. The others complied and moved to the darkened wall of the tunnel.

“You’re not seriously thinking about doing this, are you?” asked Roxana.

“I…I don’t know. A couple more jumps, and we’ll never catch up with the Armada.”

Glaucon glanced at the dromons, especially one to the right that was being fuelled. The paintwork, like most gear in the fleet, was painted dark grey, almost black. The symbols of the Legion adorned its flanks as well as the insignia of the Arcadian Navy. Two men were busy working on the fuelling, and there were no others present.

“Can you fly one of those things?” he asked.

Xenophon shook his head, and Tamara did the same. Roxana looked at it for a little longer before speaking.

“It looks like a standard issue Arcadian light dromon, used for utility work and transport. I’ve done a few simulated runs on the larger Arcadian model. It shouldn’t be too different.”

Xenophon considered their situation for a few seconds, and the weight of the problem seemingly unaffected his judgement.

“If we do this, we do it right. No injuries and we get out clean. We don’t want to leave behind dead or wounded Arcadians.”

“True,” laughed Glaucon, “we’ve got enough enemies as it is!”

A group of six spatharii marched passed them, each wearing full armour and carrying the standard weapons of the unit. The last man in the group carried the squad’s personal shield generator. It was built into a substantial back-mounted pack, and he looked exhausted carrying it about with him. Xenophon watched them move away and wondered why they might be carrying such heavy equipment. In seconds, they were towards the end of the corridor and disappeared into the bowels of the Titan. There were now very few people on the landing pad and only the two working on the nearest dromon were even remotely close.

“What’s the plan?” asked Roxana.

Tamara was gone, making her way across the open ground to where the two crewmen were busy working on the dromon. Her black leather jacket and electric blue hair always drew attention. She made it to within ten metres before one of the men stopped her. Xenophon, Glaucon and Roxana pulled themselves close to the corridor wall, watching from a distance as she started up a conversation with both of them. Glaucon pulled a blade from its sheath and held it out in front of him. Roxana spotted what he was doing and reached out, grabbing the blade and holding it low.

“No, you heard what Xenophon said, no casualties.”

He looked over to Xenophon to find him glaring back.

“Don’t be a fool, we do this silently, follow me.”

He kept low and moved along the corridor until reaching the mouth. Even though a number of the lights were off, the landing bay was still one of the better lit parts of the Titan. Dozens of loading vehicles, small wheeled buggies and locked tool racks filled much of the space. He dashed nearly twenty metres and took cover beside one of the heavy fighters. At nearly ten metres long, it was small but well armoured and capable of taking on all but the most powerful alien craft. Xenophon ran his hand over the gleaming metalwork as he passed close by. As a young boy, he had often dreamed of being one of the small numbers of elite fighter pilots in the Alliance Navy. However, it was probably the most competitive part of the military.

“Nice, very nice,” whispered Glaucon. Xenophon looked to see his friend close behind and also keeping low to avoid being spotted. Roxana moved a few metres behind, and so far they seemed to have avoided attention. A noise ahead stopped them all in their tracks. It was a loud disagreement between Tamara and the crewmen of the dromon.

“What is she doing?” called Roxana while remaining hidden against the fuselage of the fighter.

He looked out and saw both crewmen now engaged in a very lively argument about something inside the craft. She pointed inside, both men moved in, and she followed close behind them.

“Clever girl!” exclaimed Xenophon, and without even speaking to the others, he was gone. Out from the cover of the fighter, he rushed across the open space and to the left-hand thrusters of the dromon. A toolbox sat on a wheeled bench, and a number of tools lay spread out on the work surface. He took the nearest wrench and moved to the main access hatch. He waited for a second and listened to the conversation inside. It took a few seconds for him to make out their voices.

“No way can a standard dromon make it through a gap that small, no way!” said Tamara.

She’s baiting them, I like it, he thought.

“Look, little girl. I know what the engines can do, and there ain’t no way you’ve put one of these babies through a space like this one,” said one of the crew.

From his position at the main hatchway, he could now see the dark shapes of the three of them. Movement beside him caught his attention, and his pulse skyrocketed until he spotted it was his comrades waiting near the hatch.

“Let’s go!” he said as quietly as he could manage.

He was inside, and already halfway to the two crewmen, when he was spotted. They had no idea what was coming, but even as he approached, the young Tamara leapt into action. Her first move was a quick jab at the first man’s stomach, followed by jumping passed the second and putting him into an arm lock. Xenophon landed next to her and jumped on the first man. They rolled to the ground, and it was then that the second man must have struck a panic button of some kind. The great roar of the warning klaxon almost burst their eardrums with a blast of sound.

“Are we secure?” cried Roxana.

“She’s ours, get her started!” replied Glaucon, who was already dragging the crew to the hatchway.

“What…what the hell are you doing?” asked one of the men, a grimy looking fellow with a cut on his forehead from their scuffle to capture the dromon.

“We’re not here to cause trouble, friend. We are leaving to join the Legion.”

Xenophon reached over to help him drag the men out of the vessel.

“You’ve got that right, no way are we going back to work for Xenias and his friends at the border.”

The men looked at each other in surprise. They were clearly being paid to work on the ship and not in the slightest bit interested in the Legion or probably their mission.

“You’ll never get out of here, the landing bay doors are all security sealed for faster than light travel.”

Roxana could hear them talking and leaned out from the small cockpit to see what the commotion was all about. Xenophon and Glaucon were busy pulling the men out of the hatch, and Roxana was covering them with a pulse pistol. After the initial struggle, the two men seemed to have given up, and they certainly weren’t offering any resistance. She looked back inside the vessel and brought up the main status and tactical display. The first few columns were good until she hit the launch status indicators. She shook her head in irritation and leaned over to the others.

“He’s right, you know. This place is on lockdown. I’ll need a security override to get out. If we don’t get those doors open, we’ll be stuck here.”

Xenophon left the two to Glaucon who had now reached the door, climbed into the cockpit and was looking about at the controls. He knew all too well that if Roxana couldn’t do it, then they had no chance. The computer system showed the fuel and integrity status of the vessel, as well as the fact that both the magnetic clamps and landing bay door were still secured.

“If we’re still here when security gets down here, we’ll be screwed.”

“You don’t say!” replied Roxana.

Roxana looked irritated as she pulled on her straps and started the pre-flight ignition sequence. Xenophon watched her as she went through her checks. It amazed him that she had learnt so much after such a short time in the Navy. As he continued watching her, she spun around and barked orders at him.

“Don’t stand around! Get the doors and airlocks sealed. We need to get out of this place.”

He stood up and moved to the side door. Like most access hatches, it was double layered with a built-in airlock. Glaucon had already shut the rest and was in the process of tying up their two prisoners on the landing bay floor.

“Find out how to open the main doors!” he called out to his friend.

Glaucon nodded and bent down, speaking loud and fast to the two men. The body language even from this distance showed they couldn’t help. Glaucon stopped and stepped back inside, pulling the door shut behind him.

“They don’t know. You need to get the permission of the deck chief or commanding officer to issue the orders.”

“Or bypass the computer system,” said Roxana happily.

Red lights flashed at the end of the landing platform; the signal that she had already bypassed the system.

“How the hell did you do that?” asked Xenophon.

Tamara was strapping herself in. He grabbed the main handle to pull it shut when he spotted the security unit. They appeared unarmoured but were all carried pulse weapons and were covering the distance quickly. Another man stepped down to the landing bay, and it looked like their old commander, Komes Pasion.

Damn, he is not going to be pleased about this!

Xenophon pulled the clamps on the door and spun around.

“Whatever you’re gonna do, do it fast!”

CHAPTER TWO

Landing Bay, Arcadian Titan ‘Olympia’

Like many of Legion that was stationed on board, a growing number had started to announce their dissatisfaction at being forcibly removed from the expedition. It wasn’t just the loss of the opportunity, but it was the fact they would be returned with potentially nothing, while the others in the Armada would return with riches and wealth possibly beyond all their imagination. While some had managed to escape via lifeboats or small transports, most had either accepted their forced change in circumstances or been thrown in the brig until their return to Terran space. Xenophon and his friends had chosen to escape, but their attempt to do so from the Olympia was a disaster from start to finish. The trouble began with the engines on the dromon, and their refusal to even power up.

“What’s the problem Roxana? Why aren’t we moving?” screamed Tamara, her frayed nerves now sending her young mind over the edge. Being the youngest and least experienced, she was prone to the odd breakdown when her stress levels were too high. She ripped of her straps and jumped ahead to the cockpit section where Roxana and Xenophon were busy trying to get the dromon off the ground.

“The magnetic couplings are off, so what’s the problem with the engines?” asked Xenophon.

Glaucon looked out through the small side window and started laughing. Tamara watched him with bemusement.

“What’s so funny?”

“Well, you know the power coupling for charging? It’s not connected to the ship.”

Xenophon looked back at the main computer display and tapped the screen showing fuel and power. All the levels were still at maximum. He looked back to Glaucon.

“Showing full power here, I don’t see what the problem is. The engines should be powering up.”

Glaucon climbed over and landed next to him. He wasn’t as experienced in the use of engineering or computer management systems, but he had still gone through basic flight training on civilian light transports. He looked at the computers, looking for something that Xenophon or Roxana may have missed. He squinted as he looked at the main panel and leaned in, tapping the button to the side of the display, it switched to manoeuvring thrusters and life support. The fuel tanks showed zero percent fuel.

“No, we only have fuel for the FTL drive, that’s it?” snapped Roxana.

Xenophon climbed back to the side window and looked out at the approaching security unit. They were checking the dromons one by one. Two of the men were running to where the crewmen were tied up.

“Hey, they’ll be here any second. Either we launch, or we get out, now!” shouted Xenophon.

“We can’t jump from inside the ship. We’ll tear the Titan apart and kill hundreds, maybe thousands,” Tamara shouted.

“Very well, everybody out, through the starboard escape hatch and away from the security patrol. Come on, we’ll find another ship.”

Xenophon was first through the hatch, closely followed by the others. They dropped down beside one of the large landing legs and moved behind it, staying in the shadow of the craft. It wasn’t a second too soon as the guards were already inside the dromon and searching for them. The klaxon continued to blast in their ears and made talking difficult outside of the sound dampened spacecraft. As soon as it had started, the noise stopped, only to be replaced by the shouting of a familiar man. It was Komes Pasion, and he could only be a short distance away now. Roxana grabbed Xenophon and pulled him close to her face.

“What are we going to do?” she demanded.

“Uh, okay, see that transporter, the one with the containers inside?” he said and pointed off down the landing bay to a large dromon. It was sat alone with a number of machines nearby. It was one of the civilian models used to move freight between ships.

“Do it!” said Glaucon without even bothering to check.

They moved from the cover of the leg and ran to the next dromon, a battered looking military vessel with a number of holes the size of a man’s head running along its fuselage. As they moved passed its battered structure, Xenophon couldn’t help but remember his experiences on the Plymouth Station prior to its capture. Heavy weapons had caused terrible damage, great holes and tears had ripped through its structure as he and a few other fortunate crewmen managed to escape. They moved to the end of the vessel and looked out at the space of nearly fifty metres from their position; and to the only viable craft that could take them from the Titan.

“There they are!” shouted a man off into the distance.

Near one of the fighters were a group of around a dozen guards, of which at least half were stratiotes, the light infantry used in the Legion. One fired a warning shot, and the rest ran towards their small group.

“Now or never, let’s go!” shouted Glaucon.

He ran forward and covered nearly a third of the distance before the rest gave chase. Tamara showed a rare burst of speed and managed to make it at the same time as Glaucon to the target, and the rest arrived a short distance behind them. Roxana glanced behind them, watching the approaching guards and soldiers and turned back, shouting as loudly as she could.

“Move it!”

As they started moving up the ramp, they were they hit by a volley of gunfire. The impact of the pulse rounds left small marks on the metal of the craft but penetrated no further inside. Xenophon moved up the ramp and jumped inside. A loud crack sound followed, and he staggered back and collapsed onto the ramp. The others stumbled over him, and Tamara managed to catch her foot and fell down next to him, groaning at a pain spreading up from her ankle. A large man appeared in the doorway. He was stripped to the waist and wore the overalls worn by some of the Arcadian spatharii, the heavy infantry of the Legion.

“Nobody gets on board my ship!” he snapped and then stepped down the ramp. His hands were raised in a traditional boxing stance. Glaucon pushed ahead, not even thinking about what to do next. The massive man swung his fist, but Glaucon expertly dodge the punch and followed up with a quick jab to the man’s jaw. It was a strong punch, but it did nothing more than force the giant to shake his head and spit onto the ground.

Glaucon stepped back and looked down. Xenophon was out cold, and Roxana was helping to lift Tamara to her feet. He looked behind them and spotted the guards who were now almost on them.

“Too slow!” he muttered and hurled himself one last time at the man. This time he judged it right and crashed into the man’s stomach. He forced his shoulder hard into the soft flesh, and the two men collapsed inside the dromon. They rolled about on the floor of the craft, knocking over a small table covered in machine parts. He managed to put in two punches before the man was able to respond. The first return punch struck Glaucon on the chin and sent him spinning to the floor. He was sturdier built than Xenophon, and with a shake of his head leapt back onto the man. He lifted his hand to strike only to feel cold steel pressed against his head.

“Pentarchos Glaucon, I presume?” asked the man, and then with a single strike, one of the men hit him hard in the face with a rifle butt. He dropped back down, knocked out cold by the powerful blow.

Roxana and Tamara turned to face their adversaries; it was Komes Pasion and his guards. The senior commander wore most of his combat armour and had evidently not changed since his return from the briefing with Clearchus and Cyrus.

“I take it you were thinking of running?” he said angrily.

“No, we are returning to the Legion, just like we signed up to,” snapped back Tamara. Roxana tried to rein in the young girl, but her passions took the better of her. She continued her rant.

“We aren’t Arcadian, and we have not made an agreement with the Medes, just a contract to fight in the expedition led by Cyrus.”

Komes Pasion smiled at her.

“No, you have a contract to serve with the Olympia. Perhaps you should have read your paperwork a little more closely. You work for Terrans, not alien filth like Cyrus and the rest of his mongrel family.”

He looked to his guards.

“Bind them, and then take them all to the brig!”

Arcadian Titan ‘Olympia’, Thapsacus Sector

The three friends sat in silence along with another half a dozen stratiotes who had refused to return with the Arcadians. In the twelve hours since the return of Dukas Xenias and his commanders, it was clear there was a great deal of unrest on the ship. Normally, the Olympia would be crewed by an Arcadian military crew, but for this expedition only a skeleton crew had been supplied by the government for a substantial price. Over half of those on board were from other colonies and planets, even including some of the Arcadians rival such as the Atticans.

Xenophon lay against the wall alongside Glaucon, both of whom were nursing sore heads. Roxana sat nearby and was busy speaking with Dekarchos Maxentius, one of the warriors they had fought alongside with back at the Cilician Gates. He wore a scruffy uniform that was torn along the shoulder and had evidently been caught up in one of the many skirmishes on board the Titan.

“How many of you tried to get out?” she asked him.

“Get out? No, this was a meeting with our Komes. We explained we were unhappy with the plans of the Dukas and intended to leave. Next thing I know we are getting jumped on the way to meeting him. One ended up with a broken leg. He’s still in medical, and the rest of us were thrown in here.”

A younger fighter with a cut on his cheek interrupted them both.

“We should have kept our mouths shut. Now we won’t get paid by Cyrus or the Arcadians. We’ll be lucky if we get transport fare to even get home now.”

Roxana and Maxentius sat in silence, watching the crew as they moved about. Their cell was easily big enough to house thirty prisoners, and there were another five rooms, each facing towards the middle security section in a hexagonal shape. A groan from the right caught their attention; it was Glaucon. He groaned again and lifted his hand to his head. He must have touched a painful bruise because he moaned at the touch.

“Bloody hell, what happened?” he asked, more to himself than to anybody else in the room. Roxana lifted herself up and moved over to him. All were still wearing their combat fatigues just as they had during their abortive escape attempt.

“We screwed up. The Komes and his security detail threw us in here along with anybody else who had the same idea.”

“Same idea, so it’s not just us, then?” he added in mixture of surprise and annoyance.

The noise must have woken Xenophon because he shuddered and slid over; almost knocking his head on the floor before one of the other stratiotes grabbed him.

“Hey, easy fella!” he called out.

Xenophon flailed about until he regained his bearing and managed to sit up. His first view was of Roxana, and for a second he looked reasonably relaxed. Then he saw the bruised Glaucon sat along the wall, and it all flooded back to him.

Oh great, we’re still here, he thought angrily.

The familiar feeling returned; the strange free-floating feeling that occurred just prior to an FTL jump. Xenophon forced himself to stay still and try to avoid vomiting at the sickening feeling. With great effort, he managed to keep it down until with a dull thud the ship completed one of many FTL jumps away from the Armada. He looked around and locked his eyes onto Roxana.

“How many jumps is that now?” he asked.

Roxana looked at him, pleased he was finally conscious but also less than happy at their predicament. Every minute they spent away from the Armada was yet another obstacle between them returning to the Legion.

“I don’t know, at least seven, maybe more,” she answered.

He shook his head and slumped back down into position with a grim expression on his face.

Seven jumps. That could easily put us at least half the way back to the Terran border, assuming that is where we are being taken.

“You know the real reason we have left the Legion, don’t you?” asked a gruff old warrior. He sat in the corner of the brig and kept his head low. The rest of them ignored him and kept talking among themselves. The man continued, even if nobody could be bothered to listen.

“The Laconians are back on the warpath, and the Medes are worried. Artaxerxes might even fund a coalition to keep them occupied. We never should have fought them you know!”

Only Xenophon paid attention when he heard mention of the Laconians.

“What do you know about this? You’re just a soldier, like us.”

The old man looked at Xenophon and spat on the floor.

“I’m nothing like you, boy. I fought in the Alliance Navy for over twenty years until idiots like you back home sent us to war with the Laconians.”

Xenophon shook his head in disagreement.

“No, I never voted for that. I pleaded for people to vote against war. It was a war we would never win.”

Glaucon came over and sat with them both.

“It’s true. Xenophon went on and on at the time, and people didn’t believe him, not even me.”

The man looked at them both for a short while, and it was clear he was remembering something but he couldn’t quite work it out. He looked at Glaucon and then back to Xenophon.

“Wait, you’re Xenophon, son of Gryllus?”

Xenophon nodded.

“You were the Prefect of the Inner Ward if I’m not mistaken, after the war? Your father served with the Thirty during the reconstruction.”

Glaucon nodded to him.

“That’s right, and for their service his father was murdered by one of the Thirty. Now we we’re both on the watch list and can’t return home.”

Xenophon nodded miserably.

“All because of that bitch…”

“Montoya?” suggested the man with a questioning tone.

They both looked to the old man with a mixture of surprise and interest on their faces. Xenophon pulled himself closer to the man. Before any of them could speak, the door to the brig opened, and another two men were thrown inside.

“Stay in there with your friends!” snapped the guard. He locked the door shut behind him and walked away.

Xenophon waited until the guard had gone before speaking.

“How do you know all this?”

“I told you, I used to be in the Alliance Navy, intelligence division.”

“What about Montoya? You heard about her?”

“Of course, in the last few weeks before the fleet was broken up, and the Alliance was disbanded, we saw her at Headquarters. There were rumours she was working with the Laconians before the surrender order was given. She’s a powerful figure in the civilian government now. It was clear then, either you worked with her, or you got out. I knew your father.”

“My father?”

“Yes, Gryllus and a small group of senior officials worked with us on a peaceful accord between Attica and the Laconians. It was a simple plan to allow a transition from a wartime state to one committed to peace with Laconia.”

Xenophon nodded in agreement.

“It’s true. I spoke with my father about this on several occasions. Most Attican officials wanted to fight a war of resistance after our defeat. Gryllus and his friends persuaded them on a course to avoid conflict. Montoya was always against this plan, for her it reduced her power. That’s probably why they made her one of the Thirty, a compromise to keep her quiet.”

The old man tilted his head as if to say that Xenophon might be right.

“Anyway, I heard a group of representatives from most of the main powers have been in talks with the Satrap Tissaphernes.”

Roxana now seemed intrigued.

“You mean the idiot we just helped at the Gates? Why would they be meeting him?”

The man smiled.

“That’s a good question. I do know that Secretary of State Montoya is there, as well as people from a dozen other states. The rumour is that he is assembling a coalition to buttress up against Lysander.”

Glaucon sighed.

“Old man, you seem to have a lot of information for a man that is now an imprisoned soldier on an Arcadian warship. Why would a regional Median commander be looking to fund a coalition of Terrans? Isn’t Cyrus already doing the same thing?”

“A good point, but this isn’t to do with what is happening here. It is to do with the Laconians. Have you not heard the news about Lysander?”

Two guards approached the door and looked inside. It appeared they were trying to find somebody. They were about to leave when one noticed the conversation between the group in the corner.

“Hey, shut it!” he barked.

They stopped and looked at him as did the many other prisoners, all of them looking at him and waiting. He looked at an electronic report in his hand. The corner of his mouth twisted upwards into a smile of satisfaction. A few more seconds and he looked back inside the brig.

“Calm down now, just a few more jumps and then we’ll be getting rid of you. Apparently, there are some people waiting to take a few of you back to your homeworlds. Who’s been a little naughty?”

The familiar feeling of the FTL drive started up again, much to the surprise of the guard and the prisoners. This time it was different, and a series of shudders shook the massive vessel followed by a loud grinding sound. It was similar to the rubbing of heavy metal together. Almost immediately after, the sound of the emergency alarms activated and the lights dimmed.

“Stay here!” shouted the guard and then he was gone.

Red lights flashed on, and the Titan quickly transformed from its sedentary state to one of a ship at battle stations. The brig was quickly deserted, and just a couple of guards stayed to stand at their posts. The rest grabbed armour and weapons from the lockers and exited through the single entrance to the brig quarter.

“What the hell is going on?” shouted one of the prisoners.

“Maybe it’s a mutiny. There’s a lot if dissatisfaction on board.”

Tamara leaned against the wall and placed her ear to the solid surface. She winced several times as she listened as best she could. Roxana moved towards her and started to speak. She was interrupted by a group of crewmen rushing in to check the firearm lockers. There was just one pulse pistol left, and the first woman to arrive grabbed it.

“Is that it?” asked one of the men with her.

“Yeah, come on, we need to get out of here!”

Another peered inside at them.

“Let’s go, they are coming this way!” he cried.

The group moved to the door before any of the prisoners even thought to speak. It came down to Tamara to get their attention as the woman with the pistol started to disappear through the gap.

“Hey, what’s happening out there?” she shouted.

The woman vanished but reappeared, peeking back inside. Her look suggested she hadn’t even noticed them in the cells, let alone had given them more than a few seconds consideration.

“We don’t know. There’s fighting on the ship and fires in the landing bay.”

She looked around the brig and slapped a large red button on the wall with the palm of her hand. She then vanished and left the prisoners to their fate.

“That’s just great!” muttered somebody in one of the adjacent cells.

A hiss reverberated through the brig and in perfect synchronisation, every single cell door slid open.

“Yes!” shouted Glaucon.

Xenophon reached out and held him back.

“Don’t be too excited my friend. Why did she release us?” he added.

“Who cares? Let’s go!” said Tamara excitedly. She was at the door and moving out into the corridor before the rest had even moved. Dozens of other prisoners rushed out, and in less than half a minute, the entire place was deserted. Xenophon, Roxana and Glaucon joined Tamara in the corridor. The sight that greeted them all left them speechless. A dozen bodies littered the ground, and splatters of blood covered one side of the corridor. Two men at the far end were dragging a third wounded soldier after them. A powerful blast shook the Titan with such a force that all of them were thrown hard against the wall.

“Uh, guys? What the hell can make a Titan do that?” asked Glaucon.

Xenophon said nothing, but his expression was all Glaucon needed to see. A clatter of small arms fire rattled out in the distance, but there was no easy way of telling quite how far away it was. As they stood against the wall, the old man from the brig appeared. Another violent shake threw them about, and he stumbled towards Xenophon. He grabbed him and pulled him to the side before he almost fell to the ground.

“You okay, old man?” he asked in an amused fashion. The man looked up and grinned.

“Kid, you can call me Marcus. You know those sounds are heavy pulse weapons, don’t you? This ship is in big trouble.”

Glaucon moved off down the corridor and vanished into the smoke but quickly reappeared. Several bright flashes behind him gave the impression he was jumping back from a violent storm.

“We need to get out of here, let’s do it!” he cried.

He turned back to the smoke and vanished, quickly followed by Roxana. The others did the same and left the brig behind. As they moved their way along the corridors, they passed many more dead or injured crew. Some were badly burned but most showed firearms injuries. Marcus knelt down and examined one of the casualties of whatever battle seemed to be raging.

“This is odd. He’s carrying webbing and ammunition but no weapons.”

No weapons, what happened here? Xenophon thought.

Tamara jumped back, looking in vain for somewhere to hide. She looked at the others with a desperate look on her face.

“Somebody is coming!”

There was nowhere to hide, and even as they looked about, a stream of dozens of the crew dashed past at the end of the corridor and kept moving. One collapsed to the ground not far from Tamara, and then they were gone. The clatter of gunfire continued. Xenophon spotted a weapon on the floor and reached out to grab it. He pulled the sling towards him and lifted the carbine up to his face, checking the safety was off and there were rounds still in the magazine.

“Anybody got a suggestion?” he asked.

“I know the way to the evacuation deck. It’s about eighty metres from here, one level up and near to the port observation deck. But there’s one problem.”

Xenophon leaned in closer.

“Yeah, why am I not surprised?”

“There is one armoury on the way, so we might run into trouble.”

Glaucon nodded in agreement.

“Maybe, but we’ve already run into trouble. We might even get our hands on some weapons. I say we do it and fast. We need to get somewhere safe, arm ourselves and then try and find out what the hell is going on.”

Xenophon pulled back the bolt on the carbine and locked in the first multi-pulse round. The weapon was now ready for use. He looked up to the others.

“Good point. Is this a prison revolt, a coup or is the ship breaking apart?”

“I suggest we get moving and find out for ourselves,” suggested Roxana.

With unspoken agreement, they moved out from the corridor and took the first turn to the left. Marcus moved close behind with Xenophon and their single firearm. The sound of gunfire and battle continued along with the occasional blast that shook the Titan. It took several minutes for them to reach a wide open space that was the main level hub with elevators, ramps and staircases leading to a dozen different levels. The damage from battle was everywhere. Pulse rounds, discarded magazines and dozens of bodies lay scattered. It was one of the more attractive parts of the ship. At least it had been prior to the recent violence. The elevators used tube like tunnels to move about the ship, whereas the ramps were more oval in shape and ran like arteries through the vessel.

“Which way?” asked Xenophon. He dropped to one knee, lifting the weapon to his shoulder to better to stabilise himself in readiness for the inevitable attack on their position. The sight used a special overlay system that incorporated a simple optical sight as well as a projected tactical overlay. Sadly, it seemed to be non-functional, so he was forced to use just the mechanical optics.

“That way!” replied Marcus, pointing to one of the oval entrances that led up. He grabbed one of the many discarded weapons and moved for the ramp. The others did the same, picking up the nearest weapons they could find. The sound of battle became louder the closer they moved to the next level. Another two blasts shook the ship before they reached their destination. It was more spacious than before, and a number of fires were spreading smoke. Glaucon looked around the corner and pulled himself back.

“I don’t get it, how did this happen so fast? We weren’t in the brig that long?”

“Stop!” It was an odd shout from further back in the tunnel.

They spun around to spot their adversaries, but at this distance and with all the smoke, all they could see were dark, armoured shapes. They advanced slowly but methodically towards them.

“Run!” shouted Xenophon.

They abandoned the tunnel and rushed out into the open. Marcus moved ahead and waved his hand to point out the evacuation deck. Green and red emergency lighting marked the route. It was disordered chaos as they rushed in the direction he’d pointed out. They almost made it as more dark shapes appeared ahead of them. A volley of shots rattled out, and they were forced to spread out and take cover along the widely spaced side walls. Streaks of fire from pulse weapons ripped passed them, turning the corridor unto a deadly maelstrom of fire.

“What now?” Tamara shouted. She held her carbine in her right hand and shielded her face with her left. Roxana looked about and spotted the wide open archway that was signed to the observation deck. She nodded with her head in the direction of the door. Xenophon, Glaucon and Marcus were pinned down on the other side of the open space but conveniently closer to the arched entrance.

“Through the archway!” she shouted, but more gunfire blocked out the sound of her voice.

A group of stratiotes, the light infantry of the Legion, ran passed them all. They seemed completely disinterested in their small band and made it nearly twenty metres before the massed gunfire tore them to shreds.

“Why?” screamed Tamara.

Roxana grabbed her by the arm and braved the pulse rounds to rush across the corridor. Round after round blasted passed them both, but they miraculously made it and ran through the archway. Xenophon watched in awe as they moved through the hail of fire and disappeared. He looked back to Glaucon who just grinned at him.

“Go!” he cried, and the three men jumped around the corner and followed the two women. The gun battle continued behind them as the survivors of the stratiotes fought for a few more seconds before being silenced by the enemy guns. The archway led to a small open space and three doors. Roxana and Tamara disappeared through the largest door and out of sight. Xenophon chased after them and jumped into the room, his carbine at the ready. Instead of bodies, he found he was in one of the most luxurious parts of the ship. Glaucon and Marcus arrived close behind him.

“What the hell is this?” asked Glaucon. The room was wide, and many chairs and comfortable seats were arranged to face one side of the room. Roxana had already shut the door behind them and was busy sliding furniture against it to create a further obstacle to the enemy. Marcus placed his hand on a switch and flicked it. With a soft mechanical whirl, the entire side of the room seemed to vanish. It was all an illusion, and the metal of the wall slid away to reveal a thick, transparent skin, much like glass.

“Wow!” exclaimed Xenophon. He could see scores of spacecraft outside, some in battle formation and others circling their Titan. Large numbers of heavy cruisers of an unrecognised configuration waited as if on parade. Groups of fighters swept passed the Titan, and one blazed away with an energy weapon.

Animals, they must be chasing down escapees like us, he thought.

“This is one of the public observation decks. Enjoy the view,” said Marcus.

Roxana looked less than impressed, however.

“People, forget the view, we have a major situation here. We need to barricade this place, set up cover and check our weapons.”

She was ignored for a few more seconds before Xenophon heard more noises outside.

“Roxana is right.”

He looked about and did a quick tactical assessment. There was only one way inside the deck and that was through the doorway they had already entered. The doorway itself was wide enough for three people to easily enter at once. They couldn’t be flanked in this position, and that granted them an easily defended location.

But there is one problem, he thought dismally. We have no way out.

*

They waited for what seemed like an age before the noise returned. At first, it sounded as though a hostile force was about to smash through the door, but it never came. Just when the sounds of struggle started to fade, a group appeared at the arched doorway, and the sound of a metal fist or tool banged on the door. Tamara nearly spoke, but Xenophon drew his hand over his mouth, indicating for her to keep quiet. The banging continued.

“We’ve been sent by Xenias to evacuate survivors. I am Dekarchos Julius of the 6th Spatharii. We know you’re in there, open up!”

Roxana whispered over to Xenophon.

“What do you think?”

Xenophon considered both her question and the comments from the soldier. He was taking a chance by answering but also perhaps an equal chance if he didn’t. The man continued speaking.

“Medes boarding parties are still on the ship. The reactors are already in meltdown, and most of the crew have already left. There are small pockets left that are holding out. Come with us, we have a dromon waiting off the evacuation deck.”

“We need to go!” cried Tamara, finally breaking their silence. Glaucon grabbed her to stop her saying any more, but it was already too late. Xenophon looked to his group with a look of both dismay and optimism. Another of the loud blasts shook the ship, and Xenophon was thrown to the wall.

“That’s heavy cutters, we’re surrounded. Open the door or we’re leaving you behind, your choice!” called out the man on the other side of the door.

Xenophon lifted himself up, moved to the door and started dragging one of the units away from where it blocked access. He glanced back at the others and indicated with his head for them to help. Glaucon came over immediately and helped him move the larger unit. Roxana indicated the position for Marcus and Tamara to move to. Each waited behind cover with their weapons loaded and ready.

“We’re opening up, now!” called out Xenophon, for a second worrying that they might have already left. The two men pulled the final obstruction out of the way and paused for a brief moment.

“Ready?” asked Xenophon as quietly as he could manage. Glaucon nodded in agreement and stepped back, his own weapon at the ready. Xenophon reached out, released the lock and pulled the door back in one swift motion. It was a large door that was normally powered. It swung open slowly to reveal darkness and several wisps of smoke. The shape of an armoured man appeared, but he didn’t enter.

“How many of you are there? Can you walk?” he asked.

Xenophon sighed inwardly, satisfied, at least for now that these men were not here to harm them. He looked back and spotted the relief on the faces of his comrades before answering the man.

“Five, all armed and yes, we can move.”

“Good, stay behind us, and watch for trouble.” And then he was gone.

Xenophon moved out first, and the others followed closely behind him. He was amazed at the carnage in the corridor outside the observation lounge. Over a dozen Medes bodies lay broken on the floor. He had never actually seen a Medes warrior before and was curious to look at one close up. He stopped, but an armoured hand grabbed his shoulder and pulled him forward.

“Don’t gawk, we ain’t got the time!” snapped back the faceless warrior.

Good point, he thought.

There were seven spatharii, and they were fully armoured and carrying carbines. They were standard issue Arcadian weapons, and he recognised the cooling fins and ridges along the barrel and topside as quite clearly their standard weapons. Xenophon pushed ahead so that he reached the middle of the squad. One of the spatharii looked to him in surprise.

“What happened?” asked Xenophon.

“Tissaphernes is what happened. He betrayed us. A contingent of his emissaries came aboard after the last jump to arrange the terms of our contract. They weren’t emissaries though.”

The group reached the evacuation deck but immediately hit trouble. Flashes of light off to the left forced them to take cover. One of the spatharii was hit in the chest, but his heavy armour reduced the damage and simply blasted him to the ground. Two of his comrades pulled him to cover and returned fire with their own carbines. Flashes of light moved back and forth between the two sides, with neither appearing to have the advantage. Dekarchos Julius took careful aim and fired a single shot at the huddle of enemy figures. One slumped to the floor.

“One down,” said the commander quietly to himself.

“What are we going to do?” asked Glaucon.

“We have to get to the dromon!” called out Julius. He pointed off to the right and to the dark shape of the armoured dromon that was waiting for them. A small group of fighters were firing away at the enemy. They were secure but no closer to escaping.

The other warriors returned fire, and it was clear they were no warriors any of them had ever seen before. Unlike the normal Medes troopers, these were something else again. At more than a head taller than a Medes soldier; they were big and heavily armoured. Their bodies were still lithe and athletic, but they were either a special breed of Medes or an entirely different race.

Xenophon lifted his carbine and aimed down the open sights. The Medes soldiers were well defended behind a damaged dromon engine assembly, and their fire made the open ground to the dromon a killing ground. Due to their size, they were finding it hard to find enough cover to stay completely protected. He aimed high and to the right and squeezed off a round. The carbine kicked into his shoulder, and he was pleased to see one of the soldiers drop down. His elation was short lived though; the soldier lifted himself back up and returned fire.

“Dammit, are they shielded?”

One of the spatharii fired a burst and then ducked down to speak with him. He shook his head as he watched more fire hit around the enemy ineffectively.

“These aren’t normal Medes soldiers. We’ve heard rumours of this unit. They are supposed to be in their thousands and guard the Emperor and his commanders. Apparently, they are an elite unit called Anusiya. I think it means something like ‘Immortals’, and they are from a part of the Empire no Terran has ever visited.”

“Sound like a pile of horse crap to me,” laughed Glaucon while simultaneously blasting one with his weapon.

The spatharios looked back to him and grinned. The humour of Glaucon was infectious and did much to calm the nerves of those troops trying to make their way off the doomed ship. He pointed to the Anusiya.

“I don’t think it is meant to be taken literally. They killed our guards and then set off atomics near our power plant and life support. Any other ship would be dead, but not the Olympia, she can take a beating.”

A loud roar indicated the arrival of a dromon at the side of the evacuation deck. It moved through the sealed energy shield that protected those inside from the cold vacuum of space and settled down in the middle of the deck. It wasn’t a standard vessel. Xenophon instantly recognised it as the command dromon of Dukas Xenias. It carried thicker armour as well as multiple weapon mounts and turrets. It sat, waiting patiently while its gunners put down heavy suppressing fire on the enemy Anusiya. The side doors opened and out came nearly a dozen bodyguards, wearing full armour and carrying carbines. The first two to jump out carried shield generators. They created a glowing screen in front of the force and protected them from the reduced weapons fire.

“I knew he wouldn’t leave us to rot,” said Dekarchos Julius. The sense of pride and loyalty in his voice almost made Xenophon feel guilty at their attempts to escape.

A final figure appeared. It was the massively armoured hulk of the Dukas himself. Xenophon and his comrades had met him only a few times, and he was never more imposing than when stepping on a battlefield. His thick armour and shielded body deflected the enemy weapons fire with a level of contempt that almost made him seem god like. He stepped away from the dromon and checked for survivors. Before Dekarchos Julius’ group could move, another five warriors broke out of their cover and made the dash to the dromon.

“More survivors, good,” said Julius under his breath.

The group made the short run across the open space and even though a number of rounds came close, none were hit. Julius looked around at his own force and then back to the dromon.

“Okay, people, this is it, let’s go, now!”

He jumped up and fired a long burst from his carbine. The sparks and flashes from the weapon hit all around the enemy who were trapped behind their cover. They made it half way when Glaucon spotted the arrival of more Anusiya warriors. A force of nearly twenty appeared from one of the many side tunnels. They kept running towards the dromon, some firing and others hurling objects. The turret fire from the ship cut down over half, yet they kept coming.

The first of the spatharii reached the dromon at the same time as the projectiles struck the front of the vessel. They exploded on impact, sending shards of razor sharp metal and burning chemicals around the target area. They ignored the fire and jumped inside and along the other survivors. Roxana was the last to climb aboard. Once inside, the guard unit and Xenias, returned, blazing away at the growing numbers of enemy troops.

“Strap yourselves in, everyone. This is going to be rough!” shouted the pilot without the benefit of the communication system.

Dukas Xenias grabbed one of the magnetic clamps and looked about inside the vessel. He spotted Xenophon and his people and shook his head.

“It seems they are not as trustworthy as I thought,” he said in a conciliatory voice.

CHAPTER THREE

Deep Space, Thapsacus Sector

Another explosion rocked the dromon as the small armada of vessels rushed away from the crippled Titan. A mere two dozen dromons and a single archaic war cruiser were all that remained of the small Arcadian contingent in the Legion. Vendetta was an obsolete cruiser by any standard; even so she was the most substantial vessel in their force. The years had taken their toll, and many of her weapon batteries had been replaced with additional shield generators or storage space for the expedition. Unlike most of the dromons, she had seen service many generations earlier in the wars with the Medes. By all accounts, Vendetta was nothing more than a glorified freighter, but with the benefits of extra armour and a few antiquated weapons.

She is one tough old bird, thought Xenophon, as he watched the old cruiser fend off attacks by two much smaller Median cruisers. The light energy beams left scorch marks on the cruiser’s thick armour, but the shield generators did their job and absorbed most of the energy.

“Hold on, they’re making another pass!” shouted the pilot.

The inertial dampeners took most of the impact, but the harsh directional shift threw them about. Incandescent balls of superheated energy rushed passed then, and at least one dromon was hit twice.

“We’re lining up to land on the Vendetta, get ready for a quick evac,” he added as a blast of energy destroyed another dromon.

Dukas Xenias slammed his fist into the communication unit on the wall.

“This is Dukas Xenias to all ships, jump to the emergency nav beacon, now!”

The pilot looked back at him, but it was clear there was to be no discussion. Half of the dromons flickered and then vanished as each activated their short-ranged FTL drives. The Vendetta followed them, and the in a sickening lurch so did their own craft. Each of the surviving dromons was packed with crew and warriors from a dozen worlds. All that was left of this part of the fleet remained with the dromons and the cruiser. Only a small number were still trapped on the Olympia. Xenophon watched the massive hulk of the Titian shrink in size in the blink of an eye, and then they were gone. The heavy cutting beams used by the Medes capital ships were left to continue their terrible work on the Titan with the deadly efficiency the Medes were so renowned for.

“Dukas, we’re at the nav beacon,” said the pilot.

The virtual nav beacon was simply a location in space that had been predetermined as a rallying point; there was no actual physical beacon. The small number of burnt and damaged dromons swarmed around Vendetta, waiting to unload the surviving troops onto the cruiser. The landing bay was normally designed for the launch and retrieval of a single scout fighter or transport. Now it was being used as an emergency docking point for one craft after another. Two dromons had already been unloaded when the first Median light cruiser arrived. It appeared in a blur, and like the arrival of a thick droplet of water that coalesced into the form of a warship. In seconds, streams of energy flicked at the cruiser, and one beam cut an empty dromon in half.

“Dukas, we need to dock and fast!” said the pilot.

He looked down to his view screen and nodded in satisfaction as he spotted a multitude of signal streams being flooded with traffic. He did a quick check and looked over his shoulder to the Dukas.

“My Lord, Vendetta is jamming her, so it should buy us some time.”

Xenias nodded and tapped the communications buttons once more.

“All dromons, speed up the unloading procedure. Vendetta, restart your FTL, we’re going to need to jump immediately.”

The voice of the capital ship’s commander broke out over the internal speakers.

“This is Kybernetes Ezekiel Manus, the Kentarchos was killed during the first attack. We have rerouted all weapons power to the FTL and can jump in seven minutes.”

Another series of explosions ignited off the left side of the cruiser. Fragments of metals and debris struck the hull but incredibly, none penetrated the thick hide. The main weapons batteries didn’t respond, but the small point defence turrets did their best to hold off most of the projectile weapon fire. The shields were now the only defence against the heavy beams.

“Our turn, Dukas, we’re going in!” called out the pilot.

With great skills, he spun the dromon through the wreckage of two other vessels and landed in the small landing bay. As soon as the doors opened, a number of crew helped drag the wounded from their craft and pulled them to safety. In less than thirty seconds, the craft was unloaded and relaunched into an automatic holding pattern. Tamara watched as it circled away, crewless and aimless.

“What will happen to her?” she asked wistfully.

Glaucon looked at Tamara and to the dromon. It managed to reach three hundred metres before a dark blue energy beam cut through its middle.

“There’s your answer. Come on, we need to get inside,” he said, and they chased after the Dukas. The rest of the crew and spatharii did the same, and soon they were inside the heart of the ship and its many corridors and passages. The first thing Xenophon noticed was the wounded. He spotted dozens of burn victims and a number with hideous injuries to their faces and arms. The group kept moving until they reached the command deck.

Dukas Xenias was already speaking with the Acting Kentarchos, a young, haggard-looking man. He had a bandage across his right shoulder and several smudges of blood on his chest.

“Komes Pasion is on board as well as some of his men. There are two more dromons left to dock, and then we are clear.”

“Two?” snapped back Xenias, unable to believe it was such a small number.

“Yes, Dukas, we have managed to save a little over four hundred of the crew and seven hundred and twelve troops from the Olympia.”

Xenias was stunned and said nothing for a few seconds. Dekarchos Julius approached the commander of the cruiser with a similar look of disbelief on his face.

“Only eleven hundred out of a complement of nearly five thousand warriors and a thousand crew?”

Xenias lifted his hand and rubbed his chin as he considered their situation. He had suffered a major blow, and the loss of so many friends and countrymen must have rankled.

“More ships are coming through!” called out an unseen tactical officer.

The ship was old and lacked the advance command and control systems used in modern vessels. It featured just one main view screen that filled most of one side of the deck. Hundreds of years ago, this was the way all capital ships had been modelled. All it showed now was the age and obsolescence of the Vendetta. The cruiser shook as they took more impacts from the heavy weapons of the Median ship.

“Two minutes till we can jump!” called out the Acting Kentarchos.

On the display, the shape of the Median light cruiser looked menacing and fearsome. Unlike the Terrans, the Medes were more interested in aesthetics and numbers than military prowess. Many worlds had yielded to their might simply because a thousand ships had arrived in orbit and demanded thus. In recent history, only the combined might of all the Terrans had been able to hold back the deluge that was a combined Median fleet. In theory, the older Terran cruiser should be able to match the more modern ship in a one on one duel. But the problem was one of time. Every minute they stayed there was another minute that could let the rest of the enemy fleet know where they were.

“Look!” cried Roxana in surprise as the shapes of newly arrived ships materialised around the two cruisers. It was four hydra class destroyers, the ship class that Xenophon and Roxana had served on before the fall of the Alliance. Xenias smiled at the sight of the friendly ships.

“Good,” he said with a stoic nod, “perhaps all is not lost.”

They took up position between Vendetta and her attacker, and then turned their guns on the enemy ship. It was a devastating volley of firepower, and in less than a minute, the burnt and damaged shape of the Media cruiser began its limping retreat from the battle. Hot on its heels were two of the destroyers. The small ships kept up a light but withering fire of heavy energy weapons. The other two took up station around Vendetta to provide security while the last few survivors transferred to the cruiser. Two of Xenias’ security guards approached and spoke quietly before moving away to a discreet distance.

“I am moving my flag here for the time being. Finish the loading of the survivors, and pass the rendezvous coordinates to the rest of the…well, to the rest of the fleet.”

The Kentarchos nodded and looked back to the rest of his crew. Xenias stood alongside, Xenophon and a small group of those that had travelled back with them to the cruiser. Two more dekarchos arrived from other units on the ship and waited for their orders. The Dukas signalled for the auletes to give him access to the ship’s communications system. It took just a few seconds to patch him through to the ship and the newly arrived destroyers.

“This is Dukas Xenias, commander of Olympia and the Arcadian detachment. Take this message to all your officers and crew, and get them ready. It is my intention for us to rejoin the Legion as quickly as possible. This betrayal by Tissaphernes must be answered and trust me, it will be.”

He paused and took a breath, but to Xenophon it looked like he was trying to make a decision, and it seemed to trouble him.

“For now, we need the protection of the Legion and the Titans. We cannot allow this aggression against Terrans to go unpunished. I have suspicions about Cyrus and certainly all Medes. As of now, we will not trust a word that ever leaves their mouths. There is even a chance Cyrus is leading Clearchus into a trap that will strip the finest of all Terran warriors to their deaths.”

He stopped and looked about the old and worn interior of the cruiser. Vendetta was certainly far from the best ships he had seen, but she was solid, dependable and his home. He almost smiled at the sight of the crew moving about at their stations, and the sound of communications gear in use. It reminded him of Olympia.

Komes Pasion and Komes Andronicus entered the command deck. They were both in charge of sizable contingents in the Arcadian force and looked as if they had encountered heavy fighting. Dukas Xenias stopped and looked at them. He lowered the microphone so he could speak privately.

“Were you successful?” he asked.

Both men nodded.

“Good, it is an unfortunate thing but a necessary one.”

He then lifted the microphone and continued speaking with the crew of the ships.

“The Olympia was a good ship. No, she was a great ship and the pride of the Arcadian military machine. She will not fall into the hands of the enemy, and in her death throes she will make the Medes suffer. Prepare yourselves for a long march, we will find our comrades and finish our mission.”

He looked at the motley collection of crew, stratiotes and spatharii from multiple units and ships. Most were from the Titan but a small percentage hailed from the small number of escorts that had been unable to escape the ambush. He glanced at each of them before coming to Xenophon, Glaucon, Tamara and Roxana. It was to Tamara that he stopped near first. It was probably her blue hair that caught his eye, and for a second Xenophon regretted having even met her. In the commotion of the battle on the Titan, he had recognised her but been unable to give her or the others any more thought.

“You, we fought together at Cilicia, did we not?” he asked.

She nodded and tried to lower her head to avoid attention. He moved along and smiled when he spotted the others of her little group.

“Ah yes, the escapees from the Night Blades, it would appear our paths have crossed again. You were right, of course, the Legion is home and the only organisation we can trust in hostile space such as this. As of now, you are all reinstated into the Legion. I will be restructuring our detachment due to losses of both personnel and equipment.”

“What about our agreement with the Empire, with the Emperor?” asked one of his junior commanders.

Dukas Xenias snorted in derision, and the very mention of the hated man’s name seemed to twist and contort the commander’s face.

“Agreement? That was torn up the minute Tissaphernes the traitor attacked us under a flag of truce,” he spat out.

Komes Pasion looked at the gathered officers and stared at Xenophon and his group in particular. He had evidently not forgotten about their little incident on the Titan prior to the attack. He stepped nearer to Xenophon, and Glaucon moved a little closer; his body tightening up and expecting a fight. Instead the Komes smiled, confusing them both.

“I harbour no hard feelings at your escape attempt. It is not like you were trying to escape battle. As it happens, your wish will be answered.”

He turned back to the Dukas, but one of the crew spoke to him.

“All passengers are aboard, and the escorting ships report they are charged and ready to jump.”

Dukas Xenias nodded in agreement.

“Good, give them the fractal codes and start the clock. We jump in sixty seconds.”

He looked about the ship, noting the number of wounded and those in great pain. It was a defeat, but not all was lost. What did concern him was the distance. Though he hadn’t spoken of it with the others, he was aware they would need multiple refuelling stops if they were to make the long trip to chase after the Legion.

Assuming they are still on the same course and haven’t altered their speed, he thought ruefully.

*

Laconian Titan ‘Valediction’, Su’bartu Maelstrom

The mighty warship shuddered once more as it ploughed through a cloud of dust. Most small craft or ships would sustain damage in such a place, but the thick armour and powerful shielding of the Titan kept it safe from foreign bodies. The Armada had entered the Maelstrom and it was living up to its name. It was a vast and dangerous region of space situated between the fertile border worlds and the rich inner systems. Survey ships and drones had tried to map the great collection of shipping obstructions, gases and nebula in the area, but as the years moved on, so did the shape of the Maelstrom. The famous navigator Randy Artis from Psidia had established a series of safe shipping lanes through the most dangerous parts of the Maelstrom. These Artis route lanes were like super highways connecting gas giants and space stations together. They were carefully calculated so that large ships could refuel and complete long journeys through these dangerous parts of space.

Strategos Clearchus stood in his customary position in the centre of the command deck. His personal guards were close, as was one of his two deputies, Kleandridas, who was busy checking the scans of the nearby system by one of the senior dekarchos. He finished examining the details and looked up to his commander.

“I don’t like this, Strategos, not one bit. According to the Artis routes, we should be able to refuel the fleet at the Leonis 9713 star system.”

“That’s right, so what’s the problem?” asked an irritable Clearchus.

“Well, it’s pretty simple Strategos, it isn’t there anymore. Spectral scans indicate the star went supernova three years ago. The three gas giants were obliterated.”

He stretched out his arms and pointed at the view around them of dust and debris.

“This is it, no gas giants and no fuel for the fleet.”

Clearchus took the small tablet-like device and examined the data himself. The images and scans were clear, as were the Artis routes on the navigation plan they had set out.

“This is correct?”

His deputy nodded but said nothing more. Kleandridas was correct, of course, but with such a significant problem, the Strategos needed to see the numbers for himself. They were stood on the command deck, the heart of the Titan and of the fleet. It was wide and large enough to house a hundred officers. Many of them were scanning everything within a parsec for raw materials the fleet could use. Banks of displays ran in columns, each attached to the ribbed inner skin of the ship. The light from the displays gave a bright shimmer to the command deck that was unlike any other part of the ship. It was the large-scale virtual observation system that really stood out. The entire inner surface of the deck was controlled at a molecular level to give it the characteristics of a flawless three-dimensional video display. Standing on the deck was like flying through space, and with the full ability to see outside of the ship, past the armour and into space itself.

“I never wanted to take these routes, but if we travel around the Maelstrom, we’ll be forced to extend our journey by four or five times.”

Kleandridas nodded in agreement and pointed to the starmap on the device.

“We’d also have to extend our time travelling through the border systems. The more time we spend there, the better chance the enemy will have of finding us and establishing our intent. We have to arrive in the Core Systems with the element of surprise on our side.”

He moved the display on the device to show a map of the main star systems. The Core Worlds were a great cluster of hundreds of star systems that themselves contained scores of populated worlds. He enlarged the view so that it focused down on the capital planet and star systems within a short distance.

“We need to arrive here and in force. Even with our combined Median and Terran fleet, we could still find double or even triple the enemy numbers upon our arrival.”

Clearchus looked surprised.

“You don’t think they already know we are coming? Artaxerxes is no fool. Don’t forget the information we have on him in our databanks. Cyrus was his mother’s favourite to become Emperor, and still he ended up exiled and thrown to the borders.”

Kleandridas nodded slowly in agreement. The information he had seen concerning Cyrus, the rest of his family and the constant intrigue between them, quite frankly irked him. It wasn’t as though the Arcadians were perfect, but this level of interfamilial bickering and bloodletting left him feeling sick inside. He shook his head and looked back to Clearchus.

“Well, only Tissaphernes knows we have travelled passed his territories, but he knows nothing of our mission. Neither Artaxerxes or any of the other satraps even know we passed the Cilician Gates.”

He stepped towards the nearest computer system and displayed the area of space between the Cilician Gates and the heart of the Median Empire. It was a fast gulf of more than a kiloparsec; an absolutely massive distance that would require over a hundred jumps. He pointed at each of the major Median starbases and naval commands, and a green line followed his finger as it snaked through the Empire. The route carefully avoided the major Median sites until making it to the edge of the Core Worlds.

“Surely, if we are careful and avoid any major Median settlements, we can make it through to the outlying worlds. At least this way, Artaxerxes won’t be able to call in his border commanders in time to help his fleet.”

“That is true, but with nearly Ten Thousand mercenaries, and double that number of Medes under Ariaeus, we have a lot of eyes and a great deal of mouths in this fleet. I can guarantee that at least one has talked already. If they’ve talked, Artaxerxes will already know.”

Kleandridas scratched his cheek as he considered the comments by Clearchus.

“If he knows, then he will be calling in his major warships and assembling his Royal ground forces. He has to strike hard and fast before they can mobilise.”

Clearchus nodded again in complete agreement.

“Yes, I have no doubt about the skill and expertise of our own forces, but even Terrans can only kill so many. We do not want to end up trapped in hostile territory with just our fleet to protect us. It will be a long and dangerous return journey if we are unable to achieve our objectives.”

He thought of the Medes representatives he had encountered so far on this campaign. Lord Cyrus appeared honourable, and more importantly, had treated the officers and men of the mission with respect. He had kept the target secret, but that secretive trait was one common with all the Medes he had met. Tissaphernes was a plotter and a schemer. He had no doubts the man would turn on his own family if it might better his position. Then there was Ariaeus, the next most significant figure and a man with the ear of Cyrus himself. Even Clearchus had seen very little of this powerful and shadowy figure.

“What do we know of Ariaeus? Lord Cyrus says he is his most trusted assistant, but does that mean we can trust him on this operation? My files show he has a long and colourful career, including quite a few entanglements with at least a dozen Terran colonies.”

Kleandridas brought up a detailed profile of Ariaeus, the second most senior Median commander in the Legion. Clearchus had only met him a few times, and the dislike they had for each other was obvious and unguarded. He snarled at the face, remembering the last time they had spoken. Clearchus watched him and remembered that his deputy and close friend had a painful secret; one only Clearchus and a few other high-ranking Arcadians knew of. He sighed, angry at himself for forgetting.

“I’m sorry, your family has had dealing with some of Ariaeus’ people. I know it can’t be easy for you to work with him or his force,” he said, doing his best to be as sensitive about the issue as he could.

It was true and a cause of great resentment to the high-ranking Terran officer. An infiltration team under the orders of Ariaeus had managed to start a revolution on one of the smaller Plataean moons, two decades earlier. It seems it was part of a plan to try and wrest the minor colonies of the smaller Terran factions away from the Laconian League, upon whom they were dependent. It wasn’t the first time it had happened, and it wouldn’t be the last. The Terrans were notorious for their infighting and mistrust of each other, and a weakness that was often exploited by enemies such as the Medes. The Mining Revolution, as it was known, had personal significance to Kleandridas, however. The Medes agents helped instigate a workers’ strike that quickly turned violent. Many citizens and workers had been killed while fighting government forces and atrocities had been committed on both sides. When the fighting was over, over nine hundred people had lost their lives, including both of Kleandridas’ parents. The involvement of Ariaeus was only found out years later.

“Strategos, I have Topoteretes Pleistoanax on the link. He wishes to speak with you,” said the ship’s auletes.

Strategos Clearchus smiled at the news. Pleistoanax was one of the few commanders in the fleet that he knew could be counted upon to come through when times were tough.

“Excellent, put it up on my screen,” he replied.

The video feed appeared instantly from the scout cruiser being commanded by the second topoteretes. The face of the man appeared, but his expression suggested bad news. From the angle of the feed, it was difficult to see what was going on inside the cruiser. He couldn’t see the red glow of emergency lighting though, and there were no signs of battle or distress in the crew.

“Topoteretes, I assume by your expression you don’t have good news for me?”

There was a short pause, but it wasn’t clear if that was due to the distance, or simply down to the commander considering his response. Like Clearchus and Kleandridas, he wore his Laconian regalia, including full body armour and crimson cloak.

“No, Strategos, my scout group has performed a full scan of the area, and we can confirm the lack of resources due to the destruction of the planets. With most of the fleet down to less than half tanks, we need more before continuing much further into Median space. The next point is fifteen parsecs away, but there are no guarantees we will be able to refuel there, and that is a problem, a big problem.”

Clearchus looked confused at his last statement. Their route followed the standard Artis routes, and each point should be between five and fifteen parsecs away. They should be able to make at least one more, perhaps two more jumps with the remaining fuel.

“I don’t understand, why not?”

“The next location was being used as a stopover point for Median transports two years ago. There is a possibility that it is being used as a base of operations. The only other options are to expend all of our fuel in a single jump to one other sector. My estimates show that only half the ships in the fleet can make a jump of that distance. We’ll have to leave the rest behind and risk the remainder in one movement.”

“That isn’t acceptable. I must have the full fleet and all the Legion if this plan is to succeed. The jump to the site with a possible base is our only way forward. But if we are discovered this early on, we will have problems. We will never have the element of surprise when we reach the Core Worlds and could end up facing an insurmountable enemy force.”

“It’s worse than that.”

Clearchus sighed, bracing himself for whatever was coming next.

“Explain?”

“If we jump in and find the site contested, we will have enough fuel for a single short jump. We could make it back here, but for what? With this system lost, we will be unable to jump back any further and will be trapped, adrift in the wake of a destroyed star. Some of the ships could probably make it one further jump back, but we’d be strung out with some ships trapped here and around the dead star. It is a very big risk.”

Kleandridas tapped the large screen next to him and the commander. It was semi-transparent and almost three metres wide. It changed to show the immediate area around the fleet and the three projected routes they could take. One returned to the previous sector and two moved ahead. A symbol at the closest destination showed the potential position of the Median transit point. He pointed at the transit point.

“If there is no fuel, or we are forced to withdraw, we will end up trapped right here. We could always fight our way out, though?” he added.

Clearchus liked the idea of being able to fight their way through, but memories of the gruelling fight at the Cilician Gates returned. It should have been a simple operation and instead tied up most of the forces from an entire Titan. If they lost ships or warriors out here, they would have no way of replacing their losses; whereas the Medes numbers were unlimited. He looked back to the video feed where Pleistoanax waited patiently.

“Go on.”

“Yes, Strategos, assuming we can refuel at the next point, my staff have calculated three routes in case of future problems. We will have options that will allow us to work around such problems. For the duration of the journey, there will be only three more choke points that could be a problem. We can work around those when the time comes.”

“I see,” replied Clearchus. He considered but only for a few seconds. They could either go back and suffer no ill consequences, or push ahead with all the risks that entailed.

Kleandridas looked at the starmap before giving his opinion.

“If we turn back now, we could face mutiny. This Legion was assembled for the purpose of riches and adventure. If we return empty handed, our forces will have suffered a great humiliation.”

Clearchus nodded slowly, in partial agreement with him.

“True, I don’t like it either. But there is no glory in running out of fuel and being forced to stay in hostile territory. This is a fleet of warriors, not traders. I have a suggestion, however.”

Both of his deputies waited for his idea but thought they knew what he would offer them. If they were going to continue on this path, they would have to send something or somebody ahead to scout the lay of the land. Clearchus cleared his throat and started.

“We send a single ship, one with a skeleton crew of volunteers. They will jump ahead of the fleet and signal back the status of the location and availability of fuel. If clear, we will jump in, resupply the fleet and then select a new, more cautious route across the Maelstrom.”

His two deputies waited as they considered his suggestion. There wasn’t time to think any further, as Lord Cyrus and two of his guards approached from one of the side elevators. They were greeted by the watch officer before making their way to Clearchus. Cyrus stopped in front of Clearchus and started speaking, without even checking if the Terrans were engaged in conversation.

“Strategos, I have just been informed by Ariaeus that our Armada is being held back by lack of resources. It is my understanding that the next jump destination is the home of multiple gas giants, and the perfect point to refuel and plan our next course. Is this correct?”

Clearchus hid his irritation from the Medes commander well, but it was clear to his two deputies that he didn’t like being second guessed.

“Yes, that is correct. I am planning on sending a scout vessel ahead to assess the situation.”

Lord Cyrus looked both annoyed and nervous at his words.

What is he hiding this time? Clearchus thought.

“That isn’t necessary. I have already sent Ariaeus ahead with his forces to perform a full reconnaissance of the area. He will contact you when it is safe for your forces to make the jump.”

The last line almost made Clearchus’ blood boil with rage.

How dare this upstart think he can start throwing his weight around? This is a Terran operation, my operation!

He looked to Cyrus, but the expression on Kleandridas’ face told him to slow and calm down. Clearchus was aware he had a tendency to lose his temper. He still regretted some of his decisions on the border world of Bissus prior to meeting Cyrus. The fortress city was part of an independent league of planets nestled between the Terran and Median territories. It had been in his charge until a riot inside the city turned violent. His crackdown had been severe, but it did stop the revolt. There were still a good number of citizens that blamed him for excessive force on that day. He thought of that city and remembered what he had to.

Be calm, think long term and control yourself, he said to himself.

“Ariaeus and his forces should not be dictating when and where my forces can go. Don’t forget, this Terran Armada is under my control, and we will take orders from one person, and one person alone, and that is you, my Lord.”

Lord Cyrus looked at him and immediately knew he had gone too far.

They really are a proud and arrogant people. Why has it taken us so long to claim their worlds as our own?

“Of course, my apologies, Ariaeus and his forces will report to you and inform you as to the status of the objective. In future, I will ensure communication travels directly through me.”

The great Titan shuddered once more, and the Median nobleman was forced to recover his balance. Clearchus was well used to fighting or standing on unstable ground after years of training and war and simply grabbed the nearest pillar to avoid falling. He watched the Median noble alter his posture and was surprised, almost impressed, with both the speed and recovery of the man. He straightened up and turned back to Clearchus.

“I assume this is due to the debris in this area?” he asked.

Clearchus indicated for Kleandridas to explain.

“The star has gone supernova, but this isn’t the only issue. We can expect a variety of storms, debris and uncharted anomalies until we have completed the entire journey across the Maelstrom, a distance of just over a kiloparsec.”

Clearchus expected him to be surprised at the distance, yet the man seemed completely unfazed by the words. Not that it was always easy to tell what the Medes thought as their expressions were a mystery to many. He had to keep reminding himself that they were not human, even though they shared much in terms of build, language, even genetics. Cyrus noticed that he was being watched by Clearchus and had difficulty in identifying exactly what he was thinking.

Ah, the distance! He smiled at the Laconian. How small they think.

“A kiloparsec is nothing in the Empire. We have worlds a kiloparsec away at every border. Still, the gulf of space between the Terran border worlds and the Core is not an easy route. I will have the Medes navigators come aboard and along with their charts for this region. Would that help?”

Clearchus nodded.

“Very well, that will help. When can we expect to hear from Ariaeus?”

“Within the hour, I will contact you with the scout reports as soon as they arrive.”

The Median Lord nodded to Clearchus and walked away in the same direction from which he had arrived. The Laconian officers watched him leave without saying anything. As soon as the door shut, Kleandridas exploded in a fury that surprised even Clearchus.

“Can you believe the arrogance of these people?” he snapped.

Clearchus looked at his screen and the face of Pleistoanax who had remained hidden from the Medes for the entire conversation. His deputy looked almost as annoyed as Kleandridas.

“My brother Kleandridas is correct,” he said, using the common term in the Laconian military for those of the same or similar rank. They knew each other well having trained together often, as well as having fought in a myriad of bloody campaigns on behalf of the League.

“The Medes are not to be trusted. Ariaeus does as he pleases, and tells us nothing in advance. He commands a fleet that is double our size, and yet refuses to work under or even with us. If we are to head into dangerous enemy space, we must be cautious.”

Kleandridas placed his hand on Clearchus’ shoulder and nodded.

“I agree. We are the power behind this Armada, and without us Cyrus has no chance of ever seizing the throne from his brother. It is time we took a more active role in this operation. You are the experienced commander, and you control the heart of our forces.”

Clearchus listened to them both and then looked back to the command deck. Scores of officers moved about to control the scanners, communications gear, engineering and weapons systems. It was an impressive scene, and the more he looked at them, the more he agreed that it was the Terrans who were in charge. He looked back to the two deputies.

“When Cyrus gets back in touch with the news from Ariaeus, I will lay down the law. It is time Laconia asserted full control of our ground forces…”

He paused and considered Cyrus for a moment before adding, “…including all those of the Medes.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Laconian Titan ‘Valediction’, Su’bartu Maelstrom

Clearchus paced about the command deck, his face flushed and his body agitated. Neither of his deputies was to be seen, and most of the officers did their best to avoid his gaze. A Medes representative entered and approached him but was stopped by his personal guards. Much to the man’s chagrin, they performed a full scan to check for weapons or unauthorised equipment. Once cleared, the now irritable man approached the commander of the Terrans.

“Lord Cyrus demands to know why you…”

Clearchus reached out and placed his hand around the man’s throat, gripping tightly and cutting off the flow of air. He could feel the pulse and noticed the much faster rate when compared to that of humans. The Medes was surprisingly strong for such a scrawny figure, but still Clearchus maintained his grip.

“Listen, Medes,” he hissed through clenched teeth, “I am Strategos Clearchus, commander of this Legion and commander of this ship. You will treat me with honour and respect as befitting a commander of your own race. Understood?”

His victim glanced back to his face with a look of hatred in his eyes. Clearchus almost smiled back at the man but restrained himself at the last moment. At least, he hoped he had masked his thoughts.

Good, he finally understands.

He released his hold, and the Medes dropped to his knees, gasping for air. It took a moment before he was able to raise himself and look back to the commander. He cleared his throat and grimaced at the pain. Clearchus struggled, but ultimately failed, to suppress a smile at the alien’s discomfort.

“Now, let’s start again.”

“My Lord,” started the Medes with great reluctance, “I have an urgent message from my commander, Lord Cyrus. He wishes to understand why you have not followed Ariaeus into battle. Did you not receive his demand for your forces to assist?”

Clearchus’ expression changed from one of irritation to one of outright anger.

“Demands, does he? Well, Ariaeus is Cyrus’ man, and he can do what he likes. The Legion is under my personal command and does not run errands for Lord Cyrus like some whipping boy. When my scouts have reported, I will allow the Legion to jump.”

“But Ariaeus…” exclaimed the Medes in apparent fear.

Clearchus raised one eyebrow in amusement.

“What about Ariaeus?”

“His forces have encountered resistance from the station and are under attack.”

Clearchus looked about the command deck and again tried to hide his amusement at the problems facing Ariaeus. The commander of the Median fleet was hardly his favourite person.

Kleandridas would be overjoyed at this news, he thought ruefully.

But that wasn’t the problem. It was being treated as a subordinate that irked him and his senior commanders. The other Dukas would probably leave the expedition if they knew they were being issued thinly veiled orders by the hated deputy of Cyrus. The operation had been from the very start a Terran led Armada, paid for by Cyrus. They worked for him, not a Medes. Working beneath such a hated man would cause a split that even he would probably be unable to resolve.

“I see. So Ariaeus didn’t carry out the allotted task of scouting the area so that we could jump in. He moved to the station and started his own occupation, I assume?”

“No, My Lord, Ariaeus landed a number of combat units on the Aronton automated station to ascertain its assets and benefits to the fleet. It would appear that it is garrisoned by combat drones.”

Drones? The memory of those intelligent machines flooded back to him.

“Yes, the station’s automated defences were deactivated, and that is how he was able to land. Once inside, the defences activated, and the stationed garrison slaughtered those on board. Ariaeus and his picked unit of Anusiya shock troops are still aboard but are trapped inside the structure.”

“Ariaeus, the fool, he put himself at risk for his own personal gratification.”

The Medes looked confused at what he said. Clearchus tried to assess the man, but as usual, his expression was too vague to fathom.

“What is it?” he asked.

“I don’t understand, Strategos. You Laconians are famed above all other Terrans for your combat prowess and dedication to the arts of war. Yet when a man like Ariaeus puts himself in danger, and even takes dangerous, perhaps heroic risks, you still scorn him. Why is that? Is it because he isn’t human?”

Clearchus smiled, now understanding the confusion. He looked off to his left and spotted a group of low ranked officers trying not to draw attention. He lifted his hand and indicated for them to approach. The three men and one woman rushed over and stood smartly to attention. He looked at each of them, noting their smart uniforms, physically fit bodies and their faces. Yes, he always liked to try and ascertain what kind of intelligence sat behind a warrior’s eyes. He stopped on reaching the woman, the shortest and by far the youngest of the four. She was short, with auburn hair and blue eyes. Unlike many of the other officers on the deck, she wore a utility jumpsuit and carried a diagnostic computer on her belt.

“Pentarchos, identify yourself.”

The woman replied quickly and decisively.

“Pentarchos Shane Lopet, 1st Maintenance Squadron, co-pilot, Strategos.”

“Good, I want you to answer a question for me, if you will?”

She looked to Clearchus and then to the Medes messenger.

“Of course, Strategos.”

“Explain our thoughts concerning personal courage and sacrifice.”

“Strategos,” she replied and turned to the Medes.

“It is the duty of every single Laconian warrior, whether a foot soldier, pilot or administrative clerk, to always consider the whole. The warrior that moves from the line may win individual glory, perhaps even turn the course of a battle, but this isn’t the Laconian way. It is critical that when we stand in battle, we can reply on the warrior on the left of us and to the right. The strength of Laconians is not individually, but together.”

Clearchus indicated for the group to leave before speaking.

“Even a lowly pentarchos understands where Ariaeus has gone wrong. You may pass on to Cyrus that I have sent a scout squadron ahead, and that I am expecting news within thirty minutes. I will move in the fleet when I am satisfied the fuel and resources are usable. I will not jump into a dead system and be trapped with nothing but Ariaeus, his arrogance and an automated defence system. Understood?”

The Medes bowed reverently, turned and left the deck. Clearchus walked into the centre where one of the larger screens showed the disposition of the ships in the Armada. It was an impressive sight by all accounts, especially with the remaining three Titans in the centre. Even so, he was we aware of how far from home they were, and the vulnerabilities their force faced. Kentarchos Broge Monsimm, the commander of the Titan, remained in his seat and continued giving orders to the immediate officers around him. Clearchus moved closer until he stood just a few metres from the man. Though Clearchus was of a vastly higher rank, the command of the day-to-day running of the ship remained in the capable hands of the commander.

“Kentarchos, what is our status?”

He glanced over to Clearchus, but his attention was drawn to a number of flashing status indicators on the main board. He made a few adjustments before looking back to his superior.

“Strategos, all ships are ready for jump. Fighters are stowed, and cargo is tied down throughout the fleet. Just give the word, and we are gone.”

A loud audible alert drew them all to the main screen. A number of the other officers exclaimed surprise at red status fields appearing in one corner.

“Sir, we’re picking up jump signatures ahead, and they are definitely Medes pattern,” said Dekarchos Jeane Coxand, the ship’s tactical officer.

Her words spread like wildfire, as dozens of officers scanned the sector or space and activated a variety of weapons units to track for hostile forces. With the fighters stowed, the crew preparing to jump were in a poor position for a stand up fight.

“Gun crews to your stations, automated defences are back on-line,” she said in a calm, assertive tone.

Clearchus wasn’t so sure. The direction of the ships indicated they had come from the same location that Ariaeus was demonstrating in. He was about to speak when a hum in his temple caught his attention. It was an incoming message from one of his commanders about Medes ships.

“Dekarchos, I might have something, continue as you were,” he said and listened to the rest of the message. It was from Kathry Andes, the Kentarchos of the light cruiser Surprise. He had a vague image of her as a white-haired officer with piercing blue eyes and a lithe, almost petite body. With just a thought, he acknowledged the request and listened to her message in private.

“Strategos, we have arrived at the Aronton station. As expected, it is undefended by ships, but the Medes have initiated a forced assault on the station. Several of their damaged ships are on their way back, and they are friendly forces.”

Satisfied the message was safe to share with the rest of the officers, he sent a signal back that moved her communication to the main screen for the rest of the commander staff.

Chief Engineer Kafa brought a summary of the tactical situation from her display to the main screen. Her stoic expression gave little away, but she was evidently concerned at the ships’ arrival.

“I’m detecting high level jamming, especially from the largest vessel…I think we have five, possibly six ships, and one is venting substantial amounts of plasma.”

Of all the crew on the command deck, she was one of the most experienced with several terms of service in battle. She was famous throughout the ship for her last actions in the war with the Alliance, but none other than those involved would actually discuss her actions. A high pitched whine came from the display and brought their attention back to the ship waiting near Ariaeus. The face of Kentarchos Kathry Andes appeared on the main screen.

“Apologies, we are running on silent and one of our power plants just suffered a minor overload. Luckily, we were not detected. We have been monitoring the situation at the Aronton. In the last ten minutes, at least three cruisers have been attacked by the station’s defences. It seems Ariaeus is trying to land more ground forces on the station but is being fought back. From the signals coming from the station, it looks like the site is protected by non-biologicals. One smaller warship has already been destroyed by the heavy cutters installed on the station.”

The Kentarchos looked to Clearchus with a sombre expression.

“Strategos, I don’t understand this at all. Aronton Sector is in Medes territory. Why would an automated station, designed for support and replenishment of Medes ships, be attacking the very ships it is supposed to assist?”

The main display was now able to pick out the Medes ships as the last vessel emerge from its jump. Their electronic jamming was impressive but unable to stop the long-ranged optics of the Titan from picking out their details. The largest ship was heavily scarred, but the damage was difficult to spot at such a range. Clearchus examined the craft for a moment.

“That is a very good point. There are a few reasons I can think of as to why this is happening. Either Ariaeus has somehow made himself an enemy of the Medes, or the station has been programmed to repel any forces that do not match a certain criteria.”

He looked back at the ships, desperately trying to decide if it was an acceptable risk to the Armada to jump ahead. The door hissed open and in walked Cyrus, flanked by Kleandridas. From the expression on his deputy’s face, it looked as though they had been engaged in a rowdy argument. Clearchus indicated for the Auletes to listen to him.

“Send out a signal on all channels. I need to speak with the commanders of those ships, fast!”

Cyrus stopped in front of him and exploded into a tirade of angry words and accusations. Clearchus ignored his rant for almost a full minute before he paid the leader of the Medes any attention.

“Yes, I am well aware of the situation, and I am also aware that I have a potentially hostile formation of ships approaching. When I am satisfied, with both our destination and rearguard, I will be happy to jump in,” he said while pointing to the screen. Cyrus glanced at it and turned back to Clearchus.

“You fool, Clearchus, they are assault cruisers bearing the marking of Ariaeus’ force.”

Clearchus knew he had the Medes where he wanted him. It was a simple trap, but one that he could finally use to his advantage in the Legion. It was time thing changed. He looked at the ships on the screen.

“Then why are they ignoring my attempts to contact them?”

Lord Cyrus said nothing. It was clear the ships had put him in an awkward position. Cyrus glanced at them and whispered something into a communication unit he carried on his arm. The result was almost instantaneous. A video feed appeared on the main screen with the face of a Medes commander.

“My Lord,” said the man, but without revealing any information with regards to his rank or even his ship.

“Why have you returned here?” asked Cyrus.

The man listened to the strange sounds of Cyrus as the two men spoke in their native tongue. Clearchus recognised a small number of words, but most of it was meaningless. At one point, the alien commander appeared to become agitated until the two finally completed their conversation. Cyrus turned back to Clearchus.

“He sends his apologies. Lord Ariaeus ordered them back as he was unable to contact you during the battle. As they lowered their shielding to power up their FTL engines, they were attacked by combat drones.”

Clearchus wasn’t convinced, but a nod from the tactical officer at least reassured him they were not about to be attacked by hostile forces.

“Very well, we will continue. I suggest we discuss the chain of command with Ariaeus upon the completion of this small operation.”

He stepped away and back to the display.

“I want a full tactical map of the destination, and all commanders are to prepare to jump. Upon arrival, I want the area secured. Nobody, I repeat, nobody is to board the station without my express permission.”

He looked to Cyrus.

“Get your people ready, we jump in thirty seconds.”

*

Vendetta, Su’bartu Maelstrom

Their new home was nothing to get too excited about. With crew and warriors from a dozen ships, there was little time for sensible segregation aboard Vendetta. The ship had a nominal strength of a little over six hundred crew and the capacity for a combat contingency of another five hundred. This was being pushed to the limit, with over seventeen hundred personnel now on board and a large number of those wounded from the bloody escape. Xenophon and his friends sat in one of the repair shops located to the rear of the ship. There were no spare quarters, and even this space was occupied by another dozen survivors of the battle. The FTL alert sounded through the room, indicating that the ship would jump within the next ten seconds.

“Here we go again,” said Glaucon glumly.

The others ignored him and waited for the inevitable moment when the ship changed from its current velocity to almost impossible speeds. More importantly, every single jump reminded them how far inside the Median Empire they were travelling, and also how much less fuel they would now have. It was over almost as soon as it started, and the all clear signal reverberated through the workshop.

“What are the odds we’ll find the Armada?” asked Xenophon.

Roxana sat on the floor and dragged a number of tools and rivets to her. She laid them out in an odd pattern before explaining. For a second, Xenophon was distracted by the fact that her overalls were torn at the shoulder, revealing skin and a few minor grazes. She spotted him watching and raised her eyebrow in annoyance. She picked up a spanner and placed it to the right.

“This is where we split from the fleet, right? We were on the periphery of the Maelstrom when Cyrus gave us the news. After a small number of jumps, we made it here, the location where Tissaphernes betrayed us.”

She placed another spanner a short distance away from the first one. She then stood up, walked to the other side of the room and placed another tool on the ground.

“What is that?” asked one of the men from the Olympia. Roxana didn’t recognise him, but he wore the patches and uniform of one of Pasion’s soldiers. Roxana looked at him and nodded with satisfaction.

“This, my friends, is the border side of the Su’bartu Maelstrom.”

A few of the other survivors stood up and walked over. One, an older man of about fifty years of age, laughed at her.

“Rubbish, what would you know about interstellar cartography?”

Xenophon stood up and moved to intercept the man.

“She was an Alliance naval officer, so I think she knows what she is talking about.”

The soldier that had first spoken looked back to the two spanners and then to the point described by Roxana. Unlike the older man, he seemed genuinely interested in what was happening, rather than looking for an argument, no matter the subject.

“So how many jumps will it take to reach the Core Worlds at the other side of the Maelstrom?”

Tamara moved over to Xenophon and looked at the objects. She moved in an odd manner, her body twisting as she walked as though her joints were constantly seizing. Xenophon watched her and did his best not to laugh; it was an obvious ploy of hers to get the attention of the others in the room.

Such a petulant teenager, he thought.

“Even if we can make this long trip, how will we find the Legion when they are so far away? Do we even know their final destination?”

Xenophon was surprised at her intelligent observation. Even he hadn’t considered the problem of what awaited them at the other side. It was not as though the Core Worlds were even a handful of planets. The name itself was a misnomer, as there were hundreds, if not thousands of worlds in that part of space. They could spend millennia travelling the stars and never find the Armada.

“Good point,” he said.

Roxana nodded in agreement.

“That is a very good point. We have the last course of the Legion and a target, and that is it.”

Of course, the target!

Glaucon now decided to join in with the conversation. He remained sat on the floor, but the tone of his voice implied scepticism of the entire venture.

“So our entire plan is based upon finding the Emperor of the largest and most powerful Empire ever known?”

Roxana glanced over to him and threw him a grin.

“That’s about it.”

He looked directly at her, toying with her on the subject.

“So what happens if we arrive first, one little cruiser and a pocketful of destroyers, against a million ships and soldiers? It will be over in a matter of seconds.”

“Very true,” said a man who waited in the shadows of the doorway. Everybody in the room turned to look at him. He stepped forward, but the dim lights from the ceiling barely showed his features.

“That is why I have formulated an alternative, interested?” he asked mysteriously.

Tamara slinked over to him and placed her hands on the man’s shoulder in a provocative fashion. Xenophon watched her toying with the man but was more concerned at the stranger. He straightened his back and approached him.

“Who are you?” he asked.

The stranger stepped a little closer, and the light of the swinging lamp finally lit up his face and chest so that he could be seen. He wore the fatigues of the Legion, the dark grey, almost black material worn by all combat forces in the unit. His insignia had been removed, and in some places it seemed quite hastily added, based on the marks on his clothing.

“My name is Ezra, and I have friends on this ship who feel the same way.”

The room was silent as none of those present wanted to say anything. Xenophon distrusted the man immediately. His body language and vocal tone indicated dishonesty. Ezra continued before any of them could refute his suggestion.

“If you want to hear more of what we have to offer, meet us in one hour in the aft storage depot. It is being used to store used power couplings. Don’t bother coming unless you’re serious. Lives depend on keeping this quiet.”

He looked about the room, turned and left, moving into the darkness as quickly and quietly as he had arrived. Tamara moved back and slumped down next to Glaucon. Roxana and Xenophon moved close so that the others couldn’t hear them.

“What’s that all about?” asked Tamara.

Xenophon rubbed his chin as he considered the situation. It wasn’t an easy one.

“Well, it is clear our journey will be a difficult one. We need to know more, though. Is this Ezra looking for a different route home, or does he have a different plan?”

“Why not just bring this up with the Dukas?” suggested Glaucon.

“You saw his uniform. All of his insignia have been torn off. Either he did that himself, or somebody did it for him. Either way, he doesn’t represent the authority on this ship. The question is what do we do?”

The older soldier in the room stood up and walked to the doorway. He looked over his shoulder and back at those staying behind.

“That man makes sense. If he’s right, then we need options, so who’s coming with me?”

A handful of men wandered after him but said nothing. The soldier snorted in derision and then moved away.

“Look, we need to know what is going on, whether they have a useful idea, or they don’t. I don’t know about you, but I’d like a few options of my own.”

Tamara nodded eagerly.

“Yeah, definitely, are we going then?”

Xenophon placed his right hand on her shoulder, doing his best to calm her down.

“No, Tamara, just you.”

Tamara looked almost hurt at the suggestion, but a friendly glance from Roxana seemed to reassure her. The two were the closest in the group with Tamara treating the older ex naval officer almost like a surrogate mother, or possibly more an older sister.

“Your little show earlier certainly won’t have escaped his attention.”

“Yeah, and you do like the attention,” snapped back Glaucon.

Roxana grimaced at his words and chose to ignore them.

“You should go and find out what he is planning and also how much support he has.”

“What about the rest of you?” asked Tamara.

Xenophon looked about the room, checking nobody else was listening in or could hear them speak. Most were involved in their own discussion, and a small group were already fast asleep. He leaned in closer to Tamara.

“We will find somewhere nearby in case you need help. This is really important, you understand that, right?”

Tamara simply smiled back. Roxana reached out and turned the teenager’s head so that they faced each other.

“They might be planning something violent. If this goes wrong, we could end up trapped on a crippled ship. This is important, really important, okay?”

Tamara looked hurt at the suggestion she wasn’t taking any of the conversation seriously. Her face appeared to lose definition as she pouted in annoyance.

“Yeah, I know. I’m not stupid. I’ll find out what’s going on, you can count on it.”

Glaucon and Xenophon looked back at the others in the room and then to each other. It looked like most of them there had little interest in doing anything other than resting their bodies from whatever hardships they had suffered in the last day. Xenophon took a deep breath and then stood, moving slowly so as to not draw undue attention. A small group of perhaps five or six seemed to be watching him. He spotted them from the corner of his eye but did his utmost to avoid eye contact. Roxana moved back to her original position, and Tamara moved to Xenophon. He leaned towards her face and pulled her close. Tamara was surprised at his movement but went with it, worried that it might be part of the ruse. He placed his mouth close her face and whispered quietly.

“Let’s do this. You go first, and we’ll follow in ten minutes, somewhere we can watch the routes leading to the room. If you hit trouble, get out fast. We’ll be close to help you.”

She waited, still confused and unsure as to what to do next. Xenophon could see a number of people watching them, probably wondering what the hell they were doing.

This isn’t good, he thought.

He squeezed her arm, the pressure making her gasp a little. He then whispered.

“Hit me, and then go.”

Tamara looked at him and gave him the biggest grin he’d seen in a long time. She stepped back and slapped him across the face; the impact was loud and heard by everybody there.

“Bastard!” she snapped and stormed out of the room. Xenophon turned to find Glaucon looking right back at him with a massive grin on his face. Roxana shook her head in amusement at the turn of events.

“Shut up, both of you!” retorted Xenophon, but it was useless, they were already laughing along with half a dozen of the others in the room. He moved back to his friends and slumped down next to Glaucon. His friend leaned in and spoke quietly.

“Well played, my friend, I don’t know what your game was, but they bought it.”

He rubbed his face, surprised at the continuing stinging sensation in his cheek.

Damn, she can hit hard!

*

Tamara entered the aft storage depot and instantly felt pangs of doubt and worry. She had been keen to do her part, especially as in the last few days she seemed to end up being more of a hindrance than a help to her friends. She wore, as usual, her Legion overalls but with her black leather jacket over the top. It was hardly regulation, but the Legion wasn’t like any other military force. She moved inside to find nearly thirty people, almost all men, and all of them grimy and angry looking. Once through the door, it slid shut with a clang. Her bright blue hair appeared almost dark grey in the low light, and it took several seconds for her eyes to adjust.

“Is that it?” asked an unseen voice at the far end of the room.

The sound of feet moving about threw her off before another spoke. She could now see their shapes and a few faces in the low red lights being used for discretion.

“Looks like it,” said another.

A ding of metal striking metal indicated the start of the meeting. The first man spoke, his voice low and serious. Tamara moved to the right and leaned against one of the dozens of cases, each one presumably containing a number of used power couplings.

“Thank you for coming here. I expected a few more, but this will do.”

He said nothing for a moment, but the red glow increased slightly until the room was lit well enough for her to make out the outlines and shapes of the others there.

“Dukas Xenias is on a suicide mission, and you are here to find out what alternatives we have to offer. We have people in the command staff as well as a number on the destroyers out there,” he said, lifting his right arm and pointing to the wall of the room.

“If we stay on this course, there are very few outcomes that will work well for us. We have a vast distance to travel, hostile forces all around us and what do we have? One ancient cruiser, packed with dead, wounded and infirm. Just one Median cruiser could take us on, right now.”

There was a murmur of discontent from the other side of the room. At least two, perhaps three men started to argue about what the speaker had been saying. A third man managed to prise them apart and turned back to speak to the man running the meeting. Tamara recognised his voice as Ezra, the man that had visited them in their quarters.

“We understand the problem, tell them, and tell them our plan,” he said in a firm, impatient tone.

The speaker paused, possibly for effect or maybe while he gathered his thoughts.

“We have checked our route and the state of supplies and have calculated that this ship, with its standard crew, could make its way back home.”

The room broke out into uproar as the myriad of figures started muttering, shouting, some even flailing about to strike the others. One of the men struck Tamara and she slid to the ground, unsure as to whether it was intentional or not. Ezra called out to the others.

“Stop this nonsense and listen!”

It took almost a minute for them to calm down and even then a few continued muttering in the background.

“If we follow the old slavers’ route, we can make it back to Bissus. It isn’t an easy run, but in two weeks we can be back in Terran territory.”

“Bissus?” asked another.

“Yes,” replied Ezra, “it is one of the old border worlds. From there, we can take transports to any planet or colony.”

A few seemed placated by the destination, but Ezra spoke again.

“There is a price though, and it is a steep one. We would have to move the wounded to the destroyers. We would need the space for extra fuel and supplies.”

Tamara was confused at his suggestion.

“What about those left behind?”

“What about them? If we choose this option, they will have to manage with the four destroyers.”

Tamara was beginning to see what he was getting at, and she didn’t like it. By leaving the wounded behind, they would essentially be abandoning half of those that escaped from the ambushed Titan.

“So we would leave them behind without the fuel, supplies or fit crew to command them? We might as well shoot them ourselves than leave them adrift in space.”

One of the men scoffed at her concerns.

“You think any of them would do the same for you? Trust me, little girl, in the end it comes down to survival. If Xenias won’t turn back, then we will have to make our own arrangements. I don’t know about you, but I like the idea of a warm bed at Bissus.”

Tamara bit her lip, and did her best to say no more. The rest continued their discussion with an emphasis on what exactly they would be doing once reaching the new destination. Their lewd comments seemed almost to encourage a response, but she did her best to remember what Glaucon, Xenophon and Roxana had said to her. The last thing she wanted was to say something stupid when stuck in a dark, secluded room and surrounded by dozens of angry, potentially murderous men. They carried on shouting and arguing, and she simply leaned back and let them continue.

Now I just have to wait, she thought hopefully.

She sighed in frustration and waited.

*

Laconian Titan ‘Valediction’, Aronton Sector

The sight that greeted Clearchus and the Legion was one of total confusion. The Aronton Sector should have been quiet, but it was anything but. Around the massive automated station were the scores of Median ships, most of which were now engaged in a bitter duel with the weapons systems of the station. Valediction was the first to arrive, and in a matter of seconds, the heavy cutters of the station were smashing away at the Titan’s thick shielding.

“What the hell has that idiot got into now?” muttered Clearchus.

“It’s one of our replenishment stations, and they are armed to defend themselves against raiders and pirates. It will only fire on unauthorised vessels within range of its weapons.”

In a series of bright flashes, the rest of the fleet arrived and positioned themselves around the Titans. By staying at a sensible distance, the ships were safe and able to observe the ongoing action in relative safety.

“Strategos,” called out one of the science team, “initial scans show the gas giants in this system are viable for refuelling. It’s what we need.”

Clearchus nodded, pleased at the news. He looked about and spotted Jeane Coxand, the Titan’s tactical officer.

“I need the tactical situation, fast!”

She nodded but said nothing, her hands moving quickly over her computer system. Pages of data flew past until with a final push, she moved the information to the main display. It showed the station and the large number of ships stationed around it.

“What do you think?” asked Cyrus.

Kleandridas gave the display a quick glance and looked to Clearchus for permission to speak. As usual he nodded, deferring to the wisdom and experience of his deputy.

“Ariaeus has positioned his ships too close. At that range, the stations defences are easily able to break through his shielding. I suggest a concentrated bombardment with heavy weapons against the station’s primary weapon systems. Once cleared, we can bring in warships to close range to release boarding parties.”

Cyrus looked surprised.

“What is the problem?” asked Clearchus.

“Ariaeus has walked into a trap, and it looks like combat drones are defending the interior. You suggest a boarding action into the heart of a site occupied by drones. Have you never faced them before? It is suicide.”

“Drones? They are powerful but dumb. They have to be, or else they might start getting ideas of their own. Why do you think we don’t use them?” he fired back with more than a hint of enjoyment at the Mede’s discomfort.

Cyrus looked at the main display; it appeared something had caught his eye. Clearchus watched but was none the wiser. The tactical officer sent the revised data to the screen and waited for the word. Clearchus appeared satisfied with what he saw and tapped the unit to grant his audio access to all Terran ships in the fleet. He looked to the commander of the Titan, Kentarchos Monsimm.

“All ships are to stay at the allotted distance. Commence bombardment of the station’s defences.”

The Kentarchos nodded and turned to his kybernetes. It was just a few words, but it marked the start of the Terran battle of Aronton, and a battle that would last less than an hour. His announcement was what the officers on the command deck were waiting for. In seconds, the orders from the senior commanders made their way to each ship’s kentarchos and then down to the tactical officers and their gunners. It took less than ten seconds for the first of the guns to open fire.

“Show me,” he said with a calm tone to his voice.

The tactical officer moved most of the data to the right side of the display and brought up a high resolution video feed of the ongoing battle. The beams from many Terran ships were impressive, but it was the firepower from the Titans that dwarfed the actions of any of the other vessels. Even the shielding of the station stood no chance against such incredible power.

“Her primary weapons systems are down, shall we continue against the point defence weapons?” asked Kentarchos Monsimm.

Clearchus watched the destruction of large parts of the station with satisfaction. It was a minor victory but causing damage to Median infrastructure was no great loss to him. After all, the Medes were no friends of the Terrans. The heavy cutters on the Titan were capable of burning through at least six layers of capital ship shielding. He could see the massive puncture wounds went inside the station to a substantial depth. He almost forgot to reply, so enthralled he was by the carnage against the station.

“Take away her weapons, all of them.”

The kentarchos continued issuing orders, and even more firepower rained down from the scores of Terran ships. The Median vessels refused to move from the close orbit of the station and continued to take fire from the closer-ranged weapons. Clearchus walked from his position, and Kleandridas moved to him, waiting for his orders.

“Assemble a boarding party, heavily armed for ship-borne assault. When the guns are silenced, you will take the landing area and provide a stable extraction point for Ariaeus and any of his warriors that are still left.”

Kleandridas grinned at the assignment, and with a firm salute marched off. As he reached the door, a small group of guards peeled off to join him. Clearchus watched him go, a feeling of emptiness drifting about his insides. It was a small matter, but he did miss the wrench of close combat and the thrill of fighting face to face with his enemies. For a brief moment, he considered calling back his deputy, but deep down he knew it was no longer his place to command small actions such as this one. No more than a hundred men would be required for this task; it would be foolhardy to risk the commander of the entire Legion for something so insignificant.

“Strategos, we have something. Six automated scout cruisers have arrived. They carry the same markings as the station and are powering up their weapons.”

Clearchus looked to Cyrus with a mixture of anger and confusion on his face. As far as he was aware, the Medes made use of their vast number to power their war machine. This interest in advanced machine intelligence posed a serious threat to the Terrans. In the past, they had dabbled with the technology, but the most advanced and independent the machines, the more dangerous they became if an enemy was able to turn them on their masters. The Laconians had suffered two major uprisings, and on both occasions their Terran enemies had managed to tap into the command and control systems of their armies, sending them back against the Laconian warriors.

“What is going on here? Since when have your people made use of automated armed forces?”

The Titan shook slightly as a volley of plasma shells hammered into the portside shielding. Kentarchos Broge Monsimm shouted to the crew, encouraging them to keep at the battle. From what Clearchus could see, there was little real danger to the Terrans from these ships. More plasma fire scattered amongst the ships, but according to the tactical display none managed to penetrate the shielding. Cyrus watched with amusement as the one-sided battle continued.

“These are nothing but toys. I heard my brother was investing in these systems at the less important staging posts, trading stations and scout locations.”

“Do you not have the manpower to garrison your own Empire? What if an enemy is able to force them to turn on your own forces?” asked Clearchus.

“Oh, we have more than enough. I think you will find these systems are programmed to repel any but those deemed fit by Artaxerxes. Once we have access to a working friend or foe transmitter, we will be able to shut them down. As for using them instead of Medes warriors, it is more a question of loyalty than one of numbers. By automating the less important, he can keep a close eye on those forces at key locations through the Empire. It is quite sensible if you think about it.”

Clearchus considered his comments but was still dissatisfied at being surprised by their arrival. If made him wonder how it might change their campaign.

“So this is his way of concentrating military forces at certain points in the Empire? I don’t like it. By doing this, he can maintain larger forces and respond more quickly. Are you sure this isn’t a response to our little operation?”

Cyrus laughed at the suggestion.

“If my brother used these machines at every starbase and station in the Empire, his Median fleet would still outnumber them by a hundred to one. As I said, they are a toy for the less important locations. This is good news for us. It tells us we have selected a route to the Core Worlds that he deems unlikely to be travelled by hostile forces. It is only a handful, and my brother would never use them in large numbers, just in case somebody could turn them against him.”

Clearchus looked back to the main screen and watched the volleys of energy beams and plasma rounds flashing back and forth. They might only be machines, but they were certainly putting up a good fight. He thought back to the stories of the machines and the great siege of Laconia nearly two hundred years earlier.

What if we can find a way to do the same as they did to us? A division of robotic ships with no supply requirements could be a major asset in the coming battle, he considered. Plus it would give me another weapon in this constant struggle for supremacy with that bastard, Ariaeus.

CHAPTER FIVE

Vendetta, Su’bartu Maelstrom

The corridor was dark, slightly damp and filled with containers and abandoned pieces of equipment. In this respect, it was similar to almost any other part of the ship. Smears of grease and oil ran along the floor, and at one end lay a large pool of mixed oil that had leaked from a broken drum. Somebody had covered it with rags, but they had been kicked away, helping to spread the muck and filth through the cramped space. It had been an hour now and still there was no sign of Tamara. Xenophon moved as quietly as he could, desperate to relieve the cramp in his right leg. Glaucon leaned against the wall, doing his best to look innocent, but to Xenophon he looked more like a guard. Roxana had stayed back so she could keep an eye on the main thoroughfare, just in case anybody of note turned up to cause trouble.

“I don’t like this, why is it taking so long?” whispered Glaucon from his position.

Xenophon shrugged and lowered his voice as best as he could.

“She’s a strong one. If there’s trouble, I’m sure we would hear something.”

Glaucon nodded at that, if anything she was a little too capable of looking after herself. Beneath her small frame and bright blue hair she was violent, sometimes aggressive and fast. In fact, the more Xenophon thought about what he had said, the more he worried she might get herself into a violent confrontation. A clunk around the corner and near the area where the meeting took place caught their attention. Glaucon looked back to him and nudged his forehead towards the direction of the sound. Xenophon nodded back and strained to listen.

“Someone’s coming!” said a concerned Glaucon. He leaned back to the wall and tried to look as nonchalant as a man of his size could. Footsteps became louder, followed by more noise from other people. Xenophon felt a mixture of worry and relief at the turn of events; the meeting must be over.

A man appeared at the end of the corridor. He wore military fatigues and looked nervous as he continued past Glaucon and off into the darkness. Another two appeared, the men whispered as they also passed by. Xenophon did his best to not move and managed to escape being noticed as they disappeared. More footsteps and then the form of a shorter, feminine figure appeared. In the dull light it wasn’t easy to tell, but when she moved to Glaucon and gently thumped him it was clear.

“Hey you!” she said nervously.

Glaucon grabbed her arm, pulled her away and then moved along the corridor. They passed Xenophon and took a sharp left towards one of the main intersections. Xenophon stayed in cover of darkness and waited, looking for signs of anybody that might follow her. It looked safe until he spotted movement. The person moved with stillness and precision Xenophon hadn’t seen outside of the best dance schools. It was a woman and she wore dark clothes, tight fitting that revealed no discernible sound. She moved to where Glaucon had stood, barely five metres from Xenophon and then stopped. She examined the hall, and for the briefest of moments, he was convinced she had spotted him. The shadows between the two crates seemed to vanish as he waited. Incredibly, she looked away and continued moving along the corridor. It took nearly half a minute for her to complete the journey along its entire length before finally turning off at the end.

Who is that, and why is she following Tamara?

Once he was satisfied there was nobody else in the corridor, he pulled himself out from the shadow. As he moved, his back creaked, and he was forced to move slowly as the cramp in his body slowly vanished. He didn’t have time to waste and followed in the same direction as the mysterious woman. He moved quickly until reaching the end of the corridor and the T-junction. He stopped and glanced backwards, checking for signs that he was being followed, but it looked clear. He turned back and gasped.

“Why are you following me?” demanded the mysterious woman.

She blocked his path and stood less than a metre away. At this distance, he could see the closefitting clothing and the hood that covered most of her head. A flicker of light from the dim lamps at the end of the corridor gave just a hint of her face and the whites of her eyes. He felt something touching his stomach and glanced down. He gasped at spotting a black blade, long and thin, pushed up to his body.

“I asked you a question. Who are you, and what do you want?” she demanded, and this time her tone changing to one of irritation. He thought about lying, but what was the point? It would be easy to find out who he was, and a lie could easily end with his death.

“Xenophon…” he spluttered, “Dekarchos of the Night Blades.”

He spotted the flash of a smile on her face at the mention of the unit’s unofficial name. He considered grabbing the weapon, but she was clearly no amateur. He needed to play this carefully.

“You are following a friend of mine.”

She tilted her head as if intrigued by his comments.

“The blue-haired girl?”

“Yes, she is part of my unit,” he added.

“Then you are aware she is colluding with traitors? You know the penalty, do you not?”

Xenophon pulled back, lowering his hands in a passive manner. The woman stayed where she was but kept the blade out in front of her, pointing it at him. With the change of angle, he could now make out her face more clearly.

“You’re a Medes agent!” he snapped back, now realising how she had moved so quietly. “What are you doing on this ship?”

She reached forward, grabbed his shoulder and threw him to the wall. She moved up closer and pushed him front first against the bulkhead. He tried to struggle, but the sight of the black blade appearing next to his eye forced him to be still.

“My purpose here is none of your business. Tell me, what was the meaning of this meeting? How is your friend involved?”

The knife was just a short distance from his eye now. It was dangerous, but the one good thing was that he could see it. He waited until she opened her mouth again to speak and then struck. He started with a simple elbow strike to her chest that knocked her back a short distance. Xenophon then ducked down to avoid an obvious counter stab and punched to her face. Even when surprised, the agility and grace of the woman was incredible. She managed to twist back and away from his fist.

Who are you?

He caught something in his peripheral vision, but before he could respond, it was over. His vision turned to darkness, and the last thing he felt was a numb pain to his forehead. He fell to the ground, a lifeless shape in the blackness of the corridor.

*

Glaucon checked one last time and bundled Tamara into the small storage room near the rumbling of the air circulation system. He was sure he could hear a patrol moving towards them. As they waited, a group of four men went past. They were not the usual crew. These were from one of the transports that had been lost in the ambush. They had removed their uniforms and were carrying improvised weapons. This was one of the least desirable parts of the ship, and an area usually only visited by engineers or security patrols. The only clue they had found so far was one of the crew who said he’d seen a couple heading into this part of the ship. According to the engineer, he had remembered the two because it seemed a slender woman was carrying the other, and it had surprised him. But not enough it would seem to actually tell anybody.

“Where is he? How could somebody drag him down here without being stopped?” asked Tamara.

“I don’t know, maybe he was drugged? There are some pretty unsavoury types here, you know.”

He lifted his finger to his mouth; the sound of somebody approaching forced them to keep still. The noise came closer until it was almost upon them. Glaucon leapt out and pinned the helpless person to the wall. It was Roxana.

“Hey, too close, Glaucon!” she yelped.

Glaucon relaxed and moved back, nodding in compliance.

“Any luck?” he asked.

Roxana shook her head and leaned back against the wall. She exhaled slowly.

“I’ve tried every section in this part of the ship. The only sign he was even here are the marks on the floor where we were waiting for Tamara.”

“You think somebody is holding him, ransom maybe?”

“Could be, but there’s another possibility.”

Glaucon gave her a look that was part confused and part nervous.

“Which is?”

“Bounty hunters, the two of you are wanted men still, aren’t you, back on Attica?”

Glaucon gave it some thought. It wasn’t likely, but there was a chance, even a minor one, that somebody had managed to infiltrate the Legion with the express aim of taking the two of them back. What if it was assassination, though? He exhaled nervously as he thought about it.

“What?” she asked.

“It could be an assassination.”

“True, that’s more likely than sending somebody all this way. How would they get back, otherwise?”

They waited and considered their situation for a little longer, and Tamara spoke up. She kept her voice low, but the concern in her voice was genuine.

“If they have him, then we need to speak to the Dukas.”

Glaucon looked at her and back to Roxana.

“She’s right you know? Xenias has the manpower and the authority to do whatever he wants on this cruiser. Let’s get there and fast, time could be critical.”

Both Roxana and Tamara nodded in agreement. Glaucon left the safety of their hiding place and moved out first. It was only a short journey back to the main access corridor. It took nearly ten minutes for them to make it, and not helped by the spatharii patrol that was busy grappling with thugs from one of the other ships. Once they reached the corridor, they mingled with the crowds of warriors and crew. The lighting was better there, and everybody seemed to have something to do. Glaucon stopped and turned to the other two.

“Do you know how to get to the command deck from here?”

“Of course, all cruisers of this era follow the same basic format. Follow me!” said Roxana with almost a laugh to her voice. She moved off down the corridor and took an immediate right turn into one of the main access shafts. Unlike civilian ships, this one was designed to operate with various degrees of damage. Using an elevator on board a ship of war was a risky business due to failure and also the space it wasted. Several wide ladders led to the floor above and below the current level.

“Are you sure about this?” asked Glaucon with a tone of surprise at finding something as archaic as a ladder.

“Follow me,” replied Roxana in a matter-of-fact voice.

She pulled herself onto the ladder and started the low climb up to the next level. As they climbed, Glaucon continued to question her.

“You’re telling me this is how the Dukas would get to the command deck?”

She climbed up further.

“No, this is a shortcut up through the engineering decks. This is a more direct route. You know what these ships are like. There are only a small number of elevator shafts at key areas.”

Tamara nearly laughed at their discussion.

“Let me guess, this isn’t one of them?”

They continued another few metres until reaching the level. Signs on the walls indicated the direction of the subsection. Roxana ignored them and moved off towards a series of oval doors, each sealed with mechanical locks. It was simple, but very effective in this day of advanced computers and communication technology. The last thing anybody wanted in space was a ship that could be controlled or modified by the enemy. They entered the narrow corridor, and Roxana pulled the door shut behind her. It was cramped inside, with thick bulkhead ridges running along its length and a continuous rumble through the walls.

“Where are we now?” asked Glaucon.

Roxana moved off ahead and ran her hands along the thick metal to her right as she moved.

“These are the cooling chambers for the forward guns. In battle, this corridor would be double the current temperature. It gets pretty stuffy down here, so come on, we don’t want to linger.”

Glaucon kept his hands well away from the pipes and trailed close behind. It didn’t take them long to reach the next sealed door. Glaucon helped her with this one; it was substantially stiffer than the first and took great effort to unseal. Glaucon moved out first and was surprised to find himself in the forward engineering section. Nearly twenty crewmen were busily working on the equipment, and only one even noticed him in there.

“What are you doing here?” he called out.

Tamara and Roxana appeared behind him and forced the door shut. Glaucon turned back to them and called out in an urgent tone.

“Move it, now!”

Tamara didn’t even consider his words; she ducked low and rushed for the open door leading into a well lit corridor. One of the crewmen, a burly looking man that wore a primitive looking breastplate woke up from his boredom and blocked their path. Tamara crashed into him, but his bulk stopped her in her tracks. She stumbled and fell to the right only to be caught by Roxana who followed close behind. Glaucon, on the other hand, had no difficulty and shoulder barged the man to the wall.

“Quickly!” he spat out, using all of his strength to hold back the man.

As soon as the two women were through, he smashed his head into the man’s nose, and a spray of blood sprayed over the two men. In the confusion, he chased after the others. They had made surprisingly good progress and were already into the next corridor before the other crew had realised what was happening. Two sets of medics were busy moving wounded crew, so they were able to duck and weave their way through the groups of people until eventually reaching the main hub that connected four difference parts of the ship.

A woman, one of the stratiotes from the Cilicia operation, saw them and drew her sidearm, aiming it at their pursuers. Tamara spun around to see them taking cover and aiming their own weapons towards the isolated woman.

“No, we just have to see the Dukas, don’t shoot!” she cried.

Without waiting to see what happened, they rounded the final corner to find an open space leading to the command deck. Two more guards tried to block their passage, but they were too slow. Glaucon threw the first against the wall while Tamara jumped up and slammed her elbow into the second man’s face. They stumbled inside, only to find themselves face to face with their commander.

“What’s going on?” barked the Dukas.

Komes Pasion was stood just a few metres from him and already had a handgun drawn and pointed directly at Glaucon’s face. Next to him was Komes Andronicus, but he simply placed his hand on his hip, waiting but not drawing his weapon. The pursuers chased inside and grabbed the three intruders. The Dukas stepped closer and repeated his question.

“Dukas, there’s something…” started Glaucon, but one of the guards pulled him down to his knees and interrupted him.

“We found them sneaking through the engineering section,” explained the man as he did his best to keep Glaucon down. He was nowhere near strong enough, and the tough Attican put pressure on his legs, forcing himself back up.

“Let him speak!” barked the Dukas, now starting to become irritated at the lack of information coming his way. Roxana shook off her assailant and turned to face the next two who seemed to be holding onto Tamara a little harder than required. The teenager stamped the nearest on the foot with her heel and backed away towards Roxana. Glaucon nearly smiled at the ruckus, but the look from the Dukas told him that he needed to explain, and fast.

“Dukas Xenias, we have discovered a conspiracy on this ship. There are some here planning on…”

“Drop it!” snapped Komes Andronicus. He levelled his pistol at the temple of Komes Pasion. Both men were of similar build and wearing identical uniforms as members of the Arcadian contingent. Komes Pasion glanced towards him without turning his head.

“What is this madness? Have you lost your mind?” he roared.

Behind him a number of the command staff drew their own weapons and forced the others to move to the side of command deck. Dukas Xenias watched in disbelief as his closest advisors and most of the officers of the ship were moved away. He noted those that carried the weapons were mainly men from Andronicus’ unit of spatharii.

“You traitorous dog, what are you up to?” he demanded.

Komes Pasion refused to moved, even when Andronicus pushed the muzzle hard to his head. Xenias did the same, and he was the single individual on the deck the mutineers were nervous of approaching.

“Dukas, join the others, you can all take a visit to the brig. We have need of this ship. Soon we…”

Komes Pasion swung his arm up to knock the weapon aside, but it was too slow. No sooner did he reach the gun before it blasted. At this range, the round tore through his temple and sprayed blood and bone over Xenias and two of the crew. Whether intentional or not, it signalled the start to a bloody but ultimately one-sided firefight. The other men from Andronicus’ unit opened fire on the crew, killing the five and wounding both Kybernetes Manus and the Dukas. Glaucon dropped to the floor and dragged the wounded commander behind the safety of one of the computer systems. More gunshots continued as the surprised crew drew their own weapons. Two bodies slumped to the ground, yet the bloodbath carried on. Roxana and Tamara helped him start moving the wounded man to the doorway. They almost made it until Komes Andronicus stepped out and blocked the gap.

“Stop!” he cried.

Just a handful more gunshots were fired and the command deck was silenced. The only sound was the cries of the wounded, and those trying to console them. Xenias attempted to stand, but a wound on his lower leg forced him back down. Glaucon helped him, and with effort they stood to view the carnage. What had been a bustling centre of an overpopulated ship was now a slaughterhouse. Bodies slumped over computer systems or on the floor. Komes Andronicus waited in the doorway, a glob of thick blood staining his shoulder.

“None of this needed to happen, none of it,” he complained, but it was obvious he was trying to justify the terrible crime he had just committed. Another group of men appeared at the door and entered the command deck. For a second, it looked like they might be there to help, but the first two moved in and grabbed the Dukas.

“Take them to the brig, and spread the word to the others. It is time to set course for the promised land!” he said, almost with a laugh to his voice.

More men came inside and grabbed Glaucon, Tamara, Roxana and the dozen survivors of the crew. As they were moved from the room, Glaucon looked back. Blood covered many of the computer displays, and at least one system sparked and flashed from the damage sustained in the short but violent battle. Broken glass and metal was strewn across the floor. The worst of all though was the bloody mess near the body of Komes Pasion, the renowned and loved Arcadian officer. He reached out and grabbed the arm of Andronicus.

“Where are you taking the ship?” he demanded.

Andronicus pulled his hand off, indicating for the men to remove him. He called out after the prisoners.

“We’re going back home, to the Olympia!” he laughed.

The brutish men from Andronicus’ unit marched the prisoners and the wounded along the corridor. A small number of confused crew arrived, but the sight of the bloodied Dukas being dragged cowed them into inaction. It didn’t take long for them to be pulled into the nearest storeroom now being used by the mutineers as a temporary brig. Without even checking their injuries, they slammed the door shut, leaving just a slit of light to fill the space.

“Olympia? Why are they going back? The ship is gone,” said Roxana in confusion.

“Don’t be so sure,” answered the Dukas. He groaned in pain but incredibly was still conscious. Glaucon helped him to a small filing cabinet and rested him there. Roxana ran her hands over the man’s body, near to where the wounds were.

“How many times were you hit?” she asked.

Xenias groaned as she pushed down on the obvious wound.

“Just the one you’re pushing down on,” he muttered. “I was lucky.”

“Tamara, come here. Put your hand here,” she ordered, pushing the young woman’s hand down onto a piece of her overalls that she’d placed over the wound. Tamara pressed down, but Roxana pushed her hand down even harder.

“You have to keep the pressure on, got it?”

Kybernetes Manus lifted himself up so that he could see through the gap in the door. He was also injured, but either he was very good at hiding the pain, or it was less serious than the bloody wound sustained by the Dukas. He watched for a few seconds before speaking.

“I don’t know this Andronicus very well. Didn’t he and Komes Pasion stay with the rearguard to set the fusion charges?”

“What?” replied Roxana, confused at the mention of the weapons.

“He’s right. The two were responsible for setting the fusion atomics to blow after we jumped. Pasion commanded the rearguard, Andronicus himself set the charges though,” explained Xenias with a tone of dread to his voice.

Kybernetes Manus turned from the door and faced the injured Dukas who could just be seen on the cabinet. He was laid out, and Tamara and other crewmen were doing their best to stem the blood loss.

“He didn’t activate the charges, did he?”

Xenias said nothing, but the gravity of what he was saying was now only just beginning to set in. If what he suggested was true, then the Titan would have been left adrift but salvageable.

“Are you suggesting the Olympia is still there?”

The Kybernetes looked back through the gap in the middle of the door and out into the side corridor. At the far end he could make out various crew and soldiers moving back and forth. None looked into the darkness where they were now imprisoned. Five or six metres away stood two spatharii, both wearing the uniform of the Legion and carrying carbines.

“If Andronicus sabotaged the Olympia, he may be planning on returning for something, but what?” continued the Kybernetes.

Xenias sighed, he now understood.

“Of course, you fool,” he said to himself but loud enough for the others to hear. The pain from his wound must have slowed him down for a second. He groaned and took in several pained breaths before explaining further.

“Each of the four Titans carried a reserve of currency, a down payment if you will, for our services. It is nothing compared to our final payment, but more a deposit and a guarantee for our involvement. The funds are in the form of enriched platinum of mercantile value.”

Glaucon had to force himself not to laugh at the news.

“You’re joking. There’s a quantity of enriched platinum on the Olympia, and somehow, a bastard like this Andronicus, has found out about it?”

Xenias coughed, and Roxana was forced to lean on him to stop him from falling off the low cabinet.

“It would appear so,” he muttered.

“Surely Tissaphernes will have stripped the Titan to the bone by now? The salvage in raw materials alone must be worth a fortune?” asked an unseen woman from the side of the room.

“They won’t be rushing. When we left, the power plants were overloading and about to go critical. When they blew, they would have blown out the aft section of the ship and spread contaminants and debris over a wide area. But worse than that, the blast from the core could vaporise any vessel within range. You can guarantee Tissaphernes and his friends would have left the area well alone. He can come back for the wreck anytime he wants to pick up the remains.”

“What about Olympia? Wouldn’t the blast destroy her?”

“That was the whole point. The power of the blast would gut the Titan from the inside out,” said Xenias.

Roxana’s mind was working quickly, and already she was wondering what Andronicus could have been up to in the short time he had on the Olympia, prior to evacuating. His job was evidently to activate the system to force the overload and an inevitable self-destruction of the entire Titan.

“Let me guess, he set charges all right, but only to set off what looked like a meltdown of some kind. Tissaphernes would leave the area and pursue us, and probably the rest of the Legion. In the meantime, Andronicus and his cronies steal a ship, travel back and slip in near the wreckage to start a salvage operation on the bullion.”

Xenias snorted in outrage.

“That traitorous animal!”

*

“Wake up, you fool. Come on!” said the voice. Xenophon was convinced he was falling, yet the voice was right next to his ears. He tried to turn, but the voice continued wherever he looked. He tried to speak only to find his own voice making him jump.

A dream!

The woman’s voice, it was familiar, high pitched.

Who is it?

It continued in an almost nagging drone that came from about a metre in front of him. The tone of the person’s voice faded in and out as though they were moving about. He tried to look in the same direction, but he saw nothing, just the blackness around him. He tried to move, but his hands refused to budge.

What happened? He asked himself, desperately trying to remember.

He could hear nothing else other than the voice of this woman and his own breathing. The temperature was normal, and there was no discernible wind or air movement, so they must be on a ship. Wherever he happened to be must be somewhere discreet, and somewhere off the main routes inside the ship. Then he remembered the incident in the corridor.

The woman, yes, the Medes woman in black, she must have done something to me.

“It was you, wasn’t it? The woman with the knife?” he demanded.

The unseen woman sighed.

“Yes, Xenophon, it was me. Now look towards the sound of my voice, and I will remove your blindfold.”

Xenophon could hear her breathing as she moved closer to his face. He still couldn’t see her, not even smell her. He tried to push forward, but the shackles or ropes that bound him kept him firmly into position. Soft, cold hands touched his skin, making him jump in surprise. Then a bright white light almost blinded him.

“Wait a moment, your eyes will adjust,” she said quietly.

He tried to stay calm, but the memory of following Glaucon and Tamara was now returning. It wasn’t just the fact that he was now a prisoner, but the possibility that his friends had been caught, and probably by this woman or her comrades. The pain in his eyes had faded, and he could now see the woman’s face. She was close to him, so close he could see her pale skin and bright eyes. She was definitely not human; a Medes spy or assassin, for sure.

“You’re a Medes agent. What are you doing here?” he demanded furiously.

“Keep your voice down. Things have taken an ugly turn on this ship.”

She moved close again, and this time with her dark knife unsheathed and in front of him. She moved it slowly so that Xenophon could see her bringing it to the bindings on his wrists.

“I will let you go, but you mustn’t struggle. I can put these right back on you and leave you to the mercy of these looting animals.”

He gasped in surprise, but whether it was because he didn’t believe her wasn’t obvious. He did his best to remain still as the blade moved closer to his body.

“What? Looters on the ship, this ship?” he said incredulously.

With a single accurate slash, she removed the plastic bindings from his hands and freed him. For the briefest of moments he contemplated reaching out, but he well remembered their fight in the corridor with this woman. At least he liked to think of it as a fight; the only part he could remember was that she was fast at both moving and striking. He decided to hear her out. She leaned forward and slashed the binding on his feet, now freeing him completely.

“I had to take precautions. There is a sickness on this ship. Some kind of mutiny is undergoing, and I think I know who is behind it.”

Xenophon was surprised at the news, but of more immediate concern to him were the whereabouts of Glaucon, Tamara and Roxana. They were a tight group, and if anything had happened while he had been away, he wanted to know.

“What about my friends?” he asked, dreading the answer.

“Friends, I know nothing of them. Just that a man called Komes Andronicus, at least that is what he is being called, has taken over the ship and that we are no longer moving to join the Legion.”

Xenophon looked at her, almost admiring her strong athletic figure and form. She was no simple crewman on the ship. Based on the way she held her poise, she was definitely Special Forces or an Imperial agent, perhaps both. He almost didn’t notice her explanation, and it took several seconds before the magnitude of what she had said struck him.

“Mutiny? Why should I trust you? A masked agent for the Empire would never work on behalf of the Legion or those on this ship. Why should I listen to a word you say?”

She looked at him, but said nothing, just stared at Xenophon as if trying to size him up. Her eyes gave nothing away whereas Xenophon tried, but failed, to mask his eagerness to understand. The two looked for what seemed like an eternity before speaking.

“Come with me, and I will show you,” she said in her quiet, almost singing tone of voice.

He stood to follow and almost crashed back down due to the cramp in his muscles. As he wavered, she grabbed him, and her balance and strength surprised him once more. They moved out of their hiding place and into a dirty shaft packed with thick cabling. At the end of the tunnel were flickering lights and the sounds of people talking, perhaps even shouting. The woman moved ahead and indicated with her hands for him to follow a short distance behind. As they walked one step at a time, he strained his hearing to work out what the people were saying. At first it sounded like an argument, but once they were just ten metres from the end of the shaft, she stopped and waited. He did the same, and with effort could make out some of the words.

“Take two squads and check the engine rooms. You stay here,” said an unseen man.

They were interrupted by shouting and then two gun shots. The sound made Xenophon stumble, and he crashed to the wall. He was falling, but the mysterious woman pulled him to the shadows and out of sight. A face peered inside the shaft and waved a torch, checking for signs of movement.

“What was it?” asked a man.

Two more shots rang out, and the entire group rushed away, but whether it was towards or away from the gunfire wasn’t certain. Xenophon reached out to the woman and spoke as quietly as he could.

“Who are you and what’s going on?”

“I will explain later, but for now we need to help turn this around before the mutineers get us near Tissaphernes.”

She started to move, but he reached out and stopped her.

“What do you know about Tissaphernes?”

“All you need you know is he is no friend of Lord Cyrus and has been bribing your people. Some of the commanders in the Legion have been paid off, even some of your politicians. Do you think the trouble on Laconia that forced them to leave your world was a mere coincidence? Most of the Thirty Tyrants were in his pay.”

“What? My father was one of the Thirty!” he snapped, almost shouting.

She pulled him back to the darkness and placed her hand over his mouth.

“Your father was Gryllus, was he not?” she asked, almost reverently.

Xenophon nodded, saying nothing.

“Yes, we knew of him. He was a proponent of the plan of Cyrus for peace between Terrans and Medians. There was to be an agreement announced in the Assembly before the uprising brought him down.”

“He wasn’t brought down. He was murdered by one of the Thirty,” he replied angrily.

“Interesting, I did not know that. Anyway, all you need to know is that I am on the side of the Legion. Cyrus is my master, and it is my job to ensure the tendrils of Tissaphernes do not delve any further into this force.”

Xenophon stood upright and looked at her carefully.

“Why bother with this contingent? We have already split from the Legion.”

“True,” she replied, nodding gently. “Cyrus has an agent on each Titan to ensure none are used against him. There was always the possibility that they might turn against his own forces at the critical time. Don’t forget, his money runs throughout this expedition. You think the Cilician Gates were a coincidence? Tissaphernes wants nothing less than the destruction of the Legion and the humiliation of Lord Cyrus.”

Xenophon wasn’t sure he believed any of this, especially about her knowledge of Tissaphernes or his agents. The Medes were well known to be the greatest tricksters in the known galaxy. If a deal or deceit was to be conducted, and a Medes was present, the deal would frequently be invalidated, such was the reputation of the Medes for subversion.

“Assuming you are right, we need to help stop this mutiny. Where are the crew? The ones we can trust I mean.”

“I will take you to the last place I saw them. Most of the commanders have been taken to temporary prisons near the command deck. I did see a group heading to port armoury, probably to arm themselves for the fight.”

“Good, take me.”

They started to move from their hiding place when Xenophon tapped her gently on the shoulder.

“Your name?” he asked.

She glanced at him and looked back to the sound of the battle. She spoke quietly, almost too quietly for him to hear.

“My name is Artemas of Caria, now follow me!”

She moved out into the open and directly to the body of a woman on the ground. The body was that of a junior crew member, evident by the uniform and regulation sidearm holster. Artemas looked up to Xenophon.

“You see, she is one of the crew and has been butchered by Andronicus’ men. We have to stop this before we lose what is left of this force.”

Xenophon nodded in agreement but stayed a safe distance behind her. He had little experience of the Medes. Most of what he knew was negative, and he didn’t want to test his experience in such a dangerous situation. Artemas moved forward after checking the body and away from the sound of the shouting to the left. Xenophon felt unarmed and helpless, especially when being led by an unknown and armed Medes agent. They moved from their position and out into one of the parallel service corridors. These were more frequently travelled but had the benefit of being the quickest way to move through the ship. Every twenty metres, a thick section of metal jutted out to mark the frame of the emergency seals. It was critical that this part of the ship could be sealed from major breaches, depressurisation and from boarding actions. What caught the attention of Xenophon was that all the doors were open, bar one. This single airlock seal was heavily burned with scorch marks and dents. A body lay nearby, along with several empty weapons.

“I don’t understand. Who exactly would side with a turncoat like Andronicus?” he asked, more to himself than to his Medes friend.

“He is a Komes, so I assume that means he has his own retinue of warriors. It is convenient that of the survivors of Olympia, the bulk of the warriors were from his unit.”

She moved a little further and stopped to look up at a circular seal above them. It was hexagonal in shape, and a series of metal bars stuck out to form handles. As she looked at the seal, Xenophon pulled one of the empty carbines from a dead crewman. He checked the magazine and sighed, like the others it was empty. Even so, he slung it around his body. It lacked ammunition, but there was a chance he might find some. If not, then he might be able to trick somebody, or possibly hit them over the head.

“What now?” he asked.

“We go up and reconnoitre the command deck. I have these to leave behind when we get there.”

She held out four small metal spheres. Each had small bumps and ridges on their surfaces. At her touch, tiny monofilament spines appeared to unfurl almost transparent wings.

“Bugs,” she said with a bemused smile.

Xenophon hadn’t seen this particular type before, but it had much in common with some of the new developments back home. They were semi-autonomous and could travel short distances before hiding away in the shadows. The wings were an interesting idea, but how effective they would be was of much interest to him.

“Audio only?” he asked.

“Of course not, it’s a full spectrum audio-visual system with a range of fifty metres. All we need to do is get access to one of the main corridor that serves the command deck.”

“Didn’t you say they are keeping prisoners nearby?” he asked.

“Yes, that is right, but we need information before we can act.”

She tensed herself and then ran to the wall, jumping at it. With great skill, she bumped off the wall and higher up to the ceiling to reach the grab handles. She hung like an acrobat with both of her hands wrapped around the metal. Just one tug and the short extending ladder dropped down a metre so that he could reach it. Artemas launched herself up the ladder and deactivated the seal, forcing it open with a hiss. She was already through before Xenophon even had his hands on the rungs.

“Well, you coming?” she asked coyly.

She moved up into the blackness of the hatch, giving Xenophon a fleeting glimpse of her legs as she wriggled her way inside. He couldn’t deny she was one of the most unusual and agile people he had ever met. He glanced around to check they were not being followed and pulled himself up after the strange Median woman.

CHAPTER SIX

Laconian Titan ‘Valediction’, Aronton Sector

Clearchus, Lord Cyrus and a dozen senior officers stood on the command deck, each watching the final destruction of the small mechanised defenders. The Virtual Observation System (VOB) gave them all the sensation they were floating, almost like demi-gods, above the destruction of the ships. Terran heavy cruisers had surrounded the last two ships and were quickly cutting them apart with their powerful beam weapons. Clearchus looked to the assembled group and grinned, his entire body shaking with enjoyment.

“This, gentlemen, is how we Terrans deal with robotic defence systems.”

Lord Cyrus looked uncomfortable at the enjoyment the humans seemed to be taking at the expense of the defence systems. It wasn’t that he had feelings one way or another, but it was that he knew their pleasure derived from knowing they had bested Median technology and by extension, himself.

“Perhaps you might be able to achieve the same level of success against an intelligent opponent rather than simple machines? You do realise these are mere guardians against pirates and raiders. They are not for fighting conventional military forces.”

The Terrans continued to laugh and joke between themselves, and the destruction of the last two ships lasted just a few more seconds. With the final explosions, came the shutting down of their automated jammers.

“Strategos, we have a clear signal through to Ariaeus,” said the Auletes.

Clearchus nodded in pleasure.

“Excellent, put him through on the main screen.”

Lord Cyrus motioned towards the Laconian commander, but he either didn’t see him, or chose to ignore him. The video feed from the station filled most of the main screen, and it gave an odd look to the deck, the screen to the centre and the VOB system all around them. Cyrus felt a little queasy at the visual and sensory overload he experienced. Ariaeus was already speaking before he was able to reassert himself. He stepped closer to the display and interrupted the violent discussion between him and Clearchus.

“Ariaeus, I’m glad to see that you are well. What are you doing on the station and more importantly, where are your ships?”

“Lord Cyrus,” he replied, bowing in an extravagant fashion, much to the amusement of the assembled Terrans. The Medes moved with the grace and elegance that every Laconian on the deck considered to be feminine.

“Upon my arrival, we conducted a series of scans to establish the viability of harvesting resources for the fleet. We were about to contact you when the sentry fleet and base turned on us. I lost three ships in the first minute and was about to withdraw when I picked up the signal.”

His statement surprised everybody, including Clearchus. Lord Cyrus looked to the Laconian with a raised eyebrow and then looked back to Ariaeus.

“I see, go on.”

Ariaeus signalled to somebody out of sight, and a few seconds later a Median nobleman appeared. Even the Terrans recognised the clothing and lavish decorations on the man that marked him out as nobility.

“Menon?” asked Cyrus in surprise.

The stranger bowed, though by no means as low and as over the top as the bow of Ariaeus. Clearchus racked his brain, trying as hard as he could to remember the lineage of Cyrus, but the name still made little difference to him. Cyrus continued speaking with him when Kybernetes Ditha Artell approached. He stood to the side of the Laconian leader and handed him a small electronic slate. Clearchus glanced down to see an image of the newcomer, along with critical information direction from the Laconian Intelligence Archive. The part that caught his attention was that the man was flagged as a rogue Satrap of one of the inner provinces. The last data said he had been operating a unit of Median corsairs out on the border. He looked to the conversation and listened carefully.

“My Lord, the Imperial Fleet has been sent away for manoeuvres. I don’t know what is happening, but it appears they are massing for a major exercise.”

Clearchus was already suspicious of Ariaeus, and this new character did nothing but heighten his doubts about everything the Medes said to him. He lifted his hand and jumped into the conversation.

“Menon, what about the defence of this area? Why is it so insignificant? Surely a resupply station this far inside the Maelstrom should expect a reasonable defensive force?”

Menon ignored him and looked to Cyrus. Clearchus fumed at the insult, but the Medes commander could see what was happening and instantly diffused the situation.

“Answer him,” he snapped.

“My lord, this site is insignificant to the Empire. We have hundreds, no, thousands of similar sites all around the Empire. Nothing more than remote sentries and combat drones are needed for their defence.”

Clearchus snorted in derision.

“Really? I suppose Ariaeus was unable to overcome them, though they put up little resistance to our forces. Even so, where is the rest of your fleet, Ariaeus?”

Ariaeus looked about suspiciously, and Clearchus instantly detected a plan, a double-cross of some kind. It wasn’t just the look that he saw, it was the feeling of hidden contempt they showed, and not just for him but also Cyrus.

“Strategos Clearchus, most of my forces were busy in pursuit of the retreating forces. We were able to stop most getting away, so the rest are engaged with their last few cruisers two sectors away. That is when I received the signals from Menon who had managed to escape from capture on the station and was calling for assistance.”

Clearchus looked to Cyrus, and although the Medes commander said nothing, he could tell that he also didn’t believe a word Ariaeus was saying. He opened his mouth to continue pursuing this subject, but Menon interrupted him first.

“Yes, your fleet is impressive in size. Even so, the Imperial Fleet will dwarf yours, and your attack on this station will have alerted high command. It would be advantageous, in my opinion, to reinforce this area and ready your forces for a confrontation that is more favourable to your, ah…diminutive size. Or, it might be advisable for you to withdraw back to Terran territory.”

He glanced briefly to Ariaeus who whispered something quietly before continuing his short speech with Cyrus.

“Whatever you are planning, the Emperor will now be fully aware that Ariaeus is in this sector and commanding a fleet. He knows that Ariaeus is a close ally of yours, and that makes him at the very least hostile to his policies, and perhaps even an enemy.”

Clearchus burst into a rage at this suggestion. First the Medes insulted his forces, but then implied they would have to dig in or retreat.

“Are you telling me the station was not jammed during your little foray?”

Ariaeus didn’t seem remotely bothered at the accusation, and his indifference simply enraged the Laconian commander even more. Ariaeus looked to Menon before answering his question.

“We were surprised, as I explained earlier. It wasn’t until your forces arrived that a containment area was successfully completed. Perhaps if you had arrived when I requested, this would not have happened?”

Clearchus turned to Cyrus and pulled him back from the display.

“This is treason. Your man has wilfully notified the enemy of our operation through his actions and…” he walked closer to the screen to glare at the men, he then looked back to Cyrus, “…indifference to the chain of command!”

The tension on the command deck was palpable, and most of the officers tried to continue their work without drawing attention to them. It was perfectly obvious to all involved, however, that their commander was livid and liable to smash or break something. Menon looked to Cyrus and continued speaking; it was clear he was checking for agreement before going further.

“My Lord Cyrus, it might be politic for you and your deputies to come aboard the station. We have managed to gain access to large parts of the Imperial Command Network. I can perhaps provide geographical and technical assistance to whatever your little enterprise is.”

Ariaeus nodded furiously in the background, evidently very keen on getting Cyrus onto the recently captured station. It wasn’t easy to see what was happening behind them as there were at least half a dozen destroyed machines in view. Cyrus looked to Clearchus and considered his options carefully before speaking. It looked as though he winked at Clearchus before turning back to the screen.

“I will come aboard within the hour. Please ensure you have a full and detailed briefing for me upon my arrival.”

Clearchus indicated for the Auletes to cut the communication feed to the station, looking to Cyrus for confirmation. The look on his face was a mixture of contempt for the two Medes he had seen on the display and anger at their current situation.

“Yes, I know what you are thinking Clearchus…and you are right of course, something isn’t right, and Menon is not to be trusted.”

The rest of the senior officers returned to their station, apart from Cyrus, Clearchus and Kleandridas. The group of three moved away from the main display and towards a thickly reinforced bulkhead on the right side. Either side on the wall were two large hexagonal shapes; the entrances to escape tunnels for use in emergencies. There was also a command weapons locker that was locked. Only Cyrus paid it any attention when his eyes were drawn to the oddly curved blade that sat inside. He noticed Clearchus watching him and smiled calmly.

“An odd set of weapons to have on the command deck?”

Clearchus smiled back.

“If they get this far inside, then it is going to be up close and bloody. These kinds of weapons are perfect for fighting on board a ship.”

He rubbed his chin with the back of his hand as he thought about the conversation with the Medes on the station. Cyrus’ position wasn’t clear, that was certain, but neither did he seem overly keen on the two.

“Well?” he asked.

“Menon is an interesting one, have you heard of him?”

Clearchus shook his head, and Kleandridas did the same. There was no sense in giving away what they already knew. At least that was what Kleandridas assumed his commander was doing.

“This man is considered an enemy of the state in my Empire. For years he has run a lucrative slave trade out on the border. The trouble is he has been caught selling all races, even Medes to anybody prepared to pay.”

Kleandridas looked highly confused at his explanation.

“It still doesn’t make sense. What is he doing here, and why was he on an unmanned station with nothing but combat drones?” asked Kleandridas.

Cyrus said nothing.

What is he hiding? Clearchus wondered. He was starting to understand the histories he had read as a child. These people cannot be trusted!

“They wish us to meet them on the station, and this sets a precedent whereby your deputy and my ally are starting to call the shots. What if he has his own plans, ones that are incompatible with our own?”

Cyrus nodded slowly in agreement. He looked back at the deck and noticed how the Terrans returned to their posts and duties like insects. Each of them had a job to do, and nothing would distract them. He thought back to the two that awaited them on the station. It was odd, even peculiar, that he felt safer, even more at home on this human warship than he did with his own people. He was, after all, not even human. Kleandridas whispered into the ear of Clearchus. He didn’t say much, but whatever he said, the Laconian commander seemed to like it. Cyrus looked at Clearchus and tried to gauge the Terran’s thoughts. He couldn’t work it out, other than the man seemed to have regained his confidence.

“Strategos, I take it you have a plan?”

Clearchus was certainly never keen to show his emotions, but the wide grin on his face told him everything he needed to know. The Strategos had a plan, and the more he heard about it, the more he liked it.

*

Aronton Automated Station, Aronton Sector

Ariaeus and Menon looked at the tactical display from the safety of the executive office on the secondary deck. The video feed from their communication with the Terran Titan was now closed, and they were both able to relax. Menon waved his arm, and two of the damaged combat drones lifted themselves up and stood motionless near the slaver.

“There, you see, my drones are more than capable of functioning, even after multiple pulse impacts.”

Ariaeus nodded in agreement. The machines were of a similar size to a Terran but much broader in the upper body. They lacked complicated hands, and instead were equipped with low velocity pulse weapons and blades. It was clear they were designed to be resilient but limited in their abilities. After all, who wanted machines that could turn on their own side?

“Impressive, truly impressive. How many more did you say you have on board?”

Menon seemed happy to have his personal forces considered so highly. He tapped a button on the computer system that showed a detailed schematic of the station. He waved with his arm at key points.

“Well, your forces destroyed two dozen during your landing. They were just my scouts, and more for show than anything else. I have two companies of them throughout the station, and they are rather more impressive than these fellows.”

He explained while waving his hand at the small number stood nearby.

“The heavier models are slower but much tougher. Even Imperial Anusiya have had a difficult time facing them. They will be more than a match for your Terran friends. They certainly had no trouble when we arrived here.”

The mention of the station reminded him of his surprise when he landed to find no living occupants, just a small number of scout drones that immediately opened fire. It had been a short fight and not least because Menon had contacted him via the station’s communications system to agree to a ceasefire.

“You never did tell me what happened to the Imperial crew and troops stationed here. As I understand it, a station of this size should have in excess of over a thousand crew, plus a garrison of a hundred Median ground troops. Where are they?” he asked. Although he wanted to hear something positive, he knew deep down that Menon had no love for Imperial forces and would just as likely murder the entire garrison as set them free.

“You heard me. They have been shipped off with the fleet.”

Ariaeus considered pushing the question further but decided against it, that was a discussion for another day. He looked back to the schematic and examined the key points in case of trouble. He knew Clearchus too well, and though he had no respect for the human, he fully understood the man’s capacity to win infantry battles.

“The first dromons are nearly here. I will prepare my drones, just in case,” said Menon.

Ariaeus nodded and looked back to the display. The station was large and based around two main structures. The first was a large bowl-shaped construction with multiple landing bays and docking stations. The second was only a quarter the size and connected by a substantial support pylon that was wide enough for people or small vehicles to travel along. The executive office was situation high on the secondary structure and not far from the shield generator unit and living quarters. The large windows were unusual in that they were actually transparent material rather than the advanced electronic visualisation system used on ships. It presented a major structural weakness if hit from the outside, but the lips along the edges betrayed the hidden shutters that could whisk into position in the matter of a second. The station was solid and though damaged by the bombardment, was still fully operational internally.

“What do you know of this human, Clearchus?” asked Menon.

Ariaeus almost spat at the mention of the hated commander’s name.

“He is like the rest of the Terrans, weak, arrogant and full of self-importance. When his species were busy fighting wars over water, we were busy spreading throughout the stars. I do not care what our scientists say, there can be no biological link that ties our species together, none!”

Menon smiled at the anger of his fellow Medes. It was clear Ariaeus had more than a vested interest in what happened when it came to the humans. He had heard rumours about him but nothing conclusive.

“Yes, but in my experience they do have their uses.”

Ariaeus looked at him dispassionately.

“Yes, your slaving exploits, charming. How soon can your forces be here?”

“My corsairs are already on the way, and they will arrive within fourteen hours. All you have to do is keep them here until then, and this sector will be ours. Now, if I help you force back this Terran invasion, I will, of course, expect to be rewarded handsomely.”

Ariaeus looked angrily at him. The implication that their prior arrangement was not enough was nothing but an insult to his honour. He shook his head and snapped back.

“We already have an agreement. In exchange for your services, I will ensure you receive a full Imperial pardon for your involvement in some of your more regrettable actions in the past. This will grant you safe access to all Imperial colonies and facilities, even those you have previously had…disagreements with.”

He stopped, but Menon lifted one eyebrow, waiting impatiently for confirmation of the rest of their simple arrangement.

“Yes, and of course a licensed agreement to operate as a state sanctioned privateer, on the Terran-Medes border.”

Menon looked happy with the arrangement and nodded in firm satisfaction.

Ariaeus noted how pleased his opposite number looked with his bargain and was unable to resist the urge to add just one final barb, and one that he couldn’t wriggle out of, no matter how much he might want to. Menon might be somebody he needed to deal with, but that didn’t mean he had to like it.

“Of course, as a citizen with a record of violence against the state, you will be required to pay a tithe of twenty percent of all recovered material direct to the local satrap of whichever region you are in. Ten percent stays locally, and the other ten goes directly to the Emperor.”

“Twenty? Our agreement was for ten.”

Ariaeus smiled back at him.

“Nobody forced you to start your little operations against both our territory and that of the Terrans. You are required by Imperial Law to made reparation payments. You are, of course, welcome to stay and explain your actions to Cyrus. He will be here shortly.

“And my station?”

Ariaeus paused, knowing full well that his new partner had little bargaining space left. He needed the freedom to travel through the Imperium, but not as much as he needed his own neck.

“We will discuss the station after we have dealt with Clearchus and his friends. Now, are your drones ready?”

*

The first dromon swept in passed the atmospheric shielding and landed deep inside the main landing area. It was a perfect example of precision flying, with the dromon itself landing in half the time it would take for even a small shuttle to normally do the exact same job. No sooner had the skids touched metal were the honour guard of spatharii unloaded. A full fifty-man unit, each an elite warrior from the Titan Valediction and dressed in Laconian armour. Against the bright crimson was the dark grey uniform of the Legion. They pushed out in a thirty metre wide arc in front of the vessel and activated their shields. A bright glow flickered in front of the formation that was now rendered almost impenetrable by the power fields.

It took a second craft to bring in Clearchus and Cyrus, and even then only after the first had left and the landing zone was considered secure. As the next vessel arrived, another thirty warriors stepped out, but this time they moved out ahead in small skirmish groups of five. Cyrus and Clearchus stepped from the starboard door, both wearing their full regalia for the visit. Clearchus was taking no chances and was fitted out as if he expected a full-scale battle. The combination of thick armour and his large build marked him out as a monster of a man. In contrast, Cyrus was lithe and almost weak-looking in comparison. He also wore armour, but his was the closefitting material worn by most senior Medes. Rumour had it that the armour could withstand even close range pulse fire, but Clearchus was dubious. He moved forward, but Cyrus held back, waiting for his own unit of Median bodyguards to move around him before stepping away from the dromon.

“Is there a problem?” asked Clearchus, instantly suspicious of Medes deception.

Cyrus looked from left to right, his eyes examining the area with great scrutiny.

What’s he up to? Clearchus, for a moment, suspected the Medes noble might be about to release some kind of weapon or machine.

“Something isn’t right. Ariaeus said he had taken the station, but look around you. How many casualties do you see?”

Clearchus looked off to his left where a series of black marks indicated the after-effects of a gun battle. Two combat drones lay in smashed heaps with chunks of metal and electronics scattered around them. He moved closer to investigate. Cyrus, as well as his bodyguards, followed close behind. Upon reaching the first debris, he bent down to examine it.

“Well?” asked Cyrus.

He looked at it, but at first glance it was hard to tell. The use of combat drones had been outlawed for a very long time in the Terran worlds. This particular unit seemed relatively old fashioned, especially by the account of its joints and motor units.

“Looks old, I’d say seventy years, maybe more. It looked similar to the sentry drones we encountered back in your last invasions, reliable, but poor on skills and intelligence. There is one like this in the state museum on Laconia.”

“So potentially black market units, then?” he asked.

Clearchus shrugged and looked back. There were blue markings amongst the shoulder mounting that looked familiar. He moved closer, but a sound caught his ear. None of the other Terrans picked it up, but it was one he was intimately familiar with.

“Capacitors!” he shouted and hurled himself towards Cyrus. The two crashed to the ground and their bodyguards rushed in, assuming the worst. The high pitched squeal became almost deafening until followed by a large crack. A blue energy field rippled across the entrance to the landing zone and anything caught in its path was sliced in half. One of the dromons and three spatharii were caught out.

“Strategos, to us!” cried one of the Dekarchos in charge of the combat unit. Six warriors rushed over to the fallen leaders and placed their own bodies and personal shields before them and the potential enemy. The expected weapons fire never arrived though, and they were able to stand and examine their predicament. The open landing space contained the single large unit of spatharii and the small squads of troops that had spread out to clear the area. Apart from Cyrus and Clearchus, the only others present were five Medes guards. Clearchus tapped his right arm and removed the safety from his Asgeirr-Carbine. As it powered up, the razor sharp blade fitted to the weapon extended forwards. In his right arm, his personal shield unit powered up and created a shimmering shield like those of the rest of the spatharii.

The large doors in front and to their sides opened up with a hiss. From their position in the landing bay, they were at least a hundred metres from each of the openings. The Laconian infantry altered their stances so that no man left his flank exposed to the potential threat. Clearchus marched to the largest group and stood on the right flank with his own weapon pointed directly at the door in the centre. Cyrus and his guard unit ran over to him and positioned themselves in the centre.

“Lord Cyrus, order your men to throw down their weapons!” came a familiar voice. Clearchus didn’t seem to notice, but to Cyrus it was as though the man was stood right next to him.

“Menon!” he spat out as though he had almost swallowed a mouth of venom.

On hearing the name of the Medes criminal, Clearchus realised they were in a serious situation. He looked back over his shoulder at the energy field that had cut off their escape route to any of the dromons.

Dammit, we’ve got ourselves into a stupid position, he thought before smiling to himself. At least it is as I expected, now we just need to turn this to our advantage.

Clearchus tapped the communication button on his arm and instantly connected through to the Valediction.

“Kleandridas, have you been monitoring our situation?”

“Of course, Strategos,” came back the instant response from his deputy.

Cyrus looked back to him, waiting expectantly for Clearchus to give the signal.

“Do it!” said Clearchus, barely able to contain his excitement.

Nothing happened immediately, and to the spatharii it appeared they might have done something wrong. From each of the darkened bulkhead doorways emerged the great hulk of heavy combat drones. These were not like the models they had seen smashed and broken around Ariaeus. Standing a metre taller than the Terrans, these bipedal machines were tough, slow and by the look of the weapons fitted to their shoulders, very well armed. More machines clanked forward until eight of the vast machines stood in a loose crescent formation to face off against the huddled Terrans. A voice boomed through the landing bay.

“This is Menon. As you can see, this station is under my protection. I have taken control of this sector, and you are here under force of arms. You will either leave or join me for a discussion on your plans. Either way, Lord Cyrus will stay here.”

Cyrus was about to say something, but Clearchus simply grimaced and indicated with his hand for him to stay silent. The spatharii waited behind their shimmering shields, the slight buzz from their generators betraying their readiness. Clearchus himself looked down briefly at his Asgeirr-Carbine. It was charged and ready, but even so, he had to be sure. A gentle tone in his ear announced another message from Kleandridas.

“Strategos, we are burning through, ten seconds.”

He nodded to himself but said nothing. The communication node was a useful and discrete way to communicate, but he wanted to give nothing away in such a dangerous situation. The nearest combat drone took a step forward and pointed its heavy weapons directly at the large group of Terrans. The weapon had the look of the heavy pulse cannons fitted to many fighters, yet this one consisted of a pod containing dual-linked weapons.

“I will not ask again!” said the familiar voice of Menon.

There was no need to reply though as a series of loud bangs and screams of metal tore through the landing bay. It wasn’t clear what was going on, but the shudder through the floor made it clear something major was going on.

“Strategos, we’re in!” said Kleandridas through the communication node. It was the message he had been waiting for, and Clearchus didn’t hesitate. He lifted his Asgeirr-Carbine in the air and cried out to his warriors.

“Forward!”

He pushed forward, but his warriors were already moving, like runners waiting for a starting pistol. Unlike any other Terran military force, the Laconians trained for war every day of their lives. Rather than practice their shooting from behind cover, they made it their mission to close with the enemy where they could use their greater skills, training and strength to their advantage. Leading from the front was the battle-experienced Komes Artemis, a renowned Laconian officer and the senior commander of the unit. He pushed ahead along with the entire main unit, each separated by about a metre. The loose formation surged towards the combat drones with speed and efficiency that impressed even Clearchus. The Strategos himself moved with them, barely two metres behind the leading warriors. Cyrus and his bodyguard moved to the large bulkheads along the left-hand side where there was more cover and provided light but effective weapons fire from range.

“To me!” shouted Komes Artemis as he reached the first drone. Menon must have been confused or distracted as the machines didn’t open fire until the Laconians were at their feet. The open space between the two sides was quickly replaced with fifty spatharii with Clearchus and the dozen heavy combat drones.

Two of the spatharii knelt down before the first drone and lifted up their energy shields for protection. The Komes jumped onto them and leapt up, his shield still active and moving with him as he jumped up the shoulder of the machine. He smashed his shield into the robot’s armoured head, sending cracking blue sparks of electricity around them both. Before he started to drop back, he slammed the monofilament tip of his Asgeirr-Carbine into its collar. The engineering and precision quality of the weapon allowed its charged and powered tip to bury nearly ten centimetres inside. As he hung from the top of the drone, it opened fire, the heavy weapons mount blazing away at the group of Terrans. At this range most shields would be ineffective, but the Laconians carried the heaviest shielding known to the Terrans. Round after round bounced from their energy fields and then they were amongst them. Close ranged pulse carbine fire ripped holes in metal armour, and one by one the Terrans overwhelmed the machines.

“Bring it down!” cried the Komes as he pulled the trigger on his weapon. A dozen pulse projectiles ripped through the innards of the machine, yet still it kept fighting. A streak of blue energy erupted from the shoulder of the drone, and two Terran warriors flew back and to the floor. Before they could stand, a second drone tore them apart with a long, continuous volley of gunfire.

“Laconians, as one!” called out Clearchus, and he waded into the battle. He pushed forward and attacked the drone that Komes Artemis was still attached to. He stabbed at the joints in the leg and fired away with the carbine, doing as much damage as he could. He spotted one of the drones moving into the middle of the landing bay, its weapons firing in random directions while three Terrans stabbed and fired at close range. It collapsed, and in seconds they finished it off on the ground. He looked up to his own foe to find the head of the machine staring directly at him.

These are tough little machines.

He delivered a powerful uppercut that embed his blade in the top of the machine and emptied the rest of the magazine of his carbine into its head. The force of the gunfire snapped its head backwards and freed his carbine. Even so, it was able to swing with its left arm, and Clearchus barely managed to turn his shield before he was hit. The impact was like running into a wall, and he was thrown to the ground on his back.

“Strategos, look out!” cried one of the spatharii through his communication node. His vision was blurred, but he didn’t think and just used whatever energy and strength reserves remained. He rolled to one side, just as the bulk of the metal monster crashed down on top of his previous hiding place. Two of the Terrans helped him up, and as his vision cleared, he could see the shape of four remaining drones battling the large number of Laconians. His head pounded from the pain of the impact, but he allowed himself a smile at the fact his men were able to take on and actually defeat such powerful things. They had fallen back and were retreating to the larger of the doorways. To hold back the Terrans, the machines were firing every last weapon at them, creating a rain of fire that forced the Laconians to hunker down behind their shields. A wide burst of pulse cannon rounds forced him to his knees, and he ducked to avoid the fire. Only the shielding of the men in front saved him from a quick and ignominious death at the hands of the drones. He aimed at the nearest and tried to shoot back, but the defensive fire was too great.

“Strategos, we cannot move against firepower of that magnitude. We need to flank their guns,” said the battered but excitable Komes Artemis. His armour showed signs of scorch marks, and at least one of the cannon rounds had dented parts of the armour around his flank.

“Kleandridas, where are you?” he whispered, speaking to his deputy through the communications node. A streak of energy slammed into the front of the line and knocked three Laconian warriors down, creating a gap in the line. Clearchus was pushed back but was able to regain his footing only to see the weapons mount swivel to face him.

Gods, this is it, he thought.

A flicker of movement came from behind the machines, and two dozen heavily armoured spatharii, led by Kleandridas, surged from the darkness. They were unshielded and instead carried two Asgeirr-Carbines, one fitted to each arm. A great hail of gunfire hit the rear of the machines, and two were brought down by the explosive power of the pulse round. The warriors charged in and stabbed and blasted the other two at close range. Sensing victory was near; Clearchus lifted his arm and roared. The pinned Laconians jumped forward and joined their brothers in a brief melee that reduced the last two to smashed junk in seconds. In the middle of the heap of wrecked machines, Clearchus extended his hands to Kleandridas and to Komes Artemis.

“Good work, my brothers, now on to Menon and that back stabbing bitch Ariaeus. I want this station shut down and stripped of anything we can use in less than one hour, understood?”

The two men nodded in agreement, but both found it hard to conceal their pleasure at the use of the feminine insult to the Medes commander. The Medes were long regarded as soft and effeminate, especially when compared to the physically strong people of Laconia. Komes Artemis brushed the dirt from his armour, and after directing a small group of the newly arrived spatharii to treat the wounded, he signalled for the rest of the warriors to assemble. Clearchus turned to Kleandridas.

“What is your status?”

“We breached the support pylon between the primary and secondary structures. Assault dromons are in position around the secondary section, and two teams of spatharii are moving through the shield generator and living quarter sections.”

Clearchus nodded in satisfaction. The rest of the men were already moving out through the large door and towards the support pylon. The large transparent metals used in its construction allowed a limited view out into space, but the shape of the Laconian assault dromon was obvious. Sparks and flashes continued from where the vessel had landed on the right side of the pylon. As they approached it, another group of four warriors dropped out of the hole and into the station. Clearchus tapped Kleandridas on the shoulder.

“Excellent work, my friend, how soon can you seal up your breach?”

“Engineers will start work in the next few minutes. It will not take long once a containment field is established.”

“Good, come with me, I think it is time to have a chat with Menon and Ariaeus.”

Kleandridas followed Clearchus and the large group of spatharii inside the secondary structure. The light was off in most places, and they were reliant upon their helmets built-in thermal imaging or shoulder mounted lamps.

“Switch to thermal imaging, people,” called out the Komes over the communication node. Two of the warriors switched off their lamps; there was no sense in giving away their position in the dark by using powerful lamps. The equipment changed their vision into shades of colour to indicate the temperature or the area around them. The Terrans showed up quite clearly, especially against the coldness of the mainly deactivated station.

“Komes, how will we see the machines if they don’t let off heat?” asked one of the younger warriors.

“Don’t worry, kid, all of these battle drones are powered by small plasma power plants. At this distance, they will show up like small nuclear power stations.”

The group fanned out with the spatharii checking for any signs of the deadly machines. Komes Artemis remembered one of the last encounters he had faced with the machines. As they moved through the darkness, he recalled the industrial machine that had been modified by the workers on Laconia. It had been just the one machine, but over thirty warriors had been killed trying to bring it to the ground. That wasn’t the worst part though. His mind was brought back into focus as one of the dreaded machines appeared, and one of the Terrans was gripped in its iron fist. With a sickening scream, it tore the man in half, hurling his remains to the floor.

“Kill it!” shouted one of the Dekarchos, and the open space filled with hundreds of pulse rounds. An autocannon projectile glanced from one of the Terran’s shields and clipped his shoulder, almost knocking him back. In anger, he regained his balance and aimed carefully.

Just like back home, he thought bitterly.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Vendetta, Su’bartu Maelstrom

Artemas and Xenophon waited patiently as the two guards, presumably men loyal to Andronicus, walked passed them. Their hiding place was well chosen as it was a cramped storage area for empty storage containers. Inside, the small area stank of refuse, old oil and burning. It was hardly a place anybody would choose to visit. The small glass viewport in the door was barely wide enough for Xenophon to peer through. Artemas pushed her face up close to him, and he had to make a conscious effort to concentrate on the corridor and not her.

“What?” she asked, noticing him looking at her.

“Huh, nothing, why?” he replied nervously.

What is it with her? She’s attractive, sure, but there’s something else.

He shook his head. He had more important things to do than spend his time looking at an unusual, if highly attractive, alien operative. He looked back through the glass and saw the two guards finally move out of sight. The command deck and the rooms being used to hold the prisoners were in the next section, but from the number of guards moving about, he calculated there must be at least half a dozen more inside.

“Okay, it’s clear for about twenty seconds, are they ready?” he asked.

She nodded and placed the small metal spheres on the ground. Moving as carefully as he could, he slid open the door to create a gap of just a few centimetres. As it moved, there was an ever so quiet creak that sent a shudder up his spine. Luckily, nobody seemed to hear it. Not yet, anyway.

“Do it,” he whispered.

Artemas tapped a button, and the small group of metal bugs activated. The sound their tiny monofilament wings made was almost impossible to discern. The first lifted up and moved to the gap, and the others did the same. As they quickly moved out into the corridor, Artemas lifted a small metal flap fitted into the close fitting clothing on her left arm. It revealed a touch based control unit and small screen. They both watched as the devices moved to the doorway of the command deck. A large group of armed men stood nearby, each carrying a carbine or a Doru Mk II Rifle. Xenophon sighed as he watched.

“I don’t like this. We’d need a powerful force to reach even the door, and that assumes they have no more inside.”

Artemas looked up and smiled.

“Trust me, they will have more, watch.”

The bugs split up, with one moving up to the darkness of the ceiling and watching from high. Another headed for the door, leaving two to explore the rest of the corridor. They both watched in fascination as the entire area was carefully mapped and recorded. What really interested Xenophon was the small room being used for the prisoners. As the bug made its way forward, he noticed a series of short corridors on the right hand side.

“Can you take a right?” he asked.

“Where?”

“There!” he said, for a moment forgetting to keep his voice low.

They both waited, expecting trouble but nothing happened. Xenophon exhaled slowly, thankful that their hiding place had yet to be discovered. He looked back to the screen as the bug moved into one of the corridors. A single guard was leaning against the wall. He looked bored, almost asleep. The bug continued forward until reaching the door that was sealed, but there was no easy way to look inside.

“Dammit, we can’t see through to the other side.”

Artemas shook her head.

“No, but if it’s being guarded, we can assume there is something on the other side. Put this on.”

She handed him a single earpiece unit that pushed inside his eardrum. It was similar to the more low-tech gear used by some combat units, but the difference was that this one was connected directly to the bug waiting near the door. He could make out voices inside. The volume was too low to hear, but he instantly recognised the low tones of his friend Glaucon, quickly followed by what sounded like the higher pitched complaints of a woman, quite possibly Tamara.

“Yes, they sound familiar.”

“Your friends?” asked Artemas.

Xenophon nodded but said nothing else. Artemas sat back and relaxed slightly, but she continued to watch the video feed. After another minute, she looked up with a serious expression on her face.

“The way I see it, we will need one hell of a diversion to free them.”

“Free? What’s the point though with all those guards? They’ll be cut to ribbons if we break them out.”

She nodded in wholehearted agreement.

“True, so how do we retake the ship without losing half the crew?”

The two sat in silence for almost a minute until Xenophon had an epiphany. At least that is how it seemed to him. He simply reversed the order of what he needed to do to find the trigger. It started with controlling the ship, for that he needed experienced officers and commanders. To get them he would need soldiers, and these would have to be honest, trustworthy warriors from ranks other than those of the turncoat Komes. To spring these people, he would need a small core of people with the skills to move about the ship and free more like them. That left just two things; firstly, a way to get the initial members of the team. The second was some kind of diversion that could last long enough to get the important crew onto the command deck and to re-control the ship.

“Right, I have it. First we go back and recruit a small group of stratiotes, ones that weren’t in Andronicus’ unit. We don’t need many, just a handful. Then we steal some of the engineering gear, specifically the anti-grav suits and harness gear. We get close to the command deck and get the team to shut down the internal power and gravity systems. With the rest of them floating about, we storm the brigs, free the prisoners and lead a coup.”

He looked at her with a whimsical expression, waiting patiently for her thoughts. She said nothing.

“Well, what do you think?” he asked, now growing impatient.

She looked back at her small display device and checked the video streams coming from each of the bugs positioned near the rooms or the corridors. Nothing had changed; other than two guards had moved from inside the command deck to the corridor. Both were busy talking and appeared completely disinterested in anything else other than their conversation. She looked up at him.

“Well, as I might expect from a Terran, your plan is reckless, risky and downright dangerous.”

She waited before continuing, and Xenophon was forced to turn away for a moment to hide his frustration.

“But, it is probably our only opportunity, right now. The trick will be to overwhelm them quickly and effectively. Once we have control, we will still be outnumbered. What are your plans for dealing with friends of Andronicus?”

Xenophon smiled at her in a way that sent a shiver up her spine.

“Don’t worry about him. I have the perfect way of ensuring none of his followers even thinks about carrying on with this little insurrection.”

Artemas considered pushing him further, but time was a luxury none of them now had on this ship. From what she had seen in the last few hours, the traitors had been busy securing the key parts of the ship around the command deck.

“They already have the main deck and weapons control. They’ll be heading to engineering and the power plants next.”

“Then we’d better hurry,” added Xenophon.

*

Aronton Automated Station, Aronton Sector

The Terran spatharii were stuck inside the main lobby area in the secondary structure of the station. For more than fifteen minutes, they had tried and failed to fight their way up to the executive office placed high above their current position. There were only two connected corridors, and both were protected by a dozen heavy combat drones. Though no more of the elite bodyguard had been killed, the number of wounded was steadily increasing. Kleandridas had taken his forces in a separate group to attack the one access point near the far side of the station. Clearchus, on the other hand, retained most of the ground troops and was stuck in a standoff with the machines.

“They’ve adapted already,” said Komes Artemis.

“Yes, but I think you’ll find this is the doing of Menon. He is skilled in their use and won’t risk them in close quarter combat with Laconian troops again.”

He looked back at the small group of warriors, all of them waiting patiently, and every one keen to continue the battle. They were spread out in the dark, and with each of the warriors taking cover from the sporadic heavy gunfire emitting from the defensive positions the drones had adopted. They had changed shape, and as best as Clearchus could tell, the drones had tipped their bodies over to reduce their size and place the maximum armour to the front. They seemed unable to move, and yet presented a thickly armoured porcupine of gun barrels and rockets.

“Kleandridas, what is your status?” he asked using his communications node.

“We’re stuck, Strategos. They have locked down the drones, but we have to take them out before we can get inside.”

Dammit, thought Clearchus. How can we get inside without losing more men?

He looked around the lobby area, but there was nothing of use, just a few light tables and chairs plus non-functioning computer systems. The gunfire from the drones was now a mixture of pulse rounds and automatic cannon projectiles. The latter were archaic, even by combat drone standards, and now rarely used by any of the modern forces. The spatharii fired back at the drones, and the sparks and flashes in the darkness indicated the scores of hits they made on the great metal machines.

“Can we get more forces at access points in the station?” he asked.

“No, Strategos, we already have ample forces at my point and yours. I have requested heavy weapon support, but they will not be here for forty minutes.”

Clearchus shook his head.

“No, that’s too long. We’ve already seen what these two are capable when given the chance. We need to finish this and fast.”

“Understood,” replied Kleandridas but without anything useful to contribute.

Clearchus looked to the rest of the warriors near him and called to them.

“We need options, I’m open to suggestions?” he asked, now unsure as to what they could do.

A pair of warriors tried to get closer, but the massed firepower forced them to the ground. One found his shield literally torn from his arm, leaving him completely exposed. Only the quick actions of his dekarchos saved him from a bloody death at the hands of the drones. The two skidded across the floor and took shelter behind three more warriors who pushed their shields out to protect them.

“Wait, did you hear about the overloading technique used by one of the Night Blades back on Cilicia? I bet we could do something similar here,” said Komes Artemis.

Clearchus shook his head.

“No, I don’t need to, though. If you think it might work, just get it done. You can explain the details to me later over a drink.”

The Komes nodded in agreement, doing his best to hide a smile and moved off to the rest of the men. A single autocannon round glanced off his shielded side and slammed into the metal bulkheads around them. Once he reached his men, it took seconds before they formed up into a dismal force of seven, each hunkered down behind their shields and moving towards the entrenched machines.

Clearchus could see they were trying to close the distance but was still unsure as to what the younger officer was planning. Either way, he needed to give the Komes the best possible chance.

“Covering fire, keep them busy!” he cried.

The rest of the spatharii leaned around their shields and fired short bursts at the drones that had already turned their attention on the approaching Terran soldiers. It was a close run thing, but in less than thirty seconds the men had made it to within twenty metres. One man stood to throw an object but was cut down by a dozen pulse rounds. A second grabbed the shape that appeared to be a detached shield generator unit and held it high above his head in both hands. With a single mighty push, the object pushed forward and struck the ground, rolling the short distance to the combat drones.

Surely they won’t just stand there while that rolls around them? Clearchus thought.

Nothing happened, as the combat drones had adopted their static defensive posture. From where he stood, it was like looking at a titanium barricade bristling with thickened armour and weapons.

“Get down!” shouted Komes Artemis.

A low hum changed in pitch until it was almost too high to hear, and the shield generator exploded with the force of a demolition charge. A good number of the Terrans were blown back by the shockwave, but not before Clearchus had the satisfaction of seeing two of the drones smashed apart and a gap created in their line. He lifted his weapon in the air and shouted out to the rest of the unit.

“Epilektoi, smash them!”

In the darkness, he could only make out the coloured shapes of the other Terrans through his helmet’s thermal imagining equipment. The greatest hit came from the remains of the destroyed drones and their weapons systems that were almost white hot from the sustained fire they had put down.

“Komes, look out, there’s…!” cried one of the elite warriors before taking the impact of a guided missile fired by one of the remaining drones. The Komes shook his head angrily and surged forward along with the other Terrans as they pushed towards the breach. Pulse fire continued to rain down on them, but with the gap they were able to flank the machines, and in less than a minute the route was clear. Only two more casualties were sustained in the attack, and Clearchus could only hope they would recover in due course. But for now, they had to conclude the operation.

“Keep moving, we need to secure the Medes traitors,” he ordered and stepped forward slowly. No more signals were showing on his thermal imaging, so he switched the gear off and swapped to the powerful shoulder-mounted lamp. Komes Artemis stepped near him, his own Asgeirr-Carbine ready for whatever he might face.

“My brothers, switch to lamps and watch for friendlies. I don’t want any accidents down here,” he said quietly, doing his best to let the communication node do the work, rather than his voice.

The area of multicoloured shapes transformed into a mixture of bright spots and moving shadows. It took a few seconds for the warriors to adjust their eyes to the change as they examined the area for signs of the enemy. It appeared clear, and the hallway expanded as they became nearer to their objective. The Terrans were now jogging, and keen to make it before any other surprises appeared. Clearchus ran with them and moved his head from left to right, looking for danger behind every container and bulkhead rib. His node hummed in his skull.

“Kleandridas here, we’re still pinned down, what is your status?”

Clearchus stopped, and the other Terrans slowed to a halt, dropping to their knees and moving their shields to protect themselves.

Kleandridas, I have almost forgotten, he thought.

“We’ve broken through and heading to the executive area. Stay where you are, and keep the drones busy. Do not assault them, I repeat, do not assault them.”

“Affirmative.”

Clearchus indicated with his hand for the spatharii to keep moving. Any other nation might be wary of giving such a simple, almost passive order to their soldiers. But Clearchus knew Kleandridas would obey and not do something stupid just for his own personal glory. For him and his Laconian people it was always about the collective, and not the individual. They moved a short distance further before taking a burst of pulse fire from an unseen assailant. The Terrans beat aside the gunfire and pushed on. It was much lighter fire than that they had sustained at the hands of the drones. Komes Artemis signalled towards entrance.

“Strategos, they have erected a defensive screen at the entrance to the main executive lounge.”

His announcement was met by a stream of pulse rounds clattering about the Terrans. Clearchus barely flinched at the sound and examined the entrance with great concentration. He counted the muzzle flashes and rate of fire before even speaking.

“It’s a triple-barrel sentry mounting. Just hit it with heavy fire, it won’t last long.”

The Komes nodded and passed on the order to the rest of his men. Though they stayed behind the shelter of the energy fields, they did fire from the sides or above with their carbines. The combined firepower of dozens of carbines quickly silenced the sentry. The Komes was up on his feet and through the door with seven other warriors before Clearchus could reach it. As he entered the room, he was surprised to find Menon sprawled on the floor with Ariaeus stood over him, holding a standard Medes combat pistol.

“Strategos, I am glad to see you here, finally.”

Clearchus said nothing. He had expected resistance, but not this. One of the dekarchos stepped closer and bent down to examine the form of Menon lying on the ground. It didn’t take long, and he looked back with a grim expression on his face.

“He’s dead, multiple pulse wounds to the back of the body.”

“You shot him in the back? A nobleman, of your own race?” asked Clearchus.

Ariaeus stood motionless and did nothing when one of the Terrans pulled the pistol from his hand. Clearchus glanced around, but there was nothing else, not even a single combat drone to protect the room.

“Why?” he asked, but in his heart he was convinced the treacherous Medes had killed the man just because their own scheme had failed. He connected to Cyrus who was still safe and secure in the main landing area.

“Lord Cyrus, the executive lounge is secure, and I am sending a security detail to escort you here. I have Ariaeus. Unfortunately, Menon is dead. It looks like we arrived a few minutes too late.”

There was a slight crackle and then the faint voice of the Medes commander came back. Clearchus was forced to strain his hearing to make out the words. He missed the first part, but the second was clear and simple.

“…gain access to the command and control systems as fast as possible. We must…”

The audio crackled again and cut completely. Clearchus tapped his head near to where the node was fitted. It wasn’t surprising, much of the station’s defensive arsenal was still working, and the shielding around the access hatches remained active. The most obvious side effect was that transmission distance was cut to a fraction due to the massed interference.

Clearchus stepped up to Ariaeus and thrust his right arm forward. His armour and uniform covered up the bulk of his body, but even that couldn’t disguise the great man’s strength and power. He grabbed the Medes around the throat, and in one swift movement began to squeeze. Caught by surprise Ariaeus gasped and struggled, but Clearchus was vastly stronger than him and no matter how hard he tried, he could not break the man’s hold.

A junior spatharios called over from near to where Menon had been stood. He held up a metal computer system. It looked very much like the reconnaissance drone control units used in the military.

“Strategos, this might be the drone control pad.”

Clearchus looked up, but at that very moment he was much more interested in squeezing the life out of his hated enemy than worrying about the drones. It was only when he thought of his friend Kleandridas and his men that he remembered his duty. He relaxed his hold just a little and turned to the man.

“Good work, see what you can do.”

The soldier nodded and moved to Komes Artemis who was very interested in what he had found. As they examined the unit, the other spatharii spread out and searched the lounge area for anything else of importance. Clearchus returned to Ariaeus who now looked suitable chastened.

“Now, you Median slime. Tell me what were you doing here, and why did you murder Menon?”

Ariaeus coughed and spluttered as the Terran leader loosened his grip. Rather than speak, he used the chance to try and escape his grasp. He was fast and easily slipped from the loose grip and made immediately for the doorway. Dekarchos Anton spotted him and swung his left arm with his shield still on into his stomach. The impact was heavy, and Ariaeus crashed to the ground and crumpled into a heap. Clearchus smiled and stepped closer.

“I won’t ask again, answer my questions or I will be forced to…”

“Do what exactly, Strategos?” said a familiar voice.

Clearchus turned to see the shape of Lord Cyrus and his Median bodyguard entering. The nobleman examined the room and quickly spotted the body of Menon on the ground. He stepped forward and spoke quietly.

“This is unfortunate, very unfortunate.”

He knelt down and examined the fallen Medes before standing back up and marching to Clearchus.

“This isn’t how we conduct business in my Empire, understood?”

Clearchus smiled back at him.

“Lord Cyrus, it isn’t your Empire yet, and this animal has not only turned on Menon here, but on the entire Legion.”

Cyrus looked at the Laconian commander and tried to work out why his two most senior commanders refused to get along. Ariaeus had a long and distinguished record with the Median military, and he had no reason to doubt his loyalty. On more than one occasion in the past the nobleman had saved his neck, even when there was no obvious benefit to doing so. Clearchus, on the other hand, was the most experienced and courageous Terran commander in recent years. The Laconians had lost a great General in forcing his exile. He sighed, but did his best to keep it to himself.

Perhaps their egos are just too big to work together, he thought.

“Ariaeus commands my entire Median contingent, and as you know, Clearchus, this represents the bulk of the fleet. Without his eyes and ears, we would be trapped many weeks, possibly months, inside Imperial territory. Don’t forget, he is not a great friend of Artaxerxes, and they have sparred on many occasions in the past. Why do you think he was so keen to join my expedition?”

Clearchus was about to speak, but something inside him told him to hold back. It was one of his greatest undoings, his passion and rage, and it had often got him into trouble, no more recently than his little problem at the border world of Bissus.

Yes, I need to leave politics to those with an appetite for it. My job is the command of the military cooperation, and a job always best left to Laconians.

“I will defer to your judgement and experience, Lord Cyrus,” he replied with as straight a face as he could manage. Cyrus looked confused at his words, and perhaps expecting more of an argument from the man that obviously saw nothing good in Ariaeus. He scratched his check and indicated with his hand for his bodyguard to help the fallen Medes to his feet. They quickly lifted him up and moved him closer to Cyrus.

“Now, my friend, I assume you have a good explanation for what has happened on this station?”

A clanking sound from out in the main hall alerted them, and in just a few seconds the machine was inside. It was one of the heavy combat drones, and it took up position directly in front of Clearchus. It lifted its right hand in a mock salute. Clearchus had his right arm and Asgeirr-Carbine pointed right at its head.

“What is this?” he demanded.

“Uh, Strategos, I’ve managed to reset the configuration. There are seven drones still left, and all are now under our control.”

Clearchus kept his weapon trained on the machine and cast a sideward’s glance to the spatharios who had been working on the control unit. The machine certainly appeared docile, but could he take the risk?

“Shut it down, shut them all down!” he growled.

The soldier didn’t hesitate and started the power down procedure. It was fast and obvious, as the drone slumped and any moving parts frozen up. The clicking sounds from within stopped, and by all accounts, it looked just as though it were a robot-shaped sculpture.

“Strategos, what’s happening? The drones have all deactivated,” Kleandridas called out on the communications node.

Clearchus allowed himself a small smile and answered.

“We have Ariaeus in custody, and the drones are now under our control. Take your team and sweep the secondary structure for anything we can use. Intel on the enemy movements is the highest priority.”

“Understood,” was the only response Kleandridas gave.

Clearchus turned back to the Medes and concentrated his attention on Cyrus.

“My Lord, we should take him aboard the Valediction for questioning. My forces will secure this station and strip it of anything of use.”

Ariaeus lifted his hand to object.

“Wait, this station is Imperial territory. We shouldn’t…”

Clearchus pointed his Asgeirr-Carbine at his forehead.

“This isn’t a discussion, Ariaeus. You go back with my unit, and we will have a nice long chat in due time.”

The Terran soldiers marched away, taking the Medes commander with them. Cyrus waved them on, either too tired to object, or perhaps he had more pressing matters to attend to. Once Ariaeus was out of sight, Clearchus looked to him.

“My Lord, I have concerns about Ariaeus. How sure are you that you can trust him?”

Cyrus smiled in a way Clearchus had never seen before.

“Clearchus, my friend, I trust nobody anymore than you do. He has helped me in the past, but when you come from a background like mine, you quickly realise that everybody is your friend, until it suits them otherwise. He boarded this station with at least thirty warriors, all loyal subjects and good fighters. Where are they?”

He stepped closer to Clearchus so that only he could hear.

“Oh…there is one other thing. This body, it isn’t that of Menon.”

“What?” demanded Clearchus.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Vendetta, Su’bartu Maelstrom

Artemas waited to the right-hand side of the bulkhead door while Xenophon covered the other side. They both stood with their now fully loaded pulse carbines. On their journey to the core engineering plant, they had come across a number of discarded weapons and finally, some ammunition for Xenophon’s firearm. She glanced briefly at the display on her arm and checked the status of the command part of the ship.

“All okay?” asked Xenophon.

She nodded, satisfied that they hadn’t been discovered.

“No change…not yet.”

Xenophon nodded and with a quick twist, unlocked the door and jumped through into the brightly lit room. For the briefest of moments, he was almost blinded by the quick change from darkness to full illumination. As his eyes cleared, he noticed half a dozen crew, and all were working away on the computer systems. A man in military fatigues spotted him and raised his weapon. Artemas rolled to the right and threw a device that struck him in the chest. With a dull crump and a bright blue flash, he collapsed to the ground, his body writhing in the shock of the electrical charge.

“Are there any more?” she asked in a stern voice.

An older looking man with a grease-smeared face and a bloody mark on his cheek stepped forward.

“Just us, but you’d better hurry. They call down to check about every ten minutes, and he is due a call in about half of that.”

“Dammit,” muttered Xenophon. He leaned down to the fallen man and reached out to check him.

“Don’t do that, the residual current will take a few moments to wear off.”

He stood back up and walked over to the nearest computer system. The older man blocked his path.

“Hey there, Mister, what are you planning on doing?”

Xenophon accessed the first screen that brought up the details for life support and main engine power generation. As usual, there was the triple level security system, but he was already through the first two before the old man could stop him.

“If you screw something up there, you’ll kill us all,” he said worryingly.

“Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing,” Xenophon shot back. He was in no mood to discuss his plans in detail with a stranger.

“Look, I can see you have some skills, but this is my post. I’m the Chief Engineer, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

Xenophon stopped and looked at the man. This was not the usual location for such a high-ranking man; he should be on the command deck with the rest of the senor staff.

“Why are you here?” he asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

“The upstart soldier boy, the one that turned on my crew, sent me down here. He wants all localised control transferred to him. I tried to delay, but he had his men cut down two of my boys.”

He shook his head, the bitterness and pain evident in his face and body language. Xenophon understood exactly how he felt; there was nothing worse than the betrayal of your comrades by those supposedly on your own side.

“I’m sorry. We’re here to turn things around, though. We need to shut off the engines and artificial gravity.”

The Chief Engineer nodded.

“That’s not a problem. Here, take one of these.”

He handed over a portable communications rig. It was more substantial than the equipment normally used on ships and was designed to break through even the thickest radiation layers in the vessel; perfect for engineering teams.

“You leave us a firearm, and let me know when you’re ready. I can redirect power from the engines and anti-grav to the weapon capacitors.”

“Why not just shut them down?” asked Artemas.

He looked at her carefully and turned back to Xenophon.

“Who the hell is this? She isn’t part of my crew, and she doesn’t look like any Terran I’ve ever seen before.”

She bowed slightly for effect and introduced herself.

“My name is Artemas, and I am here on special assignment to root out potential problems in the fleet.”

Another crewman moved from behind one of the tall, stacked computer units and looked around her. Once close enough, Xenophon realised it was a woman, quite young and badly cut about the face.

“A Medes agent working on board one of our ships, why should we trust her? She is probably the reason we’re in this mess already.”

Another of the crew joined her, holding up a wrench, but this one seemed less sure of his position. Artemas tensed her body, and Xenophon could see she was on edge and ready to fight.

Come on, this isn’t the way it needs to be, he thought, now worried their plan would fall at the first hurdle.

Xenophon stepped in front of her and blocked Artemas from the woman.

“Believe what you like, but we’re letting you all go. I suggest you stay with the Chief and keep out of our way. Once the gravity is off, we’ll only have a few minutes before they send people down here. Can the systems be rerouted anywhere else on the ship?”

Artemas moved her left arm forward so that the crew could see the display. It flicked between the different feeds from the bugs. The Chief examined it carefully and almost cried out when he saw one of the crew being dragged into the command deck by two gruff looking soldiers. He lifted his left hand up and touched his brow.

“I…I don’t understand. He is one of the Legion, like you, so why would he turn on our own like this? What can he possibly hope to gain? We’re in Median space for God’s sake.”

Artemas sensed the confusion and selected the bug waiting by the locked doors near the command deck.

“It isn’t clear. It seems that Komes Andronicus has his own plans to strip the Olympia of valuable cargo. My own intelligence confirms signals were sent out into Median space before we were attacked.”

“You think this man is behind the ambush of the Olympia?”

Xenophon raised an eyebrow at this last piece of information, especially as it was new information to him. He looked at her, wondering if this were true, or if she was making it up just to get the attention of the crew. Either way, he suspected it didn’t really matter. The fact of the matter was simple, and they had a basic plan to try and turn things around. All they needed right now was to get this group on their side, and to do their part in the coming operation.

“We don’t know, but he does have no problem in killing Terrans. My guess is he is part of one of the crime syndicates from back home.”

Artemas struggled to hold back her contempt.

“Maybe, but he might just be another piece of scum in this sector.”

The Chief, surprisingly, seemed to agree with her, at least by the expression on his face. He smiled at the woman for a second and looked to Xenophon.

“Okay, son, you both look like you’re on a mission, and it can’t be any worse than the one this bastard is currently on. How long do you need? I can do what you want from here.”

Xenophon looked across to Artemas who was already back at the entrance and looking down the corridor. She threw him a glance and turned back.

“We just need enough time to get a small group in position near the brig rooms.”

“Brig rooms?” asked the woman.

“Andronicus and his heavies have locked the surviving command crew into the rooms along the secondary service corridor, the one you saw on the video feeds.”

“Surviving, did you say?” asked the Chief.

“Yes, we don’t know who we’ve lost altogether, but from what we’ve learned so far, at least half the command crew are dead or wounded. It wasn’t just a coup. It was a bloody massacre up there.”

The woman sighed and placed her forehead in her hands. She looked back up to Xenophon with a stern expression on her face.

“We’re all ex Arcadian or Alliance military here. Find us weapons, and we’ll come with you.”

Xenophon looked at her and the other crew, but a nagging doubt told him he needed to find combat troops, not crewmen. Still, they had just minutes before the call back to the guard. If there was no response, then Andronicus would know the game was up and reinforce his position. He looked at the others, and they all appeared keen to do something.

“Do you speak for them all?” he asked.

“My name is Helena Bergland, assistant to the Chief, and this is my team. The Chief was sent down here along with him to redirect control,” she explained while pointing to the body on the ground.

“Fair enough, for starters you can take his weapon,” said Xenophon, only now realising the man had equipment they could use.

“If you want to come with us, I could do with two more, but the others need to keep this door secured until we retake the ship. Bring hand tools and lamps, if you have them.”

Two grubby looking crewmen, both in grease smeared overalls, stepped forward. They easily put their hands on heavy metal wrenches, and one lifted a rubber coated inspection lamp from the wall. The first man nodded to Xenophon.

“Name’s Fued. Fued Hill. Get me near them, and they’ll regret ever turning on the commander.”

The second man reached out and shook Xenophon’s hand. His grip was like a vice, and for a second Xenophon almost gasped. He was a large man, barrel-chested, middle aged and had a slightly downturned mouth. His face was creased with permanent frown lines on his forehead.

“Bradford J Freely. I’ve heard of you, I served in the Alliance military as well, one of those that made it off Plymouth Station before the fall.”

Xenophon looked back to the Chief Engineer. He was already working through various substructures of the ship to redirect power.

“Give us four minutes, and then cut the lights and gravity. Don’t open the door for anybody, understood? We will contact you through the system if we’re successful.”

The Chief nodded, and the four moved out through the door. Xenophon was last and turned back to find the two men starting to move metal stowage boxes towards the door. The Chief was back on the computer. Helena ripped open one of the storage lockers on the wall. It contained a variety of engineering equipment, but it was the four sets of mag boot clamps that really caught their eyes.

“I think you’ll be needing these.”

She threw them over, and in just a few seconds they fitted them around their boots. It was simple gear, but it would allow them to move on the metallic parts of the ship once the gravity was switched off.

“Thank you,” replied Artemas, and she spoke to Xenophon, “I’d almost forgotten them.”

Xenophon smiled and checked his boots one last time. He spotted the Chief still working feverishly on the computer system.

“Hey, Chief, what’s your name?”

He looked up, though only for a split-second.

“Don’t worry about names, plenty of time for that later. Just get your hands back on this ship, and sort out that madman at the helm. If we head any closer to the Olympia, we’ll probably end up suffering the same fate, might even be his plan all along.”

Xenophon nodded and gave a mock salute.

“See you on the other side.”

The men inside pushed the door shut, and from the corridor, he could hear the sound of heavy gear being moved.

“Xenophon, we don’t have long, let’s go,” said Artemas.

She led the way but on a slightly different route to the one they had initially left on. As they moved, she double-checked her video feed from the bugs. Every few seconds a burst of interference from the engines would cut the image, but it always returned, until they reached the penultimate ladder to climb.

“What’s wrong? Where the hell is everyone?” asked Bradford.

The tunnel they were in was only one level below the command deck, yet completely deserted. It was very poorly lit; that was probably the main reason Artemas had chosen it.

“Big problem, this shaft leads directly into one of the generator rooms. It’s on the other side from the first brig room, and I’ve just lost the feed from two of the bugs.”

“What? They found them?” exclaimed Xenophon bitterly.

Artemas fiddled with the unit but nothing changed. She started cursing in her unintelligible tongue. Xenophon hadn’t heard the language spoken for a long time and could only pick out the odd word. He did notice one being used and was taken aback by her use of it.

“Hey, easy on the language.”

She looked up, a surprised expression on her face.

“You know our language?”

Fued stepped closer and whispered to the three of them.

“Maybe now isn’t the best time for flirting over language use. What are we going to do?”

Xenophon almost blushed with embarrassment but was saved by the sound of footsteps further inside the shaft. Artemas indicated for the rest of them to move back into the shadows and to wait. Less than ten seconds later, a single armoured man approached. He carried a carbine out in front but appeared unconcerned, probably one of many on a routine patrol in the ship. Without discussion or even a signal, Artemas leapt out and grabbed him around the head. She slammed him hard against the wall and twisted his head to the right. It snapped like a twig, and he was dead before he even hit the ground.

The two crewmen watched in a mixture of dumbfounded shock and awe.

“Who the hell are you?” asked Fued.

“Hey, what were you just saying?” replied Artemas with a barely concealed grin.

Xenophon pointed at the discarded carbine now lying on the ground. In the darkness, he couldn’t make out the exact type, but it hardly mattered. It was a weapon, and he wasn’t planning on fighting a war. They just needed enough firepower to break in the brigs and command deck.

“Grab his weapon. We have less than ninety seconds before the Chief cuts the lights and artificial gravity.”

Fued grabbed the carbine and quickly searched the fallen man before holding up his prize, a brace of standard issue Arcadian pistols. He thrust one into his belt and threw the second over to Bradford. Both men pulled the slides and ensured the safeties were off. Xenophon watched with a satisfied look as they went about their business. At least it looked like they could handle the weapons; it was a start.

“I’m going up,” said Artemas. “Follow me.”

She moved up the flimsy looking ladder to the hatch. She made no discernible noise and reached the wheeled clamp that held it shut in seconds. She looked down one last time at Xenophon to find him watching her move. She was unfazed by the attention and turned back to the hatch.

“Keep your eyes open and off me for a minute. We go…now!”

She grabbed the wheel and twisted for a half turn. With a clunk, the lock released and swung downwards to reveal a lightly lit room. Before she could move any further, a head appeared. She reached out to grab the man, but Xenophon reached her first and held onto her leg, stopping her from moving any further.

“No, that’s one of Xenias’ men. They must be holding them in there.”

She said nothing and lifted herself inside the room. Xenophon did the same, and the two crew moved in behind them. They loomed about the open space to find two men lying on worktops with considerable blood around them. Xenophon started to speak, but one of the hidden figures put a hand over his mouth and stepped closer.

“Ssh, they have guards not far from here.”

Xenophon looked around. It was clear these were not prisoners, so they must have hidden in this part of the ship following the uprising. He counted the silhouettes and came up with seven people plus the wounded.

“We’re going to take back the ship, you up for that?” he asked.

There was no response, just stunned silence. Artemas leaned in, her cheek almost against his. He could see her dark, close fitted clothing that looked almost like a renaissance bodice. Her hood was now pulled back and revealed her pale face and dark hair. He almost choked before speaking; he had never seen her equal before.

“We don’t have much time. In less than a minute, the gravity will be out,” she whispered.

“Gravity?” said one of the men. “That could give us a chance.” He pulled out a pistol from his belt and pulled back the slide. It made a gentle hiss sound as the pulse charge activated. Three other did the same, but each carried nothing more substantial than a military sidearm.

“Get ready,” said Xenophon as he moved to the door and looked through the tiny gap in the frame. It showed little, but he could definitely tell they were in the right place. The lighting at the far end indicated they were on the same level as the command deck.

“Now!”

He slid the lock to the side and pulled the door inwards to reveal the short corridor ahead. It was blocked with discarded storage containers and broken equipment like many of the empty parts of the ship. He moved ahead with Artemas right behind. The two crew plus those that wanted to join them followed until they reached the better lit section.

“Thirty seconds, we need to reach the brig, and fast! When the power goes, just keep them all busy. We’ll do the rest!”

He didn’t wait for a response and leapt out into the corridor. It was wide enough for three or four people to walk down side by side. He turned right and sprinted for the wider section near the entrance to the command deck. A short distance away was the crossroads section that split off into two smaller side passageways. The improvised brigs were on the right if he remembered correctly. There were only two guards, and both of whom were chatting near the doorway. Xenophon contemplated slowing down, but there just wasn’t the time. He made it to the crossroads and turned right. Artemas made it shortly behind him as well before they were finally spotted.

“Hey, what are you…” shouted the first guard but was quickly silenced by three quick shots fired by Fued. He continued around the corner to leave Bradford and the small contingent they had just met.

“Don’t let anybody through!” Xenophon shouted over his shoulder. At the end of the short passageway were three doors and he quickly recognised the one from the bug feed. It was sealed from the outside with the traditional wheel lock that could be accessed from one side only. He and Fued spun the wheel together and ripped open the door. As it opened, a fist came out that Xenophon narrowly avoided. A broken chair struck Fued and threw him onto his back. Artemas lifted her carbine but restrained herself in time for the others in the room to show their faces.

“Xenophon?” called out a woman’s voice.

More gunfire erupted from behind them as Bradford and the others encountered resistance. Glaucon, Tamara and Roxana emerged from the darkness as well as other familiar faces. Xenophon was shocked to see the bulk of the Dukas appear. He was bloodied and bandaged but still standing. Before any of them spoke, the lights flickered and cut out completely. Only the lights carried by Xenophon and Artemas gave them any clue as to what was happening.

“Good work, the lights, what next?” asked the Dukas.

As if in response, a dull thump spread through the ship and the artificial gravity deactivated. A solid clump sound from the mag gear used by Fued, Xenophon and Artemas kept them firmly on the ground.

“This is our only chance. Take these,” explained Xenophon, handing over the small assortment of weapons they had accumulated. It was only enough to arm another three people, but it was better than nothing.

“Now we hit the command deck, and fast!” said Artemas.

They stomped along the metal flooring with one or two people holding on to each of them. Glaucon and Roxana stayed with Xenophon, but Tamara managed to hold onto the walls, dragging herself just as quickly, even in the zero-g environment. Once they reached the corner, they stumbled into an unholy mess of a gun battle. Two bleeding men drifted in a deathly spin while everybody blasted away from behind any cover they could hold onto. Into this inferno of blood and flashing muzzles pushed the only four with mag-boots. The entire ship shuddered, but from what wasn’t clear. It may have been due to external influence, or more likely from the Chief Engineer trying to help with the diversion. Either way, it made it easier to move as everybody was thrown about.

They moved on and took up position around the door. Streaks of flame from a dozen pulse weapons ripped through the opening, making it deadly to enter. Tamara dragged herself into position above the door and pulled out what looked like a military issue fighting knife. Xenophon glanced at her with an odd look. She smiled back at him, saying nothing. One of the men from inside tried to jump out and join in the fight, but the lack of gravity made him slow and easy to hit. Tamara grabbed him by the neck while keeping her legs locked around the ceiling grab handles. She called out as he swung up and hit the ceiling. Tamara ripped his pistol from his hand and pushed him away to the waiting crew in the corridor.

The ship rocked again just as before. Artemas took it as an opportunity to break away from the deadlock. She threw herself inside the doorway and into the command deck. Seeing her move, Xenophon chased after her and managed to get inside just as a volley of pulse rounds hit around the metal framing. There was a scene of total confusion inside the command deck. The lack of power and gravity had sent most of the crew and guards scattering. But more importantly, with the gravity gone, it would take time for others to reach this part of the ship. Three men were holding onto computer desks so they could use their firearms. The rest, including the Komes, were still trying to get access to the computer systems.

“What the hell is going on? Where are my communications?” shouted Andronicus, totally unaware that his enemies were now in the same room. With no light other than the occasional flash from the pulse weapons, Xenophon and Artemas were easily able to sneak around this part of the ship undetected. Even Tamara managed to pull herself along the ceiling and then drifted down behind one of the larger displays. The three waited, but the gun battle continued around them. Xenophon lifted up slightly and glanced about the room. The command deck was large, and there was still no power, but there was light coming from two new points. The first came from a portable comms unit and the second from one of the computers being used by Andronicus.

“How is he getting power?” asked Artemas.

Xenophon shook his head.

“I don’t know, but we need to stop him before he calls for help.”

“Done!” replied Tamara, and without checking she pulled herself up the wall and disappeared into the darkness of the ribbed bulkheads that ran along the ceiling. They were partly there to reinforce the innards of the ship; and also to function as a secondary surface following a loss of gravity. Luckily, unlike the crew of the ship, none of Andronicus’ men seemed to have undergone any zero-g training. Xenophon had a brief flashback to his cadet training prior to joining the Navy, but his head being shaken by Artemas brought him back to the present.

“No daydreaming, we have to end this, quickly!”

She looked down at her pistol and moved to the right of the display unit. Xenophon moved to the left-hand side and waited for her move. He looked carefully and counted six distinct muzzle flashes coming from the deck. He could definitely take out two before they turned on him. Assuming Artemas did the same that would still leave them with two plus an unknown number of assailants who could not be seen in the blackness. He lifted his pistol and took aim at the targets furthest away.

“Ready?” whispered Artemas.

“Now!” he replied.

He squeezed off three rounds and ducked down. Artemas, on the other hand, emptied her handgun in its entirety. Her delay cost her, as the return fire must have clipped her. She leaned back, but her boots anchored her to leave her body swaying like a reed. Xenophon grabbed her, pulling her down out of the line of fire. The weapons fire had already dropped, and from the sound of the shouting near the entrance, something had changed. He looked back and spotted a dull glow of light with shadows moving inside.

They are through, he thought.

“This is over, drop your weapons, all of you!” came the booming voice of Xenias.

Two more firearms continued their deadly battle, but as more of the crew pulled themselves inside, it was clear the mere few traitors remaining were trapped and without a chance. The shadowy figure of Andronicus turned from his computer display and laughed towards Xenias.

“This isn’t over, you fool. I’ve already alerted my men, and the power is coming back on…about…now.”

Almost on cue, the emergency lights activated, their dull red glow spreading through the command deck. Xenophon lifted his hand to cover his eyes but luckily, the low level lighting wasn’t too bright. A gentle hum of computer systems indicated that the main power was also returning to the internal systems. Andronicus stood facing the newly arrived Xenias who was flanked by his crewmen, as well as Glaucon and Roxana, who were armed and all pointing their weapons at Andronicus. The traitors appeared to have only two more men left, and both were a distance away from their leader.

“Drop it, or we drop you,” ordered Xenias.

Andronicus laughed at him but kept his weapon trained on the Dukas.

“No. One move from any of your people and Xenias gets a third eye, understood?” he barked.

Xenophon lifted himself up slightly for a better view, but Andronicus spotted him and fired, forcing Xenophon back into cover.

“I’m warning you, any funny stuff, and he gets it right between the eyes. You know how serous I am. Now, put down your weapons and end this.”

Xenophon stayed low, eager to not to antagonise the deranged officer. Artemas lay huddled on the ground, nursing her wound. In the low light, he could see dark patches on her shoulder and chest but nothing more. He started to move closer, but she indicated for him to look to the ceiling, near to where Andronicus was stood. He leaned over and moved slowly to the side to get a look. At first he saw nothing, but then he could see the figure of Tamara in the shadows, directly above Andronicus. In her right hand she carried the military issue combat knife.

Don’t be stupid, just get down and stick that knife where it needs to go, he thought. His heart now pounded at concern for both her and the rest of them if she failed.

Without warning, he felt a harsh pull on his body and had to reach out to avoid smashing his head on the display unit. The artificial gravity was fully activated in less than a second, but that was enough for Tamara to lose her hold and fall from the ceiling. She landed in a heap on the floor behind Andronicus. He turned to see her lifting herself to her knees and started laughing. Xenophon aimed his pistol, but Tamara and Andronicus were right next to each other; it was too risky a shot.

“I warned you!” muttered Andronicus, and with a slow movement of his hand, he started to pull the trigger. Tamara burst forward with surprising speed and jammed the dagger into his throat. The impact was savage and snapped him backwards. His pistol blasted ineffectually, and the pulse round embedded in the metal wall, narrowly missing both Roxana and Xenias. As he fell down to the ground, Tamara jumped onto him and held onto the blade as he desperately tried to withdraw it. Roxana ran over, closely followed by Glaucon, and between them they prised her off the wounded man. Xenophon moved over to help, but Tamara spotted him and lurched at him to grab him.

“You crazy minx!” he laughed, just glad she appeared unhurt after all the excitement.

Xenias commanded the centre of the room, his bulk and voice demanding attention.

“Get all systems back online. I need full control and communications, fast!”

His crew split up, each heading to their old stations. Fued and Bradford stayed near the entrance and watched for signs of the inevitable reinforcements. Glaucon and Roxana were busy trying to halt the blood loss from their new prisoner.

“Damn, you were bloody lucky there,” said Roxana as she examined the deep wound.

“Yeah, just another few millimetres and you’d be in a coffin, you bastard,” muttered Glaucon in a far less conciliatory tone. He looked over to Xenophon who was working on one of the few computer units that was undamaged and still functional.

“The Chief is initialising propulsion and navigation. Comms are up already,” he said with obvious relish at the expense of Andronicus.

As they spoke, Roxana ripped off the man’s tunic and used part of it under his neck to support his head. As she was tying it, the main lights flickered on, bathing the command deck with bright light. All of them experienced mild discomfort for a few seconds as their eyes adjusted to the drastic change. It was then that she noticed the tattoo.

“Dukas, look at this!” she called out.

Two of the crew helped the wounded Xenias over to her. He bent down and examined the markings on the man’s collar. Normally, they would have been hidden from view, but now it was plain to see.

“Eleusinian Disciples, how the hell did they get on our ships?” he snarled.

Artemas walked over, her hand still holding onto her bleeding wound.

“We heard rumours they were trying to infiltrate ships in the Boeotian contingent. This group must have slipped aboard when the fleet was assembling.”

Xenias turned and looked at the woman. At first he saw nothing but the elegant shape of a scantily clad and very attractive woman. Then he spotted her pale face and distinctively elfin bone structure.

“Medes?” he muttered rhetorically.

Xenophon spotted the confrontation and moved beside her.

“Yes, she is an agent working for Cyrus.”

Xenias’ face changed at the mention of the Medes noble who was funding their operation. For a moment, Xenophon thought he might lurch forward into an attack, but instead he waved to one of his men. The dekarchos approached and saluted.

“Secure the main hallway. Nobody else gets anywhere near here.”

He then turned back to Xenophon.

“What do you know about the Eleusinians, then?” he asked. Before Xenophon could reply, the Dukas answered himself.

“They are a band of black marketers, cutthroats and mercenaries. They have been banned from every single civilised system colonised by man. They steal or kill for the highest price, no scruples, no honour and no loyalty to anyone but their bank accounts.”

He thought to himself for the briefest of moments, as if he was remembering some past event with this band of cutthroats. He shook his head, looking back to Xenophon.

“So, you’ve been in touch with the Chief?”

“Yes, he was below, on orders to redirect control of various sub systems to here so they could be controlled by one man.”

Xenias nodded closely.

“Makes sense, I’ve been thinking of doing the same. These old cruisers were built with some odd design ideas. Anyway, get him up here fast. I need this old bird clamped down tight.”

He then turned to Artemas.

“As for you, I see you have played your part in regaining control of this ship. That buys you time, for now. I suggest you join the others out there and help with the defences.”

She looked to Xenophon, as though he were her superior.

“What are you looking at him for? I am in charge here.”

“Sir, control is restored. We have full command and control, as well as use of the communications gear.”

“Excellent, put me on speakers. It’s time everybody in this ship understood who is in charge and what is happening. We are rejoining the Armada, and any one that stands in our way can take a step outside,” he said with malice in his voice.

“Dukas, before you speak, I have something else for you,” said Artemas.

The Dukas held the communication microphone in his hand and considered whether to hear her speak. It looked as though he would dismiss her, but something intrigued him.

“Be quick, we have a course to plot here!”

Xenophon supported her as she moved closer, and one of the crew helped to peel back her shredded clothing around the armour. There was quite a bit of blood, but the wound looked a lot less serious than he suspected it might be.

“After we were attacked, I was able to get a short message from one of our listening posts. There are rumours of ship movements on a course for Khorram, Terran ships, not ours. If our agents at the listening posts are right, then they are expecting a large Terran fleet to arrive within the week.”

He looked surprised at the news.

“Terran fleet, as in our Armada, the Legion?”

He placed his chin in his hands and thought. The Dekarchos called over.

“Dukas, we have the crew’s attention. They are waiting for you.”

He looked back to Artemas.

“Get your wound seen to, and meet me back here in fifteen minutes. We have things to discuss.”

With that she was dismissed, and he looked back to his crew. Xenophon moved nearer and checked the wound himself, being as careful as possible not to touch it.

“I’ve never seen a Medes bleed before,” he grinned.

She was already feeling quite weak, but he couldn’t tell if it was from exertion, exhaustion or blood loss. Her took her weight and moved to the door.

“That’s just what I’ve always wanted to hear a man tell me,” she said weakly.

He lifted her carefully and kept moving. Glaucon and Roxana approached while Tamara checked the bodies of some of those that had fallen. Xenophon hoped she was checking for survivors and not looting the bodies. Glaucon helped take the weight of Artemas, and they followed the floor markings to the nearest infirmary. According to the symbols, it was less than thirty metres away. More of Xenias’ men were now armed, and the main corridors were full of loyal men and women, all looking signs of those that had so recently turned on them.

Roxana looked over Artemas and shook her head.

“It’s always the same with you two, always chasing a piece of tail.”

Glaucon and Xenophon looked at each other and laughed.

“What so funny, I’m being serious,” she replied, feigning being hurt. Glaucon almost leered at her before speaking.

“Well, we have to find it where we can!”

She shook her head in annoyance at the two of them. They were already at the infirmary, and inside were at least a dozen wounded people, some with terrible injuries. From the corner of her eye, she spotted Tamara pull something from one of the dead traitors. She looked carefully and was convinced she saw a smile on the young woman’s face.

CHAPTER NINE

Laconian Titan ‘Valediction’, Approaching Khorram shipyards

The briefing room was filled with the shapes of two dozen of the Dukas and senior ship commanders in the Armada. Unlike the main command deck of the Titan, this part of the ship was designed both as a place to plan strategy as well as to entertain and also impress foreign dignitaries. Clearchus watched them arrive one by one and remembered vividly the dozens of occasions where other races had entered in the same fashion. The room itself was located within the great hall where it formed a separate antechamber. Anybody visiting must first walk through the impressive hall. Numerous cabinets and trophies filled the space with relics and trophies from scores of campaigns; many conducted under the guidance of Clearchus himself prior to his exile. He recalled the consternation when the ship itself had been handed over for use in the campaign. Though he was an exile, it was well known the decision was purely political. He couldn’t directly command the ship, but he could command the Legion from within it.

“Is this all of them?” asked Cyrus impatiently.

Clearchus looked at him and did his best to hold his tongue.

“All those that need to be here,” he replied with barely concealed hostility. He wanted to lash out at the incident with Menon and Ariaeus on the Aronton Station. They had now long left the sector, but the casualties for the skirmish still remained, as did his suspicions about those Cyrus dealt with. Cyrus noticed his glance.

“Where is Ariaeus?” he asked suspiciously.

“He is coming. My intelligence staff has fully debriefed him as to his side of what happened in Aronton.”

Cyrus turned to look at the rest of those arriving.

“Yes, I read the report. Shame about Menon, he could have been a potential ally in this coming struggle.”

“Ally, you do remember he turned those machines on us upon arriving, don’t you?”

Cyrus smiled back at him.

“Of course, I didn’t say he would be my friend. Menon was nothing but a pragmatist. He will want to join whichever side appears to have the advantage. If we could have persuaded him my forces could win this fight, I’m sure we could have added his forces to ours.”

Clearchus considered telling him what he had seen on the station, but he remembered the old adage of information being power. Right now, it was information he couldn’t use, so perhaps it would become useful later on. He sighed but did his best to hide it. He didn’t need to continue as the last contingent arrived, including his two deputies, the battle hardened topoteretes Kleandridas and Pleistoanax. The room went quiet. He looked once more at Cyrus and lifted his hands, calling out to the commanders.

“Dukas and leaders of the Legion, we are fast approaching our objective and possibly the greatest battle of your careers. The route we have taken has been long and dangerous but will take us into the heart of the Empire. We have bypassed the most commonly travelled routes and will jump directly into the Khorram shipyards.

A murmur of surprise rippled through the assembled group. Clearchus looked at the faces in front of him and tried to gauge what they were thinking. The most consistent look was of astonishment.

“Now, I’m sure you are all familiar with the reputation of the Khorram shipyards. They are the main Imperial shipyards for the fleet. There we will find orbital platforms, half constructed ships plus ammunition and supplies to equip a force five times our number.”

He turned to where the long table was fitted and pressed a button, and up popped a highly detailed three-dimensional model of the Khorram region. Most would probably expect it to be one planet surrounded by stations, but it was something much more complex. The region included a super massive planet, much like old Earth but at least triple its size. Three dozen artificial moons orbited the planet and each of those was surrounded by platforms, smaller stations and columns of ships. It was unlike anything any of them had ever seen before.

“There are a number of routes that will take us to the Core Worlds. We can move directly through the Babylon Star Fortresses, but that would be suicidal. Instead, we will strike their main naval facility and cripple their fleet in one swift strike. From there, we can repair and resupply at our leisure. Artaxerxes will either have to face us there or leave most of his Empire open to destruction by our marauders. Now, any questions before I begin?”

The two topoteretes were the only warriors that seemed unconcerned at his statement so far. Sosis the Syracusan from the Titan Poseidon nodded first. Clearchus waved with his hand to take the question.

“Your strategy for assaulting their fleet is commendable, but is this part of the Empire even better protected than the Core Worlds themselves? If so, then why not smash directly into the Empire and drive on to the capital of Babylon Prime with a surgical strike of overwhelming firepower and violence?”

A few mutters from the others in the room voiced their agreement, and Clearchus considered ending the discussion immediately. He had already decided on the plan of action, but it was often useful to hear what his other commanders had to say. After all, the Dukas were all technically the same rank and experience as him. It was only his virtue as a Laconian Strategos with substantial experience that had made his selection as military leader a foregone conclusion. A vote of no confidence by the remaining Dukas could easily move the command to one of them instead, as was the old Terran custom.

“That is an excellent point,” he said in as conciliatory tone as he could muster. He looked to the model on the table and moved his hand to select and highlight the dozens of ships. The number of ships paled only when compared to the sheer size of at least half a dozen of them. He looked back and grinned.

“Anybody here that thinks Artaxerxes doesn’t know we’re coming is a fool. If he didn’t know before, he will certainly know since out action at Aronton.”

That last comment caught the entire group by surprise. Even Cyrus appeared a little taken aback at the suggestion his enemy and rival might know they were on the way.

“The only questions he will be asking are not if, but when and where we will strike?”

He pointed to the Core Worlds, the thick section of stars and planets at the far right of his model.

“He knows he has numbers and time on his side. He will expect us to hunt him down and engage him. It is in his interest to stay away and let time, money and sniping attacks do the work for him. Remember that in the past, we have heard of only a few operations that forced their way inside the Empire. Every time they have made a little progress and then been consumed by the many headed hydra that it is. We cannot, under any circumstances play his game.”

He moved the map to bring the Core Worlds as well as the shipyards all into view.

“If he knows about the Legion, the he will be rallying his forces to himself so he can prepare for the inevitable battle. By striking at a site as important as the Naval Yards, he must either meet us, or allow us to wreak havoc wherever we feel.”

He then looked to Cyrus who was busy nodding with agreement. In fact, Clearchus almost had to hold him back from leaping in and speaking. He moved aside just enough to give the Medes noble room to reach the map model.

“The Empire is a misnomer, as the territory is actually a massive collection of fiefdoms, kingdoms and territories. They are all governed by Imperial Satraps that answer directly to the Emperor, my brother. Now, Artaxerxes has enemies throughout the Empire, including many of these regional governors. If there is any sign of weakness shown by him, he can expect satraps like Tissaphernes to turn on him throughout the Empire. The more damage we cause, the more he will be forced to act.”

“And then the Legion will crush him and anybody that sides with him,” added Clearchus with barely concealed pleasure.

It was perfectly clear to him that he now had the attention of the entire hall. The plan was simple, and the location of the Khorram shipyards was well known to even those with little travel experience. He moved the display back to local space where it showed the allied fleet of the Legion and the larger formation of Medes ships under the control of Ariaeus.

“I have received the full disposition of forces under our joint command and can confirm the following in the Legion. On board Valediction we have a little under four thousand warriors, including almost three thousand spatharii. This includes my personal retinue of Epilektoi that I am making available for the operation.”

A great cheer issued forth from the small group of Komes present for the Laconian Titan. Two of the Dukas aboard his ship, Chirisophus the Laconian and Sophaenetus the Stymphalian, lifted their right hands and joined in with the noise. Clearchus smiled at the commotion and was reminded of the similar order of battle being read out in a dozen earlier battles.

“Next we have Titan Herakles and the contingents of Sophaenetus the Arcadian, Kratez the Achaean and Proxenus of Boeotia. Between them they bring three thousand more spatharii and five hundred stratiotes, a worthy and powerful force of warriors indeed.”

The cheering continued as before, and Cyrus took the opportunity to lean in and whisper into Clearchus’ ear.

“Are you planning on doing this for each Titan and transport in the entire fleet?”

Clearchus looked quickly at him and grinned widely.

“Of course, just wait until we get the Median forces. I’ll need you to read off the lists of division commanders.”

Cyrus looked confused at his last statement, but Clearchus knew full well he wouldn’t be privy or even interested in such information.

“If you don’t have it to hand, I will simply announce the numbers and the senior commander of the automatons. I assume you have one?”

*

Vendetta, Su’bartu Maelstrom

Things were starting to get back to normal on board Vendetta, at least as normal as it could be on an overloaded ship with scores of wounded crewmen that had already conducted a dozen jumps since the ship had been retaken by Xenias and his comrades. From their position on the port side of the ship, the surviving members of the Night Blades and three other units watched the departure of a single dromon. The corridor was designed partially as an observation deck but protected by a mechanical metal screen that could be brought into position in less than half a second, should it be required. A more modern ship would have utilised more of the virtual observation technology, but Vendetta was no fancy modern warship.

Of those watching, the two that stood out the most were Glaucon and Artemas; Glaucon because of his sheer size, and the Median woman as she looked so out of place amongst the rest of the warriors of the Legion. All wore dark clothing though, and each bore a serious and grim expression at what was happening.

“Where do you think they’ll go?” asked Roxana with a genuine feeling of concern in her voice.

“Who cares? They turned on us without even thinking about it. I hope Xenias left a present for them on board,” said Tamara.

Xenophon was surprised at her statement. Until the action on the command deck, he had always considered her to be somewhat lost at sea, more an orphan than a fighter. He was starting to see a vicious streak, and it was a change he didn’t like. He looked back to the long, thin window and watched the dromon as it used its manoeuvring thrusters to keep away from the ship. Movement caught his eye to the right, and he turned to see two of the defence turrets activate.

“What the hell is going on?” he muttered.

They were the smallest weapons carried externally on the ship, but they were still over four metres tall. They were point-defence turrets, part of the ship’s complex defence screen. Dozens of similar turrets were fitted all around the vessel and could provide a full three-hundred and sixty degree arc of fire if the ship was attacked. Unlike heavier weapons, these were built specifically to fire rapidly and to track fast moving objects, especially missiles, rockets and accelerated projectiles.

“Yeah, looks like the Dukas has bigger balls than you thought!” laughed Tamara, much to the discomfort of both Xenophon and Roxana.

Though the turret tracked the dromon, it did not fire. It took less than a minute for the ship to shrink in size until it could no longer be seen. As if to mark the small transports departure, the voice of Kybernetes Ezekiel Manus echoed through the narrow corridor.

“The traitors have started their long exile, and it is now time for us to continue on our journey. We are operating in complete lockdown, and communication blackout is still in effect. We will be jumping in four minutes and expect to rendezvous with the Legion in four more jumps, Kybernetes out.”

Those in the corridor started to disperse, and Glaucon seemed to voice the opinions of the rest in one simple line.

“I don’t know about the rest of you, but right now I could do with a drink, a serious drink.”

Xenophon nodded heartily at the suggestion, as did Roxana who was still looking for signs of the now vanished dromon. The only glum looking person there was the moody Tamara. Roxana spotted her and moved a little closer. There was definitely something odd in her expression, as if someone had just committed a great evil.

“Come on, to the rec room,” said Glaucon, and then he was gone.

It was a short walk, and in less than five minutes they were inside the hastily modified storage room. Over two dozen people were already in there listening to music, talking and generally trying to forget everything that had happened to them in the last few days. Normally, this room would be stacked with charge cartridges for the secondary weapon batteries, but with no weapons to resupply there were a number of similar sections now devoid of ammunition. They were among the few places not reallocated for use by the new refugees on the ship. Tamara jumped ahead and grabbed a table for the group just as two spatharii were about to sit down. One looked as if he would erupt in anger, but she faced him down until he walked away. Xenophon slid alongside her, and the others pulled over barrels and boxes to join him.

“Tamara, you need to watch that temper of yours. You aren’t making friends here.”

Roxana sat opposite the two of them while Glaucon walked over to a group near a pile of crates. It wasn’t the most sophisticated of locations, but it was large and big enough to house a full dromon inside and away from the bustle of managing the ship. It didn’t take Glaucon long to return with four large beakers of the same type used in the canteen. He dropped them down on the table and slid alongside Roxana.

“Scoot along then,” he said with a smile. She sighed and moved the short distance to give him the space.

“What is this stuff?” asked Xenophon, staring inside the beaker suspiciously.

Glaucon threw back a full mouthful of the liquid and swallowed it before slamming the beaker back down. He coughed almost immediately and managed to splatter Tamara with some of it across her shoulder.

“What the…” she shouted, but Xenophon held her back and stopped her from leaping across the table.

Roxana, ever the most sensible of the group, leaned over the table towards her.

“I don’t understand it. What’s got into you? Since we retook the ship, you’ve been getting more and more violent and bitter. Has something happened?” she asked.

Tamara sat in silence and said nothing.

“Okay, well in the meantime you need to sort this temper of yours out. You might be young, and you obviously have some things in your past you aren’t happy with, but we have new problems, right now. Okay?”

Tamara gave her the barest of nods and looked down at the table. Roxana shook her head in annoyance, turning her gaze back to Xenophon.

“So, I see you’ve been busy, then?”

Glaucon coughed and join in. “Yeah, we get banged up, and the next thing we know you’ve got a hot Median agent in tow. What’s that all about?”

“Nice,” he replied sarcastically. “It isn’t like that, as well you know. She was actually following you and Tamara when we were trying to find out what Andronicus was up to. It looks like she’s an Imperial agent but working for Cyrus and his high command. They have one like her on each of the major ships in the Legion.”

Roxana scratched her head slightly.

“Wait a minute. I know you, Xenophon. The minute a girl shows you any attention, you fall head over heels for them. Why do you believe a single word she has said to you so far? Don’t you think Clearchus himself would have to know about this?”

“True,” added Glaucon, “no way would he stand for Medes units hiding aboard our Titans, no way.”

Roxana took a sip of the liquid and pulled a face at the sickly feeling it evoked.

“It doesn’t make sense, and it also doesn’t seem very likely to me. Where are they all hiding?”

Xenophon listened to their complaints but of all of them, Roxana was the one he valued the most in this particular affair. She was certainly the most experienced with a significant portion of her adult life spent in the military. Xenophon trusted her judgement when it came to people or military affairs, above all others.

“One thing you need to always remember is that we have never been the friends of the Medes. Clearchus might be in charge of all Terrans, but he isn’t in charge of the campaign itself. Cyrus pulls the strings, and more importantly, he controls the purse. Do you think he is happy to have thousands of Terrans swarming through his ancient lands? You’ve seen some of our people, and they are just as likely to turn on us as them.”

The others had nothing to say immediately and continued with their drinks. It looked like it would stay that way until Tamara shocked them all with her next outburst.

“What does a Medes look like, then? I mean, when she takes all that tight fitting armour off?”

Xenophon just looked at her but said nothing, partially out of shock, but mainly because he simply had no idea what to say. Glaucon nearly choked on his drink, but this time managed not to splutter it all over the others.

“Naked you say?” he laughed, managing as always to completely miss the tone of the conversation. Roxana looked a little embarrassed at the direction of the discussion and like Xenophon, said nothing.

“Well?” asked Tamara, refusing to back down.

“That really isn’t a very civil thing to ask now, is it?” replied Xenophon.

He was obviously annoyed but also perhaps a little embarrassed. Roxana looked at him, trying to gauge exactly what was going on with him and the Medes agent, but he was giving nothing away.

“She helped free the lot of you, and maybe if we’d got to her sooner, we might have stopped the mutiny to start with,” he continued, and with that the conversation ended.

“What about Andronicus’ men? What do you think they will do?” asked Glaucon, doing his best to steer the conversation away from his friend and whatever potential liaisons he might have had.

Xenophon seemed to relax a little at the change of topic and took a short sip from the beaker. Another group of half a dozen spatharii entered the room. As they came closer, Xenophon recognised Dekarchos Julius of the elite 6th Spatharios. His assistance during the evacuation of the crippled Olympia had made him a friend of Xenophon and the others. They owed him a great debt, and it wouldn’t be forgotten. He moved to the table but didn’t sit down.

“Will you and your men join us?” asked Roxana in a very polite manner.

“Thank you, but no, I’m still on duty. I just thought you would like to know that the Dukas has finished debriefing the Medes Artemas, and he requests you meet him in his room prior to her being released into the general population in one hour.”

“Released? Isn’t that a bit risky?” asked Glaucon.

Roxana looked over to Xenophon, curious to see what he would say.

“Yes, you’re right. I can’t see this crew being too keen knowing they have a Medes agent on board the ship.”

Julius was already turning back to the door before he replied.

“Then I suggest you keep it to yourself. It’s not like she looks that much different to any other women I know.”

“She doesn’t look like any of the women I know,” muttered Glaucon in a suggestive manner that resulted in him receiving a solid punch in the chest from Roxana. He feigned pain at her strike and looked back to Julius.

“Anyway, I have to go. There are rumours of booby-traps in the jump drive control room, and I think I speak for all of us when I say I don’t want to stay in this sector for a minute longer. I suggest you get to the Dukas on time. His patience isn’t what you might call, well, infinite, and something tells me you’ll be wanting some time with your lady.”

He smiled at Xenophon with his last line and turned for the door. Xenophon looked back to see the beaming grin from Glaucon and a stern expression on the face of Roxana.

“What?” he asked in mock surprise.

“If she told you, then trust she is of royal blood. She is the daughter of an Imperial Satrap after all, isn’t she?”

Xenophon said nothing, but the leering look from Glaucon was now starting to annoy him. He opened his mouth to tell him to stop, but Tamara surprised them all by standing up and making to leave the room.

“Hey, where are you going?” asked Roxana.

Tamara looked back to her, and it was clear she had been crying.

“I need sleep.”

Then she was out through the door and gone.

Glaucon coughed before spurting out his concerns.

“Is it just me that’s starting to find her a little annoying? What the hell is her problem?” he said, lifting up his hand to get the attention of those serving the drinks. A woman, one of the cleaners came over and dumped another beaker next to him and waited patiently for her payment.

“Anybody else?” he asked before paying, and they all shook their heads. Once the woman had gone, Xenophon spoke.

“It’s clearly something to do with Andronicus and his group. You saw how she dispatched him on the command deck. Even Xenias was surprised at her brutality. If you ask me, I’d say either he or his group had something to do with her past, probably something related to her becoming an orphan.”

“Orphan, yes, that’s it,” said Roxana, “I need to see her.”

She stood up and moved to the door, saying no more to the two men. In less than thirty seconds their group had halved, and just Glaucon and Xenophon remained at the table. Glaucon took another long swig and dumped his beaker back on the table.

“Okay, now the girls have gone, you can tell me all about her. Come on, all the details!”

Xenophon shook his head at his friend and did his best to hide his smile. They had known each other for a long time now, and even though their forced exile stopped them from returning, they seemed to be managing in this strange and strife ridden operation. He thought back to Artemas, the way she looked and the way she moved. Then it finally dawned on him. He really wanted to see her again, much more than he should.

You crazy little man, don’t tell me you’re falling for a foreign, no, not foreign, a damned alien noble.

*

Dukas Xenias’ quarters were far less salubrious that he was used to. On board the Olympia he had been treated more like a monarch than a commander. The smaller cabin on Vendetta was the largest cabin after the Captain’s but still only just adequate. He was dressed in his formal uniform, the combination of Arcadian military and Black Legion that gave all of them their dark and menacing look. Stacked along the one wall were the various parts of his elaborate body armour, some of it now over a hundred years old. Like the Laconians, the armour of senior officers was handed down over the generations, and it was a great honour to wear the equipment of those that had gone before.

Xenias looked out to the two other people but said nothing. They had been silent for almost a minute while they waited for the arrival of the escort. Dekarchos Julius sat next to the demure form of Artemas. They had spent the last hour discussing what she was doing there on the ship. Though suspicious of any action taken by the Medes, he couldn’t deny her vital role in rescuing both him and the ship from the band of mutineers led by Andronicus. He had just one final question for her.

“Artemas, daughter of Lygdamis, so what are your plans once this campaign is over? There are only two ways it can end, and either way, one of the two brothers will be Emperor, and the other will be dead. What if Cyrus loses?”

She leaned forward slightly, and her tight fitting black clothes made no sound of any kind as she did so.

“I don’t care which of them is in charge. My job, as I’ve already explained to you, is to ensure that you Terrans do not overstep your boundaries. That you conduct your campaign without diverting into other parts of our territory.”

“That is why you have agents on some of our ships, to watch for dissent or trouble in our ranks?”

She nodded but said no more.

“My Lord, may I?” asked Dekarchos Julius.

Xenias looked a little surprised at his question, unused as he was to the commander of his elite special operations unit being involved in such meetings. Sadly, most of his senior commanders were now missing or dead, and Julius was definitely a man of whom he could place his trust.

“You are from a noble family? You are the daughter of a wealthy and influential satrap?”

She nodded again.

“So why are you working as a lowly agent?”

Xenias nodded in agreement, pleased with the question and intrigued to hear her answer. Before she could speak, a knock came from the door. Xenias lifted his hand, signalling a pause in their discussion for the time being.

“Come.”

The door swung open to reveal Xenophon who stepped in smartly and saluted in the Alliance fashion. Xenias smiled inwardly as the double sign of respect and a reminder that he might be of the Legion, but never an Arcadian. It wasn’t surprising, really, the Alliance and the Arcadians had experienced a rocky relationship for years.

“Dekarchos Xenophon, please sit down,” he said, indicating with his hand to sit next to Julius. He moved into position and lowered himself while throwing a quick look to Artemas.

“Now, I have had a long chat with this fine young woman with regards to what she has been doing in our endeavour. I have assurances from her that from now on, she will report directly to the highest ranking Terran officer present. As of now that will be myself, and when we reach the rest of the Legion that will pass on to the Strategos.”

He looked to Artemas who nodded slowly.

“And the Dukas has agreed that I will be able to continue my duties aboard the ship to ensure no more troubles occur here. Neither you nor my people want to see rogue Terrans wandering through our planets.”

Xenophon looked a little confused at the proceedings, however, and looked to Julius for guidance. The experienced Arcadian officer had an expressionless face, and said or did nothing that he could discern.

“What is it?” asked Xenias.

“Uh, it is nothing, My Lord.”

Xenias appeared to be irritated at his refusal to answer.

“Dammit man, speak your mind!”

Xenophon looked at the three of them.

“Well, Sir, isn’t it going to be dangerous having someone such as Artemas being granted full access to a Terran warship? Even Lord Cyrus is followed about by a security detail handpicked by Strategos Clearchus.

“Indeed, you are correct. As of now, Lady Artemas has become our official Scout for this region. Her duties will be to assist in navigation and communication in this region of space. It is an official role and will mean she can come out of hiding, perhaps to ditch those…interesting garments,” he said as he looked at her from head to toe.

“I see…but…” started Xenophon, but again he was silenced by Xenias.

“Of course an important dignitary such as Lady Artemas will require protection by people she trusts, and also by people I can trust. I’m sure you know where I am going with this?”

He looked to Artemas and spotted her gentle smile as she looked directly back at him. For the briefest of moments, he forgot where he was and gazed at her pale skin and bright eyes. Then he remembered where he was and who he was sat opposite.

“You will select a team of three or four trusted members of the Legion and then Dekarchos Julius for your equipment and armour. I know you are members of the Night Blades, but this is a battlefield promotion, and you are to be transferred to the spatharii and will join my contingent. You will answer directly to the Senior Dekarchos here,” he added, pointing to Julius.

Xenophon appeared stunned at the news. He sat there and said absolutely nothing.

“Well then, I assume you have some people in mind. Notify them of their new position and meet Julius within the hour. You will be allocated your final unit and posting when we join the Legion. For now your job is simple, protect Lady Artemas at any cost. You are dismissed, Dekarchos Xenophon of the Spatharii.”

He stood up and saluted though still dumbfounded at the news. The spatharii were the elite heavy infantry of the Terrans, and only those with substantial previous training and experience were permitted to join them. The guards outside opened the door and he stepped out of the room feeling like a changed man. The door shut before he even turned around only to see the beautiful form of Artemas stood there waiting patiently.

“Well, isn’t it time I met your comrades?” she whispered coyly.

CHAPTER TEN

Laconian Titan ‘Valediction’, Approaching Khorram shipyards

The arrival at the Imperial Shipyards at Khorram should have been the greatest tactical surprise in the history of the Median Empire. Thousands of elite mercenaries along with their transports, heavy warships and an even larger number of Median allies presented the greatest invasion force for hundreds of years. Instead of a great surprise, the Terrans jumped into what would be forever known as the Khorram Massacre and one of the bloodiest days in the history of both the Terran and Medes races. It started with the arrival of the Legion, with the Titan Valediction at the centre, and the first wave of Terran combat forces. Valediction arrived with little warning, only the blurred flash as she appeared just thirty minutes away from the Shipyards themselves and was then followed by the rest of the vast Armada; one hundred and one Terran ships and one hundred and forty three Median allies under the command of Ariaeus.

“Battle stations!” came the order through the communication nodes installed among the officers of the great ship as well as through the loudspeakers fitted in every single room and corridor in the Titan.

The crew were already waiting for trouble, but the view many of them saw through their virtual observation units or computer systems shocked every single person on the Titan. From his position on the main deck, Clearchus watched in astonishment at the great fleet moving out in a massive column formation. It looked like a crowd after a great concert as hundreds of ships jostled for position, each one moving slowly to the jump beacon situated at the farthest side of the system.

“What is this?” barked Clearchus, instantly suspecting treachery.

The Virtual Observation System gave him a flawless view of space around the Armada as well as the myriad of enemy ships, structures, shipyards and station. A light mist, faint pink in colour, gave an odd, almost alien feel to the entire region of space. Clearchus had seen the imagery for the shipyards, but the reality was something else. A dozen planets, none of which any more than barren rocks had been converted over a period of hundreds, possibly thousands of years into refineries, factories and assembly plants. It dwarfed anything he had seen before, even including the main Alliance shipyards that orbited Attica prior to them being partially dismantled after their defeat. What really interested him though was what was happening. This wasn’t a fleet deployed for battle; it looked to him like it was a fleet being sent somewhere.

“I need a full evaluation of this entire area, fast!” he snapped to the crew.

His words were not needed. As soon as the Valediction had entered the sector, the bridge crew had started their standard procedures by scanning every near object, plotting trajectories and scanning for weapons and signals.

“Clearchus, do you know what this is?” asked Lord Cyrus with a tone of awe, almost reverence to his voice.

Clearchus turned from gazing at the myriad ships to the Median noble.

“A lot of ships, that’s what it looks like. I thought it was to be lightly defended? Didn’t Ariaeus say in his debriefing that the Aronton Station had already broadcasted news of our approach?”

Tactical Officer Coxand turned from her display and took a deep breath before speaking.

“My Lord, I’ve completed my analysis.”

Cyrus smiled inwardly, impressed with the speed and efficiency of the crew. Although he was an exile, he still had friends back home, and they had done much to ensure he had the pick of the Laconian military that were on leave or retiring. Even the Titans in the fleet had been a major coup, offered for large cash stipends purely because most of the Terran colonies were having trouble raising funds to run such massive ships. He remembered the rumours that Arcadia was even considering scrapping her only remaining Titan, the Olympia, to raise money for social programmes. He shook his head; he had more important things to worry about right now.

“Give me the short version.”

“According to our databases this isn’t any collection of ships, this is the primary fleet of the Imperial Navy. I count twenty-eight Elamite battleships, nine battlecruisers, eight armoured cruisers, twenty-six light cruisers and nearly eighty destroyers. They outnumber our forces by fifty-percent.”

Cyrus lifted his hand.

“Wait, we have over a hundred of my allied ships under the command of Ariaeus. That will give us a substantial advantage in numbers. If we combine the fleets, we can descend upon them and destroy their fleet in one action.”

Clearchus listened to him but wasn’t convinced.

“I appreciate your enthusiasm to attack, Lord Cyrus. But I have my crew and warriors to worry about. This mission is not to destroy the Median Empire. It is to put you on the thrown, is it not? I could lose half my forces and then what state will you be in? You can’t run an Empire with two decimated fleets can you?”

Cyrus walked up to the display and pointed to the capital ships scattered throughout the enemy formation. He aimed specifically at the largest battleship.

“These are no ordinary ships. They are the Royal ships of the Imperium, and if we let them escape, well, we could lose a chance to end this war before it even begins.”

The Tactical Officer pointed at the main ships as she described the details held on the ship’s database. As they continued discussing the plan, the ships in the fleet drew up into the final part of the prearranged formation. The Terrans adopted a narrow front with much of the lighter ships in reserve. With space being the vast three-dimensional void that it was, the ships were spaced out considerably. Partially to give clear fields of fire, but also to avoid taking damage from shrapnel of damaged ships or the massive explosions that occur with core reactor overloads on the larger ships. Contrary to what most people thought, there was no air in space, and therefore no shockwave from explosions. But that didn’t stop the ships from staying at a safe distance. The officers were still talking, but Clearchus’ attention was drawn by several small groups of ships breaking away from the main enemy column.

What are they up to?

Most of the enemy fleet was still in the long column, and Clearchus watched with satisfaction as in less than a single minute the entire Terran fleet was formed up into battle order. Behind the three-deep Terran formation, the Medes ships of Ariaeus were much further back, and most had taken up stations around the transports. Unlike the Terrans and their Titans, the bulk of the Medes troops were inside lightly protected vessels with little in the way of armour, firepower or shielding to look after them. He was about to speak, but the face of his hated opposite number appeared instead.

“Strategos,” he stated politely.

“Ariaeus, I trust your ships are in the correct formation?” asked Clearchus.

Ariaeus nodded.

“I think they are trying to bait us into attacking. This looks like a trap to advance our forces forward so we can be engaged by superior numbers,” explained Clearchus.

“What numbers?” asked Cyrus as he waved his hands in the direction of the many groups of ships. Clearchus shook his head in annoyance.

There is a reason your Empire failed in two invasions in a row against us, barbarian! He murmured angrily to himself.

“It isn’t just what you see, Cyrus, it is what you do not. Your people have a well known reputation for subterfuge and feigned withdrawals. I wouldn’t be surprised if this is all a simple device to make us attack them.”

Cyrus was visibly annoyed, probably due to the perceived lack of aggression shown by Clearchus. He had hired the man both for his skill and his connections. Without him, there would never have been four Titans to start with, let alone ten thousand of the finest Terran ground troops.

“There is something else, Strategos. I have picked up the signature and silhouette of what looks like a Super-Battleship. I…I think it might be the Rashnu. She is turning and moving to the rear of the column.”

That last description seemed to stop Cyrus in his tracks. His eyes gleamed at the mention of the infamous ship, probably the most famous ship in the entire Median fleet, perhaps any fleet. Clearchus spotted his expression, and it was clear the ship’s name meant something important to him. He waved his hand and brought up a detailed camera view of the brightly coloured Median battleship.

“The Rashnu, you said?” he asked.

Clearchus examined the shape carefully, and from the corner of his eye he made sure his own forces were manoeuvring as per his instructions. So far neither side had committed any forces or started any kind of violent action.

“That is why I contacted you. The ship is indeed the Rashnu,” said Ariaeus as politely as he could manage.

There was some commotion near the commander of the Titan, Kentarchos Broge Monsimm. His was in a heated discussion with the ship’s senior communications officer, Auletes Juda Bellee. Clearchus noticed the Auletes was trying to authorise a video communication of some kind.

“What is it?” he called out.

Kentarchos Monsimm turned in his chair. Beads of sweat were clear on his forehead, and he looked worried. No, as Clearchus looked more carefully, he realised it wasn’t worry, it was tension. The Kentarchos was ready for battle and knew what was at stake.

“Strategos, we have been sent an urgent secure communication from the enemy flagship. They wish to know why we have entered Imperial territory. We are to lower our shields and allow boarding parties to search our ships.”

Clearchus looked to the tactical display and checked the status of the ships. It would take considerable time for any of the ships to change course; powering up jump drives took time and energy, something that was often limited in a combat environment.

Do I attack or let them withdraw?

The Auletes turned back in her seat with a look of surprise, almost fear on her face. Clearchus, Cyrus and the Kentarchos all recognised the expression.

“What?” demanded Clearchus, dreading what she might have to say.

“It’s him!” she replied, spluttering out the words.

Clearchus still wasn’t sure, but he needed to know.

“Answer me, who is it?”

“The Emperor, he is here,” she cried out and then turned back to her display.

Cyrus stepped towards her, bypassing any of the other Terran officers on the deck. A number of Clearchus’ guard motioned to move, but he waved them off discretely.

“Put him on!” he demanded.

Auletes Bellee looked over to Clearchus who simply nodded in reply. It took only seconds and then the image of the Emperor Artaxerxes himself appeared. It was the first time Clearchus had seen the leader of the Median Empire or even the inside of one of their ships. Unlike Cyrus, who had adopted Terran speech and mannerisms, his brother looked completely different. Dressed in a bizarre gown, he was topped off with a flamboyant headdress and a completely exposed right shoulder.

“Barbarians,” muttered Clearchus.

He started to speak in the odd language of the Medians, and it took a few seconds for the computer translators to catch up and repeat a version the Terrans could understand. Harsh words had evidently been exchanged before Cyrus looked back to Clearchus, his faced taut with anger.

“We must strike!” he hissed through his teeth before continuing.

The computer tried to translate the first few lines, but nothing but gibberish came out of the system. The Auletes split the data to her assistants, but they seemed to be making no progress.

“What’s happening here?” growled the Kentarchos.

Auletes Bellee continued her work but called out from behind her desk.

“They aren’t speaking standard Median, Sir. I think it must be a code or perhaps a family dialect. I’m cross-referencing with the ancient and classical Median dialects now.”

Clearchus remembered reading about the Medes and their nobility. Unlike the Terrans, they weren’t into a single race but a mixture of conquered and assimilated societies that were rules by regional satraps that then answered directly to the Imperial Household. The true Medes were the Terran-looking humanoids in the Core Worlds like Cyrus and his brother. Their lands were filled with bizarre races and creatures, though he had seen very few of them so far. His attention was grabbed by the fact that the video screen had shut down.

“Strategos Clearchus,” called out Cyrus, “I beg you to begin your assault. My brother, the Emperor, says if we leave, he will forgive us. If we stay, then he will destroy us and not stop until every ship is left a hulk to be picked over by scavengers. He will take no prisoners here.”

Clearchus looked back to his display and then to Cyrus. The Emperor was indeed the prize, and his plan would need just a few subtle changes for it to work.

“What did you tell him?”

“That I am the people’s Emperor, that he is a dictator, an imposter and an enemy of the Empire.”

Tactical Officer Jeane Coxand moved her hand around the ships shown on the display so that they were highlighted in red. She waved her hand along the entire formation.

“The enemy forces are deploying into a wide front, Strategos, and the shipyard and planetary defences are activating. Rashnu is deploying to the centre of the enemy fleet between four Elamite battleships.”

“Yes, as I suspected, this was a feigned withdrawal. The column was laid out to trick us into attacking the rear where they would then turn and envelop our dispersed formation. The emplacements and shipyards would rake us on our approach.”

Cyrus lowered his head slightly and nodded.

“You were correct, Clearchus. I will stand by your judgement in this matter. All I would say though is that if we take the Emperor today, I will pay every member of the Legion triple their bounty for just this one day’s work.”

Clearchus looked at him and grinned.

“Auletes, put Cyrus on with the entire fleet.” He ordered before looking back to Cyrus.

“Tell them what you just told me, and I’ll bring you his head as a royal souvenir.”

Cyrus grinned and for possibly the first time, Clearchus was sincere.

*

Vendetta, Approaching Khorram shipyards

The ships partially damaged gymnasium was hardly the best place to be introduced to new people. With the shift change, the casualties still filling the infirmaries and many of the crew quarters, it was one of the few spaces left to be used. As the small group of five ships continued their jumps towards Khorram, so the mood had shifted in the ship. The makeshift bar had been closed and a temporary firing range erected so that the troops could train. Xenophon and Artemas were both there along with Glaucon and a dozen other spatharii, each of them working on weights, running or practicing their martial arts training.

“Where are the others?” asked Xenophon.

“Roxana is collecting some new kit for Artemas, and Tamara is gathering training weapons. They are due any minute,” explained Glaucon, surprised at the impatience of his old friend.

Both Glaucon and Xenophon wore their training fatigues, a lightweight material that was closefitting and didn’t interfere with their movement. It covered all the skin up to the throat and was made of a special fabric that helped spread heat and perspiration. Artemas, on the other hand, had elected to remain with her more provocative Median clothing; and to the Terrans it had more in common with tight fabrics and corsets than military gear.

“Can you fight in that?” asked Glaucon with more than a hint of scepticism.

“Want to find out?” she asked with one raised eyebrow.

Glaucon placed his towel on one of the crates and moved out into the open space towards the soft training mats.

“Well, actually I would,” he said suggestively while glancing towards Xenophon. He was both please and surprised to see his friend nod, effectively allowing the bout to proceed.

Artemas moved into the middle of the floor and took up a fighting stance. Her left foot was forward and her knees slightly bent. She lifted her elbows up to present the bones of her forearms to Glaucon. Xenophon’s friend simply walked out into the area and stood several metres away. He was relaxed and calm, but Xenophon knew that deep down his friend had speed and strength that had surprised many an enemy in the past.

“So, what would you like me to do?” he asked with a grin.

“You can try to do anything you want with me,” she said and blew a kiss at him.

Xenophon instantly spotted the change in his posture, and in a flash he bounded towards her and lowered himself. It was one of his standard moves; the shoulder barge to the stomach that usually threw his opponent onto their backs and to the floor. Xenophon allowed himself a small smile, knowing full it was Glaucon’s plan to force her to the floor on her back. This was, of course, what he planned but nothing like the way it ended up. As he rushed in and lowered his head, she simply stood her ground. They almost made contact before she moved her weight and slid to the left and away from his attack. She lifted her right leg that was now in front of him and brought it up as high as her chest before bringing it back down onto his back. It was a light strike, but it easily knocked him to the floor.

“Nice,” laughed Xenophon, much to the annoyance of Glaucon.

He lifted himself up and wiped the dust from the floor. Artemas seemed to almost dance about in front of him. Her long legs moved with a grace and speed that Glaucon could never match.

“You charge like a bull,” she said in a matter of fact tone.

He rolled his shoulders, and the right one creaked a little with the movement. He adopted a fighting stance, similar to the one used by Artemas and then moved in, but this time slower and more considered.

“Better,” she said, almost baiting him with her words, “you anticipate too much!” she added and moved in with a series of fast jabs towards his face. He easily batted them aside and moved for a powerful punch to the stomach. As his fist moved in, she twisted her hips and trapped his arm in her armpit. With a simple grab and twist, she had his arm locked behind his body. With a short push he fell down, twisting as he went until he landed on his back once more. She dropped down so that her knees where each side of his head and sat on his chest.

“Is this what you had in mind?” she asked with a wicked grin, so wicked that even Glaucon had to laugh at his predicament. At that very moment in walked Tamara and Roxana, and both of them carrying the training gear and weapons they had set out to find. Roxana stopped when she saw Artemas straddling Glaucon on the floor. She was about to speak when she saw a grinning Xenophon stood to the side and watching.

“I see you’ve been busy, then?” she said sarcastically.

Artemas leapt up and reached down to help Glaucon up. His pride may have been slightly wounded, but he seemed happy with their little skirmish. She stepped up close to him so that she could see his face and eyes clearly. It was uncomfortably close for Terrans, but Xenophon had seen other Medes do it. It appeared to be a measure of respect.

“You are a powerful man, Glaucon. That power, tempered with control, will make you formidable.”

He smiled back and swung his arm towards her buttocks. She easily caught his hand, and instead placed her own hand in his and shook it.

“You need to keep this guy under control.”

Xenophon approached them and turned, pointing to the two new arrivals.

“These are my friends and also your protectors. This is Roxana, ex-Alliance naval officer and expert in tech, weapons and flight management. You will not find a more experienced or intelligent officer like her in the Legion.”

He then turned to Glaucon who was motionless and staring at her.

“This larger than life character is my old friend Glaucon from back home on Attica. What he lacks in manners, he makes up with determination, skill and strength.”

Artemas smiled at him, “I have no doubt.”

She looked over to the young Tamara who was busy examining the Medes female from head to toe. Her attention seemed especially concentrated on her Median clothing.

“And you must be Tamara?” she asked.

Tamara looked at her but said nothing. Artemas glanced over to Xenophon as she tried to work out how she must have offended the young woman. He simply shook his head in annoyance.

“Tamara is a special case. She is fast, agile and quite the specialist, aren’t you?” he said while doing his best to encourage her.

Tamara shrugged but again said little. Artemas looked at her face and noticed the anger that was hidden behind her eyes. She’d seen the same look before, many years earlier on some of the worlds cleansed by the Taochi; a race of monstrous warriors that had swept through large parts of the Median Empire before being crushed by a vast Imperial Armada. The race was bipedal, and of similar shape and build of an upright bull, but with a strongly muscled upper torsos and arms. Some of the children she had seen in the aftermath of the war or liberation had the same look of fear that Tamara exhibited. She turned her head slightly and walked over to the stack of training weapons she had just brought in.

“Do you like to fight?” she asked her.

At this question Tamara’s face lit up. She cocked her head and followed Artemas as she examined the weapons. She withdrew two short swords, each no longer than a metre and looked back over her shoulder to Tamara. She smiled inwardly at seeing the young woman watching.

So, you are interested in something, she thought.

Artemas moved back into the centre of the room where she had recently fought Glaucon. She carried in each hand one of the synthetic training weapons, and each one was similar in size and weight as an ancient machete. She spun them in her hands with great skill and precision before stopping and pointing the tips of both towards Tamara.

“Well, shall we dance?” she asked and hurled the blade in her left hand to Tamara. It was a perfect throw, and the weapon followed a curved course towards the young woman’s face. At the last moment she reached out and caught the hilt.

“Sure, we can do that,” she answered with genuine pleasure on her face.

Tamara walked out into the training space and noticed the small number of other people working out had stopped and moved aside to watch. It was a minor crowd, but the extra eyes looking at her increased the tension and started pumping her heart faster and faster. She glanced at the weapon; it was nothing fancy and perfectly safe, providing they avoided the throat and eyes. She touched the tip with her left hand and checked the flexibility. It was enough to stop a major injury but hopefully sturdy enough to deflect a heavy blow.

“Tamara, have you ever heard of the Taochi?” she asked.

The two circled around each other, the weapons hung low and ready. Tamara shook her head at the question.

“No, why?”

Artemas kept moving but was intrigued by the footwork used by Tamara. She was slight and young, but her footwork implied significant training.

Dance or martial arts? Artemas thought.

They continued to move around each other, both watching and studying the movement of the other. Artemas was now being much more conservative with her moves, doing her best to give as little away as possible. Tamara, on the other hand, had the look of somebody that either had no idea as to what they were doing or were displaying a total disregard for the other as a ploy. She lowered her blade to the floor and stopped, almost expressionless.

“I see, you wish to draw me in?” said Artemas in reply. “Fine, let’s go!”

She took three steps forward and hacked in a horizontal slash that would have decapitated any other person. Tamara lifted her hilt but kept the point low so that she could parry in a hanging position. The blade easily slid off, and she flipped it around to deliver a counter cut to the back of Artemas’ head. The Medes woman neatly evaded the strike by bending down low to almost half her height and then took two steps to the side. The two spun their blades and faced off once more.

“Interesting, very interesting, you’ve been trained in the old way. I thought since our great wars that only the Laconians bothered in this kind of training.”

Tamara leapt forward, buoyed on by her success and delivered a withering hail of cuts. Most came from the left, but three struck low on the left, one almost striking Artemas in the forearm. They backed off once more. Neither seemed particular worn out by their action, and the look of concentration on their faces was marked.

“I wasn’t trained. I learned from experience.”

They moved again and delivered one cut after another, each parrying and deflecting, desperately trying to find an opening, but every time it was stopped. After a long exchange, they separated when Artemas lifted her hand for them to stop. She moved to Tamar and touched her hand.

“May I?” she asked.

Tamara looked back to Xenophon who simply shrugged. She looked back and nodded slowly. “I guess.”

Artemas pulled her hand to her shoulder and placed it on the skin around her collar bone. Tamara shuddered slightly as their skin made contact. Artemas closed her eyes and concentrated for a few seconds before opening them again and releasing her.

“I understand now. I am sorry for your loss,” she explained with a slightly lowered head. The others move closer and Roxana placed her arm around Tamara as though to protect her.

“What the hell was that?” asked Glaucon suspiciously.

Xenophon looked at Artemas’ face but could see no ill intent towards Tamara.

“It is a gift, something a small number of those in my family have. We are able to sense the pain of others through physical contact.”

She reached out to place her hand on Tamara again, but Xenophon grasped her hand and stopped her.

“What do you mean, shared, you can read thoughts?”

Artemas grinned at the suggestion.

“No, of course not, just emotions, and a general feeling that goes with it. If I were able to read thoughts, I would never assume I could just do so at will. That would be, well…”

“Immoral,” completed Roxana.

A low whistle and buzz reverberated through the ship. It was the loudspeaker system.

“Now hear this, our ETA for final destination is forty-three minutes. All crew and warriors are to report to their respective posts and commanders.”

The small group were silent for a second as they realised their long journey through the Su’bartu Maelstrom was almost at an end. Glaucon was the first to speak.

“So our new job is to protect Miss Artemas here, so where do we go, and what do we do?” he asked.

Roxana nodded in agreement at the question.

“That is a good point. Dukas Xenias said I was to report directly to Dekarchos Julius, the commander of his special operation unit. I suggest you all grab your gear, and we’ll meet with the rest of his unit.”

Artemas looked at Glaucon.

“No, my friend, as Xenophon knows, my official title in the fleet is Lady Artemas. It is my intention to be wherever I may be of assistance. I have some intelligence and combat skills that might prove useful.”

Tamara smiled at the last part.

“That is something none of us doubt.”

It was the first sincere and pleasant thing she had said in days.

*

“This is Kybernetes Ezekiel Manus. We will be jumping in sixty seconds. All combat troops check the seals on your suits and ready your weapons. Crew, man your stations. We have no intelligence on Khorram, so we will assume we are going in hot. Gods willing, we should find signs of the Legion there.”

The spatharii waited in their groups of ten, each led by an experienced dekarchos. In theory, the commanders would have a certain number of years training, but in this case the men had elected their own commanders where needed. Numbers were low as they had lost the good part of their warriors on the Titan Olympia. Most of the survivors were now waiting in the assembly areas, corridors and landing deck. Dekarchos Julius looked to his own group of heavily armoured spatharii. They were the elite warriors that had help extricate Xenophon and his people from Olympia in the first place.

“The safest place for the Lady is in your care. Her knowledge of the enemy and this area of space could prove invaluable. I want you to go with one squad of my men and establish a strong presence on the command deck. This ship is vulnerable to boarding actions, and we will not lose it again.”

Xenophon saluted and was about to move when he realised the Dekarchos was staying where he was.

“What about you, Sir?”

Julius looked to his veterans and spoke to one before turning back to Xenophon.

“The rest of my team will wait here until called for. You defend the command deck. We will be on station to board enemy vessels or come to your rescue, if you need it…again!”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Vendetta, Khorram shipyards

Xenophon watched the rest of his squad of spatharii as they waited patiently for the hum of the jump engines to signal the start of the sequence. It was only a few more seconds, but the feeling of suspense was palpable in the command deck. Dukas Xenias stood motionless, his eyes on the display. The rest of the bridge crew monitored their stations, and the spatharii simply waited. Then it started. A low rattle that culminated in a short but powerful sense of nausea as the ship leapt between two points of space. It was fast, very fast and rougher than usual.

Must be a longer jump than normal, Xenophon thought.

The design of the jump engines was a closely guarded secret amongst all Terrans, especially as they had developed a system of longer ranged engines than even the Medes. It was one of the reasons that all Terran ships were equipped with reactor and engine destruction equipment should a ship ever be crippled or captured.

“Five…four…three…two…one!” called out the ship’s Kybernetes. Then with a bright flash the blurred stars and shapes on the computer displays and main screen transformed into an almost pink vista. The dots turned to shipyards, planets, station and large ships.

“What’s going on!” cried the Dukas as the crew checked the ship’s sensors. Around the Vendetta appeared the four Hydra Class destroyers, each of them pockmarked and scorched from the battle during their escape from the Olympia.

Kybernetes Ezekiel Manus was fast, and in fifteen seconds had managed to isolate the key points of interest around them.

“We’ve arrived in the middle of a standoff. Off there, is the Strategos, along with the Legion in full battle array,” he said pointing to his upper left.

Xenias pointed to the massive formation of ships in the opposite direction.

“And them?”

Kybernetes Manus turned in his chair, swallowed and answered.

“The Imperial Fleet, in full battle order.”

Xenophon tore his gaze away from his spatharii and at the monstrous fleet facing them. It was not a mere few dozen ships. This was a larger number of vessels than he had ever seen in one place, and they had arrived right on the periphery of the Legion. Artemas laced her hand on his arm and leaned in.

“That ship there, it is the flagship of the Emperor himself.”

The ship’s auletes called over to Kybernetes Manus.

“Sir, I have an urgent signal from Topoteretes Pleistoanax.”

Xenias waved his hand to place it on the main screen. The face of the deputy commander of the Legion appeared.

“Dukas Xenias, you have returned!” he announced in surprise at seeing the face of the Dukas.

“Indeed. Olympia is lost, and we are all that remain,” he explained as quickly as he could. Even as they spoke, he noticed the Legion’s formation was changing shape. The Median fleet seemed to be doing the same as both sides lengthened their lines wider and wider.

“I see, well, we can discuss this after the battle. I have sent the tactical plan to your tactical officer. What assets do you have remaining?”

Xenias nodded in reply and glanced over to the tactical officer who signalled he was receiving the encoded information on the battle plan. It was a much faster way of assessing the plan, checking ship dispositions and even the general strategy than relying on face to face communications. It was even more useful by the fact that the number of ships was so great.

“I have four destroyers and a large contingent of survivors from the Olympia, at least seven hundred fighters with more on the destroyers.”

Topoteretes Pleistoanax looked shocked at the news.

“Seven hundred?” he asked rhetorically. “Well, form up behind gamma wing. You will form part of the reserve in sector eleven, understood?”

Dukas Xenias glanced at the tactical screen that now featured a full battle overlay, including ship dispositions and orders. Sector eleven was out on the flank but also where a number of heavy warships were mobilising.

“Understood, Topoteretes, we shall await your orders.”

The video feed vanished and was replaced with a large image of the ships that were now facing off for battle. He could easily see the shapes of the three Titans in the Terran fleet, but what of the enemy? It looked like they were also equipped with a larger number of heavier ships, and some almost two-thirds the size of a Titan. He tried counting the number of half a kilometre long Elamite battleships but gave up as the number grew into double digits. He looked over to the plan and scanned through the possible scenarios.

Interesting! So our military genius Clearchus is planning on extending our lines and then feinting withdrawal of the Titians towards our position. What is the next phase?

He didn’t have time to consider the next move though as every single display in the ship suddenly lit up.

“Dukas, it has begun!” shouted out Kybernetes Manus

Laconian Titan ‘Valediction’, Khorram shipyards

The Titan shook ever so slightly from the initial barrage of weapons fire from the Median skirmishers. Almost fifty small vessels, each not much larger than a handful of dromons welded together, had been thrown at the Legion; it wasn’t an attack in any kind of number. It was simply designed to force him to respond.

I see, he thought. So he’s worried I will not fight him. Perhaps his position is weaker than I assumed, and he needs a quick victory.

Cyrus examined the display himself before rubbing his brow.

“It is as I expected, my brother will be concerned that the regional satraps may see this as an opportunity. If they think for a moment that he is anything but a powerful Emperor, they will split from Median control. He has to win a decisive victory that implies we do not concern him.”

Then why rush to attack him? Cyrus thought wryly.

On the main screen a cloud of projectiles, beams and plasma bolts exchanged between the heavy Terran ships and the skirmishers. Though some shields were beaten back, it was clear the attack was having little effect on the fleet. Clearchus checked once more on the dispositions and gave the order every single officer had been waiting for. He drew a slightly curbed kopis blade from its sheath on his belt. The weapon was an ancient one, and over a thousand years old his father had told him. It curved in the opposite way to a sabre so that the point angled forwards instead of back. The hilt was gold in colour and beautifully detailed with a relief of an unknown battle pitting Laconians and monsters in battle. He rested the sharp edge in the palm of his hand and pulled it quickly. The ancient blade cut a small wound into his hand that bled almost instantly on the floor. Several of the officers on the deck spotted him and watched in surprise at the ancient but famous blood oath carried out by only the oldest and noblest of the Laconian families. As the blood dripped, he pulled a cloth from his tunic and tied it around his hand while lifting it and tapping his head. Nobody else could hear him, but he clearly said something to himself, probably a prayer, and then with a quick wipe the blade was clean and returned to its sheath. He looked to the tactical screen and gave the order they were waiting for.

“Forward units advance and engage selected targets!” he ordered.

Almost immediately, a dull rumble could be felt through the mighty Titan as the engines built up to combat speed. It was subtle, but everybody on board, from the crewman to every stratiotes and spatharii, knew what was coming next.

“Fighter and bomber squadrons maintain position around the capital ships. Protect them. Do not pursue the enemy under any circumstances.”

Clearchus knew only too well the stories of the Median forces using feigned withdrawals to lure in ships. He was going to put into practice the tactics he and his comrades had practiced for the old enemy. The tall and wide formation of Terran ships advanced quickly towards the similar formation of Medes ships that were now drawn up to fight. Behind the Medes line were the scores of platforms, stations and shipyards, each looking static and harmless, but he was falling for none of it. Clearchus had no doubt the Emperor intended on withdrawing soon so that his pursuing Terran ships would smash through their rearguard and then be dashed on the substantial defences. The stations would be equipped with hundreds of fighter-bombers, missiles and beam weapons, possibly even enough to match half of the Terran fleet on their own. The image of Topoteretes Pleistoanax appeared on his communications display and drew him away briefly from the tactical display.

“Strategos, the Dukas Xenias has just arrived along with a small portion of his forces. I have placed them on the right flank, ready for the final phase of the attack. They have almost a thousand warriors still with them.”

He felt a brief surge of happiness that his old rival from Arcadia was back, but it grieved him to realise so few had made it. He wanted to know more but knew he had no time for such pleasantries. There were hundreds of ships, thousands of warriors and tens of thousands of crew depending on him.

“Thousand? What have they been doing? Well, good work, pass on the plans to them,” he said and then returned to the tactical display, watching the opening phase of the battle. The massive numbers of capital ships were almost in range of each other, and he knew from experience what would happen next.

Today will be a bloody day, he thought solemnly, but the thought of such an event brought a grim smile to his face. Let us ensure it is a glorious one.

The first line of Terran ships was made up of a mixture of the old heavy warships, many of which dated back nearly a hundred years. Sixteen battleships in total, with double that number of destroyers, mixed in for defence operations. It was a force designed for just one thing, to close with the enemy and engage them at close range. They had the armour, shielding and firepower to stand up in battle for a long time. Behind then followed the second wave of five battlecruisers and six heavy cruisers, ships that were slightly lighter armoured but faster. It was a small number, and mainly there to fill gaps in the front ranks if needed. What did make a difference was that the Titans Poseidon and Valediction were in the centre of this formation. The actual mobile reserve consisted of the Titan Herakles, as well as the light cruisers and the remainder of the destroyers. It was a powerful reserve, especially with the firepower of a Titan to back it up. Unlike the other Titians, the Heracles had been constructed to a very different specification. She was equipped with less armour but substantially more powerful engines and closer ranged weapons. The design made her less suited to the frontline, but she was the perfect reserve; fast and deadly.

Cyrus finished speaking with one of his recently arrived aides and looked back to the map with Clearchus and pointed to the force. It was clear to him the one thing the formation lacked was depth, but that was the plan and Cyrus was intrigued to see exactly what the old Laconian General had planned.

“They have more ships in their front than us, so what happens if they simply extend their frontage? We cannot continue to do the same. Is it even necessary to do so with such a gap between ships?”

Clearchus smiled but ignored him for a moment. He was too busy issuing orders via the implanted communications node. The warships were seconds away from firing, and he had just a few more orders to issue.

“We are in range, weapons are free!” cried Tactical Officer Coxand, her voice barely able to contain her excitement and apprehension. The virtual observation system transformed into a kaleidoscope of colour as dozens of capital ships opened fire with heavy cutters, pulse cannons and missiles. For the briefest of moments, the entire command deck watched in awe as enough firepower to level cities was brought to bear on the two sides. It was just a second though, no more, and then the crew were at their posts and managing their own small parts of the battle.

“Our frontline is engaged. Battleships are cutting through the Median destroyer wings and advancing,” explained Tactical Officer Coxand.

Cyrus watched the battle unfold like a game of chess between two grandmasters with a feeling of dread in his belly. He had always known it would come down to a stand-up fight, but now that the day had come, he wondered deep down if his hired soldiers would match and defeat the elite Imperial Navy of the Emperor.

The faces of the dozen most senior commanders ran along the higher parts of the displays, each of them commanding a division of the fleet. Topoteretes Kleandridas signalled for the attention of the Strategos.

“Yes?” barked Clearchus sharply.

“An additional wave of thirty-eight cruisers and destroyers has just arrived. They were sheltering in the cover of the shipyards. They are deploying on the right flank of the Median line and extending it by almost twenty kilometres. Should I transfer our reserve to match them?”

Clearchus looked at the display and spotted the formation of smaller capital ships streaming to extend the line. He knew immediately what the enemy planned on doing and allowed himself a nod of satisfaction.

They mean to envelope me, surround our fleet and destroy us from the outside.

“No, Kleandridas, keep moving forward. I need the entire battlefront fully engaged before we continue to the next phase of the battle. I will direct our allies to match their forces.”

“Ariaeus?” asked Kleandridas in surprise.

“Yes, he can send half his force to engage them. Would you rather he stayed to our rear?”

The implied insult made the deputy commander chortle before he saluted and returned to his duties. Clearchus tapped the image of the Medes commander and the face of Ariaeus enlarged. He nodded politely.

“Strategos Clearchus, my forces are ready for their part in this battle,” he stated clearly, but his tone suggests he expected the exact opposite.

“The enemy have mobilised a reserve of nearly forty ships against my left flank. Deploy your primary combat forces to match them.”

Ariaeus looked confused.

“Is there a problem?” asked Clearchus.

“Uh, no, Strategos, except my ships are guarding the troops transports.”

Clearchus shook his head at him.

“If we lose this battle, then your precious transports will be smashed to dust. Leave ten ships to protect them. I have already dispatched eight fighter squadrons to their defence. Send your remaining forty-one warships to the front, and keep them busy. Do not let them break through our line. Understood?”

Ariaeus nodded, but the pained expression on his face told Clearchus all that he needed to know. Unlike the Terran commanders, this Medes looked as though he was an observer, a man along to watch the battle, but to involve himself?

That wretched Medes wants the glory, and he wants the wealth, but does he want to dirty his hands doing it? I think not!

“Good, now to your men. It is your responsibility to defend the left flank. If you need more ships, then divert your heavy war transports to assist. Keep the conscripted civilian transports in the rear.”

He cut off the communication and looked back to his command deck. Though he was in charge of the running of the battle, he wasn’t required to assist in the actual running of the ship. Kentarchos Broge Monsimm was managing the thousands of crew with the skill and experience only a veteran Laconian would posses. He looked about him, the virtual observation unit doing a perfect job of making him feel as if he were floating outside in space. Dozens of bright streams of energy burned away from the Valediction at the nearest Elamite battleship. Each impact left bright flashes as the beams burnt slowly through the layers of shielding, much like the layers of an onion. No sooner was a shield penetrated than another generator would try and seal the gap.

We must take our time, combat requires patience. He reminded himself.

*

From the displays on Vendetta, it was clear the battle was now underway. The sixteen Terran battleships were heavily engaged at a distance of just a few kilometres from the opposing Elamite battleships. They were almost outnumbered two to one, and yet the broadsides continued. The opening part of the battle had occurred almost an hour earlier and so far two Elamites had been reduced to hulks. Another dozen destroyers had also been destroyed plus a handful of the Terran escorts. Xenophon and the other spatharii waited patiently on the ship, waiting for something to do. A bright flash caught his attention on the main screen.

“No! That’s the Relentless, she’s burning up!” cried one of the junior tactical officers. He looked to his commander. “Shouldn’t we offer assistance?”

He was answered by a bright blue and green flash, followed by the terrible sight of the battlecruiser being torn into four massive chunks of burnt metal. An audible gasp could be heard on the deck as the crew watched a ship containing a good many comrades be torn apart. Xenophon tried to remember if he knew any of the crew from the Relentless and thanked the Gods that he couldn’t. He looked down and checked his weapons once more. The added armour of the spatharii was odd, and far more cumbersome than what he was used to. The one benefit was that he was now much better protected and carried more ammunition and weapons than at any time previously. He felt safe, just as long as nothing happened to Vendetta.

“Dekarchos Xenophon?” came the voice of Julius, his commanding officer.

“Sir?” he replied.

There was a short pause before Julius continued.

“We are getting reports of boarding parties using empty pods and close range shield burners. Three made it through the shields of Valediction before being intercepted by spatharii. Make sure you’re ready.”

“Sir!” he replied though the communications node.

Why do they persist in boarding a Laconian Titan? It is probably better protected than any of ship in the history of space warfare, he thought.

Minutes ticked by, and the Medes ships became even more intermingled in the frontlines of the Terran formation. Those vessels with heavier shielding and better weapons were starting to take advantage of the weaker vessels. It was only a matter of time before one ship after another would start to fall to the continuous volleys of weapons fire. He glanced over to his right to see Artemas and Roxana discussing the battle on one of the main screens off to the side. The other spatharii were located in three small groups throughout the command deck. He had tried to place them so as not to get in the way of the management of the ship. Even so, the space was looking very cramped. The emergency alarms sounded, much to the surprise of the crew.

“Incoming attack, brace for impact!” called out Kybernetes Manus.

Xenophon didn’t see the attack, but the impacts were substantial. The entire ship rattled violently as over a hundred projectiles smashed into her starboard flank. Alarms blared through the deck. One of the panels blew off the wall and knocked a crewman to the floor, dripping blood. The acting Tactical Officer shouted over the din of the impacts.

“Shields are down on the starboard side. Boarding projectiles have breached our hull!”

Glaucon looked to Xenophon while grasping the hilt of his carbine. Like Xenophon, he was also carrying extra blades and lots of ammunition. They were ready, and all they needed was a foe to fight. The beep of his node alerted him to Julius.

“Xenophon, we have assault drones onboard. My teams have taken out seven, but we’ve been pinned down by another group. I count five more on their way to you. Do not let them in. I have a team on its way in six minutes! I repeat do not…”

The sound of gunfire on the device drowned out the sound of his voice before going silent.

“Kentarchos!” he called out to the acting commander of the ship. Kybernetes Manus looked at him briefly, his attention more on the displays than on the group of spatharii in his command area.

“What is it?” he snapped.

“We have combat drones on board, and they are coming here.”

He looked back to his computer systems and continued issuing orders to the men and women on the ship. He called out to Xenophon.

“So? Deal with them, Dekarchos. I have a battle to fight here!”

Xenophon moved to Artemas and Roxana who waited patiently to be given the news. Glaucon spotted the movement and leaned in to listen.

“We’ve got trouble. We need to watch the access points to the command deck, come on!” he said and headed for the door. Glaucon waved his fist to the other spatharii who quickly followed them out of the room and into the corridor. On arriving, Xenophon was reminded of the zero gravity fight they had fought not that long ago in the exact same place.

“They are battle drones, and that means armour and firepower. Who has the shield generators?” he asked.

Two of the men leant to him by Julius stepped forward with the units strapped to their backs and ready for use. Unlike the Laconians, only a small number in each unit carried the shield due to the weight and energy requirements used by the devices. Only the Laconians with their intense training, strict physical regime and more advanced shielding technology, could ever hope to have one per warrior. Xenophon looked at the shields and checked that the rest of the unit was there.

“There are two ways into this corridor. I want a shield here and one over there!” he said, pointing to the two places that would block access to the rest of the corridor.

“Don’t forget the hatch access to the rooms there,” said Artemas with her hand extended. She was pointing to the place they had used to reach the command deck unnoticed the last time around.

“You think they might use it?” asked Glaucon.

Tamara was already at the door and checking inside. She moved back and poked her head out of the door.

“Well, you did, didn’t you? Any of you have a spare grenade?” she asked.

One of the new spatharii threw a grenade to her, and she quickly disappeared.

“What is she doing?” asked Roxana.

“What do you think?” replied Xenophon, “Making a booby trap I would guess, knowing her.”

He looked back to the corridor and almost kicked himself for not taking precautions to make the place more defendable. He had assumed if anybody came aboard he would need to take the fight to them. The idea that the Medes would use battle robots to board ships was not something he had ever considered. The more he thought about it now, the more it made sense. They were impervious to g-forces and acceleration, plus they needed no oxygen or atmosphere to work in.

The perfect boarding troops, he considered, and for a second was actually impressed with their plan.

“Everybody, get into cover and get those shields up. Do not let them get past you. Glaucon, take two and wait inside the command deck. If any do get past us, you will finish them off, understood?”

Glaucon nodded and selected the two largest and angriest looking spatharii to go with him. They moved inside and shut the wide double door behind them. Xenophon pulled his blade from his belt and held it in his left hand. It felt heavy and was noticeably top heavy. His attention was drawn not to the weapon though; it was the steady clunk of metal feet and a series of screams.

“It’s them, get ready!” he shouted and then noticed that Artemas was with them and carrying a carbine ready for combat.

“You shouldn’t be here. Wait in there with Glaucon!” he ordered.

Artemas shook her head slowly.

“No, Xenophon, that isn’t how it works. Just watch your back, and I’ll watch mine.”

As she spoke, she pulled her long blade from beneath her clothing. Xenophon recognised it as the weapon she had placed before him the first time they had met. She looked back to see him watching and smiled, ever so briefly. They were interrupted by two men who ran right around the corner and towards where the spatharii were waiting patiently. With a flash, the shields activated and put up two thin shields at each end of the short hall area.

“Get down!” shouted Xenophon, yet the two men kept running.

From the same place turned a monster of a combat drone. This one was unlike any Xenophon had seen before. It was short, barely over a metre in height and equipped with at least six fast moving legs. There was no discernible head. It was just a metal shape with arms and legs covered in sharp edges and a number of close range weapons. A cloud of metal darts flew silently from its body, and then it surged towards them. The spatharii were all using every millimetre of cover the ribbed bulkhead offered, but it was too little and too late for the two men still running. Both were hit by the volley and collapsed, crying out in agony as they lay dying in pools of their own blood.

The shields deflected the rest away from the three spatharii covering the route to the command deck on the same side as the machine. With an artificial scream, the thing clambered forward like some possessed metal demon.

“Now!” screamed Xenophon, and from out of the cover emerged the group. Each took careful aim and blasted the machine with their pulse carbines. The armour piercing projectiles struck it, but the rounds deflected from its body. Only those hitting the limbs seemed to create any kind of damage.

“That thing is shielded!” shouted one of the men nearest the machine before it reached him, striking him in the chest with one of its sharpened arms. The weapon easily penetrated his stomach armour and embedded itself so far that it punched back out of his back. Xenophon and Roxana moved from their cover and blasted away until both of their magazines ran dry. Only the continuous impact of the pulse rounds seemed to hold it back. The door to the command deck opened to reveal Glaucon who was carrying a pulse-cannon, one of the heavier weapons used by the Terran troops. It was massive overkill for ship defence, but right then it seemed perfect.

“The legs!” shouted Artemas as she ducked to avoid another flicker of six metal darts.

Glaucon needed no encouragement and holding the weapon at his hip, pulled the trigger. The weapon roared as it released scores of large calibre pulse rounds. Each one was capable of removing a limb or taking off a man’s head. He sawed through the machine’s legs until nothing but the rattling stump remained. He stopped and grinned, but their short lived moment of triumph was spoilt by the arrival of Tamara; who until now had been busy inside the small room previously used as a brig. She stepped into the corridor and was followed by a massive blast that threw her to the ground. One of the spatharii picked her up and helped drag her to cover. It was perfect timing, as from around the end of the corridor, another two machines entered. This time they were the more familiar bipedal models. Of a similar size to a Terran male, they carried carbines instead of arms, and blasted away at them in the corridor. Roxana was struck in the chest and flew to the ground under the impact.

“Stop them!” shouted Tamara from her position to the side and simultaneously drew her pistol and fired at the nearest.

“Behind us, three more!” called out another of the spatharii before being struck by the combined firepower of all three drones. In just a few seconds, four of them were down, including Roxana. All were moving, but it was hard to assess their injuries. Glaucon spun around, the massive pulse-cannon still hanging low to his hip.

“Get down!” he roared. The muzzle flash lit the corridor as he emptied the weapon, the round shredding the three machines as a stray round clipped his leg and sent him crashing to the floor. Just two more of the bipedal models were left. They surged passed the fallen spatharii and their shield generators and made for the door, not even bothering to face the handful of fighters remaining.

Xenophon ran at the first and slammed the edge of his blade into the right carbine arm. The deadly monofilament blade cut into the device and with a series of flashes and sparks rendered it useless. In his right arm was his carbine, and lifting it quickly, he fired away with what was left of the ammunition. Only a dozen rounds fired before the damaged machine struck him in the head. The heavy impact sent him straight to the floor. Artemas and Tamara kept low and fired away with their weapons, bringing the damaged machine to the floor in a heap of sparking chunks of metal. It was too late though, and the final undamaged drone stepped passed him and to the door. Artemas jumped from cover, but with a crash the thing was inside the door and stepping into the command deck.

A massive blast forced them back, with Artemas rolling on the floor and Tamara slamming to the wall. Xenophon dragged himself to them, lifted to one knee and looked for a weapon, any weapon that he might use. Smoke started to clear from the doorway, and the hulk of the metal monster tipped backwards and fell to the ground, revealing the bulky shape of Dukas Xenias. In his hands he carried what looked like a large bore carbine but with two barrels. Smoke wafted from its muzzle, and on his face was the look of both anger and satisfaction.

Xenophon heard movement and twisted around only to see the arrival of Dekarchos Julius and a dozen of his heavily armoured spatharii. He ran passed the fallen warriors and to the door where the Dukas was still stood.

“Julius, you are not needed here. The Dekarchos has done his job,” he stated and turned back to where the rest of the crew were still running the ship.

Of the fallen warriors, all but three lifted themselves from the floor. Even Roxana appeared unharmed, the heavy spatharii armour having absorbed all but the smallest amount of thermal energy.

“You’re unhurt?” asked an almost tearful Tamara.

Roxana smiled grimly.

“I wouldn’t say unhurt, but I’ll live.”

Julius helped the wounded to their feet and moved over to Xenophon.

“Good work there. We’ve sealed the breaches, and we’ve got fighter cover now. Leave two men with the Dukas, and meet me down on the deck with anyone that can fight. I’ll explain when you get there.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

Strategos Clearchus watched with a tingle of dread as the frontline of the Terran fleet became completely enveloped by the Medes. The battle had now turned from a tactical game of cat and mouse to a massive brawl. Cruisers and battleships closed to use their most powerful weapons, and scores of hulks drifted uncontrollably throughout Khorram. The battle had now been raging for ninety minutes, and casualties on both sides were starting to mount up. Even so, with the confusion in the battle, not one Terran ship had moved any closer to the station or shipyards. Tactical Officer Jeane Coxand shook her head as another Terran destroyer was ripped apart by a heavy volley of laser cutters from the Medes flagship.

“Strategos, we’ve lost almost twenty destroyers so far, and over half of them are down to their flagship.”

Clearchus nodded. He was acutely aware of the danger posed by the flagship. He was also perfectly aware of the number of heavy Elamite battleships stationed around it. It represented the heart and core of the entire enemy force and would be a very tough nut to crack; the amount of red being shown on his tactical map was becoming a little disconcerting.

“What are the losses so far?” he asked, almost dreading to hear the words.

“Two battleships, one battlecruiser, two heavy cruisers and seventeen destroyers have been lost or are out of action. Twenty-three ships from our total of one hundred and one ships, Strategos. The damaged ships are falling back to the transports to assist in their defence.”

Twenty-three ships! The figure struck him like a knife to the heart. Even the smallest of those vessels carried crew in their hundreds. For a brief moment, he considered withdrawing the fleet, but he knew those numbers were not entirely accurate.

“What about our friend Ariaeus?”

Tactical Officer Coxand was fast, it took less than five seconds for her to bring up the full details for his forces.

“Slightly heavier for him, a quarter of his ships have been crippled so far, but he is holding the flank. His reserves have arrived from their foraging operation and that is rebuilding his fleet.”

About damned time!

Ariaeus actually commanded a fleet of nearly two hundred ships, but many had disappeared during the fighting at Aronton. Ariaeus had assured him they were away gathering more troops and supplies, but he was a Medes noble, and that meant he could not be trusted.

“Get him to move in his additional forces to put pressure on the left. I don’t want him to pursue, just overwhelm their line so that they are forced to put in all their reserves.”

She nodded and turned to her screen to pass on the information and orders. Clearchus returned to his small group of advisors as well as the very agitated looking Cyrus.

“Well, are we winning?” he asked impatiently.

“Winning? Well, we are progressing. War is no quick thing, as you know. I could try and rush this, but we have a plan, and it must be carried through.”

Cyrus shook his head in irritation.

“Perhaps you might share this plan?” he asked, almost pleading with his face.

Clearchus smiled back.

“No, the plan is not to be shared. You pay me to run this battle, and run it I will.”

“But the Legion is taking casualties in this attritional battle. At this rate, even if we win, we’ll be left with a shadow of a fleet.”

“Perhaps, you’ll leave that to me, yes?” replied Clearchus in a stern tone that surprised Cyrus.

Kentarchos Broge Monsimm shouted to the officers on the deck as the mighty Titan finished a long series of manoeuvres that brought her face to face with the first defensive line in the middle of the Median fleet. It contained eight Elamite battleships, the second largest ships in the Medes arsenal and more than a match for even a Terran battleship. Clearchus watched with pleasure as dozens of high power laser cutters burned into the enemy ships. Each impact cut chunks of armour and superstructure from the huge vessels. Terran destroyers and battleships swarmed around them and thousands of plasma cannon projectiles and railguns battered away.

It almost looks beautiful, he thought.

The image of Kleandridas appeared from aboard his personal battleship. Both of his deputies were currently on their own warships. It allowed him to split the risk if one of the senior commanders was killed and also allowed them to exercise individual control and judgement over their parts of the battle.

“Strategos, I have sustained minor losses and have withdrawn the damaged ships as requested.”

Clearchus nodded at the news.

“Good work, so it looks as though our frontline is starting to crumble under the weight of their numbers. How much longer do you think until it is time?”

“I received information from our scout destroyers. They have picked up signals three parsecs away, and there are more ships coming, but they cannot say how many.”

“I see. Keep fighting, when they are fully engaged we will start phase three. We cannot begin until I know all of their forces are fully committed. Perhaps release another battleship from the line, and really let them feel we are breaking.”

Kleandridas nodded and moved from the display to continue his efforts. Clearchus had only spoken with his deputies and the other Dukas present about his plan. He would not chance sharing the information with the Medes, not even Cyrus himself. It was a risky strategy he had no doubt, but they were behind enemy lines and certainly outnumbered. He had to have the enemy pinned before he could deliver his mortal blow. One thing he knew about Medes fleets was that they could melt away at any sign of danger. Cyrus would have had him charge headlong into a short, bloody battle. He needed to let Artaxerxes feel he could win. It was a battle of ego and wits as much as it was about warships and skill.

Indicators on the screen showed the arrival of the rest of Ariaeus’ forces. As ordered, they were moving in to reinforce the left flank. Not far behind were the mixed Medes and Terran transports, along with a sizeable number of damaged Terran warships. He smiled at the thought of those ships waiting patiently behind Ariaeus.

A perfect incentive to not stab me in the back.

He looked back to the efficient crew of Valediction. The commander of the ship and his executive officer were continually engaged with their crew. Weapons and shields were being well managed, and the tactical officer was keeping a tight pattern of air defence fighters around them. He felt safe, but more than anything he wanted to get involved. He reached down and grasped the hilt of his kopis sword, imagining the final phase of the battle. It sent a surge of excitement through his veins.

“Strategos, Medes reinforcements, another sixty-three ships, all heading for the centre of the line! They will be in position in less than a minute,” cried Kybernetes Ditha Artell.

Good, about time!

“Put me through to the fleet,” ordered Clearchus. “It is time to start phase three.”

Cyrus looked at him and prayed that whatever this phase was all about, it would mark the end of the bloody affair, once and for all. Clearchus looked about at the people around him and nodded with a look of pride and satisfaction on his face.

“Men and women of the Legion, you have fought long and you have fought hard in this battle. It has now come for that time, the high watermark that will define this day. It is my intention that in the next thirty minutes we will see the defeat of this fleet, so at your posts, and fight harder than you’ve ever fought before. With the death of the Emperor, comes fame, fortune and the retirement you could only dream of!”

He paused for a few seconds before adding, “To victory!”

*

Xenophon and his friends waited along with nearly sixty other warriors in the landing area. This part of Vendetta had been cleared in the last thirty minutes to give enough space for the warriors to assemble. Half of them were fully armoured, and the rest were equipped with whatever they had been able to find. At another three points on the ship, the other groups of warriors were doing exactly the same. Dekarchos Julius spotted his arrival and marched over, grasping Xenophon and pulling him close.

“Good work, my friend. I’m sorry so many made it through, but they were able to create three breaches before we could hold them back.”

He stepped back and shook the hands of Glaucon, Tamara and Roxana but just looked at Artemas, still unsure exactly how to deal with her. Glaucon checked the magazine on the pulse-cannon he was still carrying and then spoke firmly.

“Why are we all waiting down here? Are we boarding one of the stations?” he asked.

Julius simply smiled but said nothing. Their attention was already diverted to the arrival of the Dukas and a dozen more heavily armoured spatharii. As he entered the landing bay, a volley of projectile slammed into the shielding. The sound rattled through the innards of the ship, but there appeared to be no obvious damage. The Dukas lifted his carbine high and grinned at the assembled men and women.

“I have just received word from the Strategos. The third and final phase of this bloody battle has begun. You may not be aware, but our forces have been guarding the right flank in the reserve line. We have been joined by all the remaining heavy and light cruisers, as well as Titan Herakles, and are withdrawing from the battle.”

A great cry of discontent and bitterness erupted, and for the briefest of moments it looked as though the warriors would revolt on the spot. Xenias lifted his carbine once more to get their attention.

“You know the Strategos better than that. You know me better than that. Do you think you would all be waiting here in full battle attire if we were going to just withdraw?”

“We are not abandoning Clearchus and the Legion?” asked a young red-haired woman. She wore just the body armour of the spatharii and was scarred down the left side of her face. She carried on her shoulder a tired looking Arcadian Doru Mk II Rifle, presumably a weapon taken during the evacuation of the Olympia.

The Dukas looked down to her and nodded.

“Pentarchos Hughes, is it not?”

The woman nodded reverently, evidently pleased at being recognised.

“Your unit defended against the first wave of Medes troops on Olympia, if I am not mistaken? How many of you made it off the Titan?”

The Pentarchos looked crestfallen at the reminder of the defeat on the Olympia. Only the sound of plasma charges burning into one of the upper decks seemed to snap her out of her morass. She looked back to the Dukas and noticed almost every other warrior in the room was watching her.

“Just me, Sir, the rest were killed during the retreat.”

Dukas Xenias nodded solemnly, and the rest of the warriors stayed silent at the comments. It wasn’t so much her individual loss; it was a reminder to all of them of how many had been left behind during the betrayal of Tissaphernes. He lifted his carbine for the last time.

“You will have your revenge, all of you. The smallest of the cruisers have a special operation to carry out in this stage of the battle. As I’m sure most of you will know, the shields of the Medes, in fact the shields of all capital ships are designed to respond to ultra high velocity or high thermal energy weapons. The more powerful the weapon, the better the shielding works, providing the generators can keep up. This is why we use continuous shield bombardment to overload the generators. The Medes flagship, known to us as the Rashnu, is out there, just four kilometres away now, and her shielding is even thicker than that of our Titians. The only way through is to not use excessive energy, but to close in and board her.”

The mood of the landing bay transformed at the news they might be involved in an action aboard the enemy flagship. They had no time to cheer though as the Dukas continued his speech.

“…she is named after the Ancient Medes’ divine angel of justice and last judgement, and the personification of righteousness. These barbarians believe Rashnu guards an ancient bridge leading to heaven where he weighs the souls at Judgement. We will explain to them today that Rashnu is no angel, just a hulk of metal that we will turn into a bar!”

The ship reverberated from more impacts, but they seemed to be hitting the rear of the vessel, indicating they were indeed moving away. A small fire started near one of the emergency doors, but a crewman put it out quickly.

“Now, I suggest all of you that pray, do so now. This is no minor assault I speak of, and it will be a first. As I speak, this entire flank is withdrawing, and we are taking a large part of their flank with us. When Clearchus gives the signal, we will reverse course and smash into the heart of their forces. We will not be pulling alongside her, no, sir! We will drive the bow of this mighty ship directly into her flanks. With the mass of this ship, and any other cruisers that can make the charge, we will smash her shields, drive into her landing bays and take her by force!”

Now he was answered by an approving roar. Xenophon looked to his friends and noticed even the jovial Julius seemed a little surprised at the plan. The rest continued cheering, but Roxana and Glaucon looked particularly worried. Roxana leaned towards him and shouted so that he might hear her.

“Ramming a battleship? Won’t we just breach our own armour and explosively decompress?”

Xenophon scratched his chin and looked to Glaucon and Julius, both of whom had stepped in closer.

“If we do this, we’ll lose Vendetta. This is a one way trip, you know that, right?” asked Julius.

Glaucon shook his head disapprovingly.

“I don’t like this, not at all!”

“Wait!” Xenias called out with one hand over his left ear. The crowd quietened down as they waited, each expecting to hear that the battle was over, that they had won or a deal had been brokered. Instead, he lowered his arm and grinned, the widest grin any of them had probably ever seen.

“Now, we go! Check your weapons, the attack on the Rashnu has begun! We have the honour of leading the attack.”

The roar of excitement was contagious, and even the recently dour-looking Tamara seemed to be caught up in the mood. There was little for the warriors to actually do as they waited, although if they could have seen what was happening outside, they might have preferred to stay deeper inside the ship.

The Titan Herakles had performed a complete direction shift and doubled back towards the gap created in the Medes line. It wouldn’t be there for long, and the fast Titan and her formation of heavy and light cruisers accelerated as quickly as they dared. They made it halfway before their plan was realised and the pursuing Medes ships changed course to pursue them, but by then it was too late. Herakles used all her power to keep her shields at full strength until within a kilometre of the enemy flagship. At this point blank range, it almost looked like the Titan would smash into the Rashnu, but at the last moment her engine erupted and slowed the ship until they were only a short distance away.

Flash after flash indicated the heavy weapons being blasted into them both and gave the impression the two great beasts were lashed together in some kind of mortal death grip. The cruisers moved in under the cover of the Titan’s own attack and wriggled though the skirmish line of fighters, destroyers and the escorting Elamite battleships. Of the formation, only half of the eight ships made it through without being forced back. Vendetta was the only one to make it to within five hundred metres before being hit by defensive fire. The reverse engines had been burning for some time as the vast hulk of metal smashed into the lower decks of the Rashnu. The meeting of the two shields sent a sound like a thunderclap through the innards of Vendetta, and every man and woman was thrown by the impact. The combined speed of the impact was modest, but even that was enough to ensure not a single Terran remaining upright.

“Everybody to your feet!” shouted Xenias as his bodyguard helped him up.

One of his men passed him his carbine that he had dropped during the impact. He turned to glance at movement in the smoke and sparks towards the hull of the Rashnu.

“Prepare yourselves!” shouted one of the Dekarchos, but it was hard to see who was speaking in the confusion of the injured. Most of the Terrans lifted themselves up, but a small number stayed down, either knocked out by the collision, or hurt in some way by fallen equipment or other stumbling people. Steam blasted from dozens of ruptured pipes, and the internal alarms echoed repeatedly throughout the ship. Glaucon was up and already had Tamara on her feet before Xenophon even realised what was happening. Roxana and Artemas moved over to assist him, and he was sure that even in that brief moment he sensed hostility between them. There wasn’t time to start a boarding action. The Rashnu must have carried thousands of Median warriors, and they were already swarming through the scores of breaches inside the structure of Vendetta.

There was no warning as a group of the Medes foot soldiers rushed inside. They were lightly equipped, and some appeared to be carrying tools rather than weapons.

“Engineering detail!” called Pentarchos Hughes, and without checking with her comrades she rushed forward and struck the first with the butt of her rifle. The Medes male dropped to the floor and lifted his hands in a pleading gesture. She was already past him though the smoke. The other spatharii watched her go in astonishment, and then with a cry rushed to join her. The handful of Medes panicked, but they were cut down with blades and gunfire.

Xenias looked in pleasure at the aggression being shown and moved to the door with his carbine held low and ready. His bodyguard stepped in close beside him with two carrying the heavy shield generators. Xenophon, Julius and his comrades moved towards their leader as the sound of combat could be heard further away.

“Follow me, we have an Empire to win!” he shouted.

Anybody that could move followed him into the breach, and even Artemas stepped forward, her own weapons at the ready. Xenophon and Glaucon moved as a pair quickly past the Dukas and into a wide corridor that was venting gasses.

Xenophon sniffed the air. He could smell burning components and cabling. It looked like the battleship had sustained more damage in this section than they had realised. Ahead of them, the spatharii were spread out and looking for any signs of the enemy. Apart from the odd crewman, the ship appeared deserted. Xenias proceeded further inside until they reached an access hub. It was a large open space about the size of a small sports hall but with cylindrical tunnels moving off in a dozen directions. The rest of his warriors gathered around him in a knot of just over fifty men and women.

“They must have abandoned the landing bays when we started our approach!” suggested one man.

Roxana quickly assessed what this actually meant and turned to Xenophon. Both had a look that told them they were thinking the same thing. It was Tamara, surprisingly, that spoke first.

“That means they know we’re here, and it’s a trap!”

A group of spatharii appeared from one of the tunnels. They were running back towards the ship and changed direction upon spotting Xenias and his group waiting in the middle of the access hub. Dukas Xenias seemed unconcerned at the movement and tapped his temple as he spoke to Strategos Clearchus.

“This is Dukas Xenias, we are in the secondary landing bay, objective secured, moving inside,” he stated calmly and then moved as though to push ahead. A bright blue streak whistled passed him and cut one of the spatharii in half before exploding into one of the thick walls.

“Ambush!” shouted Julius and jumped in front of the Dukas. Those few with shield generators dropped them to the floor and activated the units to create a partial energy shield around the group. In seconds, the assault force had transformed from a loose formation of warriors to a small knot, much like an ancient schiltron of warriors, all shuffling in close around their leader. Artemas, with her keen sense of smell and hearing, spotted the enemy first.

“Here they come!” she cried.

Like insects crawling from a nest, the enemy rushed from five different tunnels towards the small formation. This time it wasn’t Median engineers, or even Medes warriors. This time the enemy were a motley collection of Mulacs and Taochi warriors. Both were members of the many races defeated by the Empire and forced to fight on its behalf. The Mulacs were more like men in build but thicker set and armoured in a crude fashion. All carried the edged weapons they so favoured, but some carried firearms. Mixed in with them were the bullish Taochi, the large warriors with massive rippled muscles and a mixture of close quarter weapons.

Xenophon watched them in awe, reminded for a moment of the paintings and artwork he had seen of these beasts fighting the Terrans on edges of their space. He had already faced the Mulacs before but never those in actual Imperial service. They wore uniforms and even reasonably similar helmets. But the Taochi were something else. Nothing in his reading or studies had ever prepared him for the sheer size and bulk of these real minotaur-type monsters. A ripple of light gunfire flashed around their position, and several pulse rounds bounced from the shields. They wouldn’t hold them forever though.

“Fire!” barked Xenias.

From the small circle of warriors a blistering amount of fire erupted as rifles, carbines and the odd pulse-cannon blasted the onrushing horde. Xenophon lost count of the number of Mulacs that fell beneath their guns, yet still they came. The Taochi took round after round, and only one fell before they reached the Terrans. Xenophon, Tamara and half a dozen other warriors pushed to the front, stabbing wildly as the monsters broke into the position. Two Terrans were crushed by the first before a long burst of pulse-cannon fire from Glaucon brought it down. Another reached a metre in front of Xenias, but his loyal bodyguard fired, stabbed and slashed with blades and carbines until he was safe.

“Forward!” he shouted, and as one the formation widened into a loose line towards the now scattered group of fighters. Two Mulacs rushed for Artemas, but she ducked passed both of them, slashing with her wickedly sharp blade as she moved. Those behind her finished them off on the ground before continuing. The shock troops panicked and finally turned to flee before the violence of the Terrans.

“You, Artemas, do you know the layout of these ships?” shouted Xenias over the din of battle.

She blasted with her carbine and moved alongside him.

“Yes, it is a standard design in the Imperial Fleet. Where do you want to go?”

“The Emperor, where will he be?”

Artemas smiled at him, “Yes, his throne room. It doubles as his royal household and much like your command deck.”

Xenias lifted his arm, blasted apart a Mulac and looked back to her with an urgent look in his eye.

“Where is that?”

Artemas look directly upwards.

“Four decks, directly up, right inside the heart of the ship.”

Xenias smiled and contacted Clearchus with the news. Artemas moved back to those at the front and took up position beside Xenophon. They were keeping up a consistent fire and were pushing back the enemy with only minimal losses. Xenophon slid in a new clip into his carbine and shouted over to her.

“Where are we going?”

“Up there!” she replied, pointing to where she had shown Xenias.

*

“They made it inside, excellent,” said Clearchus.

Tactical Officer Coxand sent him two screens of data on the Rashnu, along with live video feeds from the troops using the equipment. His expression had changed as he listened to the words from the four Dukas that had now made it aboard.

Xenias, even though using the smaller force, had now penetrated the furthest and expected to reach the main levels in less than ten minutes. According to the data they had on the Rashnu, she would have an estimated complement of about one and a half thousand crew plus an unknown number of warriors for defence. There was the issue of it being the flagship, and this would probably mean some form of Royal garrison as well. The battle had now turned into a total mess, as the Medes tried to stop any more Terran vessels approach the boarded Rashnu. The Titan Valediction was already powering towards the ship when it took two broadsides from her accompanying Elamite battleships. The ship shook and three alarms sounded before being quickly silenced. He noticed on the tactical map that they were moving no closer to the ship.

“What’s the problem?” he shouted.

“We can’t get any closer, Strategos,” said Kentarchos Broge Monsimm. “The battleships have set up a crossfire that will cripple any ship that moves nearer.”

“Even us?” he asked in surprise.

Kentarchos Monsimm nodded. Clearchus looked away and cursed quietly to himself. His plan all along had been to move their ships in such a way that he could trap and board the Emperor’s flagship. The Elamites had proven a tougher nut than expected, and now only nine hundred warriors had made it inside.

Is it enough?

*

Lady Artemas led the group, but she was closely guarded by Xenophon, Tamara, Roxana, Glaucon and Julius. It was already becoming clear she was the person with the most useful knowledge of this ship, plus an unerring ability to not be hit by the odd projectile that came their way. They made their way to the top of the tunnel, to find themselves in a small hallway filled with statues of monsters and heroes. It was very much like some of the temples back on Attica, and in other circumstances Xenophon would have loved to examine them in more detail. Artemas pointed ahead to a large black shape. It looked like a great door nearly ten metres tall and half as wide.

“Is this it?” asked Xenias.

He was answered by a familiar but unfriendly voice.

“Dukas Xenias, what are you doing here?” called out Proxenus of Boeotia.

Xenias turned to spot his old enemy approach, along with a large contingent of his lightly armed stratiotes. Not far behind was Kratez the Achaean with a similar number of spatharii. They were all Terrans, and in this battle all brothers, yet the hostility between the commanders was obvious.

“I’m here to finish this battle. Come with us, you might learn something!” he snapped back, much to the amusement of his small band of Arcadians. He looked back to the door, but then realised one of the Dukas was missing.

“Where is my friend, Sophaenetus the Arcadian?” he asked.

Proxenus approached and grasped Xenias’ forearm in the traditional Terran grip.

“He and his warriors are securing the lower levels. They are keeping the Medes busy, so we can finish this once and for all. Are you ready, brother?” he asked.

Xenias didn’t fail to note the irony in his voice, but at that moment he really was only interested in the mission. He looked back to the great door and to Artemas.

“Well, is he inside?” he asked.

“Him and his bodyguard,” she replied.

“Very well, how do we get in?”

Artemas simply smiled and stepped forward, placing the palm of her pale hand on the thick metal. As soon as she made contact, a great crunch and grinding sound rumbled through the space. She looked back to the surprised Terrans.

“It is a Median gate, and one that may only be opened by those of Royal blood.”

Xenias nodded in appreciation, now doubly glad he had brought her on the mission. The door lifted up slowly and with much noise until it revealed the opulent and brightly lit interior of the Emperor’s Royal quarters. In the centre of the room was a vast glowing orb, and inside that the shape of the Emperor himself. The three Dukas watched in awe of the majesty of the room, the shimmering gold objects that covered almost every surface; but more than anything, the shimmering orb in the centre. Xenias stepped forward, and the rest moved with him, a solid group of Terrans, and all with ill intent in their eyes. Roxana moved ahead and turned to face them.

“Wait, we cannot simply commit regicide!” she called out to them all.

The orb behind her, now only twenty metres away, flashed and pulsed. It then emitted a bright white light that almost blinded them all. As it faded, the shape of the Emperor was gone, only to be replaced by four of the mighty Taochi warriors. These were even larger and more majestic than the previous ones, with each in decorative gold armour and carrying massive razor sharp glaives. They roared in hatred and stormed forward towards the four Dukas and their assembled warriors. As they pushed ahead, another two dozen elite Anusiya warriors leapt from the darkness and into the group of Terrans. They were the elite Immortals, the personal guards of the Emperor and his best native troops.

“Stop him!” screamed Xenias in the direction of the orb as he was dragged to the ground by three of the Anusiyans.

Glaucon lowered his pulse cannon and blazed away, but it was too little, too late. The enemy were among them, and the battle degenerated into a bloody melee in the centre of the Royal quarters. Only Artemas, Xenophon and Tamara managed to extricate themselves, running to the right of the room where they could use the darkness near the tall columns for cover.

“Where did he go?” asked Xenophon.

“The light, it is how he communicates with the rest of the fleet. If he is not here, then he is leaving,” explained Artemas.

As they spoke, Tamara moved on further, sneaking through the shadows until she was past the orb. She turned back and shouted.

“There’s a chamber back here, come on!”

She ran off, leaving Xenophon and Artemas to give chase. As they moved, a group of five of the Anusiyans spotted them leaving and turned to pursue them. Two were cut down by Terran carbine fire, but three made it to the orb and out of sight of the main battle. The chamber was only a short distance away, and they moved inside cautiously, expecting a trap at any moment. Artemas spotted the movement first and jumped back in time to avoid a narrow blade thrust forward by more of the Anusiyans. Xenophon grabbed the nearest arm and yanked the warrior forward. Tamara dropped down low and stabbed her blade into its head before moving ahead and engaging the rest. Artemas followed closely, but Xenophon moved more slowly, ever aware they could be hit from behind. Almost on cue, the other three Anusiyans appeared directly in his sights. He gunned down the first two, but the third managed to beat his carbine aside and knocked him to the wall. As he spun around, he noticed the fleeting form of the Emperor in all his finery climbing inside what looked like a small armoured shuttle. A line of Anusiyans guarded it while Artemas and Tamara hacked and stabbed at them.

“Out of my way!” he snapped at the one still fighting him and kicked him in the lower leg. The Medes warrior howled and stabbed down with his own blade. Xenophon ducked to the side and punched the warrior hard, only to meet metal armour. The pain was excruciating but not enough to stop him stooping down and grabbing his now empty carbine. The warrior rushed at him, forgetting for a second that it was not just a carbine. It was a stand issue Laconian Asgeirr-Carbine. With a single swift uppercut, he stabbed through the Anusiyan’s throat and into the brain. He spun around and dragged himself up to help his friends, but there were simply too many of them. Then he heard a familiar voice.

“Get down!” came the gruff sound of Glaucon.

Xenophon didn’t even look, and he threw himself down to the floor. Tamara and Artemas saw him move and jumped aside in time for his old friend to open fire. The plasma-cannon were much too big for most Terrans to carry, yet Glaucon made it look like lightweight. As if in slow motion, he blasted away, each round burning fist-sized holes through the thin armour of the warriors. It was over quickly, and not one remained standing near the metal body of the shuttle.

“Thanks!” smiled Xenophon. He turned to look at the shuttle, but they were too late. It had already turned and was moving towards the circular door about twenty metres away. Glaucon lifted his weapon to shoot, but an alarm started around them.

“No!” screamed Artemas, hold onto something!”

Glaucon dropped his weapon and grabbed the nearest bulkhead. The others did the same, just in time for the door to blast open and expose the compartment to the cold, sterile environment of space. The shuttle rushed out of the ship and into space.

“Artemas shouted out something in her native tongue, and the outer door started to close. In what seemed like an age it finally shut, and the terrible whistling of the air escaping the ship stopped.

“We failed!” growled Xenophon, bitterly angry they had missed the Emperor by a matter of seconds.

The four stood and turned back to the small corridor that led inside the Royal Chamber. It was a short walk to where the orb stood, yet their victory felt hollow. Dukas Xenias and the others were already tearing the place apart, trying to find a sign of the hatred leader. Xenias spotted Xenophon and stopped, looking towards him but saying nothing.

“He’s escape, an armoured shuttle,” he explained angrily.

Xenias placed his head in his hands before tapping the node in his temple.

“Strategos Clearchus, he has escaped.”

*

Clearchus watched the battle from his vantage point while he waited for confirmation from the nearer vessels. It took sometime before the auletes of the Herakles contacted him.

“Strategos, we have him on our scanner, sector twelve alpha. He is heading for the jump beacon.”

Clearchus’ heart almost skipped a beat. Stood next to him was Cyrus, and his expression told him all he needed to know. The Emperor had to be stopped. He signalled for Auletes Juda Bellee to transfer his communication to every ship in the fleet.

“All ships are to target this vessel. It is the Emperor, I repeat, all other objectives rescinded. Destroy him!” he barked.

“Sir, new signal, ships are jumping in!” called the Auletes.

Clearchus looked at the tactical display, and the coloured shapes appearing around the Emperor’s shuttle. He shook his head in disbelief as they materialised.

“Imperial Corsairs, they are Menon’s ships, Sir!” said Tactical Officer Jeane Coxand.

He watched in frustration as the vessels swamped around him, and then the shuttle was gone. It was either swallowed up or destroyed by one of the ships.

“Where is he?” demanded Clearchus, but it was clear they were already too late.

“Incoming signal from the corsairs, Strategos.”

Cyrus stepped next to Clearchus, a look of anger and disappointment on his face.

“It will be him,” he said dispassionately.

Clearchus nodded in agreement.

“Put him on.”

The main screen changed from the tactical map to the insides of a lavish Medes warship. The form of Menon, supposedly killed on Aronton, stood in the centre while another approached. Cyrus nodded as his brother moved next to Menon and stared with his cold black eyes back at the Terrans.

“You attack me in my own lands, brother. For this betrayal you have started a war that will not end until every planet you call home is burnt to ashes, and your body is impaled at my Royal residence!” he roared and then the feed cut out.

Cyrus and Clearchus looked at each other, neither of them having anything more to say. It was a major blow, there was no denying it. With the Emperor gone, the battle was now pointless and any victory irrelevant. Those ships that were able to escape were already trying to jump while an even greater numbered signalled their intention to surrender. It was a victory but a hollow one.

EPILOGUE

Median Flagship Rashnu, Khorram shipyards

The battle for Khorram was over and the time for consolidation and recovery had begun. Hundreds of Medes crewmen were in the process of being escorted from their fallen ships, though a small number of them had elected to serve on board the ships of Ariaeus. It was the capture of the Rashnu that was the real prize, and over a hundred technicians and intelligence experts from the Legion were already stripping anything of note from her innards.

Xenophon and the other warriors that had helped secure her were busy moving the wounded warriors from both sides when the shapes of Strategos Clearchus, Lord Cyrus and their entourage of bodyguards arrived. Every Terran warrior stood smartly to attention as they marched past. As they reached the centre of the Royal Chamber, they moved to the glowing orb still pulsing in the centre of the room. Lord Cyrus stopped alongside it and looked inside as if he expected to find something. The rest of the guards spread out to the fringes of the room.

“What is it?” asked Clearchus.

Cyrus turned to him, his expression one of disappointment.

“It’s a command throne. From here you can visualise and control any ship or systems.”

Clearchus looked confused, so Cyrus stepped through the shimmering object and indicated for Clearchus to join him. He hesitated for a second before stepping forward. As he pushed inside, he noticed it felt like static electricity as he moved through the field. Once inside it was as if he was back on the Valediction, the interior of the orb showed the space outside the ship and the hundreds of ships that had taken part in the battle.

“Just look at a ship and think about it. Look closer, issue orders, all with the mind.”

Clearchus looked at one of the Elamite battleships that had surrendered just an hour earlier. He looked to the aft weapon mounts, and they instantly filled the orb.

“Impressive.”

He stepped back out of the orb and looked to the four Dukas that had boarded the ship in the midst of battle. The nearest was Xenias, commander of the Arcadians, and the first to have made it inside. He stepped forward and grasped his forearm.

“Dukas Xenias, it is good, very good to see you. Your forces did excellent work here, and they are to be commended.”

The Dukas nodded in acknowledgement. Clearchus moved on to the next Dukas, continuing his visit to thank all of those involved for the turning point of the battle. As they continued their discussion, Xenophon and his friends watched the processions of senior figures but especially Clearchus and Cyrus. They had become more than just the men in charge of the campaign; they were larger than life characters, and the kind of people that would be written of in later annals of history. As they stood and waited patiently, Cyrus stopped and looked towards them. He stared for several seconds and then marched over and grabbed Artemas, pulling her to his body. He spoke excitedly but in the impossible to understand Medes dialect all the nobles seemed to use.

“What the hell?” said Glaucon, and perhaps little louder than he should.

The noise drew the attention of Clearchus who turned from the Dukas and marched over to Cyrus. He noted the Medes woman, but there were no signs of recognition from him.

“Who is this?” he asked politely.

Xenophon saluted and replied as quickly as he could.

“This is Lady Artemas, daughter of Lygdamis, one of the Median governors of the Ionian Territories. She has been assisting our operation to rejoin you. It was she that gained us access to the command centre of this ship,” he explained.

Cyrus turned to Clearchus; his expression had already turned from the disappointment of the battle to the pleasure at meeting Artemas.

“Strategos, let me introduce my niece, Artemas. I thought she had been lost when we lost contact with the territories.”

He turned back to her but continued in English.

“So you have been with the Legion from the start? I would never have guessed.”

He then looked to Xenophon and his small group.

“And who are these people, your friends?”

Artemas nodded and placed her hand on Xenophon’s shoulder.

“This is Xenophon, ex-Alliance soldier and leader of my personal bodyguard. These are his warriors.”

She moved along the line, stopping at each of them.

“Julius, commander of Dukas Xenias’ elite commandos, and if it were not for them, none of us would have survived the treachery of Tissaphernes.”

Clearchus looked surprised at the news of the Medes noble, but Cyrus seemed unperturbed by what she had to say. She then reached Glaucon who was still carrying his pulse-cannon.

“Glaucon, friend of Xenophon, a loyal soldier of the Terrans, and his right arm has protected all of us since we started our trip to rejoin the Legion.”

There were only two left, Roxana and Tamara. They were both filthy from the fighting, and Roxana had two sets of rough bandages on her wounds.

“Roxana, Alliance military, and is the wisest of them all. This one is Tamara, and she is the wolverine of the group.”

Tamara looked confused at the name, but Clearchus and Cyrus both laughed with amusement at the distinction.

“Well, my friends. It would appear we have much to discuss. We have your Titan, Tissaphernes, our current situation and the unresolved issue of your brother, Lord Cyrus.”

“Indeed, and I will join you shortly,” said the Medes noble. Clearchus returned to the Dukas, but Cyrus stayed with Artemas and her friends.

“I thank all of you for both your loyalty to the Legion and more importantly to me, for the protection of my niece. I would like to invite you all to dine with me this evening, on board the Valediction. I will arrange for my guard to make the arrangements.”

He nodded politely, then released his grip on Artemas and returned to Clearchus. Artemas turned and looked back to her comrades.

“Well, my friends, it would appear you have just made a new and powerful friend with my uncle. I suggest you get cleaned up before he calls for you.”

Glaucon moved up to Xenophon and grasped his shoulder.

“See, I told you it was a smart move to stay with the Legion. If we’d gone back home like you wanted, we’d probably still be rotting in a prison cell.”

Roxana and Tamara moved closer to Artemas, both of them with surprised looks on their faces. Tamara seemed to have brightened up, but none could tell if it was down to their survival, their new found friends or just the aftermath of blood and carnage.

“So Cyrus is your uncle?” asked Tamara.

Artemas nodded quickly.

“My family have been in hiding since the troubles on the border. Family politics is complicated. Let’s just say it is safer for us to be hidden but close to our friends and Uncle Cyrus.”

Roxana smiled and nodded in understanding, the situation was now starting to reconcile in her head.

“Hence there being a number of your family in the fleet. So are you really Imperial Agents, then, or Royal stowaways?”

Artemas simply smiled at them all.

“That is mere semantics.”

Julius, the newest member of their circle nodded towards the assembled spatharii who were waiting patiently to be allowed to continue with their work. Most were talking amongst themselves, but not one dared to move away until given the word by their superiors. Clearchus turned from the waiting Dukas and looked to the warriors. He lifted both of his hands, the small bandage still showing on his left hand.

“You have all done outstanding work. Until we have established the whereabouts of the renegade Artaxerxes, we will stay in this sector and consolidate. You have all earned yourselves a good rest. You shall have a week’s dispensation while we repair, rebuild and reconnoitre this area. I will ensure a number of the stations are made available to you for some well needed R&R!”

The assembled warriors cheered in pleasure at the news. In truth, he needed the time to repair the fleet, take on supplies and integrate the scores of newly captured ships into his fleet. Cyrus nodded at his short statement and leaned closer to speak quietly into his ear.

“A good plan, and with this defeat, we may well find the regional satraps begging to join my forces. He may fall without even another fight!”

Clearchus smiled back, but deep down he knew full well that no tyrant would give up his position so easily. Artaxerxes had been beaten this time, but he had an empire of billions and unimaginable resources with which to fight. He looked at the warriors around him, the captured battleship and then to Artemas and her group of Terran friends. He pondered the future, and it filled with dread.

He will be back, and next time I suspect the battle will be like no other in history.

BLACK LEGION: WARLORDS OF CUNAXA

By Michael G. Thomas

PART of the BLACK LEGION SAGA

Copyright © 2012 Michael G. Thomas

Published by Swordworks Books

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

PREFACE

The Black Legion series combines my background in computing, ancient history and European martial arts with the famous story of Xenophon and the Ten thousand mercenaries. I wanted to create a rich and exciting story inspired by the political machinations of Heinlein and the military plot of The Anabasis. Though others have used ancient tales as the basis for some great science-fiction novels, I believe this is the first time the story has been simply transplanted into a fictional futuristic setting, without altering totally from the original. I have retained the locations, races and characters as much as possible while adding additional elements that I hope add to the story. You do not need to know the story of Xenophon but if you do, then you are sure to enjoy the twists and turns that are inspired from the struggles of those tired and desperate Ten Thousand soldiers.

The original adventure was detailed by the Greek professional soldier and writer Xenophon himself in his great work titled The Anabasis. The story is one of the great adventures in human history and shows man at his best and worst. We meet strange people; and find new customs while watching the arguments and infighting amongst the Greeks themselves. I can truly recommend the original text, which is available freely in English translation. There are of course many changes to the main story, but I have endeavoured to stay as close to the original as possible and include many of the great events that took place. All the key players are there including Xenophon, Clearchus, Tissaphernes, Artaxerxes, and of course, Cyrus. There are many news words for the reader to get through, and I have added a handy glossary at the end of the book to help with the most common. The military terms and designations are a combination of Ancient Greek and Byzantine, and I have tried to avoid using our modern equivalents, such as generals and platoons. I appreciate that many will not have come across the terms strategos, dekarchos, dukas or spatharii, but by the end you will be an expert, and I hope you find it helps immerse you into the story and the great adventure that was the Anabasis.

CHAPTER ONE

Median Battleship ‘Rashnu’

Strategos Clearchus, the supreme military commander of the Black Legion surveyed his prize with barely concealed pleasure. Few Terrans had even seen a Medes warship before, and even fewer had seen such a monstrous beast as the Rashnu. His eyes scanned through the interior of the Royal Chamber, and though he could appreciate its engineering and artistic merit, he could see little that would appeal to a warrior like him. The more he examined her interior, the more the ship reminded him of why he felt so little empathy towards the Medes.

These people think they know something of war. They are nothing but slave drivers.

The battleship Rashnu was the largest and most powerful ship in the entire Imperial Fleet, and named after the ancient Medes’ divine angel. She was supposed to stand for justice and last judgement in the Empire; more heavily armoured and shielded than even an Elamite battleship and filled to the brim with hardened warriors, each and every one of them sworn to give their life for that of the Emperor himself. The ship was so vast that to the Terrans she was classed as a super-battleship, a type of vessel second only to the twelve planet-sponsored Titans of humanity. Unlike the drab ships of the Terrans, this flagship was brightly coloured to an almost garish degree. She was designed to get the attention of all that came across her, friend or foe, and that had been exactly what had happened to her in the bloody space battle at the Imperial shipyards of Khorram.

“Present arms!” called out one of Lord Cyrus’ personal guards in heavily accented English. It was a polite gesture on behalf of Cyrus to his trusted Terran warriors. The line of newly named Anusiya fighters lifted their rifles high to the air. Cyrus had adopted the name of the Royal Bodyguard in the last week as part of his official naming as Emperor of the Median Empire.

Nothing but hot words from a politician with deep pockets, he thought.

Though Cyrus was indeed the half-brother of Artaxerxes, he was most certainly not the rightful leader of the Empire. Not that any of it truly mattered to the Terran commander; he was a mercenary like every other soldier, pirate and cutthroat in the Legion. The Emperor of the Median Empire would be chosen simply by whichever of the two men was left alive, and it was his job to ensure that Lord Cyrus came out as the true victor.

The stomping of soldiers’ feet caught his attention, and he watched with wry amusement as the Medes soldiers paraded back and forth in front of Lord Cyrus. They were pretty that he couldn’t deny, but it was hard for him to disguise his contempt for the men who considered themselves the equals of the Terran warriors. He was sure he could see equal contempt in their eyes for the vulgar, scruffy and brutal Terrans, but that merely improved his mood even further.

Clearchus was never alone, and this was especially true when in the presence of the Medes. Though he was the leader of the vast military operation, he still had many enemies in the Medes military. Some had been turned against him only recently, but for the rest it was hundreds of years of enmity between two very different peoples. As always on such occasions, he was flanked by his two trusted topoteretes, the common word used to designate his deputy commanders. They were the equivalent of generals or admirals in most military forces and like all Terran senior commanders; they were expected to do both jobs. On his left, the mighty warrior Kleandridas and on his right the cunning tactician, Pleistoanax. All three stood in their full military regalia with body armour and crimson cloaks, marking them out as the warrior elite of Laconian society.

Of all the disparate Terrans peoples, the Laconians were known as the first among warriors, and Clearchus was their greatest living commander. No sane Terran strategos would ever send his ground troops into battle against a Laconian strategos. The man that sent his soldiers to face Laconian troops under the command of a Laconian strategos was doubly the fool, and the Medes knew this full well from their futile attempts to subdue the Terran worlds in the past.

“They still haven’t removed the stench from this place,” muttered Kleandridas.

Pleistoanax grinned at his insult, but Clearchus maintained his famous stoicism by saying nothing. Instead, he lifted his eyes to examine the Royal Quarters of the mighty Medes warship. Rashnu had been the flagship of the Imperial Fleet and commanded personally by Emperor Artaxerxes at the previous battle of Khorram. Though powerful when in battle against other ships, she was vulnerable like all vessels to being boarded. The Terran had shot and hacked their way inside and taken her as a prize. Although heavily damaged, Clearchus had offered her to Cyrus as a gift. It was a useful gesture and had done much to further the Medes nobleman’s position with his people. Of course, to Clearchus it was a hulk, a piece of scrap that he might just use for target practice.

So, this part of the ship is to be accessed by only those of Royal blood? I must be a king then! He thought.

He grinned to himself at the simple conceit. Back on Laconia he had been second only to the kings in power and prestige. Unfortunately for him, this had meant sending him away as often as possible to keep him out of internal politics. That part he didn’t mind, but it had resulted in his exile, following a number of unfortunate incidents under his command. He looked at the ground and was instantly reminded of the fighting in this very place. A great deal of Medes blood had been spilled in this very room, and it pleased him to be stood there observing more of them trying to impress him. Lord Cyrus spotted his interest and moved from his position at the end of the room towards Clearchus. It was only a short distance, but everyone other than the marching soldiers watched with interest. The lithe and elegant figure approached the Strategos and nodded. Clearchus did the same. The difference between them was marked. Cyrus, the taller and paler of the two with beautifully intricate robes and flowing regalia; Clearchus, the squatter figure with thick sinewy muscles, and ceremonial armour that followed the curves of his body and the blood red cloak of the Laconians. One looked kingly, the other like a muscled warrior god of antiquity.

“Strategos, my friend. How do you find this display?”

Clearchus smiled back at him.

“As always, your soldiers put on a fine display of marching.”

Cyrus detected the sarcasm but decided to not act on it. He knew perfectly well that he could never change Clearchus’ opinion of his own people. Of all the Terrans, the Laconians were the least likely to ever see the good in the Medes. The two were as far apart as it was possible for them to be. Cyrus lifted his left hand to add something but was interrupted by the opening of the great doors to this part of the ship. They were massive, and easily large enough to move a ship through. At the base of the mighty doors emerged the form of Ariaeus, the Median general and second in command to Lord Cyrus. He marched into the Royal Chamber with ten attendant Medes at his flanks. Cyrus watched his approach, but Clearchus turned his attention back to the parading soldiers. He showed nothing but contempt for the Medes commander as he stopped in front of the small group. With an extravagant flourish, he bowed down in front of Cyrus.

“My Lord Emperor,” he said so that Clearchus might hear and understand.

The old Terran commander did the unexpected and turned to face him. He nodded at Ariaeus as if the bowing had been specifically for him. Ariaeus snarled at him.

“Clearchus, why are you here?”

Cyrus inhaled before speaking in a firm tone.

“Lord Ariaeus, I am glad to see you have finally arrived for the demonstration.”

Clearchus looked at them both with a mixture of bemusement and interest.

“Of course, my Lord Emperor. I have brought my finest for your pleasure.”

He turned to his ten attendants and lifted his hand. They quickly formed up into two lines of five to face Cyrus. With another flick of his hand, they dropped to one knee and rested their rifle butts on the ground. Clearchus looked at them carefully, noting the thin but beautifully crafted helmets, fine clothes and selection of daggers and blades on their flanks.

“They are almost the match of your Anusiyan bodyguards,” he said dryly.

Cyrus looked at them and then to his own troops. Clearchus sensed a moment of confusion, or perhaps doubt about the man. Was he worried about the loyalty of these ten men, or perhaps that they might even best his personally chosen guards? He rested his chin in his right hand before straightening up and turning to face the room. He clapped his hands, and the marching stopped. The open space inside the Royal Chamber was vast, but the large group of nearly two hundred warriors still paled into insignificance next to the columns and finery on display. All eyes were on Cyrus as he continued. He spoke in his own tongue for almost a minute before turning back to the three Terrans. The space turned to a hive of activity as the Anusiyan warriors redeployed themselves into a circular formation that left a large gap in the middle almost fifty metres in diameter.

“Perhaps a demonstration of their skills might interest you?” asked Cyrus.

Clearchus looked to his two topoteretes who in turn tried to nod politely, without betraying their amusement at the idea of a martial demonstration by what they considered to be effeminate slavers.

“Of course. Might you be interested in seeing how they fare against Terran soldiers? An honourable trial for the pleasure of the assembled Legion?”

Cyrus nodded, the idea apparently appealing to him greatly. Ariaeus, on the other hand, seemed less than impressed. He started to speak, and Clearchus was certain he recognised a few of the words, specifically those related to Terrans. Cyrus lifted his hands to stop him.

“Lord Ariaeus, in English if you please, in the presence of our esteemed guests.”

Ariaeus scowled at Clearchus and started again.

“My Lord Emperor, this was supposed to be a demonstration of our own people. Is this necessary?”

Cyrus looked to Clearchus.

“Do you have any regulars that could participate in this contest?” he asked.

“Regulars?” he responded with scorn. “All of my warriors are trained and ready for battle whenever it may be demanded of them.”

Ariaeus smiled as he looked about the Royal Chamber.

“Where are these warriors of yours, Strategos?” he asked with the contempt dripping from his mouth.

Kleandridas leaned in and whispered quietly into his commander’s ear. Clearchus listened intently before indicating for him to step back. He then ignored Ariaeus and spoke instead to Cyrus.

“My Lord, I have a small contingent here from the crippled warship Vendetta. You will recall they were the ones that broke through this very chamber and helped secure this vessel.”

Cyrus nodded in recognition.

“Of course, they were under the command of Dukas Xenias, were they not? So the same warriors that have been protecting my niece these last weeks?”

“Yes, my Lord. If you recall, they were made the personal guards of Lady Artemas, under the command of Dekarchos Xenophon of the Spatharii. They are waiting with Lady Artemas outside the Royal Gates.”

Cyrus turned his head and looked to the massive doors once more. Their official name was the Royal Gates, due to the fact that they guarded the entrance to the Royal Chamber but also because they would only open to those of Royal blood. This would include him; Satraps of the Empire and of course his niece.

“Bring forth Lady Artemas,” he called out.

On cue, the great doors opened with barely a sound. Dwarfed by their height, emerged the slender figure of the Medes woman. Her eyes glowed, and her skin seemed even paler than Cyrus’, not that it was actually possible. To the surprise of those in the chamber, she wore a mixture of Terran and Medes clothing, something that was unheard of in the Empire. As expected, she wore a Medes close fitting black corset and tightly fitting trousers. On top of this, she sported an assortment of light Terran armour that had been modified and crafted to her athletic figure. She looked every part a Royal woman but in the garb of a Terran princess. Clearchus gasped at her beauty as she marched into the room, flanked by four spatharii, the generic term given to the Terran heavy infantry. She stopped in front of Cyrus and bowed.

“Uncle.”

He nodded in acknowledgement, noting she hadn’t used the Imperial being used by most of his subjects. Even so, she had bowed down to recognise his sovereignty. He looked to her four comrades. Two were male, one an older woman and the fourth, a girl with flowing blue hair. All four wore the uniforms and armour of the Arcadian military and the markings of Xenias, their Dukas.

“My dear niece. Your choice of clothing is, well, perhaps a little cosmopolitan for this audience.”

She lifted herself back up and returned to her guards.

“Hardly, Uncle. I asked for, and have been given, an official position as scout with the Arcadian contingent that has reinforced the troops aboard Poseidon.”

“What?” growled Ariaeus, now turning his attention to Clearchus.

“A noblewoman of the Medes has no place aboard a Terran warship, not least one of your harbingers of devastation.”

Clearchus raised an eyebrow at his description.

“Harbinger of devastation?” he asked, looking to Kleandridas. “I like that.”

His comments simply infuriated Ariaeus further. It took the intervention of Cyrus once more to calm the situation.

“Enough. My niece has proven on more than one occasion her worth and her independence. As a freewoman in the Empire, it is for her to choose where she will go and with whom she will associate. If Lady Artemas wishes to spend her time with the spatharii of the Terran Titan Poseidon, then that is the way it shall be.”

He turned to the crowd of warriors.

“Now, back to more important affairs. The demonstration.”

Ariaeus turned and approached the circle of soldiers. Each stepped aside as he moved closer so that he could move through and stand at the front. Cyrus walked away to do the same, with Lady Artemas and her escort following, when he spotted Clearchus hadn’t moved.

“We need Terrans for this demonstration also,” he explained, gesturing with his hand. Clearchus nodded politely and indicated for his topoteretes to follow him. It didn’t take long for them all to be in position and looking inward at the open space.

Cyrus stepped into the middle so that all of them might see him and turned to look at each of them in turn. It took almost a full minute before he actually started to speak, but the illusion of speaking to them as individuals instead of a group had been cemented. He started in his own tongue while Ariaeus translated for the Terrans.

“You are all warriors. Some as Terrans, most as Medes, and all have been blooded in battle. You are here because your skills and expertise have raised you up and above the common soldier to be a guardian, a protector of your leaders. The battle of Khorram is long over, and our fleet is ready for the next stage. Today you will demonstrate to me, to Lord Ariaeus and to Strategos Clearchus, that we are united in martial skill. In the next days and weeks, each of you will be called on to fight in the greatest battle in recorded history. Your descendants will speak of you and your actions with pride.”

He paused and looked to Ariaeus and Clearchus.

“Now, we have three groups of warriors. First there are my handpicked Anusiyans, each of you chosen for your bravery and loyalty. Next we have the ten guardians of Ariaeus, each chosen for exactly the same reasons.”

Ariaeus nodded.

“Finally, we have the Terrans and the personal guards of my niece, Lady Artemas.”

Xenophon, Glaucon, Roxana and Tamara all bowed slightly at their mention. Cyrus nodded to a pair of guards near a number of wooden boxes. They moved the one closer to the soldiers and opened it to reveal blunt metal training weapons.

“This will be a simple contest using these training weapons. Two fighters from each group will enter the circle. The last group with a fighter standing will be the victor and win this great prize.”

He turned and pointed at the guards who were busy opening a second wooden unit that contained various valuable spoils taken from the Rashnu. After a short delay, they lifted up a curved blade encrusted with jewels and gleaming stones.

“This is one of the three hundred blessed Makhaira taken from Rashnu’s armoury following her fall. My traitor brother used them as rewards for his Satraps and bribes for foreign dignitaries. I have ordered all but ten to be sold, and the funds distributed to the troops as a reward for their brave struggle.”

The last comment seemed to grab the attention of all present, with the exception of Clearchus who appeared disinterested in the entire affair. Cyrus continued and Ariaeus maintained his translation as best he could.

“My treasurer confirms this will amount to over a year’s pay for every warrior. A worthy payment indeed for your courage and skill.”

The two guards approached with the weapon and handed it to their leader. Cyrus lifted the beautifully crafted blade over his head. At this distance, it was now possible for everyone present to see it in all its magnificence. It was based on a common Makhaira, an ancient bladed weapon shaped like a long knife with a slightly curved blade. The hilt was carved to fit the fingers perfectly, and a blue and green jewelled shell covered where the knuckles would be. The blade was almost silver in colour, and the edge gleamed.

“The blessed Makhaira are the sharpest and most durable weapons ever created in the Median Empire. The metal in the blades were forged over a thousand years ago and still they retain their edge. No craftsman today can replicate the technology used in their construction. It is said the blade can pierce any substance, even the thick plating of the heavy infantry!”

On cue, one of the guards held out a pole with a Terran helmet taken as a spoil at some point in the past, hanging from the end. Ariaeus grinned when he spotted Clearchus examining the find from a distance. It was a classical design, and one that was still used by Terran soldiers in ceremonial units. There was no time for discussion or intervention though as Cyrus swung the ancient weapon and struck the modern armoured helmet along its crest. The blade cut through as if it had been nothing more than tissue paper and was greeted with a roar of approval by the assembled crowds. Little did any of them realise that it was actually the helmet of Menon, the right-hand of the Emperor and the leader of his armies. Menon had made his artificers construct it many years ago in anticipation of his victory over the Terrans whom he intended to rule as regent. Instead, the invasion had failed and the piece of armour donated to the Imperial treasury.

“Now, who will enter the arena?” he shouted.

From the ranks of the Anusiyans stepped two large Medes soldiers; each a mountain of a man with braided hair, tattooed bodies and many scars. As they stepped forward, they pulled off their light tunics, helmets and arm braces so that they were stripped to the waist. Next came the equally impressive looking warriors from the much smaller contingent of Ariaeus. They removed their armour but continued to wear their tunics. Other than that, there was little to choose between them. All eyes now turned on the smallest group of them all, the four protectors of Lady Artemas. She looked at them each in turn before speaking.

“Only two of you can enter. Xenophon, what do you suggest?”

Dekarchos Xenophon was in charge of the small unit and a fond favourite of the Lady Artemas. They’d fought alongside each other on the Vendetta and also on board the great warship Rashnu, during the battle at Khorram. Xenophon wasn’t the strongest or the fastest of the group, but he was the most well read, experienced and wily of them all. He’d come from a well-to-do family on Attica but had been exiled along with many other conservatives, following yet another coup on the homeworld. At his side was the ever-present Glaucon, his friend from Attica and his strong right-hand. Skilled in both martial arts and firearms, Glaucon had become one of the best soldiers in the Legion.

“Glaucon is our best all round fighter. He might lack brains, but he has both speed and strength,” suggested Xenophon.

Glaucon tilted his head slightly and grinned.

“We need another, you?” asked Lady Artemas.

Xenophon was about to speak, but Tamara interrupted them both.

“Choose me. I’m better than any of them. Plus, you know what they think of women with weapons. It will give us an edge.”

Xenophon nodded in agreement.

“True, it could be a handy support for Glaucon.”

Lady Artemas looked back to the group, indicating with her raised hands who her champions would now be.

“Glaucon and Tamara, my personal spatharii from the Titan Poseidon will stand for me.”

A growl of anger and irritation rumbled through the group as they watched Tamara, the teenage soldier lift her hands to the sky.

Cyrus looked to his niece and raised a hand for silence.

“My niece, you choose this woman, even knowing the insult it causes our warriors?”

She reached for her belt and pulled out a wicked looking blade almost the length of her arm and pointed it at the crowd.

“Their rudeness insults me and any other warrior that volunteers for combat. If they truly want to test their mettle, they can fight me!”

Cyrus raised an eyebrow at her words and then saw Ariaeus translating into his own tongue for the majority of those stood watching.

“Ariaeus!” he roared. “Enough! If Lady Artemas wishes it, then so be it.”

Glaucon and Tamara moved from their position around Artemas, walking through the group of Medes soldiers to reach the prepared arena space. They made it halfway when Glaucon grunted and tipped forward onto one knee. Tamara grabbed him and caught his fall. A few drops of blood fell from a small wound in his side. She spun around and spotted one of the watching soldiers tucking a small curved blade back into his belt. Though his helmet covered much of his face, his smirk was obvious to her. Ignoring all attempts at protocol, she jumped at him, yanking the blade from his belt before he could react. Once in her hand, she stabbed repeatedly at the exposed skin on his body, first to his hands and then his chest.

Ariaeus shouted out to the men, but nothing seemed to control them. Instead, they separated so that the warrior and Tamara were given room to fight. He had staggered back, clutching at a dozen small wounds. One of his comrades reached down and pulled out a kopis type blade and threw it over to him. He lifted it high to strike, but Tamara stood her ground, with nothing but the small knife to protect her. The Medes initiated his attack but instead, his head tore from his body and dropped to the floor like a rock.

“Enough!” roared Lord Cyrus as he held the still blood soaked blessed Makhaira blade.

The mood in the great room changed in an instant as the three factions sensed trouble. One of Cyrus’ own guards had just broken ranks and assaulted a Terran warrior. It was unforgivable, and even worse; it had taken place in this sacred place for the Emperor of the Median Empire. Cyrus glanced at each of the leaders of the ten man units in the company.

“Who is the commander of this man?” he snapped, his voice burning with rage.

Ariaeus translated the words, but it didn’t matter. A short man with a badly scarred face took a step forward. He dropped to both knees and spoke in hushed tones to his lord and master. After a short explanation he stopped, and Cyrus looked to the rest of the company.

“The other eight of this man’s unit, stand with him.”

They shuffled forward, each of them torn between doing as they were ordered and also knowing what fate awaited them. Cyrus lifted his blade and pointed to one of the other unit commanders in the Anusiyan bodyguard. He said just a few brief words, but it sent a chill through the others. Ten men stepped out from the group and drew their weapons, each carrying a slightly different blade to the rest. They formed up with their commander to face the disgraced nine. Cyrus looked to Clearchus.

“Strategos, my bodyguard has failed me and failed you. There is no room for mistakes in the Anusiyan bodyguard.”

He then lowered his sword, still dripping blood, and called out a single word. As one unit, the ten warriors swung their blades and decapitated each of the nine survivors of the disgraced unit. More guards rushed in and dragged the body parts away, leaving trails of blood behind them. Cyrus indicated for the ten to reassemble for the demonstration. Two of Cyrus’s guards stepped forward to assist Glaucon, but he pushed them away and instead, Roxana and Xenophon helped him to the side of the room. Roxana checked his wounds as Clearchus watched on in amazement. It was clear the wounds to Glaucon weren’t serious but even so, he was still surprised and simply shook his head at the brutality and lack of discipline in the Medes military. He spoke quietly to his topoteretes.

“And this is what our ancestors feared centuries ago. They are barbarians, nothing more.”

“All they have is numbers, my Lord,” explained Kleandridas.

Lady Artemas walked over to the fallen Glaucon and checked his wounds herself. Much to the horror of the Medes warriors present, she touched his body and the blood that still dripped from him. She called out to the Medes guards, of whom one left the room, quickly to return with two Terran officers. They checked Glaucon over before speaking quietly with Clearchus. In the meantime, she tapped Xenophon on the shoulder and pulled him away from his friend.

“Glaucon will be fine. The wound is painful but not life threatening. I will need another fighter for the demonstration though.”

Xenophon looked into her face, still astounded by her silk smooth skin and glowing eyes. He’d heard much of the Medes noble woman but had dismissed almost all of it as being no more than common men’s fantasies. He stood up straight and walked over to Tamara.

“I will fight alongside my friend and comrade. If any one of you touches my people again, I’ll execute you myself!” he shouted, to the pleasure of Clearchus and the dismay of the Medes soldiers.

Cyrus clapped his hands, and it was as if the interruption had never actually happened. The six fighters separated into their three teams and waited as the two Medes walked about the group with the four metre long wooden box containing the training weapons. Three of them selected brutal looking curved single hand swords and one selected a heavy looking mace. When it came to Tamara, she reached in and took the two lightest and smallest of the wooden swords. Xenophon examined everything inside. There were maces, swords, knives, axes and even long wooden sticks. To everybody’s surprise, even Clearchus, he pulled out the long wooden stick that was easily three metres long; therefore reaching a greater length than Xenophon was tall. A small number of the soldiers chuckled at his folly but most kept quiet, partially out of fear for their own lives, and also because their good moods had been changed by the earlier violence against their kin.

“Places!” shouted Cyrus.

The three pairs faced off in a large triangle, each of them busy examining the others present. Xenophon looked at the other four and quickly assessed the situation. They were strong, possibly stronger than he was, but they were also arrogant and cocky. He was sure he could rely upon them to attack him without consideration or plan. He was also certain they would fight him before they even considered fighting each other. That would make the start of the fight difficult.

This should prove interesting, he thought.

Lord Cyrus stepped into the middle of the arena and turned around several times to take in the scene. It was as if he was trying desperately to capture an image for posterity of the great fight that was about to take place, two warriors from each of the Medes factions, and a man and woman from the Terrans. It was as unusual as it was tense. He finally stopped and lifted the sword above his head.

For the honour of your units, for the Legion, and for the Empire; let the display begin!”

He moved quickly from the centre and took up a position near Clearchus and Ariaeus. He looked back to see all six were still exactly where he had left them. It was almost as though he hadn’t told them to start. He started to speak when the four Medes split up and moved to the outside of the arena to encircle the two Terrans.

Xenophon wasn’t in the slightest surprised and simply took four quick steps to reach the middle. He whistled at Tamara and nodded to the ground beside him. She rolled over and landed nearby but kept crouched and low.

“Stay low and wait until they start making mistakes,” he said quickly.

With that, he lifted the staff up to his shoulder and swung it in a vicious circle. To the surprise of the approaching Medes, he kept the weapon moving so that it presented a continuing arc of wood. One of Ariaeus’ men rushed forward and with remarkable skill managed to duck underneath the movement of the staff. As he took a step closer, Tamara slashed at his ribs and legs. He dropped down in pain to see one of the small blades heading for his face. It connected painfully with his temple and knocked him out cold. She leapt back to the protection of Xenophon who maintained the protective arc with the swirling weapon.

One down, three to go!

CHAPTER TWO

Median Battleship ‘Rashnu’

The fight had been running for almost three minutes now, and so far the remaining Medes soldiers were having a hard time. Every time they approached Xenophon and Tamara, they were forced back by the quick moving staff, and neither showed even the slightest sign that they were beginning to tire. In fact, the opposite seemed to be true with each of them pushing harder and faster in the bout.

“Now!” shouted Xenophon.

The two of them initiated a flurry of fast attacks, but even these failed to strike the intended targets and simply moved them slightly further apart. The Medes spotted this momentary weakness and moved in to exploit it. The wooden blades now came on thick and fast as Xenophon did his best to ignore the individual strikes and instead went for the men. He had both the reach and the power with the staff, but they still outnumbered him. The first unconscious Medes soldier had already been dragged away by helpful hands, and the Royal Chamber was filled with the chants of the warriors in support of their chosen fighter.

“Xenophon!” cried out Tamara, but it was too late for him to react. One of the soldiers threw himself forwards like a sacrificial lamb and took the full power of the staff’s impact. But it was a ruse, and rather than allowing him to claim another victim, the man simply staggered forward with his arms up to protect his face. With the staff now entangled, Xenophon was in danger. The other two men jumped in to strike, hacking wildly with their wooden swords. One struck him on the knee and the other in his ribs, and for the briefest of moments, he thought that would be the end of the fight. His staff fell from his hands, and he spotted one of them kick it away, leaving him defenceless.

“Stay down!” came the high-pitched yell of Tamara.

She leapt passed him and hacked at the nearest soldier. Her rain of blows was fast and continuous, a mixture of short stabs and fast slashes that would have severed the soldiers hands had the weapon been made of sharp metal. Tamara had a curious background that consisted mainly of working with smugglers, bandits and criminals. Xenophon and the others had managed to obtain only a fraction of information regarding her life, but what they had learned was that she was a well balanced, fast and highly skilled fighter. The howling from the hurt Medes soldiers was an ample demonstration of this skill.

“Goods work,” said Xenophon. He started to pick himself up but could see the imminent danger.

“To your left!” he called to her.

The second of the Medes soldiers jumped in to grab her, but she easily moved her centre of gravity to evade him. The movement was subtle, elegant even as her entire body moved as though a strong gust of wind had distorted her body shape. Even so, he managed to grab a handful of her tunic and yanked hard, tearing the fabric enough that exposed her flesh from her thigh up to her armpit. The clothing fell open to reveal her black underwear and part of her chest, much to the amusement of the other Medes soldiers. He cried out in pleasure at seeing a woman that dared to fight being dehumanised in this way.

Sad little man, she laughed inwardly.

Rather than take his bating, she took advantage of the momentary pause and stabbed at the soldier’s groin with her left hand. It was a lightning fast attack and required her to step off line and push for upper body forward. The line from her back first, up through her lower body and eventually to her extended arm, was a perfect line. The wooden sword struck with force, and he fell to the ground, shrieking with pain. Those watching were instantly silenced; almost all of them feeling sympathy for the painful strike their soldier had just taken. He continued to roll on the floor in pain, retched and vomited. She stood up straight so that the Medes soldiers could see her torn clothing and flesh more clearly. She laughed out loud.

“Who’s next?” she roared.

“Easy now,” Xenophon said, pulling himself back to his feet. There was now just one of the Medes remaining, but he was well aware that arrogance led to mistakes, and there was more than just honour at stake in this fight. He dropped low into a fighting stance and thought back to his martial arts and fencing training back on Attica.

Stay calm and use your numbers.

“Close up!”

Tamara was fast, and the two quickly moved into position alongside each other. Some of those watching laughed at the manoeuvring. The majority believed that splitting up and attacking from different sides was always the best strategy. Xenophon knew better, however. By staying together, they massively increased their combat power. One could strike while the other defended. It was simple but also highly effective, and one of the key methods of close quarter combat used by the Laconians in combat.

“Terran animal!” complained the soldier as he continued hacking.

He covered a small amount of ground, ducking down to retrieve the sword from his fallen comrade who still lay on the floor, groaning in pain. He barely glanced at the fallen man, his mind now focused entirely on attacking and defeating the two humans. He extended both weapons to them and shouted.

“Die!”

He twirled the blades, demonstrating evident skill with the weapons. Xenophon also noted the man’s taut body and thickly muscled arms. Even the words from the man reminded him that this fight had moved on from a simple demonstration. If he wasn’t careful, it could very painful for both of them. Xenophon glanced about, but the only weapon he could see was the now partially broken mace. He ducked down and rolled to it, but the fear of leaving an opening sent a chill down his spine.

I have to be fast! If he gets close enough, he’ll tear us apart!

The warrior moved closer and lunged with a quick stab. Tamara parried it with her left blade and countered with a quick riposte from her right. It wasn’t fast enough, and he easily moved aside from the attack. He didn’t step back bit took a diagonal step forward, maintaining the pressure on the young woman. Tamara might have been fast, but she had neither the military experience nor the strength of this experienced Medes warrior. Xenophon jumped to his feet and looked up to the two of them locked in bloody combat.

“Formation!” he barked.

He was in position and noted with satisfaction that Tamara instantly gave ground. Most soldiers, especially younger ones would have carried on and ignored his words. She performed very differently and responded well under pressure. He made a mental note while rushing to her. The timing was barely adequate, and he managed to make it to her left side just as the next attack from the great man came in. It was a series of vertical strikes, each one coming in from alternate arms. Tamara parried them, yet each one pushed closer and closer to the two of them.

Now!

Xenophon waited for the next attack. Instead of helping Tamara to parry, he ducked to the left and struck at the man’s left arm. The mace struck with surprising power and hit the forearm with a sickening cracking sound. His arm went limp, yet he refused to grunt or groan and continued the attack with his remaining sword. The Medes now put even more power into his cuts, and each time it took great effort from both of them to stop the attack. Like a well-oiled machine, Tamara and Xenophon took turns parrying and striking so that with every attack from the Medes, they struck him back. He took many stabs and hacks, but it was a mace blow into his ribs that finally forced him down to his knees. A trickle of blood ran down his face from a broken nose, but his face was still defiant. Xenophon nodded to Tamara, and they both stopped. He lifted his mace and looked around at those watching. Instead of clapping, he was greeted with a deathly silence.

“Xeno…” Tamara called out, but Xenophon was too busy looking for the end of the fight. By the time he had moved back, the Medes warrior had struck her hard in the chest with a savage left hook. She staggered and then fell over backwards. Xenophon rushed forward, swinging the mace hard at the man’s head. It was hard, too hard for an exhibition type fight. The impact struck like a rock to his face and propelled him backwards and to the floor. A pool of blood appeared around the man’s jaw, and it was clear it had been badly broken.

“Enough!” shouted Clearchus, his powerful voice booming throughout the Chamber.

Xenophon instantly stepped back, bending down to examine Tamara. She was still finding it hard to breathe, but she seemed largely unhurt. He helped adjust her clothes and then lifted her to her feet. The fabric had torn even more, and he wondered for just a second if it might look better to just rip the entire thing off. She pulled the side over and managed to cover up most of her exposed skin so that her chest and thigh were fully covered. With great effort, she lifted her right arm. Xenophon reached up and did the same.

“An impressive match-up!” called out the Terran commander.

A ripple of clapping followed his words. It was half-hearted, but when Cyrus joined in, the volume and tempo increased considerably. Clearchus stepped away from his position at the side of the circle and moved towards the two Terrans. The rest continued their clapping and shouting, so he was forced to lean in close to speak.

“Good work, somebody needs to show these people who is in charge around here.”

He then looked to the fallen Medes lying around them and back to Tamara.

“They won’t look kindly on having lost to you. It is bad enough for a Terran but to a woman, especially one so young.” He looked at her torn clothing. “And pleasing on the eye.”

He smiled and lifted his hand to join theirs in the air.

“Silence!” he growled, and to the amusement of Cyrus the room quietened again.

Clearchus turned his attention to Cyrus, bowing his head slightly. It was a clear signal for the Medes leader to end the display. Cyrus could see the looks of dismay and disappointment amongst his own warriors and felt a pang of jealousy that a pair of lowly spatharii had bested his crack troops. The only positive spin he could possibly have felt was that they were on his side, and if they could beat his troops, then they could do equal damage to the troops of Artaxerxes. Just thinking about his hated half-brother sent fire through his veins. He beckoned for Ariaeus to translate for the Terrans.

“A fine match between powerful and worthy foes. As I have already stated, each of you shall receive an award for your service from the sale of the relics taken from this ship. This particular Makhaira, however, will go our two victors. Please step forward and announce yourselves.”

There was a short pause while the translation continued and then nothing but silence. Cyrus beckoned for them to approach him and turn to face the group of assembled soldiers. He moved to their side and pushed the jewelled weapon towards them, immediately unsure as to which of the two would take it. Tamara looked to Xenophon who smiled and nodded at the weapon.

“It’s yours,” he said quietly.

She reached out and grasped the blade. As she took the weight in her right hand, she gasped at the weight. It was lighter than any similar sized blade she’d ever seen. She held it out for Xenophon to see, but he looked up and tried to show her with his eyes what she needed to do next. It took a second before she understood and quickly thrust the weapon up high.

“I am Tamara!” she called out loudly. “Spatharii, under the command of Xenias, the Arcadian.”

Cyrus lifted an eyebrow in question to Xenophon who placed his own hand on the hilt of the weapon.

“My name is Xenophon, son of Gryllus, and I am a dekarchos of the spatharii, under Dukas Xenias.”

Now Strategos Clearchus cheered loudly, matched in volume only by the booming voices of Kleandridas and Pleistoanax. The Terran commander approached the two of them.

“Excellent,” he announced, throwing a quick glance to Cyrus who did his best to hide his feelings from the Terrans.

“I understand that my niece Artemas of Caria, daughter of Satrap Lygdamis, intends on taking a well earned rest on one of the planets below. I assume that you will be visiting the jewel of this region, the planet of Kashan and the Spire?”

Artemas looked surprised at his questions, and Xenophon could see she appeared so. None of this made sense because Lord Cyrus was implying she had already made these decisions.

Schemes and tricks!

Lady Artemas pulled her head back slightly and was about to speak, but Cyrus threw her a look that told her to say nothing. Only Xenophon was in a position to see both of their faces, and he knew immediately that the Medes commander was up to something. Cyrus turned his gaze to her four protectors.

“As the escorts to Lady Artemas, it will be your job to accompany her to the surface. I am, of course, relying upon all four of you to protect her at any costs. She is not just my niece; she is also a member of the Royal Court and in the line of succession. If anything were to happen to her, I would hold both you and the Legion to account. Do you understand?”

Xenophon and Tamara both bowed but only a short distance, nothing like the extravagant servitude suggested by the Medes when lowering themselves to the Emperor. Cyrus then leaned in closer to Xenophon so that only he could hear his next words.

“This victory could be a problem for the rest of the Legion. You will travel with the other Terran soldiers on their military leave to Kashan. In a few days, this will have calmed down. Keep Artemas out of trouble. I don’t know if you’re familiar with the world, but it is a pleasure planet; one designed to cater for any possible desire. Understood?”

He pulled himself back and waited for Xenophon to nod back discreetly.

“Very good,” announced Lord Cyrus.

He then reverted to his native tongue and launched into a long and heated speech that Xenophon could only assume was captivating to the audience. It was either that or fear of being executed that kept them in thrall to his words. They both looked at the beautiful sword now held in the small, pale hands of Tamara.

“Very nice,” said Xenophon, doing his best to hide his envy of the weapon.

Tamara looked at him with a questioning look on her young face.

“He said a pleasure world, didn’t he?”

Xenophon nodded.

“Well,” she continued in a coy voice, “what exactly does that mean?”

*

Kashan Spaceport, Khorram Shipyards

The armoured dromon circled over the massive domed structure, along with another dozen craft. For the last five days, a constant stream of vessels had been sent down to the single oasis in the massively industrial sector known as Khorram. All the planets and moons of the system had been turned over to industry, manufacturing and shipyards to provide for the thousands of ships in the Imperial Fleet. Though it was not necessarily the best equipped Navy in the known universe, it was by far the most numerous. By the best Terran estimates, its numbers were over ten times larger than all Terran fleets combined. Of course, the Empire was so vast it needed large numbers of ships even just to provide security against pirates and marauders.

As they dropped down through the atmosphere, Xenophon checked the dromon’s onboard computer for basic information on the world. He knew of the shipyards from his reading in the past, but he’d never heard of this pleasure world. He had often wondered if these places were one of the many fantasies created by Terrans for their barbarians cousins in the Empire.

It would appear this time, they were telling the truth.

The information on the world itself was hardly inspiring. By all accounts, the planet was desolate with nothing but a warm atmosphere and slightly toxic air to show for it. No human or living inhabitant of the Median Empire could survive here without substantial protection from the environment.

Apart from the robotic domains, I suppose. Is there anywhere they couldn’t thrive?

The poisonous air swirled around the three large islands that pushed up through the methane rich oceans into a world that couldn’t have looked any more alien to them. None of this really mattered to the visitors, as the world was covered in beautifully designed orbs and domes, covering all three islands like great coloured flowers pushing up out of a bland field of grass.

“Lady Artemas, have you been here before?” Roxana asked politely.

Roxana was slightly older than Xenophon and had served as a Navy officer before joining the many out of work military personnel on Attica. Many of them had left upon hearing the news of the mercenary legion being created to conduct operations on behalf of the Medes along the border to fight pirates and renegades. Times were not easy for those in the profession of war, and people like her could earn exceptional rewards fighting with a mercenary force such as theirs. She shook her head in reply.

“No, pleasure worlds are not usually visited by the women of our family.”

This seemed to get Tamara’s attention but not Glaucon’s. His wounds had been repaired, but he would need a few weeks to get back to normal. A number of sealant pads had been fused to his skin, and he was now in no real danger, but it was still uncomfortable for him to move.

“What about the men of your family?” she asked.

Artemas raised her eyebrows in amusement.

“Well, the men have needs, do they not? This is, after all, a pleasure world. It is said there is something here to sate the desires of any man or woman that visits.”

“Even Terrans?” asked Glaucon slowly.

She turned to look at him and then to Xenophon as she answered the question.

“Yes, even the desires of Terrans can be taken care of here.”

She leaned in closely to Xenophon’s left ear.

“In more ways than one.”

She leaned back, and Xenophon looked at her carefully. She was still wearing the extravagant combination of exotic Median clothing and functional Terran armour in a bizarre ensemble. Try as he might, he simply could not fathom her intentions most of the time. One minute she was sarcastic and playful, the next she seemed to be flirting with him.

Women!

The dromon shook slightly as it powered through the thick atmosphere. The roar from the powerful engines could be heard, even over the internal soundproofing of the vessel. The dromons were fifty-five metres long and the workhorse of the Terran civilian and military. The only difference between these and those used for travel and trade were the additional armour and shielding fitted for protection. That, and of course the drab colour scheme adopted by the Legion of dark grey. Black was a bit of a misnomer for the force, though that assumed the name was for their colour, which for those with more than a little knowledge of Terran history knew was far from truth. Xenophon looked out of the nearest window and towards the beautifully intricate spire of the nearest dome. It extended out from the shape of the sphere and pushed up almost a kilometre into the sky.

“Beautiful isn’t it?” said Artemas. She leaned to the window, brushing against him as she moved. Xenophon shook his head gently, just as confused as before.

“Yes, very.”

A flight of small jet aircraft moved alongside them, and his attention was instantly drawn to them. They were very small, and the wings curved forwards to give them an almost crescent shape. Each one took up position around the dromon, and they quickly descended towards a well-lit landing pad. Artemas pointed at the nearest one.

“Automated sentry drones. They are programmed to assist in the glide path for vessels new to the area.”

“Sentry? Are they armed?” asked Glaucon from further inside the dromon.

“Of course. How do you think pirates and raiders are kept away? They are faster and more manoeuvrable than Medes fighters. Plus they are pre-programmed by the Imperial Navy for defence. Their orders can only be changed by the Emperor himself in a command throne when they are functioning, or back in their hangars by Imperial artificers when not being used.”

Glaucon snorted with derision.

“What is it?” asked Artemas.

“Well, your own people don’t seem to have much in the way of control or freedom, do they? These automated drones look like they are designed to keep enemies away as much as they are to keep people here.”

Artemas nodded gently.

“True, some might wish to leave Kashan before their contracts are completed. This is not allowed at any Imperial facility, and certainly not a pleasure world. There needs to be somewhere that our officials and officers can visit to relieve themselves of the stress of command.”

They had now dropped down past the spire and moved through a mechanically opened entrance into the side of one of the small domes. It was thickly reinforced with carbon ribbing that looked strong enough to withstand a crash by something as substantial as even a dromon. The entrance clamped shut behind them and was replaced by dozens of landing platforms, some of them easily five-times the size of the dromon. The drones separated and in a few seconds had vanished from site. The ground level was filled with temples, columns and grassed areas thick with trees. Above this natural wonder stood many towers and structures, each built to resembled stone mountains of cliffs.

“Incredible, truly incredible,” Xenophon said to himself, but he was loud enough for the others to just about make out his words.

With a gentle bump, they made contact with their landing platform, and the doors hissed open to reveal a thickly pungent atmosphere. It caught all but Artemas by surprise, and none of them moved until they had absorbed several lungfuls of the air. She stepped out and looked back at them, confused as to why they were still inside the dromon.

“Well, we are here,” she announced.

Still they remained in the dromon.

“What is that?” asked Tamara, resting the back of her hand over her nose.

“That is the aroma of the Kashan tree. Its extract is used in the preparation of food, drink, and even smoked. It has great medicinal properties that promote healthy development, and in some visitors even acts as an aphrodisiac.”

Xenophon, in his dark grey uniform of the Legion, stepped out of the dromon and onto the pad. Already the pungent taste was starting to filter through his body, and he was starting to forget it was even there anymore. From his position on the pad, he had a much better view of the people below. None appeared to be in much of a hurry, and he could see no signs of police or security personnel.

“Don’t they realise that Khorram has just changed hands? Any moment now our troops could land and strip this place of all it’s worth. They act as though nothing has changed, why?”

Artemas pointed to the tall spire.

“That is the Pleasure House of Anahita, named for the ancient goddess of love and fertility. There are over a thousand givers that work there, and some of our citizens spend over a year’s salary to spend one night with any one of them. The Anahita, as they are known, are men and women who work for five years for the Empire. Five years of their lives will pay them what they could only earn in an entire lifetime in any other way.”

All of them were now out of the dromon and stood near the edge of the landing platform to gaze upon the exquisite from of the great spire.

“Prostitutes?” asked Glaucon, instantly spoiling the mood.

Artemas sighed.

“To some, yes, but the Anahita are much more than that. They train for a year before coming to Kashan to fulfil their contract. On some Imperial worlds, only one candidate is sent here each year. The competition is that fierce. Many of those here will be highborn princes, princesses or even the daughters of great warriors. To have served as Anahita is a mark of distinction; much like military service is to your own people.”

A small platform arrived at the end of the landing area, and three women appeared. They wore exotic dresses that ran from their shoulders down to their feet. The fit was tight and showed off their beautiful figures. All three stepped off the platform and approached. They stopped in front of Artemas, bowing down so that their foreheads touched the ground. They waited for several seconds before standing.

“Lady Artemas, we were notified by Lord Cyrus of your arrival. I have prepared a selection for your approval.”

She lifted her hand as if to send her away, shaking her head gently.

“No, that will not be necessary. I am not here for that, not today. We have more pressing concerns than simple pleasures of the flesh.”

“Really, my lady? We have the finest…”

Artemas cut her off bluntly.

“No, I am here with my friends for relaxation and meditation. I assume the spire of wisdom is still functioning?”

The three exquisite women looked to each other and then to Lady Artemas. Xenophon’s ears picked up a few of the quickly spoken words, and the idea of an area dedicated to the wisdom of the Medes interested him greatly.

“Yes, my Lady, but it is rarely used now. I will contact them and arrange for a delegation to meet you. Is there anything in particular you would like to examine?”

She shook her head politely to the three of them.

“Thank you. I assume we have quarters?”

“Of course. Lord Cyrus has arranged for the Imperial Apartments to be made available to you and your harem at the Pleasure House of Anahita.”

“What?” Glaucon growled.

Lady Artemas did her best to hide her amusement at the comments from Xenophon’s close friend. Even so, it was evident to the three women that they had done something wrong.

“I apologise. We rarely use the common tongue of the Terrans. I meant your entourage. If you are ready, I will escort you to your place of rest and relaxation.”

With a simple nod, the group moved to the side of the platform that functioned as a near silent elevator though totally exposed to the elements. Xenophon pondered this on the way, before remembering that they were inside a massive dome, and there were no external elements other than those created for the enjoyment of those inside. The elevator functioned much like those on spacecraft to move fighters and bombers from internal hangars to the main flight decks or launch platforms. It took almost a full minute for them to reach the ground. There were no roads of any kind, just a narrow path along which a series of silent, powered glass carriages carried groups of people from place to place. One stopped at their approach, and the door opened without a slight murmur of sound.

“Please, step inside,” said the leader of the three women.

Artemas stepped in first, closely followed by Xenophon and the rest of their entourage. It was spacious inside, and easily large enough for a group of a dozen people. Once seated in the ivory coloured seats, the woman spoke in the Medes tongue. The carriage shook slightly and moved off along one of the many gentle paths and away from the landing platform.

“Where are we going?” asked Tamara.

Lady Artemas pointed upwards to the higher levels of the massive structure ahead of them. They all strained to see the top, but it was impossible from this angle. The branches of a bright brown tree blocked the upper levels.

“We’re going to the Imperial apartments on the high levels of the Pleasure House of Anahita. The building is the most desirable and expensive location in this sector. Why do you think our nobles come here? As for us, we will head to the top and the most luxurious and exquisite of all the apartments on this entire planet, perhaps even the next hundred nearest worlds.”

Xenophon looked at the spire and back to Artemas. Even from this angle, she looked stunning. He was sure she’d chosen this particular wardrobe to keep the attention of any Terran within a hundred metres. She turned and saw him looking at her.

“Don’t worry, Xenophon. You will have more than enough time to gaze upon my magnificence once we arrive at the apartments.”

With that, she turned and walked away to leave the gobsmacked Glaucon looked directly at him. He tried as hard as he could, but in the end burst out laughing at the expression on his friend’s face. He reached out and slapped him on the shoulder.

“Come on, my friend. Let’s see what this place is all about.”

CHAPTER THREE

Pleasure House of Anahita, Khorram Shipyards

The entrance to the great spire was unlike anything Xenophon or the others had ever seen. The structure was sheathed in glimmering stone, and a myriad of multicolour glass windows covered its surface like a kaleidoscope. There were great arches around the base that served as entrances but no doors of any kind. In the centre of the massive building was a hexagonal column that reached up as far as the eye could see. Along each side of the column were large and beautifully decorated elevators. Each one allowed wondrous views of the interior of the spire, as well as the expanse of trees, grass and flowers around it.

“Impressive, very impressive,” said Xenophon as they stepped inside.

Tamara said nothing. She just rushed in and headed for the first elevator she could find. The doors opened as soon as she approached, and a young woman, completely naked, waited patiently for her to step inside.

“Aren’t you cold?” asked Tamara.

The Medes woman smiled back and shook her head but said nothing. It was only then that Tamara noticed the naked man stood at the other side of the elevator. She was about to speak, but Xenophon and the others had already arrived and were moving into the elevator. The three women that had escorted them also stepped inside and waited until the doors shut before speaking.

“Each of these elevators is white-noise shielded to prevent your conversations from being heard or recorded. Even the assistants are mutes and as well as deaf. They are completely incapable of hearing you speak or able to repeat what you say. You will notice that once you speak, they will turn away until we arrive. They are chosen from the most trustworthy families in the Empire.”

Xenophon nodded politely, but deep down he had little faith in either the security of the building or the ability of these people to keep secrets. One thing that was common knowledge about the Medes was their political savvy and cunning. Gossip, rumour and intelligence were major parts of state policy, just as much were the art of war. Glaucon, on the other hand, seemed interested only in looking at the naked woman who stood silently and facing outwards, away from them all. He reached out to touch her shoulder to get her attention, but Lady Artemas grabbed his arm and pushed it aside.

“No, they are officials of the Imperial Bureaucracy. They are not to be touched, interfered with or harmed in any way. It is Imperial law that touching one is punishable in the old ways.”

“Old ways?” asked Roxana, who until now had been silent. In many ways, she was the most mature of those present, and the wonders of this world never ceased to amaze her.

Lady Artemas smiled.

“Oh, yes. As in, ‘you touch a hand maiden, and you will lose your hand’- very old and very permanent. It is harsh but rarely carried out.”

Glaucon snorted in derision.

“This is why these people are so soft. They are slaves, subservient to a small Medes master class that rules with violence and cruelty.”

The elevator started to slow and came to a gentle halt. The door opened, and the two naked assistants beckoned for them to leave. As they exited the spotless compartment, Lady Artemas waited for Glaucon to come nearer.

“Your home world of Attica, the great democratic hope for the Terrans. How fair, safe and well run is it when answering to the mob? Is a people’s democracy any better than the rule of the public mob? Do they operate as individuals or work in groups on the advice and say so of powerful figures in public office and the media?”

She laughed gently.

“Don’t be so proud of your little democratic state. You’ve started more wars, killed more Terrans and butchered more of your own people than any other Terran world in the last three hundred years.”

She then turned and walked into an open floor area rich with water features, plants and sculptures. It looked more like a great garden than an apartment. She pointed into the distance where a waterfall cascaded down a marble archway and into a great green pool.

“That is the entrance to the apartment complex, and this is the meditation area.”

She walked ahead of their small group and made directly for the arched entrance. Her four guards were overwhelmed by the beauty and extravagance of the meditation area. There were no people about, not even cleaners or workers, and the only sounds to be heard were the falling water.

“This is weird,” Glaucon said, to the surprise of the rest.

They continued walking, but Xenophon slowed slightly to move alongside his friend. Glaucon pointed to the water features and the trees.

“This looks like a park, it even smells like one, but what can you hear? Water. There are no birds, no animals and no people. This place would drive me mad!”

Xenophon nodded, but he quite liked the idea of the peace and serenity offered by such a place of calm. Though they had grown up together and shared a love of martial training, and even political argument, there was no doubt that Xenophon was the traditional academic. He had a fond love of the arts and of great literature. Glaucon was far more the liberal, and when not spouting his belief for social change and democratic idealism, he could be found drinking himself to a stupor at one of his many parties back on Attica.

They continued a short distance further until reaching the entrance. They all stopped, gazing at the array of marble columns that led inside. Lady Artemas was the only one not to stand and looked on in awe. Instead, she marched forward and between the first two columns. The others chased after her and walked down the short colonnade. It eventually led into a communal area filled with lavish recliners and seating, as well as space for all manner of activities that any of them could think of. Xenophon stopped and looked up at a marble gallery that ran around the entire interior of this part of the apartments. Anyone in those raised areas would have a perfect view of the ground below, including the seating areas and the empty circular region in the middle. He pointed directly at it.

“What is that for?”

Lady Artemas stopped and glanced at the spot, beckoning them to follow her through thick glass door at the far end. There were similar doors spaced out every twenty to thirty metres around the outer rim, presumably leading to each of three apartments.

“The space is for any physical activity deemed to be of interested to the visiting dignity.”

“Huh?” said Glaucon in a confused tone.

Artemas stopped and sighed, waving her hand at the open area.

“Some use it for dancing, others for theatre or poetry recitals. There have even been occasions where martial displays have been run here.”

“What about you?” Xenophon asked.

Lady Artemas looked at him and tilted her head ever so slightly. She stared directly into his eyes.

“Well, I prefer to have people in that space doing something I find amusing.”

“Such as?” he continued, now eager to understand what she was talking about. But she turned and stepped up to the glass doors. They opened automatically, revealing an opulent interior filled with marble walls, columns, gleaming tables and scores of great art works. Xenophon spotted a particular painting and rushed inside to just a few metres away.

“This is the painting of the Battle of Marathon. I heard it had been lost centuries ago. Now it hangs as just one of many paintings in a random apartment?”

Lady Artemas approached a beautifully carved wooden throne and settled down.

“No, this is no random room. This is the accommodation reserved for use by royalty in the Empire. This is where the greatest and most powerful of our people come to relax and enjoy the pleasures of this place, usually when the fleet is preparing for manoeuvres. It is actually rarely used. The Emperor, after all, has over a hundred similar spires and those in the Core Worlds make this one look, well, primitive.”

“What? How is this primitive?”

Lady Artemas pointed back to the door.

“Most of the people you have seen here have come from worlds that are scattered through the Empire. You will find few Medes women offering their services here. They can command ten times the rewards in the other Core Worlds and service the more privileged of our society. Working in these industrial or military areas tend to favour a more, well, primitive sort of clientele.”

She looked at Glaucon, and he could easily tell it was a jibe at his expense. She then walked up to the painting and turned to Xenophon.

If you like the art here, then try to imagine what you would find on worlds like Babylon Prime.”

Xenophon was still enamoured with the lost painting on the wall. He’d heard about it so many times that he could barely conceal his pleasure at seeing it with his own eyes. On Attica, there were no known copies in existence.

“This painting was featured with three others inside the ancient Painted Arch, what we call the Stoa Poikile, back home in the capital. Panaenus, brother of Pheidias, produced it. At its height, it held many great paintings, most concerned with military victories. I don’t suppose you have those relating to the victories of the Terrans over the Medes?”

Lady Artemas shook her head. She knew that all those works of art had been burned in a public ceremony just a few years ago. There would be little benefit in telling them about their destruction.

That is for another day and another place, she thought to herself.

Roxana approached the painting and examined it for a moment.

“Yes, I’ve heard of him. Isn’t this the painting with the dog?”

Artemas looked confused at her comment, but only Tamara seemed to share her confusion at the mention of the dog.

“A dog? As in a small four-legged animal?”

Xenophon pointed at the centre of the battle where the warriors from Attica were engaged in bloody hand-to-hand combat at the spaceport of Marathon. Some of the Median warriors fought, but most were retreating in rout to their ships to escape the ferocity of the Terrans. In the middle of the fight was a Terran soldier who faced off against three separate enemy warriors. They were much bigger than the others.

“They are the Taochi, the foul conquered tribes of the destroyed Taochi Empire. The Empire has used them as shock troops for centuries. Now, look here.”

He pointed to the foot of the Terran soldier. It showed a medium sized dog with his jaw around one of the warrior’s arms, pulling his weapon from the soldier.

“This dog had travelled with the Terran soldier to the camp. He rushed out and fought the Medes army alongside his master and saved him from a spear strike in the middle of the great rout. He is one of the most celebrated animals in Attica.”

“A dog?” laughed Lady Artemas.

Glaucon, Xenophon and Roxana all cast her a look that told her it was not a subject to make jokes over. Instead, she reclined back into the great throne and tapped a button. A small hatch opened to reveal a glowing metal orb. She placed it on the arm of the chair, tapping it three times. A blue haze burst forth like an energy shield and filled the room.

“This is a suppression screen. It will ensure we have utmost privacy while activated.”

Glaucon looked to Xenophon with a raised eyebrow. The others might be unsure as to what he was thinking, but Xenophon new too well that Glaucon probably thought it was time to tear off his clothes and find the nearest of the ‘givers’ as they were called.

“What? You thought we were here for amorous activities? No, we are here on the business of my uncle, Lord Cyrus.”

This immediately grabbed the attention of Xenophon. He turned from the painting and approached the regal looking figure of Lady Artemas.

“What? You tricked us!” he said angrily.

“I’m sorry, Xenophon. I had no idea you were so keen to find a nubile wench to waste a few days with. No, I have a friend already on his way. He will be here in less than a few minutes. I suggest we present a united front upon his arrival.”

“Who is it?” demanded Tamara, now equally as annoyed as the others.

The sound of dulled footsteps was now audible as the door opened, and in walked a Medes man of some high status. He looked similar to Cyrus though perhaps a little shorter. He wore the lavish finery of a senior member of the Median nobility and a small, highly detailed breastplate over which hung a number of adornments. His head was bare but his hair long and braided.

“Positions,” muttered Xenophon under his breath.

The four quickly positioned themselves around their Lady, with one at each flank and two at her front. Although they were unarmoured, they all carried Terran issue carbines on their flanks in case of trouble on the planet. The system might be under Terran control, but that hardly meant it was guaranteed to be safe for Terrans. Xenophon slid down his right hand and flicked off the safety of his own weapon. They were modified versions of the trusty Doru Mk II high velocity rifle but cut down to make them suitable for close quarter work and escort duty. They were squat and accurate only at short ranges but still incredibly more powerful.

The Medes man knelt down in the excessively over the top fashion so detested by the Terrans, before standing and nodding to the guards.

“My Lady Artemas. I bring news and reports from home, as requested.”

Artemas lifted herself from the throne and approached him slowly. Xenophon and Roxana watched carefully, looking for any sign of movement that would betray an attempt on the life of their charge. When close enough, she stopped. The man reached forward, kissed her gently on each cheek and stepped back. He reverted to his own language but managed just a few words before being interrupted by her.

“Please, not in front of our guests. These are my handpicked Terran bodyguards, as decreed by Lord Cyrus himself. They have already proven themselves in battle with both their own kind and ours.”

“He looked at them in turn, sighed and looked back to Lady Artemas.

“As you wish, my Lady.”

She returned to her throne chair, indicating for Glaucon to being over a chair for him to sit in to face her. Once settled into position, the four returned to their guard positions, and the Medes nobleman faced her at a distance of a few metres.

“This most honourable nobleman is a close family friend of mine. He was one of my teachers many years ago when I was a child. Now he serves in…”

“Ahem,” said the man gently, doing his best to restrict the flow of information.

She smiled.

“Yes. Let us just say that he is a vital source of information for my uncle in the coming struggle.”

He nodded politely. Evidently, he was happier at this vague description of his role. He reached into his cloak and pulled out a small metallic box. It was no bigger than a man’s finger and smooth and simple in its styling compared to most Medes artefacts. He then reached out and placed it on the floor and returned to his seat. It glowed and a lavishly detailed model appeared of the Core World of the Empire.

“My Lady. Information I have received from my…uh…contacts within the Emperor’s circle indicate a number of important decisions have been made. After your victory here at Khorram, at least three Satraps revolted and turned on Imperial garrisons out on the borders.”

“What happened?” she asked.

“The usual for revolt. Within three days, the Emperor despatched war fleets to their territories and firebombed their homeworlds. He ignored their fleets and military bases. The losses on both sides number in the billions, but the Satraps have already reasserted their support for him. News has spread fast. It appears the other Satraps are now more concerned at his vengeance than the warriors your uncle commands.”

“I see.” It was her only response.

Xenophon had his own question and lifted his hand to his shoulder.

“May I?” he asked.

She nodded, curious to hear his thoughts.

“First of all, how accurate and trustworthy is this information?”

Lady Artemas intervened before the offended Medes noble could retort.

“Any information you hear can be considered fact.”

Xenophon wasn’t particularly satisfied by that explanation, but it was evidently clear that there was neither the time nor the stomach for discussing anything over than the details of what this man had to say.

“With this revolt over, do we have any information on Artaxerxes’ intentions?”

The nobleman nodded to Xenophon.

“The Empire is, perhaps, more secure than it has been for years. Satraps from the border worlds to the Ionian Territories, and even the robotic domains, have been quick to send tributes, hostages, and their messages of support to the Emperor. In the last three days, his fleet has grown to triple its size and is growing.”

“Triple?” asked Roxana.

Of all those present, she was the one with the most experience of Naval command, having served in the professional Navy of Attica. The idea of a Medes fleet that had swelled to triple its last size was something that sent shivers through her body.

“At Khorram we crushed their fleet, and even then they were able to escape with about a hundred warships. If what you say is true, then they could be operating with a force of three hundred ships. They will outnumber by at least four to one.”

He motioned with his hand, and the image quickly changed to show colour shapes all heading to one particular area. It was marked up as the Cunaxa Nebula. The model changed shape drastically until it brought up a number of systems in the Nebula. A large number of icons clearly showed a major Imperial fleet. Many more coloured shapes were moving in the same direction as well.

“This is the place where the Emperor is assembling a force of massive proportions. He is also preparing two more similar sized forces under the command of his deputies at two other Imperial capitals. If my sources at the Royal Court are correct, the Emperor intends on creating a combined force of a thousand ships. They are coming from every quarter of the Empire and bringing thousands of warriors as well. When they are ready, he will unleash three columns at your uncle.”

He inhaled slowly before adding one last piece of information.

“He does not intend on just defeating Lord Cyrus. This time he intends on wiping out anybody attached to him. He will not stop until the entire Legion is burned to ashes for their blasphemy.”

Xenophon and his friends looked at each other in disgust. Lady Artemas looked equally troubled at this last piece of information. She turned and stared at the painting of the Battle of Marathon that Xenophon had been so interested in examining.

“The painting, it showed the great battle at Marathon, yet I fear we will see a battle soon that will make Marathon look nothing more than a regional dispute.”

She then looked back to the Median noble.

“Do you have any idea of a timescale?”

He nodded slowly.

“Yes, my Lady. The orders have already been given to the commanders in the field. Based on the commissions of array, it is expected that the three divisions will be ready in nine days. I think you can now see why I sent the communiqué with Lord Cyrus. Time is running out and contrary to expectation, the regime of Artaxerxes is hardening, not breaking apart.”

Lady Artemas lowered her face into her hands as she contemplated the new information. She had little interest in the dynastic struggles of her uncle, but she certainly didn’t want to see him or his people killed. She lifted her head, looking at her new Terran friends. The more she watched them, the more she realised how fond she had become of all four.

“Thank you. I will pass on this critical information to my uncle. How long do you intend on staying at Kashan?”

“I must leave within the hour, my Lady. I will leave the datasphere with you, along with the current fleet dispositions of the Imperial Fleet. I have chartered a place aboard one of the refugee vessels. I will be back at court within six days from here. Take care, my Lady. I wish you and your uncle the best with this campaign.”

He then rotated slightly and faced Xenophon to whom he nodded to, and then he was gone. Making little noise, he was through the door in as little time as it took for Glaucon to start complaining.

“Is it me, or did that entire speech sound like a pile of dung?” he said angrily.

“Dung?” laughed Tamara. She had thrown off any pretence of being the good little guard and was now jumping about the apartment to examine the myriad of fine art. She also managed to find the wine rack that was nestled neatly behind a life-size sculpture of a Median warrior locked in some kind of mortal battle with a monster. It was as though the words of Lady Artemas had taken nearly twenty seconds or so to sink in before she looked back at her.

“Wait, you don’t trust him?” she asked. “Why are we here, then?”

The other three stopped, intrigued by her comment.

“Of course I don’t trust him. He is the brother of Menon. You remember him?”

Xenophon and Roxana both nodded at this statement. With their service with the Navy, they were all too familiar with the reputation of Menon.

“Yeah, I’ve heard of him, alright. That piece of filth is a Medes commander, the one we found at the Aronton station. I checked about him after the battle because I was sure I’d heard something about him back at the Academy. Apparently, he took a Terran name after defeating a task force sent against him.”

Xenophon nodded in agreement and slumped down into one of the reclining chairs before continuing.

“A foolish Terran officer, now known as Menon the Fool, was sent to clear out a band of corsairs nearly twenty years ago. His family were rich, and he wanted battle command desperately. This Medes corsair managed to trap him and picked off his ship one at a time until just his ship remained. He boarded the cruiser, took the head of Menon and took his name.”

“I never heard that story before,” replied Glaucon.

Xenophon laughed dryly.

“Of course not, why would you repeat a story of epic and humiliating failure? Much better to focus on our finer moments.”

“Like the little dog beating back Medes warriors at the battle of Marathon?” added Lady Artemas with obvious sarcasm.

She stood up and walked to a barren wall a few metres away. It was clear, save for a small table with what looked like a partially damaged Terran urn sat upon it. The others watched as she moved. Only Xenophon wondered why there appeared to be so much taken from Terran culture for a people that officially despised what they called violent primitives.

Lady Artemas held one hand over the urn and spoke a few quiet words. It glowed and five large displays, each one over two metres wide, appeared on the walls. The urn seemed to be projecting them, but the quality and detail was outstanding. Each one showed parts of the Median Empire, and one was screen dedicated to the Core Worlds of the Empire. Xenophon noted how far into this part of the enemy territory they had already advanced. It sent a chill through him as he considered how long it would take to return home, assuming unlimited supplies and no hostile interruptions. It was clear that victory for Cyrus was the only way he or the rest of the Legion had of staying alive in the long run.

“A great deal of space, don’t you think?” asked Artemas as she gazed upon the maps. “What you need to understand is that this is a game within a game. The nobles of the Empire are always interested in just one simple thing, the safety of their own necks and houses. Menon and his family will fight for Cyrus or Artaxerxes; they really don’t care which one they follow. What they are concerned about is ensuring they do not side with the loser. Survival is the game, and our Satraps are the masters of this game.”

She moved her hands in front of the displays, altering each one to show the areas of space where the fleets were apparently being assembled.

“You can see here the strategic information available to me suggests that at least part of what he said is true. Yes, a massive number of ships are being sent to these three assembly areas. What this data doesn’t tell us is, why they are there and what their plan is?”

Roxana and Xenophon stepped to her side and examined all the displays in detail.

“It can’t just be me that is surprised at the massive amount of information available to you. Where is it coming from?”

“You’ve got a point there,” Xenophon added.

He pointed to the display on the left that showed the worlds near Khorram.

“We could use this information to avoid most of their forces, and either withdraw to safety or strike with speed and precision. So where is this all coming from?”

Lady Artemas smiled and changed them to show a view of the entire Empire.

“Directly from the military high command on Babylon Prime.”

“What?” Glaucon snapped. “Why would they still be sending this kind of data here? Don’t they know we could gain access to it?”

Xenophon nodded, now understanding what was happening.

“All of this information is being given freely as bait, isn’t it? Artaxerxes is that confident that he wants us to know where his forces are. He wants us to tremble and fear his next move. This is how he will win, by making us react to his predetermined plans.”

Lady Artemas nodded slowly.

“Not freely. This information is only available to Imperial command locations, like this one on Kashan. As soon as I accessed this data, it will have been passed on to all other sites. Artaxerxes knows this has been viewed, and my uncle wants him to know this. Artaxerxes attempts to scare us, and my uncle wants to let him and his supporters know that Khorram, the shipyards and the Imperial facilities here are under his control.”

Glaucon, Xenophon and Roxana looked at each other in confusion. They had all now spent considerable time with their Medes guests, and yet not one of them fully understood how their minds worked. The political intrigue and plots they had encountered made the troubles in the Terran territories seem insignificant.

She then turned to the orb and tapped it three times. The centre screen altered to show a hierarchical tree of several Median families. She moved quickly through the faces and selected what appeared to be Cyrus. The image turned black and then flickered before a detailed model of the pretender to the throne appeared.

“Lady Artemas, have you made contact?”

She bowed down politely in front of the image of Cyrus.

“Yes, Uncle. As you expected, your brother is preparing a substantial force. Shall I transmit the data directly to you or bring it back via the datasphere?”

“Send it to me now, my Niece. There is no…”

His image cut out, and all the displays went dark.

“What’s happening?” asked Xenophon, immediately suspicious.

Lady Artemas waved her hands, and the images on the screen altered to show the space around the apartments, as well as the exterior of the spire.

“Look!” she said in horror.

All of them watched on as a group of tall soldiers, wearing the uniforms of Laconians, blasted their way past a small group of Arcadian soldiers and entered the lower levels of the spire.

“The inside, can we see that?” asked Roxana.

Lady Artemas shook her head.

“No, internal recording is forbidden for the privacy of anybody that visits. Who would come here if their images were public knowledge, as well as their interests? Why are Laconian soldiers coming here?”

Xenophon was already moving back the footage of the attack outside. He moved back almost ten minutes until he could see the arrival of a local transport. The figure of the recently departed brother of Menon stepped inside, and a group of Laconian soldiers emerged a few second later.

“They aren’t Laconians!” he said loudly. “They are Medes troops in fake uniforms. Look at them. They are too tall, and they have the wrong crests. They are coming for you, my Lady!”

At that mention of deceit, both Xenophon and Roxana pulled out their pulse carbines and rushed to the main archway, checking for signs of danger. Artemas, however, remained and brought up a number of internal video feeds of the apartments.

“Do you have any weapons or armour here that we can use?” asked Glaucon.

Tamara had already beaten him to it and was stood in front of a series of glass cabinets containing more captured Terran relics. There were eight manikins, each one full dressed in mint condition clothing and armour of the ancient Terrans. The helmets were of the old style with full-face protection other than the eyes and mouth. Reinforced breastplates with multilayered polymers for projectile protection and magnetised hand shields. It was all from an age of primitive kinetic weapons and edged weapons. Only a few large calibre rifles were on view along the bottom of the cabinet, but there were a variety of knives, axes, swords and bayonets. Some ceremonial, most were military sidearms. She smashed the butt of her carbine at the glass and it shattered, giving her full access to the contents inside. She whistled loudly, and Glaucon turned to look.

“What about this stuff?”

She held up one of the helmets and a long, slightly curved sword that gave off a golden hue on its blade.

Xenophon heard the commotion and stepped back to look. The sight of the blade instantly aroused his imagination.

“Equipment from the Attican soldiers at Marathon? How did you get those?” he demanded angrily.

Lady Artemas marched from her position and grabbed the sword, pulling the helmet over her head. It looked strange to see an antique helm mixed with modern Terran armour and Median clothing. Even more so, it was strange for Xenophon to see this attire on a beautiful Medes princess.

“What are you waiting for? Grab what you can and get into position. They will be here in less than three minutes, and the only way out is either through the elevators or out there!”

She pointed back to the smoked windows running along one side of the floor. Tamara lifted her carbine and aimed at the glass, but Artemas lifted her hand to stop her.

“No, you saw how far the drop is, and I can promise you they will have sniper drones in position outside. Once the armoured glass is down, they can pick us off.”

She stepped to a panel on the wall and banged her fist on it. A dull rumble reverberated through the massive room as a series of thick protective shutters rolled down, sealing off the interior from any external threat. Even the archway was sealed as a double-layered barrier came down from the ceiling with a thud. In just a few seconds, the Royal Apartments had transformed into a fortified bunker.

“My uncle knows we are in trouble. He will send a rescue party to this level. We just need to hold until then.”

She moved back to the displays and brought them down to focus on the water features and gardens in front of the apartments. At the far end the doors to the elevator opened, and two naked forms were thrown out. Two-dozen or more Laconian dressed soldiers rushed out and spread out. More soldiers rappelling inside through the breaches followed two bright flashes along the glass exterior. All were dressed the same and carrying what appeared to be Doru style Arcadian rifles. She looked to the smashed cabinet to see the curious sight of her four Terran companions. Each was dressed in a motley collection of faded and heavily worn antique armour and carried both their modern carbines and blades taken from the cabinet. She held up the curved blade in her hand and performed a quick series of diagonal strikes to check its balance.

Not bad, she thought.

Movement caught her eye on the displays. She turned to Xenophon who was busy tightening the strap of his slightly rusted helmet. She pointed at the display where a group of soldiers were now moving across the open ground and towards the sealed archway.

“Get ready, here they come.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Pleasure House of Anahita, Khorram Shipyards

Tamara and Roxana took up position behind the thick stone display units a few metres from the archway. Both had dragged multiple weapons into position there and aimed their carbines at the expected entry point to the apartment. Tamara threw a glance back to the throne and spotted the three of them dragging heavy objects into position around it. As each second slipped by, so their defensive position improved. The first sign of the enemy’s approach was when Artemas shouted out.

“They are aiming something at the arch. Take cover!” she screamed.

There was no hesitation, and all five of them ducked down behind whatever solid object they could find. Simultaneously, a heavy armour piercing projectile slammed into the outer plate of the arch’s shutter. Glaucon popped his head up to take a look, but Xenophon forced him back to the floor.

“Stay down, you fool. It’s probably a timed charge.”

In answer to his comments, a massive rumble shook the room, and one of the paintings tilted and fell from the wall, smashing onto the ground. Xenophon glanced quickly over the cover and back down again.

“Well?” asked Glaucon.

“Not enough, they will need more than one to get through.”

Glaucon nodded, turning his head to smile at Artemas.

“Your people make good doors.”

“True. But it could also end up being our tomb. There are no safe ways out of here.”

“Safe?” asked Xenophon, intrigued by the possibility that there was another way out.

“Yes, there is a secondary shaft that moves down to the reinforced rib of the spire. It is the strongest part of the structure and contains a landing platform for evacuation.”

Glaucon grabbed her shoulder, but he was interrupted by another shattering impact on the metal shielding around the archway.

“Why wasn’t that our first plan?” he asked.

“Because they will almost certainly know about that route. They probably have people watching it already. This main team will be for flushing us out into the shaft, so we can be trapped and finished off by a waiting kill-team.”

A third and final blast hit the metal, but this time a wave of heat and bright yellow light washed inside the apartment. Artemas could just about see the projected screens from her hiding place behind the thick marble. She spotted four or five warriors moving through the breach.

“Now!”

Roxana aimed the recovered Terran light machine gun at the group and pulled the trigger. She half expected the antique weapon to fail, but the high-powered railgun accelerated multiple projectiles to high speed. Only the power system was needed for the weapon to function. The ammunition was old and slightly corroded, but unlike the earlier chemical weapons, they were inert lumps of metal. The slug hammered into the approaching soldiers and easily shredded their imitation armour.

“Aim for the centre mass!” Glaucon suggested.

The rest used their pulse carbines to put down an impressive level of suppressing fire. The soldiers were cut to pieces, but one was able to jump back through the breach before the others were killed.

“No way are they Laconians. Their armour is useless, and they have no idea of Laconian battle training or tactics,” Xenophon said. Contempt dripped from his voice.

Roxana picked up her own carbine and discarded the antique firearm.

“Good equipment, but the power pack is dead already. Must be the age.”

Xenophon crawled along the floor to the right of his cover so he could get a better view of the arched entrance. The dust and smoke was already clearing. To his amazement, the bodies had also vanished.

“What the hell! Where are they?”

Artemas looked back to the displays and noted more shapes moving to the door.

“Oh no, no,” she moaned bitterly and turned to Xenophon.

“They’ve brought in more men, and they also have a combat drone. How did they get that inside here?”

Glaucon checked his carbine and lifted himself up slightly higher to get a better view.

“Not just the drone. How are they getting so many people in here without our Terran soldiers even noticing what’s going on? We’re making a bit of noise here.”

“No,” Artemas answered, shaking her head.

“The spire is constructed to eliminate surplus noise and heat. Only by breaching the outer skin will anybody hear a thing from in here.”

The noise of a mechanical warrior entering the breach turned all of their attention back to the archway. It stepped inside with clumsy movement, almost like a young child trying to negotiate a bumpy surface. It was not much bigger than the soldiers following it, yet its upper body was much more substantial and reinforced with armour plates. The short, stubby arms ended in low-velocity pulse carbines.

“Lay down your weapons!” it said in a slow drawl.

Glaucon lifted himself slightly, emptying an entire magazine of pulse rounds into its torso while swearing at the top of his voice. More soldiers ran past the machine, taking shelter behind broken marble and the many columns.

“Stop them!” called Xenophon, and once again the zigzagging streaks of gunfire lit up the apartment like some ancient battlefield.

Neither side made much impact, but the longer the fight went on, the more enemy soldiers arrived. Roxana spotted another five coming through and managed to hit two before jumping back and ducking to the side of the great throne. It wasn’t a moment too soon either, as three rounds tore chunks out of the top of the wooden chair. Xenophon and Glaucon both maintained as much fire on the drone as possible, but the small weapons were doing little more than taking chunks out of its armour. They needed something else. Xenophon thought back to what he’d heard about the Laconians and their battle at the Aronton Station. From what he’d heard, they had overwhelmed the primitive processors and tactical options of these machines by avoiding their strength.

We need to avoid their firepower!

“Tamara, Glaucon, you have your blades?” he called out.

Both nodded.

He then looked down to his own weapon, taken from the cabinets. It was modelled on a kopis blade but fitted with a charged monofilament edge. By all accounts, it should be capable of cutting through almost all armours but doubt filled his mind. He placed it near the marble unit and struck it lightly. A flurry of sparks indicated where he’d cut a three centimetre long gash in the stone.

So, after all this time, it still works!

“Stay close to the columns, work around and hit the drone.”

He then turned to Roxana and Artemas who were ducking down to avoid gunfire.

“I need covering fire. You have to keep the drone busy. Understood?”

Both nodded and checked their weapons again. He looked back and made a mental note of the positions of the enemy soldiers and the drone. They were taking their time, either due to orders or more likely because they were supposed to force their enemy to retreat, rather than destroy them. It was a weakness, and Xenophon intended to exploit it.

“Now!” he cried.

First the gunfire from Artemas and Roxana ripped into the drone, along with the odd round that slammed around the soldiers. Xenophon and Tamara moved to the right column while Glaucon leapt over the marble and to the next piece of cover offered by a large statue of a Medes god. All three carried their carbines in one hand and one of the ancient relics in the other. Glaucon made it into cover safely, but Xenophon and Tamara managed to land beside a startled soldier. Tamara quickly sank her blade into his chest, and Xenophon blasted with his carbine at a range of nearly a metre.

“Stay down!” he cried and only just in time. Dozens of rounds slammed around their position, each one ripping chunks of marble from the beautiful pieces of art all around them. They were pinned down, and unless Artemas and Roxana could regain the attention of the drone, they would be done for. That was when Glaucon did the unexpected. He jumped up and rushed a group of three soldiers who were sheltering behind half a statue. He hit them like a bull and forced two to stumble around the drone. He held onto the third, pushing him back until the man was forced onto the robotic warrior. It was their chance.

“Go!”

Xenophon was on his feet and covered the remaining steps in a few seconds. One soldier tried to stop him, but Tamara leapt on him and smashed him down onto the floor. Now in range, Xenophon ducked passed the weapons on the left side of the drone and slammed his blade down behind the gun mount. It was the least armoured area he could find, and the charged blade easily cut through the cables and motor unit, leaving the weapon arm impotent. The shattered stump swung at him and struck him in the chest. The impact was heavy, but the layered polymers of the relic he now wore took most of the force. He staggered back and almost lost his footing. Artemas grabbed him and pushed him back to the drone. She slashed at it, causing more damage until the stump itself tore apart.

“Glaucon, the arm!” she cried. She saw the right arm of the combat drone twisting. At the far end of the arm was a pintle mount, and attached to that a rotating gun mount. A clanking sound was the last warning that it was loading in more rounds to its arm-fitted chaingun. Tamara spotted the movement and ducked to avoid the gunfire.

“Look out!” shouted Xenophon.

It opened fire with a roar at Glaucon. The muzzle flash was massive at this close range. A great yellow fireball with scores of hot projectiles blasted from its muzzle. A hit at this range would tear through even modern body armour like tissue paper. Glaucon threw himself up and over the machine so that he landed behind it. Normally, such a move would have meant his death, but it couldn’t see him due to the wounded Medes now resting on its flank. He ducked around also and suddenly all three were around it, each firing and hacking away with their weapons. Just four more cuts were all that was needed. It dropped to its knees and toppled over. It writhed and shook on the ground, and sparks ran around its central processor. Movement caught Xenophon’s eye. It was the remaining soldiers already trying to retreat. He almost chased after them, but there was something else; a dull rattling noise coming from the far side of the apartment. The other four wiped the dust and dirt from their faces and took cover. Glaucon’s helmet had sustained a major blow in the fight, and he tore it off to reveal bruising down the side of his face. Roxana moved from the smashed drone towards two columns to give her greater protection from the direction of the arched entrance.

“Can you hear that?” asked Glaucon nervously.

A segment of the dark windows that ran along the outside of apartments flashed white and disintegrated in a massive blast. Even the metal shields that had covered them up for security couldn’t stand against such heavy firepower. The shockwave blasted Roxana from her feet, throwing her against a statue of an unidentified Median goddess. She fell to the ground unconscious.

“Hold this position!” he called out.

He crawled along the floor to Roxana. She was now totally exposed to potential weapons fire. No sooner had he reached her than a dozen heavily armed Medes soldiers arrived. They were all wearing the mock Laconian uniforms, but these moved with confidence and skill that implied professionalism. Lady Artemas spotted their style of movement and took aim with her carbine. She took a shot, but the enemy quickly rolled into cover and continued to close the distance.

“Those are Anusiyan soldiers, the sacred protectors of the Emperor. They will not stop!”

Xenophon lifted Roxana up to his shoulder and moved as quickly as he could to the cover the others were using. The other three put down considerable fire, and it did its job of slowing them down. Even so, they were only thirty or so metres away and moving in for the kill. Artemas kept low and moved over to Roxana. She checked her eyes and breathing, reaching inside her clothing to pull out a small case. Two rounds struck nearby and sent handfuls of marble dust over her. She coughed and then removed a short metal device with a dozen micro tips at the end. Xenophon looked down to her and reached out to stop her.

“No, it’s alright. She is concussed. This will bring her out of it. We need her right now.”

She didn’t wait for his approval and removed the woman’s helmet, so she could place the device on her temple. It hissed, and a moment later Roxana’s bloodshot eyes opened. Glaucon leaned out from his cover and fired a short burst that hit one of the soldiers in the face. The man flew backwards but was instantly replaced by another two soldiers. Xenophon pulled out a spare magazine, but his heart turned to despair as he could see more shapes arriving through the smashed windows.

They must have aircraft bringing in more soldiers.

He turned to the archway and noticed the small number of surviving soldiers from the initial attack. They were dragging some of their wounded back to the elevator. Glaucon turned and called to the two still in cover around the throne.

“Hey, either we say here or we get out there!”

He pointed to the archway and open ground and gardens that ran around the entire floor. One of the soldiers watched him pointing and lifted a weapon. Glaucon took careful aim and hit him in the face with a single shot. The others near him scattered in fear at the execution of their comrade.

“Come on, out of this place, now!” shouted Xenophon, upon seeing the soldier drop to the ground.

All five of them broke from their cover and ran as fast as they could. Multiple rounds struck around them, but the distance to the exit point was short. They were out in the open before the newly arrived soldiers realised what was happening. Remembering an old trick, Xenophon set his carbine to overload and dropped it next to the archway. The others kept moving forward though and chased down the retreating soldiers. With gunfire hitting them in the back, they didn’t last long and what started as a withdrawal, quickly turned into a bloody rout. They were nothing like the soldiers in the apartment building itself. By the time Artemas was out and in the open, she spotted Tamara dropping down and embedding her blade in the back of the last soldier’s skull. It was bloody, shocking and violent, but necessary. Each of them dropped down to reduce their size, in case anybody else was watching. Then they checked back to see Xenophon leaving his weapon.

“What are you doing?” shouted Artemas.

Xenophon ignored her and ran towards them as fast as his legs would take him. It was then that she saw the glowing weapon near the stone and a rising wail coming from the same area. Glaucon grabbed her and pushed her down.

“Get down!” he yelled.

In answer to his shout, the weapon overloaded and exploded, its half expended magazine core sending the weapon’s charging capacitor to unsustainable levels. The explosion was modest but extremely hot and violent. Part of the entrance was smashed, and large parts of masonry collapsed down to partially block it.

“Not bad,” said Glaucon, lifting himself back to his feet. He turned to Artemas and helped her up. She removed her helmet, shook her head and rubbed her eyes.

“Uh, okay, what now then?”

They all looked around at the area they were now in. There were many bodies dotted around the open space, and the columns and water features exhibited various degrees of damage from the battle. It looked like a cross between a garden of tranquillity and a suicide bombing. Glaucon stopped turning and looked in the direction the soldiers had originally arrived from. A trail of bodies led back to the elevator and the primary access point for the Royal Apartments.

“The elevator?” suggested Glaucon.

“What, the way they came in?” asked a less than impressed Roxana.

Xenophon picked himself up and increased his speed towards the doors of the elevators, passing the two naked bodies of the mute assistants.

“Yes, it’s the last thing they would expect!”

He jumped inside and looked for a panel or some kind of control unit. By the time the others arrived, he was still looking but no closer to finding something. Glaucon joined him with a close search of the interior walls of the elevator.

“Where is it?” he asked in frustration.

Lady Artemas waited near the door.

“I was trying to tell you. The elevator is controlled by those two,” she explained, pointing to the unfortunate victims of the first wave of soldiers.

“The system is designed to be as unobtrusive as possible, so guests will not notice the technology in the spire.”

Roxana moved to the side of the elevator so that she could look down to the open shaft leading to the ground level. It gave the impression that the glass elevator was actually fitted to the exterior of the spire. Although she could see the outer parts of the spire, it was impossible for her to see the other five elevators. They were blocked from view by the shape of the central hexagonal shaft.

“What? There must be an override or an emergency mode to get to the ground level?” Xenophon asked with a slight trembling in his voice.

Artemas was busy watching something much lower down the structure of the spire. Xenophon followed the direction she was watching, but either her eyes were substantially more effective in low light or he was looking in the wrong place. Without warning, Artemas jumped back, almost knocking Xenophon to the ground.

“Get out, now!” she shouted, continuing to move away.

Glaucon and Roxana were out first, but Xenophon only made it to the doorway when the elevator started to move. The two of them reached in and pulled him hard, managing to drag him from the falling platform in the split-second that it took for it to accelerate away. He landed hard and didn’t stand back up. Roxana and Tamara looking down into the shaft where the elevator had been just seconds earlier.

“What happened?” he asked.

A terrible crashing sound of twisted metal and smashed glass answered his question. Glaucon helped him to his feet, and Tamara handed him back the carbine he’d dropped.

“So they aren’t too bothered about taking any prisoners, then?”

Glaucon’s expression confirmed his comments.

“There must be another way down. What happens in case of fire or damage?”

Artemas looked over the edge and staggered back, regaining her balance. Roxana grabbed her, worried for a moment that she may have been shot. Instead, the Medes lady turned to her and stared intently at her face.

“There is only one other way down, but they will know we’re coming.”

“Well?” demanded Xenophon.

Artemas pointed to the thick marble pillar with a diameter of nearly thirty metres in the centre of the spire. Tamara was already there and running her hands over the smooth marble.

“No, to access the escape system, you just have to place your hands anywhere on the stone. Like this. It leads down to landing platforms every twenty floors. We will have to head down a full twenty levels to reach the first one.”

She placed the palms of both of her hands onto the stone, and immediately an entrance of at least five metres wide opened up. Glaucon moved to its centre and looked inside, expecting to find trouble.

“Let’s go then!” said Artemas, and she stepped into the oval shaped tunnel that appeared to curl downwards like a massive corkscrew. Xenophon refused to move, however, and stopped near the entrance.

“No, you saw what they did to the elevator. They have plenty of people down there and like you said, your uncle will be sending help. I was wrong. Our advantage is time. If we hold out long enough, Terran soldiers will rescue us. Their advantage is numbers and firepower.”

As if to emphasise his point, a glimmer of dull blue light flickered from inside the tunnel. The sound of footsteps could just about be heard.

“Yeah, you hear that?” asked Glaucon.

Xenophon nodded and looked back to the open courtyard area in front of the scorched and partially burning apartments. He knew their time was limited, and he was forced to scan the area as fast as his mind could absorb it. There were columns, water features, rock formations and the other apartments themselves.

“What about the other apartments? Are they defensible?”

Artemas stepped back from the tunnel and placed her hands back on the wall. The entry point clamped down shut. The closely fitted moving parts that made up the entrance impressed even Glaucon. It was as if the wall was a single piece of marble.

“Not really, but there is the folly, right there near the fountain.”

Xenophon followed her extended hand and spotted the object. It was made from stone like most of the artwork in this place. It had the look of a small ruined tower but much smaller than one that would be found outdoors. A partially broken circle of columns and a number of ponds surrounded it.

“This place must have cost a fortune,” he muttered to himself.

Even now, Xenophon felt completely shocked at the extravagance on show. The folly was evidently designed for relaxation, and he noticed a number of metal chairs inside and around the structure.

“Okay, let’s do this. To the folly!”

The group of five ran back from the entrance to the smashed elevator and past the water features, columns and bodies of fake Laconian soldiers. Artemas and Glaucon grabbed rifles from the dead as they finally reached the marble folly. Each of them slid into cover inside the damaged ring of columns.

“You realise that if help doesn’t come, we’ll be trapped here, and it’s open ground all around us?”

“True,” replied Roxana, “but Xenophon has a point. The open area will be a killing ground that will work in our favour. Time is working against them, so they will have to assault this position.”

Another loud blast tore through the Royal Apartments and sent clouds of dust and broken marble from where they had received Menon’s brother.

“Just as well we didn’t stay there!” laughed Tamara.

“Yeah, but it won’t take them long to break through the debris. We need to get ready,” said Roxana in a matter-of-fact tone. She looked haggard, and the drugs seemed to have an odd affect on complexion. She was only a few years older than Xenophon, but those years had instilled self-discipline and leadership into her. Even with her head pounding and her eyes dilating, she refused to back down and let the others organise their possible last stand.

“Get more weapons, and strip the dead of anything you can find.”

Xenophon nodded and ran out to check the nearest bodies. Even as he reached the first one, he almost kicked himself for not doing this earlier. Each of them carried a rifle, some carbines and the odd pistol and edged weapon. The others scattered and grabbed what they could and returned to their temporary fortress. Artemas looked back at the folly behind them and shook her head. Xenophon saw her look.

“Lady Artemas, are you alright?” he asked.

She looked back at him and the rest of her four companions. They were all resplendent in their modern Black Legion uniforms and ancient armour and helmets.

“This place, it just looked, well, it looked much more substantial when we were further away. I fear this may end up being a prison, not a fortress.”

Xenophon stepped closer and checked her weapons.

“Not at all. We have open ground around us, and strong cover. Trust in your weapons and armour. Help will be here soon.”

He moved back to the others and ensured the remaining firearms, ammunition and close quarter weapons were correctly divided up. The equipment from the dead soldiers meant they all now had loaded rifles, as well as three spares that he’d placed inside the folly itself. As he stepped back out and took up position alongside Artemas and Glaucon, his mind imagined what this place would look like from a distance. With the ruined folly, broken columns, soldiers in ancient armour and odd mixture of weapons, it could have easily been a scene depicted in one of the paintings back in the Royal Apartments. He almost laughed at the strange notion of standing beside a Medes noble lady and her Terran soldiers bodyguard, each charged with defending her from her own countrymen. It wasn’t like any experience he’d ever expected to be involved in.

This has turned well and truly upside down!

He looked to his right to find Artemas staring right back at him. She’d removed her helm for a moment and leaned in towards him.

“Xenophon, whatever happens I want you to know…”

Another great booming sound erupted from inside the apartments and was instantly followed by a horde of armoured soldiers charging out into the open space. Glaucon fired first and managed to bring down two of them before the others joined in.

“Watch out!” shouted Roxana, as she pointed to the other archway to their right that led to another set of apartments. From the gap came even more of them, as well as two of the dreaded combat drones.

“Dammit!” snapped Xenophon. “This isn’t good!”

He took aim with the cloned Doru rifle and hit what looked like a commander in the shoulder. Unlike the others, this particular soldier carried no firearms, just some kind of control unit with cables running to a backpack. It wasn’t something he’d seen before.

Either he’s stupid or he doesn’t expect to have to fight, Xenophon thought.

Incredibly, he kept moving forward. Xenophon exhaled slowly and squeezed the trigger again. This time two of the soldiers managed to get in the way, and one took the round square in the chest. He almost fired a third shot but could see the two combat drones. Both had stopped and had widened their legs, lowering their centres of gravity. They looked more like artillery platforms than actual combat drones, and that sent a shudder down his spine. His attention turned to their weapons. They appeared to be aiming their weapon arms at him. Instead of hands, he noted two long rectangular units, like launch tubes.

What the hell is that?

A series of bright flashes from the drones answered his question. Four narrow beams of energy connected with the pillar near him, and it was quickly cut into pieces. Glaucon was sheltering nearby and was forced to roll to the side to avoid the deadly firepower of the machines.

Laser cutters on a drone! Are they insane?

“Get inside the folly, now!” he screamed.

Roxana and Artemas moved inside first and positioned themselves near the narrow slits that served as windows. It was small inside, no more than ten metres in diameter. There was no furniture or lighting. When Glaucon entered, he laughed at the sight.

“What is the point of this place?”

Xenophon and Tamara came in last, followed by a cloud of dust. They grabbed spare weapons and moved to the shooting positions. Glaucon was already firing, and the sound of incoming fire was becoming deafening.

“Right now this folly is a place for saving our necks,” explained Xenophon sternly.

Glaucon threw him a glance.

“No way can we hold against those weapons. A drone with laser cutters; it is insanity!”

A shadow appeared at the entrance and then hands, as two of the soldiers tried to rush inside. Glaucon grabbed the arm of the first and yanked him in. Tamara finished him off with her blade, and Xenophon and Artemas blasted the second with their rifles.

“Hold them back!” he shouted and moved back to the small windows. All five of them continued to shoot, but their attackers had slowed down and were using the rubble to get as close as possible. More gunfire tore chunks from the folly walls, and gaps started to appear where the most damage had been done. The interior lit up red, and part of the wall and most of the ceiling came down around them. Xenophon threw himself onto Artemas as slabs of masonry fell about them. Roxana was buried under rubble but incredibly, Tamara and Glaucon were still standing in the ruins of the tower. Giving no respite, the enemy soldiers swarmed the place and rushed them, keen to end the fight once and for all. The first two to make it inside managed to take out Tamara’s left leg with a round to her knee. She dropped down but kept firing.

Under the rubble, Xenophon could feel a crushing weight on his left arm. He shook his helmet and dust dropped off to give him a view of the savage hand-to-hand fighting around them. He twisted over but couldn’t free himself from the heavy rubble. Only the strength of the ancient van brace on his forearm stopped the flesh from being crushed. Three soldiers ran towards him, but his weapons were nowhere to be found. He watched a soldier smash a rifle butt into Glaucon’s helmet that sent his friend to the ground.

So this is how it ends!

He heard more explosions and the smashing of glass. A great gust of wind ripped through the folly. All Xenophon could think was that part of the roof of the mighty spire must have been blown in. The soldier in front of him lifted his rifle and took aim directly at Xenophon’s face.

“Surrender!” he yelled in an odd voice.

A massive force blasted the soldier from the left, propelling him three metres in the air before hitting the ground. Three more soldiers were cut apart by a hail of pulse-carbine gunfire. The combat drone took two more steps forward but was overwhelmed by a dozen Terran soldiers, each in full battle armour and carrying personal body shields. The great form of Strategos Clearchus entered the folly to find just one soldier remaining. He lifted his right arm and slammed his exquisitely decorated Asgeirr-Carbine into the man’s throat. It was the common weapon of the Laconian spatharii, their heavy infantry, and fitted onto the arm to provide both a carbine and a razor sharp monofilament blade.

“Clearchus?” murmured Xenophon.

“Where is Lady Artemas?” demanded Lord Cyrus. He emerged from behind the Laconian commander. Like the others, he was fully armoured, though in Median armour that was much thinner and more elaborate than the Terran style.

Glaucon lifted himself up and pointed to the rubble near Xenophon.

“Under there,” he said weakly.

Clearchus reached down and ripped the rubble away until both Xenophon’s arm and Lady Artemas were freed. She turned her head and pulled off her helmet to gaze up at the form of her two saviours.

“My Lady, apologies for the delay,” Clearchus announced dryly.

CHAPTER FIVE

Medes Battleship ‘Rashnu’

The Royal Chamber was packed full with the commanders of the Legion’s ground troops, Naval vessels and even the contingents from Ariaeus. Every one of them wore their best uniforms and spotless armour. At the centre of this great mass of warriors stood Clearchus and his topoteretes. Clearchus stood silently, watching his paymaster with interest. Most of the Terran Dukas and Komes were there, including Sosis, Xenias, Psion, Kratez, Sophaenetus, Meno and dozens more. Facing off against them was the furious figure of Lord Cyrus. He stood alone with not even his personal guards alongside him. Even Clearchus seemed impressed with the Medes demeanour.

Perhaps this Medes does have some fire, then, he thought.

Cyrus pointed to Artemas and her four guards with his mailed glove guards and beckoned for them to come forward. When Artemas was close enough, he stepped down beside her and turned her to face the assembled men.

“Look at her!” he roared.

It was easy to see. Her face was badly cut and had been stitched from chin to ear where a large piece of masonry had opened up her flesh. More obvious to most of them was the synthetic cast and sling on her arm. Few knew the story, but rumours had spread through the Legion like wildfire. Only Clearchus and her four guards knew the extent of her injuries and the extent to which Cyrus was exaggerating them.

“This is an outrage. I want his head on a pike, today!” roared Lord Cyrus.

He stepped around his niece and pointed out the injuries, one at a time. Clearchus listened to the words, and also to the murmurs of anger and disapproval in the ranks of the officers present. He also noted the difference between the men and women of the Legion and those of the Medes. With the exception of a few, the majority of the Medes appeared almost disinterested in the injuries to one of their nobles. The Archaeans, Arcadians and Megarans were livid with the news. In fact, he was convinced that if he could lead those warriors into action this very day, they would be able to crush any army, no matter its size or strength. He looked back to Lady Artemas and spotted Xenophon and his comrades. All four seemed to have sustained minor injuries in the battle, and the young girl wore an automated brace on her leg, presumably from a knee injury.

There was a short pause in Cyrus’ speech, short enough for Clearchus to turn his attention back to the Medes leader and pretender to the throne of the Median Empire. He watched carefully. Ariaeus stood nearby, but this time he translated his leader’s words from the Terran tongue to his own. It was a clear nod to the primary military force to be used in whatever battle was to take place. A battle that he knew was coming soon enough, especially if what his scouts had reported was true. He’d already spent the last hour arguing with Cyrus to send small contingents out to check the route and the intelligence. Cyrus was adamant though and would not be turned from his own course of action. All that was required was to hear the spin Cyrus put on it before they readied for war.

“Hours ago my defenceless niece was physically attacked by agents left behind by Artaxerxes and his dogs. They assaulted her with their hands, weapons and machines. Only the bravery of the Legion stood between her and ignominy.”

He looked to Artemas and nodded. She bent down, removed the small sphere from inside her clothing and placed it on the ground. With a gentle tap, it activated and projected the series of maps outlining the enemy dispositions. Clearchus watched for a reaction but showed little interest in the actual data. His own scouts had already confirmed that the information was at least partially correct. No doubt a plant to encourage Cyrus to either withdraw or to attack him at his apparently lightly defended base.

“Lady Artemas managed to recover important information on the enemy’s dispositions. As we wait in this sector, the enemy grows stronger. He sits safely by while his primary fleet, the very one that we crushed here, is being rebuilt at the Cunaxa Nebula, one of the richest and most powerful sectors in the Empire. His fleet already outnumbers us three to one, yet he is building two more even larger fleets. When they are ready, he intends to advance on Khorram and defeat us with overwhelming force.”

He paused, waiting for those words to sink in.

“We have retrieved critical intelligence that reliably informs us that Artaxerxes himself has withdrawn to the safety of the Imperial Stronghold on Cunaxa Secundus, the capital planet of the Cunaxa sector and second only to Babylon Prime, the capital of the Empire. The Satrap Tissaphernes has already arrived at Cunaxa and has requested I meet him there for peace talks.”

With that, he nodded to Clearchus and waited patiently. The Terran commander paused, unwilling to direct his forces into action against an enemy with unknown dispositions or even location. But he was a commander, and he’d been paid to do a job. Ariaeus had supposedly already sent twenty small ships to scout the surrounding systems for signs of the enemy. He stepped forward and shook the hand of the man paying his soldiers. Cyrus looked at him intently, probably looking for any sign that Clearchus would stray from their agreement.

“Men and women of the Legion. Today we set course for Cunaxa. We will blockade the main planet and force the false emperor to kneel before Cyrus.”

Every Terran present lifted their arms up and shouted with approval. The news of war meant two things to each of them. First, the long wait was over and second, perhaps more importantly; the sooner the war ended, the sooner they received their full and substantial payment. Clearchus motioned with his hand to show a map of the Core Worlds, specifically Khorram, Cunaxa and a hundred other worlds in between.

“Cunaxa is almost one hundred and seventy parsecs from our present location. This would normally require fourteen jumps and multiple refuelling stops for us to make it. That could take us up to two weeks for the journey.”

Cyrus shook his head violently.

“That will be much too slow. In two weeks, this fleet could double in size. Remember, there is more at stake here than money. If we lose, then you can look forward to torture, death or slavery. As for commanders such as myself and Clearchus, there will be nothing but ignominious death at the hands of my bastard half-brother.”

Clearchus waited, annoyed at the interruption and the obvious and somewhat self-serving comments about their own deaths. He knew that his own people were well motivated. All they needed to know was where the enemy was and who to attack.

“By using the ships we have captured here at Khorram, we can use relays of vessels to refuel us on the go. We have already worked out the logistics, and it will require dozens of the largest ships to do the entire trip in less than five days.”

That was the only bit they seemed particularly interested in, the time.

“That’s right. In five days time, we will arrive at Cunaxa, and I shall unleash the Legion!”

Now he received the cheers and shouting that he expected from Terran warriors. Even the Laconians, usually the most stoic of all the Terrans, lifted their arms to the air in joy. Unlike the other Terrans, he knew that this joy was simply due to the chance of fighting an enemy unlike any they had seen before. He altered the display to show the hordes of ships in Khorram.

“We have over eight Terran ships, including three Titans. We also have over a hundred ships under the command of Ariaeus. I want every ship’s commander and soldiers to know that we will be leaving in six hours. After that, it is a one-way trip to the greatest battle the Legion has ever seen and greater rewards than any of your ancestors ever dreamed of.”

Cyrus nodded slowly and walked in front of the assembled officers. He looked to Clearchus and raised his hand as if to touch him.

“Strategos Clearchus is a great general, a fine leader of warriors, and the man who will lead our combined forces to victory!”

He turned to those watching.

“Cunaxa is the price, the richest world any of you will have ever seen. It is said there is more gold on Cunaxa than seen in the entire history of the Terrans. You are the Black Legion, the greatest force of mercenaries ever assembled. I have decided to melt down the entire treasury of Cunaxa and divide it amongst the victors of the Legion. You will each become as wealthy as a Medes Satrap and with more power than any of your own people back home!”

Clearchus watched with satisfaction as the Terrans waved their arms, shouted and spoke among themselves. Even the Dukas, the most disciplined and experience of them all appeared to lose themselves to the moment. Clearchus was well used to this moment before battle, the final elation of knowing that the waiting was over.

They will sober up when we reach Cunaxa. A fleet of Elamites tends to have that effect.

*

Imperial Palace, Cunaxa Secundus

Dukas Phalinus, the exiled lord of Zacynthia stood smartly to attention alongside his bandon of three hundred warriors at the side of the parade ground. The Dukas himself watched the soldiers with pride. He’d managed to turn them from a non-martial performing rabble into something resembling an army in a matter of a few weeks. Unlike the Terrans, these warriors were more slaves than freed men, and they lacked strength, skill or discipline. In fact, the only positive feature he’d seen was that they had numbers. Armoured vehicles moved in perfect synchronisation while soldiers from a hundred nations marched back and forth under the command of their regional leaders.

Not bad for provincials! He thought wryly.

The only warriors he hadn’t needed to drill were the elite soldiers of the Anusiyans; the ten thousand soldiers that apparently could never be killed. He’d seen them die though and like all men or aliens, they died the same as the next. He looked back a short distance away to the spires and towers of the imperial barracks, the home of the palace’s defensive forces. Even further away were thousands of buildings, each of them more massive and awe-inspiring than anything he’d seen on a Terran world.

Clearchus will not place a foot on this world.

He looked back to his own force of Terran warriors. Almost half were Zacynthians like him, but the rest were a mixture of ex-soldiers, pirates and mercenaries from the furthest edges of the Terran territories. They were the equal of any elite Terran force and had seen action in the Ionian territories before being noticed by Tissaphernes. Since then, they’d fought pirates, Mulacs and a dozen other races before being attached to the Royal military forces at Cunaxa.

His people had sided with the Terran Alliance, commanded by Attica in the War with Laconia. Following their defeat, he and many of his commanders had been imprisoned or exiled. Each of his warriors now wore the uniforms of the Emperor’s elite Anusiyan bodyguard and carried Medes rifles and long curved swords. They were allowed to retain their Terran chest armour and helmets though, a single allowance to their Terran heritage and martial prowess. His men were not happy with the Medes weapons. The rifles were long-ranged but excessively long in his opinion, and the swords seemed redundant to him in an age where firepower and numbers were more than a match for armour and close quarter combat skill. He recalled the story of the stratiotes defeating a Laconian spatharii heavy infantry unit on the mountain of Pylos. The lighter armed warriors had been able to use speed and range to keep away from the slower but better armoured Laconians.

“My Lord.” Arkeisios, his trusted battle-brother twisted his head just a few millimetres so that he could whisper to his master. The man was his second-in-command and had worked with him for many years as a mercenary. There was no other he trusted more highly.

“He approaches.”

As always, Dukas Phalinus was amazed at the hearing of his friend. As good as his word, the form of Tissaphernes, Satrap of the recently disputed Cilician Gates, approached. He was flanked by just a dozen of his bodyguard. He ignored the soldiers and marched directly to the Dukas before nodding.

“Dukas, what happened at Khorram? Your orders were clear, were they not?”

The Satrap looked at the Terran with bemused satisfaction. The man’s reputation as a warrior might be second to the great commanders in the Black Legion, but it hadn’t stopped his men being equipped with Medes equipment.

“Now, what were your orders?”

He expected the man to cower down before him but instead was met with defiance.

“Lord Tissaphernes. My orders were clear, to force the Legion to succumb to infighting, and to give your Great King time to prepare.”

Tissaphernes raised an eyebrow at his words.

“Well, what happened? Why is the Legion preparing to advance on Cunaxa?”

Dukas Phalinus smiled at his confusion.

“Because I left intelligence at Kashan that showed the assembly of the Imperial Navy.”

Tissaphernes took a step closer to him, and two of the Dukas’ men moved closer to their commander. Each of them was ready to strike at the Satrap if he dared to raise a hand to the Dukas. Tissaphernes noticed them and stopped, contented that he was close enough to be uncomfortable to the Dukas. Instead, he turned to anger and simple rage.

“You did what? This is treason!” he roared. “By leaving this information and a botched assassination attempt, you have managed to turn them against us. Instead of months, we have just days to prepare.”

Dukas Phalinus remained perfectly calm.

“Lord Tissaphernes, my orders came directly through the chain of command. The Great King Artaxerxes requested that I encourage his brother to attack before he has time to build up his fleet. It seems he is quite the strategist. Rumour has it that he has been assembling his forces for over a month now. He is quite well prepared for anything Cyrus might throw at him.”

Tissaphernes looked at him, and the Dukas was convinced he could spot doubt on the face of the lithe Median noble. One thing he knew by now was that backstabbing and political intrigue were greater weapons in the Empire than any army or weapon. It was the same thing that had happened to him and his friends back home, and he knew full well how quickly the mighty could fall.

With a little help, or course, he said to himself.

Tissaphernes straightened up and looked to the Terran soldiers. It was clear he wanted to do or say something but with great effort, he controlled himself. He forced a smile, as if he somehow orchestrated the entire situation.

“The Emperor wishes to see all of us in the throne room, inside the Citadel.”

The Dukas looked back at the massive fortified structure and for a second, a rumour of doubt entered his body. He had never seen the Emperor. In fact, after the debacle at Khorram, the Emperor had not moved from the Citadel.

Why does he want to see me?

He turned and looked up at the largest building in the capital, the Citadel of Cunaxa. Built on top of a natural peak in the centre of the capital, it was surrounded by a dozen star-shaped fortresses and joining walls of thirty metres in height. Behind all of this was the Citadel itself, a mighty structure covered in domes and pillars that reached up into the clouds. Landing pads, weapon turrets and shield generators covered the entire site. Tissaphernes watched his gaze and smiled inwardly as his discomfort. He leaned closer to him.

“Don’t worry. I have already spoken with him and the other Satraps. I think you are about to learn your part in the defence of Cunaxa and the end of Cyrus and hit pitiful little band.”

The Dukas looked into the eyes of the Median Lord, but all he could see were the cold, pitiless eyes of a Satrap. He felt a very real chill through his body and the news that very soon he could be facing the most respected Terran commander in living memory, and his old enemy, Strategos Clearchus.

So, my old friend, soon we shall meet, and this time it will be Laconian blood spilt.

*

Thessalian Titan ‘Poseidon’, Gates of Media

Dukas Meno, the commander of the Thessalian contingent of the Legion watched from his command deck deep inside the Titan Poseidon. This mighty ship had been built with the combined effort of every shipyard his homeworld had to offer. It had been a monumental effort to build her and therefore even more incredible that Clearchus and Cyrus had been able to procure her services. The warship wasn’t designed just to be able to fight in the line of battle or even to transport legions of soldiers. A Titan was the very soul of a colony with the architectural style, technology and equipment directly reflecting its home colonies and planets.

Dukas Meno was very different to the other Dukas and Komes in the Legion. Unlike them, he’d spent most of his adult life as a mercenary. He had never served in the military but he had fought for a dozen commanders on a dozen worlds, and knew how to fight on land and in space. He had links to many important figures in the Thessalian Territories, and it was him that had enabled Clearchus to enlist the services of the warship. He looked the part of a mercenary commander with a rugged complexion, muscled body and a badly burned face on the one side. Most assumed it had been from battle, but very few knew the truth about his injuries. He’d led a mercenary contingent on behalf of Attica in the last stages of the war between Attica and Laconia. After a number of minor victories, he’d been sent on a suicide mission on the final day of the war to attack an undefended Laconian starbase. He had refused to fight and it was that decision that had made him something of a celebrity following the war. Most assumed he’d refused because of some kind of humanitarian spirit while others thought it was to save his own warriors from a pointless last mission in a lost war. Only his closest commanders knew the truth, and that there was no profit to be gained in terms of wealth, honour or casualties by attacking in the last day of a war. He might have been rich but that never seemed to improve his mood. It was rumoured that not one Terran had ever seen him smile. Another rumour said that he was one of the richest, if not the richest Terran.

Olympia, a beautiful ship. How did that old fool lose such a prize? He wondered.

Poseidon was an impressive ship and carried thousand of crew as well as fighting contingents of the Dukas, plus the warriors of Sosis the Syracusan and the survivors of Dukas Xenias’ forces from the Titan Olympia. There was a small force of native Navy crew, apparently part of the agreement for the use of the ship, but he had already moved most of them to less important tasks. There were few he trusted, and those in the pay of the state were not at the top of his loyalty list. As was customary on a Titan, the commanding Dukas stood in the centre with all other officers in their positions to follow his orders. There were slightly fewer officers in this ship compared to the others. This was mainly due to the technological improvements made to the ship by the Dukas over the course of their trip. Poseidon also had access to the largest contingent of engineers. The increased automation, power system improvements and modified weapons had made her into potentially the most powerful of the three remaining Titans. He looked at the view around the ship and shook his head.

Stood next to him was Lady Artemas, dressed as always in her tight fitting Median corset, long boots and Terran armour.

“Explain this to me again, Lady Artemas. We are supposed to be the vanguard of the Legion with a scout from the Imperial family itself. Why is it then, that this is the third refuelling point we’ve stopped at, to find nothing but abandoned colonies and destruction?”

She looked out into space and gazed upon the beauty and the devastation that had been wrought throughout the system. Like all the modern Terran ships, the Poseidon was equipped with a full Virtual Observation System. A molecular level surface had been installed to the walls, floor and ceiling of the command deck, allowing the central processor to project a photorealistic video feed on every surface. The resulting imagery gave the effect that the command crew were floating in space. An added benefit was that information, graphs and additional data could be overlaid to provide a detailed tactical view of the surrounding system. She took a long breath and answered the irritated Dukas.

“Dukas, I am no truthsayer. The course the Strategos has laid out gives us little room for change. We are only two jumps away from the Cunaxa Nebula. It’s clear that the Emperor already knows we are coming.”

The Dukas sighed, the air whistling gently through his teeth.

“Really, you know this? How?”

Artemas walked to the navigation desk where two senior dekarchos were busy watching for potential problems.

“May I?” she asked politely.

The nearest, a young woman in her twenties looked to the Dukas before nodding. Artemas then approached the display and brought up the starmap that showed the area of space around the Gates of Media. There were dozens of stars but few routes to Cunaxa that wouldn’t double or even triple their journey time. She pointed at the Gates, their present location.

“We’re here, the Gates of Media. This is the ancient entrance to the Median territories. From here onwards, we are not just inside the Empire, we are in the territory of the Medes themselves.”

The Dukas looked confused, but she wondered how much of it was a show, put on to extract as much information from her as possible. On the other hand, he could simply be that stupid. There was also the possible chance that he just wanted to be a nuisance.

“So? We’ve been in Medes territory for weeks. What point are you making?”

Xenophon, who until now had been stood silently, was waiting in the corner with Roxana Devereux at his side. Both wore their Legion uniforms with Arcadian insignia and a small device on their shoulders to pin their cloaks into place. Apparently, it was an emblem of sorts for Artemas and her house. He stepped from the side of the deck and towards the Dukas and Lady Artemas.

“My Lord, may I?” he asked.

The Dukas looked at the Dekarchos and the uniform he wore. He was no great fan of the Medes, and the fact that this man wore a mixture of Terran and Medes military attire seemed to annoy him even more.

“Dekarchos, you are the escort of the Lady Artemas. What insight can you possibly have to offer?”

Xenophon did his best to choke back his annoyance. There hadn’t been time for them all to be properly introduced to the Dukas and his command staff. The fact that Xenias and his troops had been ordered aboard the Poseidon, against the wishes of Meno, had done little to help that. The only reason he was on the command deck was down to the insistence of Cyrus that his niece was protected at all times by her trusted group of companions.

“First of all, the Median Empire is the name we gave to this substantial Empire. Technically it is a poor choice. The Medes themselves are the masters, the primary race if you will, and are based in the Median territories.”

“As in the place we have now entered,” added Artemas with a gentle smile.

“Indeed,” said Xenophon, looking back to the Dukas, “the planets and systems outside of the Medes territory are still part of the Empire and ruled by the Satraps on behalf of the Emperor. This is the heart of their Empire, and only those of Medes blood may live on these worlds.”

Dukas Meno pointed to the worlds around the ship.

“I count many worlds here, all of which were inhabited until four to five days ago. Where are these Medes people you refer to?”

Xenophon shrugged.

“Dukas, that I do not know.”

The commander of the Titan lifted his hand in annoyance.

“Both of you get off my command deck. I will send scouts to investigate these planets before we make the next jump. I suggest you return to your unit and prepare yourselves.”

Xenophon started to reply, but Artemas grabbed his arm. The Dukas saw this and laughed loudly.

“I see, so the Medes woman tells the Terran soldier what to say and to whom.”

He shook his head with disgust.

“Get out, now!”

Roxana had already stepped to the door, and four of Meno’s mercenaries stepped aside so that the three of them could leave. Xenophon looked back through the door as it shut behind them.

“Well, that didn’t go down so well, did it?” asked Roxana sarcastically.

The three followed the corridor past many mercenaries who seemed to be lurking about with nothing useful to do. Xenophon watched them carefully, ever suspicious one of them might attack him or more likely, Artemas. They passed many such groups, as well as a spatharii security patrol that seemed more interested in gawping at Artemas than keeping the ship safe. The elevators to the different parts of the ship were in this section, but the doors were open, and two engineers were busy working away with welding equipment. They both wore traditional Navy uniforms and were presumably part of the Titan’s original crew. One of them spotted the group waiting patiently.

“Sorry, elevators are being upgraded. You’ll have to go the long way through the barrack levels. Sorry,” he said apologetically and returned to his work.

“Is it me, or does this ship seem like a disaster area to you?” asked Artemas.

Xenophon and Roxana ignored her question but increased their pace. For the last few days, they’d spent all their time with the rest of Xenias’ troops. Any contact with the Dukas had been done using the internal communications. This was their first meeting, and Xenophon suspected probably their last one, based on the way they’d been treated. They finally reached the first main junction, stopping to check the route. Lit signage pointed to the command deck, security post and barrack levels. Two soldiers wearing the uniforms of Dukas Sosis the Syracusan leaned against the wall. They watched the group of three but said nothing. Roxana stopped and checked the schematic on the wall.

“Yeah, seven levels down. We need to go that way,” she said, pointing to a rectangular doorway on the right. Floor and ceiling lighting showed it was the route that led to a number of barracks levels. They moved on, passing a number of doorways of large barrack rooms for the embarked soldiers. There were flags, banners and posters all over the walls, proclaiming the dominance of their Dukas. It took almost ten minutes to reach the next junction and the corridors leading down to the lower levels. This part of the ship seemed even less salubrious, and the soldiers became more a mix of different colonies as well as mercenaries. Almost exactly as he predicted, two of the mercenaries stepped out and blocked their path no more then thirty metres from the doorway.

“Out of the way, soldiers,” demanded Roxana.

The man, in his early forties and with dirty overalls and cuts to his face, had the hallmarks of a bandit or smuggler. Artemas sniffed and pulled back slightly as he leaned in closer.

“Don’t you wash?” asked Xenophon without thinking.

He ignored the insult and reached out to touch Artemas’ corset. He seemed enthralled by her pale skin and dark clothing. As his fingers made contact, Xenophon brought down his fist in a chopping action that connected directly with the join in his hand. It clicked, and the man howled in pain at the breakage.

“Back off, merc!” demanded Roxana.

“Says who?” called out the second man, this time holding out a short blade, its tip pointing directly at Roxana’s belly. Xenophon watched her. He’d already seen the look on her face; one he’d first seen back home on Attica when she became angry about something important to her.

Oh, great, here we go again.

“Says Dekarchos Roxana Devereux,” she answered in a firm voice.

The man with the broken wrist pulled out a battered looking pistol and pointed it at Artemas.

“You Median bitch, what the hell are you doing…” he started before he saw Xenophon pointing an Arcadian issue pulse-pistol directly at his chest. The other man with the blade jumped forward, the blade still pointing forward. Xenophon didn’t take a chance and pulled the trigger. It was a good shot and caught him in the shoulder. The report was loud and violent in the close confines of the ship. Roxana dodged to the side and grabbed at the man’s firearm. It was close, but she managed to get a lock onto the weapon before jabbing her fist into his throat.

“Move it!” she cried, and the three of them pushed past the injured mercenaries and out of the corridor. The main galley wasn’t much better, but at least there were Navy personnel from Thessaly, as well as two Laconian soldiers who watched the mercenaries with amusement. Xenophon stopped at the first and nodded to Artemas.

“This is Lady Artemas, niece of Cyrus. She’s been attacked by some of the mercs on this ship. I need to get to the lower levels where the Arcadian soldiers are present.”

The two men looked at each other and then back to Xenophon.

“I know you. You’re the one who breached the wall at Cilicia, aren’t you?”

Roxana nodded impatiently, keen for them to all stop talking.

“Yes, we were all in the Night Blades. Now we’re under the command of Dekarchos Julius of the 6th Arcadian.”

The one Laconian raised an eyebrow.

“Promoted to the spatharii, huh?”

A small group of mercs appeared from the direction they had just left, including the man with a gunshot wound to his shoulder. Three more had joined them, each carrying a weapon or object to use in a fight. The first of the two Laconian soldiers looked to Xenophon and grinned.

“Your work? Nice. Follow the walkway and take the third left, then keep moving until you hit the security post. We’ll deal with these guys.”

Xenophon nodded and started to move, but Roxana grabbed the first of them.

“Thank you. Why are you here?”

“Clearchus ordered Laconian security patrols aboard each ship in the Legion. We have other teams here too. Don’t worry, we’ll take it from here.”

He then turned and faced off against the growing group of more than a dozen mercenaries, each of whom seemed intent on causing trouble. Xenophon wanted to stay and help, but he knew his duty was to protect Artemas. Should she be harmed, it could cause a rift in the fleet; perhaps even cause the disparate factions to turn on each other like they had so many times in the past. They reached the bend and looked back to see the two soldiers, their body shields shimmering and one after another, the mercs were being cast aside.

Damn, those Laconians are good! Xenophon thought jealously.

CHAPTER SIX

Median Battleship ‘Rashnu’, Sippara Jump beacon

The combined fleets of Lord Cyrus, Ariaeus and Strategos Clearchus waited for their final order to jump to the heart of the Cunaxa Nebula and the prize. They had been waiting in the Sippara System for five hours now, and every single soldier was becoming irritable at the delays. Formations of battleships, cruisers, destroyers, transports and torpedo boats were deployed behind their lead vessels. In the centre was Rashnu, the Imperial flagship. Lord Cyrus had elected to take the middle position of the fleet with his Median ships surrounding him like a great cloud. His small forces had been bolstered by making use of the many captured ships at Khorram and enlisting thousands of subjects to fight with the infantry. To the left of this great host were the rest of the Median vessels, under the leadership of his second-in-command, Ariaeus.

Strategos Clearchus watched the array of ships from the windows on board the Medes battleship as he walked along the long corridor to the training facilities. The walk seemed to take forever, but at least he had the majestic view from the upper levels of the warship to occupy him. He couldn’t see the much smaller force of Terran ships. They were on the other side of the Median battleship. He had already argued twice with Cyrus about deploying his Terran forces in with the Medes to boost their strength, but so far Ariaeus had persuaded him otherwise. It was his intention to not leave the Sippara System until his wishes had been granted. He finally reached the arched entrance, so common with Median architecture. As he approached, a group of Anusiyan soldiers opened them to reveal the vast training areas and shooting sites. He almost laughed at seeing them; fully understanding it was mainly for show and that few, if any of the Medes would be properly trained for the realities of close combat.

How can they come so far and do so little? He wondered.

Strategos Clearchus marched the length of the drill square near what used to be the Imperial barracks. Great golden statues ran along the sides, and viewing galleries were cut into the walls at a height of nearly twenty metres above the square. Large glowing lights built into the ceiling cast long shadows on the ground, giving the place a moody, sombre feel. His expression betrayed a mixture of impatience and irritation at being forced from his ship at such an hour. Clearchus moved past the assembled soldiers and spotted a variety of ancient weapons against the walls.

Those are no training weapons! What is going on here?

He instantly recognised the oversized and presumably heavy axes and swords for what they were, executioner tools. They had similar things back home, but he’d only ever seen them in museums. The size and weight was partly for intimidation and for effect. A big, heavy weapon made cutting off heads easy, especially when they weren’t fighting back. He shook his head in irritation and kept moving. They were a single jump away from their destination, and he had been in the middle of revising his plans for a complex series of strikes at Cunaxa when the message had arrived about the incident aboard Meno’s Titan. It was the news he’d been dreading from the day the Legion was assembled. Although they were all Terrans, they had more to fight about than to agree with. Each of the nations and colonies had been embroiled with wars and arguments for centuries. Even trusted allies were apt to turn at the slightest disagreement. Quite frankly, he was amazed the Terrans had lasted so long when they seemed to be so keen to die. He spoke quietly but firmly to Kleandridas who marched at his side.

“The idiot Meno. I need to persuade Cyrus to use my plan, and instead we will waste time on this petty nonsense with a Dukas that should know how to handle his ship. This is nothing to do with Cyrus, it is for the Legion to resolve!”

He pushed on, followed by a single ten-man dekas from the epilektoi. These elite warriors consisted of a full company of one hundred picked from the Laconian contingent on board their Titan Valediction. Each one was sworn to protect the Dukas and would do so, no matter what happened around them. Marching at the front of the dekas was Komes Artemis, their leader and the most famous and respected man in the epilektoi. Apart from being fast and deadly with both firearms and blades, he was mainly known for his single-handed capture of the Alliance battle standard at Aegospotami. The story had been told so many times now that few knew the facts.

Talk and politics, we have a battle to fight! Clearchus thought angrily.

Along both sides of the square were representatives from each of the units in the contingent as well as their respective Dukas. At the far end stood Lord Cyrus and his entire personal bodyguard. As Clearchus approached, he noticed that Ariaeus was absent. He stopped in front of the Median Lord and knelt down on one knee.

“My Lord, how is your niece?”

Cyrus looked at him, his face impassive before looking back to the arched entrance and the still open doors. Low voices and murmurs spread quickly through the drill square, and he turned to watch the late arrival of Lady Artemas, resplendent in a dark blue dress that ran down past her feet and trailed behind her. At each of her sides stood Dekarchos Roxana Devereux and Dekarchos Xenophon, her two most loyal and trusted escorts. Though most of those present were making noise at her arrival, it was the approach of Ariaeus with his own twenty warriors plus Dukas Meno the Thessalian who marched silently behind them. Unlike every other senior commander present, he lacked an escort of any kind. Lady Artemas moved with speed and grace, stopping alongside Strategos Clearchus to bow.

“Uncle.”

Clearchus noted that all conversation was taking place in his own language, and in his experience this was usually not a good thing. It meant Cyrus wanted to ensure the Terrans appreciated the significance of what he was about to say, without having to worry about misinterpretation. It also meant that whatever he did say was aimed directly at the Terran contingent. Based on the news he’d just heard about Meno, he was convinced it would be something very unfortunate for the Dukas and his men. Ariaeus stopped and also bowed before turning to Meno.

“My Lord Cyrus. I have brought this wretch for your judgement and retribution as required my Medes law.”

“What?” snapped Clearchus, realising instantly that one of his Dukas was in danger. He had no love for the renegade Meno, but he did recognise the man’s military skill, and the fact that he had brought so many experienced warriors to the aid of the Legion.

“Silence!” roared Cyrus, in a voice even Clearchus hadn’t heard before.

He signalled to his bodyguard, and a dozen of them moved out from their position and surrounded the implicated Dukas. Each of them drew their swords and lifted them above their heads to strike. The drill square turned to uproar as the Terran commanders watched in horror at the threat to one of their own. Three Komes pulled blades from their sheaths and rushed into the foray, only to be met by three of the Medes guards who engaged them in battle.

“Stop this!” roared Clearchus.

Cyrus shook his head angrily and pointed to all of the soldiers assembled.

“One signal from me, and the Dukas will lose his head! If one of you raises a weapon again towards my personal guard, I will have every one of you killed on this very spot.”

He then focused his gaze upon the miserable looking Meno, deliberately avoiding the look of surprise and anger on the face of the Strategos.

“Meno, Dukas of the Poseidon. Your ship is a disgrace to you, your people and the Legion. You Terrans pride yourselves on your wisdom and logic, yet you see no crime in turning on foreign civilians that offer you assistance.”

He then pointed to Artemas who waited patiently in her glowing dress, with Roxana and Xenophon stood at her side.

“My royal niece, the beautiful lady Artemas, was stationed aboard your ship, along with Dukas Xenias and his forces. She was seconded to your staff to provide you with valuable local intelligence to assist in performing the role of scout and vanguard for the fleet. You repaid my trust in her and me with attempted murder and rape!”

Meno refused to kneel, and instead spat on the ground near the Medes noble. The words from Cyrus struck the assembled Dukas with horror, however. Although few had much sympathy with Meno, the thought of one of their own forcing himself on such a beauty was abhorrent.

“I did no such thing!” replied Meno in a bitter tone. “The men responsible for this have already been dealt with by the Clearchus’ own security units. Only one lives, and I have already had him punished.”

He then pointed directly at Cyrus. “As you well know!”

Cyrus turned his back on the man and looked instead to Lady Artemas and then on to Clearchus. Unlike the many times in the past, it was clear that Cyrus was genuinely angered at this betrayal of trust. Everything about him, from his posture and body language right down to his tone, implied the Lord was on the limit of his patience and ready to explode in a violent rage. Clearchus was also beginning to understand the stories back home of the rage of the Medes. There were tales of Satraps losing their entire treasuries conducting wars, based on nothing but spite or argument.

“Strategos. We are about to face my bastard brother in open battle, and yet I find commanders of the Legion turning on my own family. As we stand here with this dog, there are four cruisers scouting our enemy’s defences. The first reports are due within the hour, and still I am forced from planning the last, bloody stages because of you!”

He pointed to Meno.

“I cannot prosecute a campaign if I have any doubts about the warriors at my side. This man, this Terran has let down the entire Legion and every single one of you assembled here today. The Dukas of a Titan takes responsibility for his crew, and yet you reply with nothing more than bile and spit,” he said more calmly before redirecting his comments to Clearchus.

“Do you not agree?”

“Of course,” he replied.

“So an attempt on the life of my family is a betrayal by the entire Titan. Meno must be punished, and his unit decimated as a punishment for his crime. I would expect the same for any of my own people.”

The possibility of the punishment of a Terran Dukas was one thing, but the chance of the ancient and terrible punishment of decimation sent uproars through the crowd. Dukas Xenias shouted above them to be heard.

“Strategos! If this happens, the Legion will tear itself apart!”

Another Dukas, unseen due to the groups of agitated soldiers, joined in.

“I will turn my ship’s guns onto any Medes vessel that threatens our people!”

Clearchus understood the mood and also the feelings those Terran commanders had, at the implication they conducted orders on behalf of the hated Medes. It was one thing to be in their pay and to fight common enemies. It was quite another to be forced into doing something, especially to watch and not act when your own race was threatened with death. They all operated under the illusion that Clearchus was their leader and that Cyrus merely paid for the unit’s services, not the individuals. This disagreement was starting to show them the reality, and not one of them liked what they saw. To make matter worse, the threat of decimation terrified them. It was a savage punishment, and one that hadn’t been conducted in the Terran territories for a very long time. It was simple but effective. A military unit that failed in some way would have one in ten of their personnel executed at the same time. It was a unit punishment, and the next thing up from the unit being destroyed.

If Cyrus forces decimation on Meno’s unit, then this is all over.

The thought of the Legion turning on itself was abhorrent to him, not least for the deaths that would occur, but because they were now so far into Median space. There was little chance the Legion would make it back in its current shape. In fact, he doubted any of them would make it if they resorted to infighting. One soldier had already struck a Komes and was being restrained. Something had to be done, and fast.

There is only one thing!

He stepped up so that he was beside Lord Cyrus and faced the angry crowd. His bodyguards spread out around him, each waiting for trouble and their orders from the Strategos. He then lifted both hands high to the air and shouted out with a booming voice.

“You are all correct. We do not take discipline and orders from the Medes. Yes, they pay our wages, but they do not control us. Terrans are an independent people and long may that remain!”

The shouting lessened, and a few cheered in agreement. Most were intelligent enough to realise that something was going to have to happen. Discipline was critical in any military, perhaps more so for this polyglot force. Clearchus spoke to Komes Artemis, and the man quickly revealed a coiled weapon of some kind. Those closest could see it, and Xenophon had a perfect view from his position next to Lady Artemas. It was an old, heavily worn leather hide whip. It wasn’t Terran. The designs of the patterns along its length were Taochi in origin. Clearchus snapped his right arm, and the length of the whip uncoiled to a loud cracking sound. The room fell silent.

“I, on the other hand, am the duly elected leader of this Legion. We operate under my rules and my discipline. Any Dukas that lets his ship fall into such disarray can expect the same punishment.”

Dukas Meno snorted in derision.

“Watch your tone, Meno!” growled Clearchus. “The public ritual of thirty lashes is reserved for those who fail their leaders in wartime. Be thankful that this didn’t happen in battle, or the sentence would be death.”

Meno straightened his body and rolled his shoulders, clicking them as he prepared himself. Every soldier in the room knew that Meno would be unlikely to accept punishment from Clearchus; a man he had little real respect for.

“The men have been punished, and the Medes bitch was unharmed!” cried out Meno in disgust.

Clearchus said nothing. He simply stood still and coiled the whip back into his hand. The whipping of failed commanders was a major punishment, but few would rather face the wrath of their own crews if they forced decimation of the lower ranks, instead of taking the blame themselves. Clearchus expected him to understand this, instead the response he received shocked him.

“Clearchus, you soft Laconian whore. I invoke the right to challenge you for leadership of the Legion! You have failed us by forcing two battles; countless casualties and still we have not reached our objective. I will renegotiate our deal with the Medes. One that rewards us, not them!”

Clearchus stopped in his tracks, surprised at both the answer and the gall of his foe. He had known for some time that Meno had issues with his command, but not for one moment did he think the man would turn on him in this way. He looked at the other Terrans, but all he could see was a sea of confused looking soldiers. The insults from Meno meant little to him personally. He was, after all, a decorated and respected Laconian commander at the pinnacle of his strength and power. The challenge did show disrespect of his position in the Legion and more concerning to him, a complete and utter lack of respect for Laconian military prowess if he thought had had even a micron of a chance.

“You challenge me for leadership when we are but hours away from reaching our objective? We need consistent and reliable leadership. The kind that only a Laconian can truly offer.”

Meno spat on the floor once more and started to unbuckle his armour. Clearchus watched as the man stripped off to the waist and approached the middle of the drill square. His body was muscled and scarred from a dozen battles. None of it impressed Clearchus. He nodded to Komes Artemis who then sent two of the epilektoi to assist in removing his armour.

Xenophon watched as each piece of the beautifully detailed, expensive and sophisticated armour was removed. Unlike the equipment of Meno, each piece was carefully laid to the ground. Meno’s gear lay in a heap upon the floor. There were many that considered the Laconian to be old fashioned and eternally looking back to their glory days. The reality was very different, however. They utilised the latest shielding, armour and weapons. It was rare for a Laconian unit to find itself in battle with another foe that could match its ferocity and technological superiority. It didn’t take long for them to remove his cloak, helmet, breastplate, greaves and other adornments until he, like Meno was stripped to the waist. His physical form was very different to the muscled and scarred form of Meno. While the Thessalian was undoubtedly massively strong and bore the wounds of many battles, Clearchus had the body of an ancient athlete. He was muscled but not overly so, and his injuries from battle were far less pronounced.

“This is insanity,” whispered Xenophon into the ear of Artemas. She nodded in reply, but there was little any of them could now do other than watch and hope it ended quickly, and with the minimal amount of damage to the Legion. Clearchus stepped out into the drill square and faced off against his foe.

“I see you’re as pretty as we’re all led to believe!” laughed Meno.

Clearchus said nothing. He moved his left foot forward and lifted his hands into a fighting stance. Meno kept his body upright and hands down in a show of contempt and arrogance for the Laconian. It was hardly new. Clearchus had seen this attitude in a hundred fights. It didn’t necessarily imply arrogance though, as it could equally be used against reasonably well-trained soldiers to encourage them to think their enemy would fight in a particular way. A man could quickly move from that position into a protected stance or even strike. He had much at stake, and that didn’t just include his life. Meno would be disaster as a leader for the Legion. If he won, the fleet would tear itself apart and more likely than not attack Cyrus and his own ships.

This needs to end fast.

He stepped closer, his hands up and his eyes on the upper body and head of Meno. Even now, Meno continued to insult Clearchus and started to circle around him, pretending to strike but always staying out of distance. The Laconians trained to parade, practice and fight in silence. Their order and discipline were legendary and like any of his men, Clearchus betrayed not a sound as he watched his opponent carefully. As a strike moved in for his face, he simply altered his centre of gravity and took his body backwards to avoid the strike. Meno stumbled, corrected himself and laughed.

“Very nice, oh yes, like a Medes stripper.”

But Clearchus spotted the opening. Meno kept his left arm to protect his face but had a habit of moving it to his outside on the left of his body. Clearchus jabbed and as expected, the arm came out to stop his strike. In that tiny moment, an opening was created between his fists. Clearchus slammed his open hand into the man’s face. The palm struck him firmly in the chin, and it snapped Meno’s head upwards from the impact. Clearchus then stepped in with a long passing step and followed the attack with a powerful uppercut into his opponent’s stomach. With those two hammer blows, Meno stumbled and dropped to one knee. Clearchus took a step back and resumed his balanced stand with his hands low and ready.

“Is that it?” muttered Meno, spitting blood onto the drill square’s floor.

Dukas Xenias stepped out from the assembled Terran warriors and shouted to the two of them.

“That is enough. Clearchus is our Strategos. End this now!”

Meno spat one more mouthful of blood to the floor and then swaggered over to the fully armoured Xenias. He stopped so that his face was no more than a metre from Xenias.

“You Arcadian dog. Stop kissing the ass of the Laconians and be a man!”

Xenias responded with a quick jab to Meno’s face. The impact was heavy and instantly broke the man’s nose. Blood sprayed across his face, yet he retained his posture.

“Meno!” roared Clearchus.

Meno turned to find the Laconian commander in front of him and posed to strike.

“I am in command here. Stand to and yield to my authority, or I will kill you where you stand!” he said calmly but firmly.

Meno shook his head to the annoyance of Clearchus and the consternation of most of the other Dukas. Killing Meno might resolve the immediate problem, but it wouldn’t stop the troops on Poseidon from breaking ranks and leaving the Legion. Instead, it took the battle stations siren to stop them. It was shrill and higher pitched than the system used on Terran ships, but it had the same effect.

“What is happening?” demanded Clearchus.

He looked about and spotted Cyrus speaking with Ariaeus. He turned his back on Meno and moved towards them. Meno spotted the opening and lurched forwards to strike the Terran leader in the back. It was a grave mistake, and Clearchus easily evaded the attack with a quick sidestep. As Meno stumbled past, he kicked into the back of the man’s knee, the strike bringing him quickly to the floor. He didn’t wait and moved directly to Cyrus.

“News, Lord Cyrus?” he asked impatiently.

Ariaeus looked at him but said nothing. Clearchus almost shouted, but luckily Cyrus turned his gaze to his Terran commander.

“Strategos. Reports have arrived from our scouts. They confirm the Emperor’s Royal Fleet is in the System. It appears they have prepared substantial perimeter defences on the primary approaches.”

“The scouts?” he asked with genuine concern.

“They came under immediate attack by defence systems installed on the main approach. I will have all the data sent to your Titan. All four ships have withdrawn to a safe area and are monitoring from a distance.”

Cyrus then looked to the rest of the Terrans, noting their eagerness and interest in whatever the two leaders were discussing. It was clearly important due to the alarms still sounding. It could mean anything from important news at the frontline to the collapse of the ship’s shield generators or even worse, the arrival of an enemy fleet at their doorstep.

“I have wonderful news for you all,” he announced.

The entire area could not have been quieter. Every single Terran watched his face, looking at his expression and trying to understand what was happening. He paused for effect, enjoying the power and control he exuded while they watched.

“The enemy await our presence. Their forces are in full battle array, and they stand with fear in their hearts. Are you ready to join me in a full-scale attack that will end this war?”

To a man they roared their approval, and only Clearchus and Meno stayed silent, each waiting for the other to respond. But Cyrus continued, pretending they weren’t even there.

“Warriors of the Legion. Our scouts confirm the Emperor is hiding with his fleet in the Cunaxa System. You must report to your ships. We march to victory within the hour!”

Clearchus stepped in front of him.

“My Lord. Did you not understand the reports from the scouts? Have they not prepared defences on the primary defences? We need to analyse their defences and plan accordingly. Our numbers are limited. We cannot afford to make mistakes.”

Cyrus shook his head and smiled.

“No, my old friend. We will attack, and we will win, today!”

He stepped down to Meno and looked directly into the man’s eyes.

“You will return to your ship, and you will fight alongside us. Your disagreement with your countrymen can wait for another day. Clearchus is your Strategos, and any Terran not obeying his orders is a traitor to the Legion and no longer in my pay.”

Meno looked back with cold eyes. He quite clearly hated the Medes, yet he had no legitimate cause for complaint as far as Cyrus could see. The man had volunteered, taken the money and promised to fight his battles. If he chose to renege on this deal, then there would be severe consequences.

“Go now and prepare yourselves!” shouted Cyrus.

The Terrans broke ranks and made directly for the various landing platforms on the great ship to return to their own. None were particular keen to stay aboard a Medes ship, especially the flagship of Lord Cyrus. Even Meno left, with a small group of senior officers helping him with his armour and clothing. Clearchus watched him go and shook his head before looking back to Cyrus. Only their personal guards, Ariaeus and Lady Artemas with her two guards remained in the drill square.

“My Lord, I must respectfully disagree with this course of action. I have yet to see the full disposition of the enemy forces, but you wish to attack regardless?”

Cyrus nodded.

“Yes, I do. This is not the time to hold back, Clearchus. You will return to your ship and consult the data provided by our scouts. Devise a battle plan based on this…”

He spotted Clearchus trying to protest but simply spoke louder.

“Either way, we will be attacking within the hour. I want their defences reduced, and my standard flying over the Imperial Palace before the day is done. Every minute we wait gives them time to improve the position they already have.”

Clearchus could see he was wasting his time. He nodded to Cyrus and then returned to his dekas of epilektoi. Dekarchos Artemis helped him with his armour and they prepared to leave. In the moments before the Terran left, Lady Artemas moved to Cyrus.

“Uncle, is this course of action wise?” she asked.

Cyrus smiled; surprised she was using the language of the Terran to speak with him. Clearchus, Xenophon and the others were still around, so he assumed it was nothing but common courtesy.

“Niece, I will not seize my birthright like a thief in the night. My enemy is here and in a week, he could be gone. What will I do then if he scuttles off home to his harem? We will face Artaxerxes and show him for the shallow, weak leader he really is. I have the Black Legion and her Titans. There is no ship, no warrior and no King that can stand before us!”

He then returned to his own language, leaving the small number of Terrans to wonder exactly what it was that he was talking about. Artemas appeared quite angry, and the argument raged for over a minute.

“What’s this all about?” asked Roxana quietly.

Xenophon shrugged.

“Who knows? Artemas is high spirited, so he’s probably making her do something she doesn’t want.”

“Like stay away from the upcoming battle?”

Xenophon turned back from her, as the argument between the two Medes royals was finishing. Artemas paused, said one last thing before finally bowing and walking away towards one of the exit points of the drill square. Xenophon and Roxana ran after her, struggling to keep up with her surprising burst of speed.

“What is it?” asked Xenophon with a mixture of curiosity and confusion.

She kept moving but spoke quietly in reply.

“Until this battle is over, I am to be kept on board the Rashnu, for my own protection.”

“What?” Roxana replied in surprise.

They were now through the door and walking past large groups of automaton Medes soldiers. Xenophon was fascinated, having seen so few of these so-called warriors. All of the Medes warriors so far had been from bodyguard units. They were the best trained and most loyal of the Medes subjects. But the automatons were completely artificial, bred in factories and programmed for menial jobs. They were used for farming, operating machinery and working in brothels. The pleasure fleets were infamous in the Terran territories and contained ships full of lithe, beautiful and wanton men and women, each available for those with sufficient money. He looked away from a large group of the pale-skinned automatons and back to Artemas.

“We are to stay here, on the Rashnu?”

She stopped for a second.

“Yes, I have been assigned one of the most experienced combat units, the 2nd Cilician. They are two hundred warriors, all picked for their loyalty and skill with firearms. I am to stay with them for the duration of the battle.

“What do you mean, stay with them?” Roxana asked.

Artemas looked at her and thought for a second before understanding the point Roxana was making. She smiled, now realising exactly what she meant.

“Yes, as automatons they are trained and indoctrinated to follow the orders of Medes nobility, even to their deaths. If I order them to kill themselves, they will.”

Xenophon leaned in closer to ensure nobody heard them.

“And what if you were to order them, to say, well, join ground troops into battle?”

Lady Artemas nodded slowly and turned to continue her walk.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Laconian Titan ‘Valediction’, Approaching Cunaxa Nebula

Clearchus stepped into the command deck with a feeling of both dread and pleasure. Being forced to initiate a battle in just twenty more minutes hardly filled him with joy, but at least his crew and warriors were ready. Not that he had even a moment’s doubt. They’d started the jump to Cunaxa hours earlier and were now coming to the final stage of the journey. The entire fleet was arrayed in its prearranged battle formation even as they travelled. Though not critical, it had been a requirement of Clearchus to ensure they arrived at the battle in exactly the way he intended. The last thing he wanted was for them arriving as a loose rabble and easy target for the enemy, and a sure-fire way for him to lose control of the Legion.

Clearchus looked around him and at the incredible view of the massive fleet of hundreds of ships. The Virtual Observation System gave him a view of the fleet, as well as placing him directly into the middle as if he was a general standing in the frontline of some ancient battle. The Titans were easy to spot, each more massive than any other ship in the fleet. Even the Median forces seemed more impressive, but this was more likely to be due to the additional ships from Khorram that Cyrus had promised. Clearchus hadn’t expected much, but Cyrus had been as good as his word and managed to bolster his own numbers with these ships, as well as providing more troops for the ground battle.

“Auletes, get me Pleistoanax!” he barked.

Kleandridas was busy preparing the ground troops on board Valediction while Pleistoanax had transferred to the Terran battleship Damnation. The vessel had been sold for scrap by one of Laconia’s allies, and Clearchus had bought it for no more than scrap. A week of work at the Khorram shipyards and she was in a better state that at any time in the last two decades. Medes automatons had stayed on board to continue their work, and she had been officially renamed to serve as a Laconian close support ship for the upcoming battle. Though they had three Titans, Clearchus was concerned to get his troops into battle as quickly as possible. The heavy warships would have to do the bulk of the fighting while the Titans struck directly at the enemy strongpoint. An image of the Topoteretes appeared on one of the large screen near the Strategos.

“Pleistoanax, good. How are your preparations going?”

“Strategos,” he replied, “the ship is looking good. Shield generators have been improved, weapons upgraded, and I have two more units of warriors aboard. As you suggested, I’ve had the engineers finish the modifications for prolonged atmospheric entry.”

“Excellent work. So she can enter the atmosphere? Are you certain?”

Pleistoanax nodded.

“Yes, Strategos. She was always designed to be able to make planetary landings, but she hasn’t done it in decades. We might lose a few sections, but they’ve already added extra bulkhead and airlock seals. It’ll work.”

“Good. Damnation is to provide close ground support if we’re forced to initiate a ground battle.”

He looked around the command deck, specifically towards the primary Median fleet at the heart of the formation.

“I take it you’ve been unable to persuade Cyrus to mix our ships with his?”

Clearchus shook his head.

“No, he wants to be at the heart of the battle. We are to provide the muscle, but it must be him and his troops that decide the day. I know, it doesn’t make much sense, but I have my own plan, and we will spring it upon reaching our objective. We have a strong reserve, and once our forces are engaged, I can use it to bolster the centre without directly contradicting the plan.”

Pleistoanax seemed unimpressed.

“You do not agree?” asked Clearchus.

Pleistoanax sighed slowly.

“The Legion, under your command, has been paid to carry out a task. I do not see why you are being pushed back for this final battle. Cyrus might be a great noble amongst the Medes, but in battle he is just another body that will get in our way. These Medes know nothing of war, real war.”

Clearchus nodded furiously in agreement.

“When the time comes, be ready. This battle will be fought my way.”

Pleistoanax nodded, and his image quickly faded.

The Kentarchos turned from his command position and looked to Clearchus. He was a highly decorated and experienced officer and in charge of the Laconian Titan.

“Strategos, we will arrive in the Cunaxa System in just over one minute.”

Clearchus nodded and then looked to the ship’s communication officer, Auletes Juda Bellee. She had been present during the battle at Khorram and had proven to be a reliable if slightly headstrong officer.

“Put me on with the Legion.”

The woman nodded, and he noted the active connection in less than two seconds. He’d specifically selected the Legion because they were the only troops really under his command. Any orders to the Median forces would have to go up to Cyrus and then back down to his second-in-command, Ariaeus.

Impressive, he thought of her speed and efficiency.

He took a slow, deep breath before starting.

“Men and women of the Black Legion. This has been a long and difficult road full of surprises, setbacks and combat. In less than a minute, this will change though. Never before has a Terran warship travelled this far into Median space. We will leave scorch marks on this System that will be felt for generations. To your stations and follow the plan. I want no heroes, no quests for glory. This will be a textbook operation that will make use of our superior training, skill and tactics. To victory and success!”

There was no noise, not that he expected any. The command deck was a place for calm and discipline. The last thing he wanted or needed was dozens of senior commanders shouting and cheering, instead of concentrating on the task at hand.

“Strategos, ten seconds!” called out Kybernetes Ditha Artell, the ship’s executive officer.

Clearchus watched the hundreds of ships around him and the slowly moving stars that were closest to them. Travelling at these speeds always fascinated him, especially the fact that even incredible speeds paled to insignificance, compared to the vast distances some of the stars and galaxies were from their current position. He took a final breath, knowing full that his next would be at the Cunaxa System. With there being no way of turning back and avoiding a fight, he started to relax. His training and experience kicked in and for a brief moment, he felt as though he were back home in the Laconian fleet.

Here is comes.

There was a flash as the colours and shapes of the triple star system of Cunaxa replaced the darkness of space. The rest of the fleet had maintained its position almost perfectly, with the exception of one group in the centre that had stopped almost two hundred kilometres ahead of the rest of the fleet. Clearchus looked at the rest of the fleet and then at the planets and defences in the system. Jeane Coxand, the ship’s tactical officer quickly appraised the situation and sent data directly to the ship’s system to be added to the VOB overlay.

“Strategos. Scans indicate the enemy forces are divided. One third is stationed around Cunaxa Secundus. The rest is blocking our route along a line of defence posts and stations.”

Clearchus spotted the defensive formation of small stations that littered the main approach.

We can bypass those defences easily. What else do they have?

In front of him was a holographic model of the System, along with every ship and station shown by icons. He reached out and touched one of the stations, and data appeared alongside the image to outline all the information obtained so far. The Cunaxa Nebula was named for clouds of inert gas that gave it an odd hue when viewed from other stars. The reality was that it was a triple star system with scores of planets and hundreds of moons. Clearchus had never seen such a richly populated system before, but his research material showed that even this place paled compared to the Imperial Capital at Babylon Prime. Most of the planets were stationed around the smaller of the stars, and he counted over a hundred orbital star fortresses at key positions around the System. Green shapes indicated his forces, and all had reported in as effective and ready for battle.

What is that?

He spotted one of the formations in his forces had started to move further from the fleet. He tapped the icon and up popped the image of Rashnu, the flagship of the Medes forces. He called over to the Auletes.

“Get me Cyrus, now!”

The image of the Median commander quickly appeared.

“My Lord, what are you doing?”

Cyrus looked back impatiently.

“I have been contacted directly by Tissaphernes, and he has offered to discuss terms if we stand down. My scans show he is commanding the forces at the outer defences. There are already murmurs on my ships that we should take this offer.”

Clearchus almost smashed his fist into the display.

“What? Are they insane? Any sign of weakness now, and his fleet will fall on us and destroy us piece by piece. I always knew we couldn’t trust that bastard. He was with Artaxerxes all the time.”

“Perhaps,” replied Cyrus. “That is why I have ordered all my forces to commence the attack on the outer defences. There are five starforts in my path, and I want every one of them under my control! Once we open fire, there will be no chance of negotiation. I will find out where his loyalties really lie. Either he joins me or he will face my fleet.”

Clearchus rubbed his forehead, doing his best to hide his frustration and anger.

“We should send in skirmishers to deal with the forts and Tissaphernes. They are distractions, no more than that. When they are occupied, our main forces can bypass them for a direct strike on the Emperor’s own fleet. That is what I planned, and it will work. We are here for the Emperor, not to fight every ship we can find. When Tissaphernes can see us pushing past, he will either runaway or join us. I doubt he would stand and fight if he has any doubts of Artaxerxes’ chances.”

Cyrus pointed off to his left, but it meant nothing to Clearchus, being as he was not on the same ship.

“My brother’s ship is sat right there, in the middle of his fleet. They are waiting in orbit around Cunaxa Secundus, along with most of his heavy warships. He cannot escape, and yet he hides behind his ships like a coward. He will try and avoid facing me if he can, especially after our last encounter at Khorram. Have you seen the allies he has brought with him? We must destroy his ability to fight before taking him on.”

What allies? Clearchus wondered.

“Tactical, who are these allies, and where are they?”

Kybernetes Ditha Artell spotted the first though and pointed to a number of strange ships in the middle of the Median fleet, waiting at the rear.

“Strategos, there is another fleet. It has just arrived. They look like Zacynthian ships.”

“Terran ships?” asked Clearchus in surprise.

The three-dimensional model of the System was now becoming more complicated. Most of the Median ships were stationed around the main planet with another large group around the defences between the two fleets. The arrival of this new force meant that Cyrus’ force was outnumbered by at least two to one.

Zacynthian? Surely it can’t be.

“Dukas Phalinus, it must be. That bastard Phalinus! He must be advising Artaxerxes for this battle.”

Cyrus smiled.

“You see, old friend, things are not as they seem. It would appear that your people are all too keen to fight for whoever offers the most money.”

“Phalinus spoke to you?”

“Some time ago, yes. He offered a small number of forces, but his main offer was his skills as a commander. I had already chosen you, though.”

Clearchus nodded politely.

“A wise decision, my Lord. With this new arrival, it would be dangerous for us to attack the rearguard too quickly. We need to maintain control of this situation from the opening volleys till the end.”

“I take it this Phalinus will not be a problem?” asked Cyrus with a concerned tone.

Clearchus snorted in derision.

“A Zacynthian can only frighten old women and children! He has a few Terran ships and more Median vessels. The Legion will destroy him easily. I suggest you continue with your plan to deal with the starforts. I will take the Legion, destroy these new forces, and then fall back to hit their defences from the rear. After we have reduced them to rubble, we will regroup and combine our forces for a final assault on the Emperor’s rearguard.”

Clearchus smiled to himself, pleased that he had managed to change the plan to almost match his original intentions. It was imperative for the Terrans to provide the backbone for the final battle, and this way Cyrus could get his glory in the opening of the battle without taking dangerous risks.

“Very well, to battle, Strategos.”

The image vanished.

*

The walls rumbled from within as Rashnu led the assault against the Cunaxa defences. They’d been in action for more than thirty minutes now, and still the gunfire hammered into the armour and shielding of the powerful Median vessel. Much to the irritation of Xenophon, the only way he could see what was happening was by watching external feeds directly from the bridge. Roxana had helped him to jury-rig the system to one of the many maintenance consoles in the disembarkation deck. Every few minutes, it would need to be recalibrated to match the new coding, but at least they could watch as Cyrus’ primary fleet circled over and around the defences. Glaucon, Roxana and Xenophon were all fully armoured in the spatharii uniforms and carrying a mixture of Laconian and Arcadian weaponry. The two hundred picked automatons of the 2nd Cilician waited patiently, each standing to attention like robots. Glaucon walked up to one and tapped it on the shoulder. There was no response.

“Nothing, not even a flinch, why not?” he asked.

Artemas looked at them and then to Glaucon.

“They are trained to follow and obey my orders only. They hear you but choose to ignore you.”

Xenophon glanced away from the screen and looked at them. They were smart and well equipped, but he doubted their ability when facing violence and adversity. He’d read that they were deliberately kept low on both the physical and intelligence scales in case of revolt. That might be true, he hoped they wouldn’t have to find out. The real problem he was now having was how far he could put his trust in them? Could they turn on them and if so, how many could he fight off?

“Look,” suggested Roxana.

A group of automaton warriors ran past, but not one paid them any attention. They moved with speed, but it was clear that a number of them were talking and muttering as they did so. Xenophon instantly sensed their nervousness. They went past a partially disassembled transport and disappeared into one of the many corridors.

“They might be artificial in birth, but they have a pulse like us. I guarantee they can they feel just like any one of us, and that means they have all the same frailties as any Terran or Medes.”

He turned to Glaucon.

“You remember that group we found back on the Tartarus Trading Post? They had rebelled and escaped. They didn’t like what was happening, so they ignored their indoctrination and ran. Apart from their origins, I don’t think they’re so different to anybody else. Just look at them; can’t you smell the fear on them? They’ll run, trust me.”

He looked back and at the screen. It showed the battle around the starports, as well as a large number of small vessels heading for the starforts. They looked like Median transports, and each one probably filled with automaton foot soldiers. He didn’t envy them the landing they would be involved with very soon. A landing under fire was always a bloody affair, and they lacked strong armour or body shields. The losses would be horrendous.

Poor bastards!

A loud, almost booming voice echoed through the inside of the ship. None of Xenophon’s group, with the exception of Artemas, could understand the words, but it instantly galvanised the automatons into running to find cover.

“What’s going on?” asked Glaucon.

Artemas pulled out her pistol and nodded towards the heavily shielded landing area. It was designed so that all manner of craft could land and unload goods and people.

“Zacynthian assault dromons have launched from two of the starforts. They waited until we launched our own transports and then broke through the open shields. Two made it through the perimeter and are landing troops at the shield doors. They’ll be in soon.”

Amateurs! Xenophon thought. It was such a rookie mistake to make, and he could not believe that Cyrus had allowed the enemy a chance like this.

“How did they get so close?” Roxana asked with a mixture of surprise and anger.

“Yeah, I thought this was the flagship?” asked Glaucon.

Xenophon grabbed him, pulled him into cover and waved for the others to do the same. Lady Artemas stood out in the open for a second, shouting orders to her borrowed unit of two hundred automatons. With Glaucon now in cover, Xenophon explained as quickly as he could.

“This is the ship of Cyrus. Take him out, and the battle is over before it starts. If they are Zacynthian dromons, then we can probably expect Terran soldiers. They’ll make mincemeat of these automatons.”

The voice started again, but this time with even greater urgency. A group of a dozen soldiers ran to Artemas and positioned themselves in cover near her. Every one of them trained their rifles in the expected direction of the enemy. Xenophon surveyed the ground around their position with great speed. There were many pieces of equipment, cases and parts of ships scattered about. There was a long expanse of open space running along the outer doors so that craft could take off and land. Many small rooms were around the perimeter, but from what he had seen, they led nowhere and were simply storage spaces or workshops.

“There!” cried Roxana.

A flicker of lights at the far end of the open space was all that Xenophon needed to get him to hit the ground. He lurched forward and towards a fighter’s damaged engine assembly. Just before he landed, a fusillade of bullets slammed into the metal structure behind him. Glaucon and Roxana moved with Artemas so they could dig in around a stack of spare parts. They were all large metal pieces, each at least the weight of an adult Terran, perhaps even heavier. Xenophon lifted his head slightly over the cover to scan his surroundings. The enemy had broken through the shield doors and had spread out into a front of about thirty fighters. They all wore dark armour, and from the weight of fire they were putting down, they must have been professionals. He lifted his right hand and took aim with his Asgeirr-Carbine. Though its range was limited, he was still able to hit them. Just three short bursts and he watched two of the enemy fall down, both hit in the torso by the powerful pulse rounds. Glaucon grabbed his shoulder and laughed, firing a burst from his heavy-duty pulse cannon. The noise and firepower was impressive. The rounds sent shards of debris around the attackers.

“What would you give for a good, old-fashioned Laconian body shield, right now?”

Roxana took careful shots with her Doru Mk II Rifle. Every one of the high-velocity rounds struck home with unnerving accuracy. This was in stark contrast to the gunfire now being unleashed by the large numbers of automaton soldiers. Their rate of fire was substantial, but few seemed to be taking much care with their shots. Xenophon watched as a blast from a Terran pulse cannon hit an automaton in the head. The round tore out a great chunk of flesh, scattering the rest of the shattered corpse onto the three hiding in cover. One screamed and in panic jumped out into the open.

“Stay down!” shouted Xenophon, not realising they wouldn’t understand a word he said.

It didn’t matter either way, as the poor soldier was cut in half by a burst of pulse fire. The rate of fire from the attackers increased, as another group arrived from the shattered blast doors and aided their comrades. These warriors activated a number of body shields, much like the lightweight models used by the Arcadians. With this kind of protection, even the firepower from Glaucon’s pulse cannon was having a hard time. The group of automatons furthest away tried to fall back but were shredded by the heavy weapons fire. The rounds ripped through their armour as though they were naked, throwing their lifeless bodies against the many broken machines and pieces of equipment. Glaucon glanced over to Xenophon.

“They can’t hold this place!”

Xenophon nodded in agreement and tapped Artemas’ shoulder.

“Glaucon’s right. We can’t hold! Look at them!” cried Xenophon, and he fired another burst.

Although the defenders easily outnumbered their attackers, they were finding it next to impossible to bring them down, due to the incoming fire and the newly activated body shields. For every Terran killed or wounded, at least five automatons were killed. One of the side doors hissed open and out ran two-dozen Anusiyan guards in the colours of Cyrus. The first two were hit by gunfire, not making it to Artemas. One of them, a slightly taller Medes than the others, called out to her. She answered quickly and explained to Xenophon.

“He’s been sent to seal off this part of the ship. We have to fall back.”

Xenophon shook his head. “No chance, look.”

She looked at the battle in front of them. Both sides were now dug in and exchanging vicious bursts of gunfire while the Terrans pushed closer, each one moving just a single pace before another pushed the mobile shield generators forward. Now that they were closer, it was possible to see they were wearing a mixture of Medes and Terran equipment. Xenophon activated the blades on his two Asgeirr-Carbines. The blades punched out, extending in front of the armoured fist. Glaucon watched with amusement at the sight of his friend preparing for close ranged combat.

“Are you serious?” he asked.

Xenophon grinned.

“They are expecting to fight automatons, and what do we know about them?”

Roxana fired another shot and leaned over to add her own thoughts.

“They break and run when engaged at close range. At least that’s what we were all told back in the Academy.”

“Artemas! Do they have blades?” he shouted.

The young Median noble looked to her warriors and spoke a few words. The taller of them looked to Xenophon with contempt on his face. He reached inside his robes and pulled out a curved blade. He shouted out, and instantly the survivors in his small band did the same.

“I guess we’ve got an answer,” laughed Glaucon.

“Yeah, now all we need is a distraction.”

“Gunfire,” suggested Roxana. “Get the automatons to pin them down, and we’ll do the rest.”

Artemas nodded and called out to the scattered groups of her soldiers. Most were pinned down but upon hearing her, they lifted up their guns and fired, even if they couldn’t see a target. The defensive fire was impressive, and the result was immediate. The attackers went to ground to avoid the fire. Their attack stalled, if only for a moment.

“You ready?” she asked, withdrawing her own blade.

Xenophon nodded quickly and then looked to his group.

“Keep your heads down and move fast. They can’t shoot through the shields. They’re using them to get close, but they won’t stay down for long. It’s our chance.”

Artemas stood up and ran, doing her best to duck and avoid the incoming fire. The other three did the same and with a shout, the Anusiyans surged forward with the weapons lifted high above their heads.

“Let’s do this!” shouted Glaucon. He jumped up and blasted away with his pulse cannon. The gunfire forced the Terrans to duck down behind equipment or to shelter behind their portable energy shields. The others followed him and rushed past, eager to finder cover as they moved closer.

Is this really my best idea? Xenophon wondered.

They moved quickly to cover the ground to the Terran attackers but still managed to lose another five automatons reaching the final set of obstacles, a series of workbenches and tools. The Anusiyans kept with them, and then they were in and amongst the surprised Terrans. Most were pinned down and reloading weapons or making their way slowly to flank the automatons. Instead a tide of attackers, all armed with close combat weapons and carbines moved into their ranks. Wild bursts of gunfire rippled about, felling some of the Anusiyans but also cutting down an equal number of Terrans.

Xenophon watched two of the loyal guards gunned down, but the others leapt over the obstacles and cut away with their weapons. Those with pistols used them with savage abandon. Then he spotted Artemas jumping in amongst the enemy, and a flicker of fear run up his spine at their numbers.

What is she doing?

Glaucon and Xenophon did their best to keep in front of Artemas, but it was almost impossible to stop her hacking away at the nearest Terran soldier. With speed that surpassed Xenophon, and power that matched Glaucon, she severed his left arm and ducked down to follow it up with a savage horizontal cut.

“Xenophon!” Roxana called out.

She’d been caught up by the careful gunfire of one of the Terrans as she arrived at the scene of the bloody hand-to-hand combat. He looked up, but the rifle was already halfway there. He twisted his body and lifted his blades, but he could only dull the impact, not stop it. It was a heavy blow and smashed him against one of the workbenches. The man tried to bring down his rifle again, but this time Roxana was able to blast him in the chest with her rifle before being struck herself. Glaucon waded into the middle of all of this, rounds embedding in his armour as he pulled off two of the Terrans. He lowered his pulse cannon and opened fire at close range. With a large capacity magazine and heavy calibre pulse rounds, it was devastating at that range. Four Terrans were cut to pieces before the first lifted up their hands in surrender. Artemas spotted their gesture and stepped back, calling out to the Anusiyans to stop the counterattack. At least two more were killed before the gunfire halted.

*

Royal Chamber, Median Battleship ‘Rashnu’

The heart of the Median battleship was filled with the elite guards of Lord Cyrus as well as three deputy commanders, each responsible for the control and defence of the ship. They waited patiently for their command to leave the command throne at the centre of the room. Unlike the other ships in the fleet, the Rashnu was designed to allow one person to command and control not just the Rashnu, but also every single Medes ship in the fleet. It shimmered and shook with energy, and from inside emerged the form they all dreaded facing, their master, Lord Cyrus. He took two steps out and faced them.

“How did they get aboard?” Cyrus roared.

His senior commanders tried to avoid his gaze, and he was forced to indicate for his guards to grab the second-in-command of the ship’s defences and bring him before him.

“I asked you a question!”

The Commander knelt down before him.

“My Lord. They managed to break in while we dropped our assault craft to the stations. Only a handful made it inside and was pushed back by our forces. The ship is secure, once more.”

Cyrus snorted and pulled out his beautifully detailed Terran pistol. It had been a gift from Clearchus back at the start of their campaign and was one of his most highly prized possessions. The Laconian artificers back on the Titan Valediction had modified it so that he, and only he, could use it. As his palm touched the grip, the onboard computer detected his signature and released the safety.

“I..my Lord…I must..” pleaded the man, but Cyrus was having none of it. He raised the pistol and aimed directly between the Commander’s eyes.

“You didn’t push them back. I have received a report that my niece and her guards led a counterattack that killed a large number of the enemy and took substantial prisoners!”

He pulled the trigger and ended the Commander’s humiliation. His lifeless corpse slumped to the ground to leave just two more quaking in fear. He pointed the pistol at the taller of the two.

“You will take on his responsibilities. Get the prisoners into the interrogation rooms. I want to know what they had planned. Understood?”

The Median soldier bowed solemnly.

“Yes, my Lord.”

He turned and left the Royal Chamber so fast it almost looked as if he were running. The third and final Commander waited for his own punishment.

“You were responsible for sending a unit of my personal guard to deal with the breach, were you not?”

He nodded but said no more.

“Well. It would have been better for them to not make it aboard in the first place. I commend you on your leadership and quick thinking though. You will command the first wave in the final battle. You are dismissed.”

The Commander bowed, turned and withdrew from the room. His reward was no such thing, but even the chance for survival in the final battle was better than summary and ignominious execution at the hands of Cyrus.

Cyrus turned and walked back into the command throne. It crackled like static electricity as he moved inside and took position in the centre. Around him was a projected display of the battle going on. All that was required was for him to use his mind to connect to the command computers on each of the main ships. Though he didn’t have direct control over the ship’s functions, he could queue up requests and orders that the Commanders of each vessel would then follow. He scanned the battle with his eyes, noting with satisfaction that all his warships were now heavily engaged. The defenders had withdrawn their vessels and placed them in orbit around the star fortresses rather than risk them in open battle with his fleet. Thick beams of light indicated the heavy lasers that cut whole sections from ships while massive pulse cannons sent powerful blasts of energy that exploded whole fighters. The opening phase of the battle was well underway.

My brother, we will meet soon enough!

CHAPTER EIGHT

Laconian Titan ‘Valediction’, Cunaxa Nebula

The command deck was busy, but as usual every single officer conducted their operations with skill and efficiency. Clearchus waited patiently as his force of ships moved into position to block the approach of the newly arrived Zacynthian fleet. He counted three battleships in their number with most of the others ships being of cruiser class. Even with his reserve in position behind Cyrus’ ships, he still had enough capital ships to match the enemy’s numbers.

“Auletes, I want to speak with Dukas Meno,” he said firmly.

The disgraced Dukas had returned to his Titan, and along with two dozen ships was now responsible for the reserve. Though only a short distance behind Cyrus, he had been given express orders to not engage the enemy. The man’s face appeared, and he nodded ever so slightly to his commander.

“Strategos, we are holding, as ordered.”

“Good. What is the status of the battle for the defences?”

There was a short pause while Meno checked with his own commanders before returning. The fully armoured form of Komes Lantos appeared to the side. Clearchus had ordered small Laconian detachments aboard each of the Titans to assist with their defence but also for emergencies. Meno was clearly annoyed at the presence of the man but wouldn’t dare force him from the ship. It was Clearchus’ Legion, and he was entitled to post Laconian troops wherever he felt it was necessary. The Laconian Komes moved to the camera and nodded to Clearchus.

“Strategos, the last reports from Cyrus said that two of the star fortresses were now under the control of his ground forces. The automatons took lighter casualties than expected. It seems they were not as well prepared as we thought. The third fortress was empty, and all their ships and troops have withdrawn to the final fortress. It is the largest one of them all and heavily armoured, and they’re still managing to hold him back.”

“Yes, apparently there is a Taochi regiment that is proving difficult for automatons to remove,” Dukas Meno added contemptuously.

He turned around with a surprised expression on his face.

“What is it?” demanded Clearchus.

Komes Lantos shook his head in confusion.

“I…don’t understand it. The Medes, they are abandoning the defences and retreating back to Cunaxa. ”

“I thought you said they were holding?”

Meno shrugged, much to the annoyance of Clearchus. He didn’t trust the man, but the only thing he did know was that the Terran Dukas hated the Medes even more than him. He wouldn’t betray the Legion, but he might let Cyrus burn.

“Most of the ships have broken free and are moving fast. Yes, the defences have fallen.”

Clearchus looked to his own crew. Kleandridas stood only a short distance away and was monitoring the battle on the tactical display. After a short pause, he pointed to the withdrawing ships.

“Classic Medes tactics, my Lord. Cyrus must wait for us to destroy the Zacynthians. Only then can we move on the planetary fleet.”

Clearchus nodded, glad that it wasn’t just him.

“Yes, a feigned retreat. The want to break up Cyrus’ forces for the final battle.”

“Strategos, the Zacynthian commander wishes to speak with you,” called out the Auletes.

Clearchus glanced back to Meno once more.

“Stand your ground and wait for my orders. Under no circumstances are you to engage enemy forces unless they come to you. I need the reserve available and ready for the critical stage of the battle. Understood?”

Meno nodded and then cut the signal. It was rude, but Clearchus didn’t have time. Instead, he turned to the Auletes and nodded for her to connect to the enemy commander. The face of the Zacynthian appeared, along with a dozen armed warriors.

“Dukas Clearchus, welcome to Cunaxa,” said the man with a smile.

Clearchus looked at the Terran with great care, as any hunter would size up his prey before even considering moving in for the kill. The man wore Zacynthian style body armour of an almost archaic style, as well as a traditional Terran helmet known as the Corinthian style back home on Laconia. The rest of the man’s uniform was evidently Median with the iconography of Artaxerxes and the Imperial Army displayed prominently.

“A Zacynthian in the pay of Artaxerxes. I might have known. Who are you?”

The man smiled grimly.

“My name is not important. I have a message from the Emperor of the Median Empire, the God King and the one that will smite your armada in a matter of hours.”

“Really?” replied Clearchus with an equally grim expression.

He looked at his tactical display, specifically the broken defences that Cyrus had assaulted. He looked back to the Zacynthian.

“Even the Medes forces have broken through your outer defences. What do you think will happen when I unleash the Black Legion against your God King?”

The Zacynthian laughed at his jibe.

“Dukas Clearchus. That is no defence, just a test to see what your forces are capable of. The Emperor has two more fleets, each more massive than your combined forces. With a flick of his hand, you will be surrounded.”

He leaned in close to the camera.

“I have a message from him. He will hire your Legion to send against his enemies on the low border, far from your lands. The price your paymaster Cyrus has paid is pathetic. The God King will provide you with all the wealth you desire, as well as making you Satrap to the Ionian territories. You are familiar with this area, I think?”

Clearchus watched him, interested only in what he could learn about the man’s motivations. The prize offered meant nothing to him. He had already been hired and paid by Cyrus. There was nothing outside of victory or death that would now break that contract.

“The worlds have been apart for some time, and they need discipline that only a Laconian could offer. You would be the richest Terran and an important Satrap in the Empire, directly on the border between Median and Terran space. Can you think of a more powerful position?”

Clearchus breathed in slowly, keeping himself calm and collected.

“Zacynthian, like all your people, you have no honour. Stand down or face the consequences! Your forces are already in full scale rout.”

Dukas Phalinus laughed as he lifted his right hand in signal to his men. Clearchus looked to Kleandridas who was beckoning for him to look at a large number of red icons appearing behind the Legion, blocking his path back to Cyrus. The laughter of Phalinus caught his attention.

“I told you we had more. Did you really think the God King would be stupid enough to leave all of his forces here for you to attack piecemeal? You may either leave now or face being surrounded and destroyed. Clearchus checked his tactical display once more. Though Cyrus had forced back the enemy from their defences, they were clearly falling back in good order to the main planet. His scans showed it surrounded by platforms, orbital defences and all manner of military warships. Worse though was that these newly arrived Median ships had now trapped him almost an hour from Cyrus, outnumbering him two to one.

“All you have to do is stand down, Clearchus. Not one of your brave band needs to suffer. The Emperor is more than capable of stopping Cyrus on his own. Just give us one hour. If you move from this position, I will consider it an act of war and turn on your forces with everything I have.”

The signal cut and once more Clearchus was left with his command crew on board his Titan. From his central position, he had a perfect view of the battleships, cruisers and the Titan Herakles. Combined with his Titan it was a mighty force, but against the numbers he now faced, he knew it could take hours to decide the battle.

“Strategos, I’m picking up movement from Cyrus. The Rashnu is leading a column of ships from the outer defences and setting course for Cunaxa Secundus.”

“What?” Clearchus barked.

He’d expressly forbidden Cyrus from moving away from the defences until the fleet could be combined.

This is exactly what they want, to separate his fleet from mine, so he can be dealt with.

“Kleandridas, contact Cyrus and find out what the hell he and Ariaeus are up to?”

His deputy nodded and moved to one of the computer systems. Clearchus walked to Kentarchos Broge Monsimm, Commander of the Titan.

“Kentarchos, make sure you’re ready. We will have only seconds to act.”

“Yes, Strategos.”

He walked back to his position near the tactical map. It showed a complex and messy situation, with ships of different factions manoeuvring in space. Only the Legion and the forces of the Zacynthian seemed static.

“Auletes, put me on with the Legion.”

She nodded and quickly connected him to the rest of the Legion.

“Men and women, warriors of the Legion. The Medes have tried to bribe me to turn on Cyrus, and to renege on our contract to remove Artaxerxes from his perch. Ready your weapons and prepare for battle. Our battle is about to begin!”

Kleandridas waved over to Clearchus.

“Strategos, the information from Ariaeus is that they have spotted the arrival of civilian transports at Cunaxa Secundas. Cyrus thinks the Emperor is trying to escape.”

“So what is he doing?”

Kleandridas inhaled, tense as the news he had just heard about.

“Strategos, he has ordered his entire force into a full-scale frontal assault on the planet. Dukas Meno has joined him, and they are moving at maximum speed. They will be in range in less than twenty-two minutes.”

That is it, then. He thought with finality.

“Very well. Kentarchos, plot a course for the Terran battleships in the middle of this Zacynthian fleet. I want them burning, and fast!”

“Yes, Strategos.”

Kleandridas walked the short distance to his commander and nodded.

“My Lord, what of Cyrus?”

“Oh, don’t worry about him. I do not intend on wasting any more time than is necessary on these Zacynthian barbarians. We will bloody their noses and then punch a hole through their shattered hulks to ride in and save the neck of Cyrus.”

He smiled, almost gently to Kleandridas.

“This is the time, my old friend. It will be as it was in the old days when we crushed all beneath our armoured fists.”

Kleandridas grinned with a look of pleasure that Clearchus hadn’t seen since his exile from Laconia.

Yes, this will be a battle, a great battle.

*

The first part of the space battle took place between the ten battleships of the Legion and the seven Elamite and three Terran battleships of the Zacynthians. Both sides were well matched. All the ships were equipped with thick shielding, heavy armour and powerful weapons. The Terran ships were optimised for close range battle, sustaining a full ten minutes of long-range gunfire from the Medes Elamite Battleships before being able to bring their own weapons to bear.

The lead battleship, the aged Arcadian warship known as the Hood, accelerated forward, leading the column of warships directly at the heart of the enemy formation of eighty-three ships. Though a dangerous position, it was also one of great honour. Multiple rounds of laser and rocket fire slammed into her thick armour, but incredibly she kept on and closed the distance. From deep inside the Titan Valediction, Clearchus watched with a mixture of worry and pride as the ships moved ever closer. A freak volley from one of the Elamites slipped between two overlapping shield layers and struck the Black Legion battleship Hood. Clearchus watched in fear as a number of dull blue flashes indicated something serious had happened.

Gods, no!

Incredibly, the powerful beams cut directly into her plasma generator, setting off a series of internal explosions that tore the great ship into five massive chunks. That was the only fatality before the remaining nineteen ships reached close range. Now each vessel blasted away with every weapon in their arsenal, trying to destroy the nearest foe. Clearchus watched the movement of the ships and sent signals to the commanders of each ship via his communication node fitted to his head. He avoided using it most of the time, but occasions such as this required the speed that only this system offered. He could bypass entire chains of command and contact the commanders of each ship in an instant.

Now it is time to destroy them, ship by ship.

He connected to the leaders of each division of ships and gave them the go ahead to commence the second stage of the battle. With all the main ships engaged, the remaining forty-six ships of the Legion formed up into two long lines and proceeded to target a single enemy ship at a time. It was a plan devised by Clearchus after wargaming potential encounters during their long journey to Cunaxa. The effect was devastating, especially when the Titans Valediction and Herakles added their own massive volleys of laser fire. A dozen cruisers from the Zacynthian fleet were quickly destroyed, and the remaining seventy-one ships broken formation and scattered.

I knew they’d run. Zacynthian cowards!

The Legion reformed their positions around the damaged but still functional battleships, and with great disciplined performed a full one hundred and eighty degree change of direction. The fleet now aimed like an arrow towards Cunaxa Secundus and the second force of Zacynthian warships.

“Tactical, what are their numbers?”

Jeane Coxand, the tactical officer examined the enemy formation in great detail, as well as comparing the visual information with the radar scans of the area. It was common for ships to project ghosts of themselves electronically, or to use other decoys to sow confusion in battle. Once satisfied she had the correct information, she updated the tactical display used by Clearchus.

“Strategos, I count a larger force. The frontline includes four Elamites with over seventy unknown warships in support. They are roughly cruiser class, and their signatures match the cruisers we encountered at Khorram. Some are carrying heavy lasers with a few using plasma weapons.”

Clearchus raised an eyebrow at the news. Over seventy ships was an impressive number, but nothing he felt particularly concerned about.

“Uh, there’s more, Strategos. Behind the frontline is a second force of approximate one hundred and twenty destroyers. They are much smaller, and their energy signatures suggest they are using a mixture of plasma cannons and missiles. The insignia on their hulls matches the Taochi territories.

I see, so the Emperor really has brought warriors from every part of his empire for this battle.

“Shields to maximum. Now is the time to launch the fighters. Punch a hole through the Zacynthians. We have to reach Cyrus!”

His message reached the commanders of all fifty-five ships in his force, and as one they changed formation into that of a diamond. The front comprised the battleships and both Titans. Clearchus doubted any fleet, no matter its size, would be able to stop them. He started to laugh, much to the surprise of the other officers present and then pulled out his blade. As at Khorram, he slashed his hand, opening up a narrow wound so that he could make his blood oath. The fact that he hadn’t even bothered before showed everybody on the command deck the seriousness of what was about to happen. Kleandridas sensed the mood change and moved quickly to stand alongside his comrade in arms.

“The Zacynthians think they can stop us with a mere two hundred ships? Four to one odds, this is an insult!”

The laughter that spread through the deck was infectious, and the crew of Valediction readied their weapons and prepared to enter battle once more. Plasma fire and heavy cutters struck the bow of the massive Titan, but other than the dull shudders through the floor of the ship, they appeared to have a negligible effect.

“Commanders, by division attack their weakest vessels and move past. I do not want a single ship to change course. Either they move, or we burn!”

*

Median Battleship ‘Rashnu’, Cunaxa Secundus

The battle the Legion was currently embroiled in paled to insignificance when compared to the massive bloodbath around Cunaxa. The Emperor had held back over one hundred and thirty ships, including eighteen Elamites for the final battle. These Scythian Class battleships were half a kilometre long and easily capable of standing up to Terran warships. Unlike ships that Cyrus had faced so far, these were elite warships, crewed by the most loyal and well-trained warriors in the Empire. The orbital defence platforms and stations added their own tremendous firepower, as well as feeding scores of fighter squadrons into the fray. This was the first time in the campaign the Imperial forces had faced off against a similarly equipped fleet of Median ships, under the joint command of Lord Cyrus and his trusted lieutenant, Lord Ariaeus. Almost three hundred ships of every type circled over the planet in a confused and bloody battle that saw neither side gaining the upper hand. Lord Cyrus watched as four Elamites moved in close to each other and tore each other to pieces with volley after volley of gunfire. Several streaks of plasma gunfire missed one of them and slammed into the port side of the Rashnu. Cyrus was forced to grab the command throne as the massive impact sent shudders throughout the lightly damaged super-battleship. The command throne was a lonely place, but it was allowing him the perfect position from which to command the battle.

Where are you, my brother? Let us end this!

Of the ships in the battle, one had to be commanded by his brother. There were three super-battleships, each the size and power of Rashnu. He had been able to cripple one, yet the enemy formation maintained order. He had to find it and fast before he ran out of ships. All his fighters were busy looking for any sign of transports or shuttles that might take him to the surface and safety. His brother was arrogant, and he had no doubt that just as at Khorram, he would be standing comfortably in the middle of the most powerful ship in the fleet. Cyrus allowed himself a quick glance into the distance where the Black Legion was busy trying to smash its way through the newly arrived Zacynthians. Clearchus had warned him to keep the fleets together, and he was starting to wonder if the battle would have changed if Clearchus and his ships were with him right now.

Terrans, of course!

He turned around and looked back at the shapes well behind the battle. The outer defences had been abandoned some time before, but the shape of a single Terran Titan was easy to spot. A scan of those ships waiting in the reserve confirmed the size of the small fleet.

Twenty-two ships! That is enough to sway this battle!

He knew that time was now no longer on his side. The battle could go either way and even if he won, it was critical he retained the bulk of his fleet to maintain control of the Empire. It would be futile to become Emperor with just a handful of ships to enforce order. He looked at the ship and sent the mental command to connect, but nothing happened. He waited patiently, and then remembered that the command system worked on the Median vessels only. He would have to send a manual connection request.

“Brother, I see you,” said a familiar voice.

He turned about, his mind now thrown from contacting Meno, to identifying that voice. Deep down he knew exactly who it was, but there was also the chance that it was simply his mind playing tricks with him. After all, the number of voices spread over the battle was substantial. Two more flashes announced the destruction of unidentified ships in the fight. He couldn’t find their names but did note his tactical roster that was displayed on the left-hand side had dropped several more ships. They must have been his. Then he spotted the flashing icon that marked the transmission source. He’d missed it because it wasn’t coming from a ship or even one of the stations. It was actually coming from the planet itself. He selected it with his iris, sending the mental signal to make a full-bandwidth connection. At the same time, the imagery around him changed to show an aerial view of the Cunaxa Secundus. The signal clearly came from a point in the massively fortified compound, known as the Royal Citadel. The face of Artaxerxes appeared inside what looked like an identical command throne.

“My brother, so you finally show your face!” snarled Cyrus.

Artaxerxes smiled, his face betraying no malice towards his brother.

“Cyrus, my brother. You must learn to control yourself. Look what you have done. Instead of acting as a loyal noble in my court, you have turned to pirates and mercenaries to turn on me. You must realise that I have unlimited resources available to me. With one shake of my hand, another hundred ships will arrive.”

Cyrus’ face contorted with anger at the arrogance of his brother.

“If you are so powerful, why not bring them now? I think you lie, brother!”

The emphasis and contempt on the last word seemed to get the attention of Artaxerxes. His face tightened ever so slightly as if he’d just heard terrible news.

“Why would I scare you away? This is proceeding exactly as I had planned it. The outer defences were a decoy to boost your confidence and to show me your arrogance. You should have taken your time. Now your forces are scattered. The Terrans are surrounded and too far away to help you.”

He paused, and Cyrus was left to watch the battle continue to unfold. More ships were being destroyed, and he could see the odds beginning to turn against him as the orbital defences started to turn the tables on his fleet. He needed to act fast. Artaxerxes spotted his hesitation and smiled at his brother.

“How are you finding Rashnu? You must be enjoying the use of my command throne? It does provide an excellent view of the destruction of your fleet. My commanders tell me that your fleet has less than an hour, perhaps a little more if you can persuade your Terran friends out there to help.”

Meno!

In all this discussion, he’d forgotten about the Terran rearguard. The interruption of his brother had shaken the thoughts from his head. He turned about to find the group of ships and found the Titan quickly enough. With a simple mental command, he connected with his commanders on Rashnu and transferred the order via them to the Terran Titan. He waited patiently, but it was his brother that spoke, not Meno.

“I have an alternative for you that you might want to consider. Surrender your fleet immediately, and I will make you Satrap of Khorram. You will have lands, money, women and status.”

Cyrus turned to look at him. He had expected an offer, one more like the offer Clearchus had been given by his own people. Exile or suffer execution. Instead, he was being offered grandiose terms and that told him just one thing.

He’s scared!

It was the last thing he thought he would find. His brother was on the surface trapped and unable to escape. The only thing standing between him and total victory was the fact that his fleet was being taken apart, one ship at a time. He knew what had to be done and selected all of his ships mentally. At the same time, he sent audio messages to the commanders of all three Titans. For all of them it was the same though. It was time to turn from the space battle and to land every soldier he had on the planet.

“The Royal Citadel, Cunaxa Secundus and the Empire are mine!” he growled.

*

Xenophon watched the hundreds of automatons as they boarded the lines of landing craft inside Rashnu. He’d seen the sight many times before on Terran ships, but this was the first time he’d seen such an event on board a Medes vessel. The automatons represented the majority, and he wondered how reliable they would be as their lightly armoured and equipped soldiers took their places inside the craft.

“Not much space in there,” said Glaucon.

It was true though. From what they could see, the automatons were crammed in very tightly, with less space than any other craft he’d seen. It seemed inhumane to treat them this way, but they were not considered the equals of the Medes or the many other tribes that made up the Empire. Lady Artemas watched them go, and she appeared to be the only one with any glimmer of sadness to her face.

“You worry for them?” asked Roxana.

“Of course. They feel pain and fear just like any of us. If they were Terrans, how would you feel?”

More gunfire struck the armour of Rashnu, but the impact that knocked them all to the ground was very different to anything they’d come across so far. Glaucon was first up and helped the others to their feet.

“What was that?” asked Xenophon.

“Don’t ask me. I just carry the gun and shoot people,” laughed Glaucon nervously.

Artemas was already at one of the display units, checking the external feeds.

“Gods, no!” she whispered to herself.

Xenophon approached her.

“What is it?”

She turned her head, but something caught her eye, and she was instantly drawn back in.

“The Emperor, he must have given a last defence order. Look!”

Roxana, Xenophon and Glaucon all stood around her, watching the bloodbath on the screen. Before, the battle had consisted of hundreds of circling ships blasting each other at different distances. Now it seemed to be mainly the ships of Cyrus withdrawing into a defensive formation while ship after ship rushed towards them. As they watched, two cruisers slammed into one of Cyrus’ heavy cruisers. All three were destroyed in massive explosions that sent their shattered hulks out into the path of the other ships.

“Suicide ships? Is he insane?”

Artemas shook her head.

“Not at all, Xenophon. He just needs to hurt Cyrus enough so that he cannot attack the planet. He has more ships, and when they arrive this will be over. The only chance for victory is a ground assault.”

Xenophon reached out to her shoulder and turned her around.

“Are you serious? Why haven’t we heard this?”

She shook her head angrily.

“I am not part of the order of battle. It is my duty to stay on the Rashnu where I will be safe. Do you think my uncle would give me any information that might put me into the frontline?”

Another massive impact shook the ship, and one of the landing craft broke free of its couplings and slid across the floor. It crashed into an ammunition locker. Two small explosions ripped the front of the craft, and dozens of burning automatons pulled themselves from their seats to avoid the flames. Others ran from their maintenance work to help with the fire. Xenophon pointed to the screen.

“Look.”

The image showed an Elamite battleship with half of its bow embedded into the flank of Rashnu. But more serious than that, two more were moving in the same direction and firing continually into the super-battleship’s armour.

A large group of Cyrus’ Anusiyan Guard marched into the landing area and fanned out, quickly followed by a dozen senior officers. Each was dressed in full battle armour. The larger figure of Cyrus then appeared, followed by yet more guards. They all moved with speed and towards one of the armoured landing craft.

“Cyrus!” Artemas called out to her uncle.

He turned his head but kept moving, his guards almost carrying him to the craft in a hurry. He beckoned for one of his junior commanders, spoke briefly and moved on to the landing craft. The officer ran over to Artemas and bowed. His voice was fast and clipped. Artemas nodded, and he then indicated towards the vessel that Cyrus was already stepping inside.

“They are taking to the landing craft and attacking the surface. My uncle plans on assaulting the Citadel itself.”

The ship shook again, and the computer display went black as it lost the external feeds.

“What about us?” Roxana asked.

Artemas pointed to another landing craft about eighty metres away.

“That one has been made available to us. It can carry us as well as my escort unit. We must be quick!”

None of them needed further encouragement. As soon as they moved, the unit of guards followed right behind. Silent and efficient, the survivors of the previous battle covered the ground to the craft and moved inside. Safely strapped in, Xenophon leaned past Glaucon to speak to Artemas.

“What about Tamara, isn’t she still in the medical bay?”

A bright orange explosion ripped though the far end of the landing area. It was like a starting signal to the other craft, and they quickly took the hint. The first moved to the launch positions, out through the airlock shielding and into space.

“I don’t know. She’ll have to take care of herself for now.”

Xenophon looked out of the windows, watching as the docking clamps and seals deactivated on the craft in front. Three of the craft had already left before they met their position in the queue. He thought about Tamara, and guilt washed over him as he realised he hadn’t even thought about her in over a day. She was young, injured and vulnerable, and he felt responsible for her. He also knew it would take almost fifteen minutes to reach her, and by the amount of damage the ship was taking, they’d all be dead.

Get out of there, Tamara!

He turned and looked at Roxana and Glaucon. Neither looked happy at the situation. Artemas was busy speaking to the commander of the their craft as the pilot tested the engine manifolds prior to releasing the clamps. He couldn’t leave her behind.

“I can’t!” he announced and then unbuckled himself. Glaucon turned in his seat, looking at him.

“You’re serious? The ship is burning. We have to go!”

Roxana nodded in agreement with Xenophon.

“No, he’s right. We can’t just leave her here.”

Artemas reached for her buckles, but two of the Median guards moved in and blocked her path. She shouted at them, but they instantly drew their sidearms and pointed them directly at Xenophon. Artemas stopped struggling, but her rage failed to settle down.

“They have orders from my Uncle. If anything happens to me, they are to shoot you,” she paused and took a quick breath. “Go back and find her. There are escape pods throughout the ship. Find me on the surface. I will be with my uncle.”

Xenophon considered fighting, but more of the guards had unclipped their straps and were moving into position around Artemas. He shook his head angrily and hit the door release. As soon as his feet hit the floor outside, Roxana and Glaucon followed.

“You remember the way?” asked Glaucon, as they jogged back inside the shaking warship.

“Kind of!” Xenophon replied with a nervous laughter.

Behind them the craft started to move as it followed its automated trajectory. From this point, the onboard computer would ensure the craft left the ship safely. It moved several metres when the emergency airlock blew open; out jumped three people. Xenophon turned to watch the commotion.

“Artemas?” he shouted. Two of the soldiers tried to hold her back, but she kicked the first in the stomach and smashed the palm of her hand into the second. As they staggered about, she ran across the open ground to join her comrades. A burst of gunfire rattled from the doorway, but a stern voice stopped the shooter. A single shot followed, and a body dropped from the craft. Its door hissed shut, and it continued on its escape course.

“I know a quicker way!” explained Artemas. With no further explanation, she ran to the left, disappearing through a service door.

“Crazy bitch!” Glaucon smiled and chased after her.

CHAPTER NINE

Laconian Titan ‘Valediction’, Cunaxa Nebula

The Titan shook as the volleys of missiles exploded against the layered shielding. By all account, they had taken over two hundred missiles so far, and still the shields were holding. The screen of light Median warships had used a mixture of proximity and plasma based warheads in an attempt to break the Legion up. The defensive firepower from the battleships and Titans had been devastating. For every ten missiles that approached the Legion, over half were destroyed by focused bursts of fire from the defensive turrets. Even Clearchus appeared impressed by the display of engineering and shield management being conducted by his crew. Even so, the stupendous amounts of weapons fire were taking their toll on the other ships at the front of the formation. Already two cruisers and a battleship had been crippled and reduced to nothing but hulks. A cloud of escape pods and smaller craft surrounded each vessel. They were trying to take off survivors. Some of the officers had urged him to assist them, but Clearchus had rightly refused. Their only chance of survival was to smash through to Cyrus.

“What’s our status?”

The Titan’s tactical officer checked the screens full of data. There was a lot to take in even after the computer disseminated the data. Shields, hull integrity, airlock seals, security posts and energy levels were all critical to the management of the ship in battle. All of this ship-wide data was duplicated to her system as well as to Kentarchos Broge Monsimm and the ship’s executive officer.

“Strategos, shields are down to eleven percent and holding. All stations are functional, and there are no reported breaches. The rest of the fleet is in formation and following us through.”

Clearchus nodded to himself, satisfied that the Titan was doing its job. He looked to his tactical display and watched as the full weight of the Black Legion moved through the centre of the Zacynthian lines. For many it might seem madness, but by forcing their way through its centre, they had selected the most direct route. Confusion and distraction were also weapons to be used if they were to reach Cunaxa rather than stay and fight a protracted battle with the Zacynthians. The number of cruisers facing him was incredible, and the continuous broadsides they’d unleashed fell upon the bow of the two Titans and the remaining battleships like rain. He’d never seen anything like it in his lifetime.

“Maximum combat speed, we need to rejoin Cyrus!” he shouted to the Kentarchos who instantly relayed the orders to the crew. A dull rumble shook the vessel, as even more thrust pushed it forward at greater speeds. In an ideal world, he would follow the classic pattern of smashing the line with his armoured colours and then tear the forward and rear sections apart with his own close ranged attacks. But these Zacynthians were much better tacticians than the Medes. As the ships approached, their formation changed to bring their vessels alongside the Legion. Even so, the ships smashed through and were enveloped by the cloud of warships blocking the Legion’s path through to Cyrus. The Virtual Observation System gave him the perfect view of thousands of streaks of energy as every ship used its weapons. Every few seconds a number of flashes announced a missile impact or the demise of one of the many smaller vessels.

“Strategos, Herakles is already through.”

Clearchus allowed himself a grim smile. The Titan was the fastest of their remaining three and had been designed from the onset to be faster and more agile than the others. Clearchus didn’t think much of the idea, but today was different. Right now, he needed speed over firepower. Kybernetes Ditha Artell spotted the changes in the enemy deployment and pointed to a group of six cruisers that were in pursuit of the Titan.

“Strategos, they are targeting her engines. There is a chance.”

He’s right, thought Clearchus.

Leaving their sterns vulnerable was an issue, and one that could cost the fleet the battle. He looked back to their dispositions and the distance remaining to Cunaxa Secundus. If they stopped, the battle would take hours.

No, we have to keep moving.

“Contact Proxenus on the Herakles. I want him to position a dozen vessels around him to protect the vulnerable area. He can select the fastest remaining ships in the Legion.”

He turned to the Kentarchos. The commander of the ship was acting as if in a trance, every second sending an order to an officer or checking the streams of data coming directly to him. Clearchus doubted there was any of Kentarchos in the Legion, perhaps in the Terran territories itself, that could match his skill and speed under fire.

“Everybody keep to the plan.”

Auletes Juda Bellee transferred a request directly to Clearchus’ main display. It sat in the queue of requests in the corner with nothing but a flashing green icon to get his attention.

“Strategos, Chief Engineer Kafa needs to speak with you.”

Clearchus felt a subtle surge of adrenalin at the mention of the Chief. He nodded, and she activated the link. He rarely heard from the chief engineer and when he did, it was never with good news. He just prayed that the news wasn’t something terminal to the ship. The Titan and her massive armour, shields and vast weapons arrays had to keep going, without them it would be disastrous.

“What is it, Kafa? Don’t tell me the ship is exploding because I really don’t have the time.”

The man bowed slightly before explaining.

“Strategos. I’ve used our reserves for the shields and even drained surplus power from the manoeuvring thrusters, but the plasma powerplants are starting to overheat. The shields need almost double the projected power output, and it’s more than they were ever designed to work with. I cannot keep them at this capacity for much longer. The coolant systems are working flat-out, and we’re already down three generators from the strain.”

Clearchus looked around him; the energy beams were still striking ships and biting into the Titan’s shields. They were all that stood between death, or reaching the planet and helping Cyrus before he got himself surrounded and killed. So much power was currently being diverted to the shields that they would normally recover to one hundred percent in just over five minutes. Instead, because of the weight of fire it was struggling to stay much above ten percent. A volley of missiles exploded in one point, and he noticed the shield indicator drop a full two percent before recovering and moving back up. He shook his head and looked back to the man.

“If the shields fail, then so do we. What can you do?”

“Not much, Strategos. I need slack in the system to ease the coolant generators. Either the engines or weapons will need to be shutdown. Any less, and you may not bother.”

“How soon?”

“Three minutes, and the first plasma powerplant will start a meltdown. After that, we cannot stop it. We’ll burn from the inside out.”

“Very well. Cut all weapon systems, and give us all you’ve got and get us to Cunaxa!”

The man nodded and the feed cut. Tactical Officer Coxand looked less than impressed as all of her weapons stations went grey. Each deactivated as the power to the capacitors faded away, leaving just a dozen minor turrets with power.

“Strategos, I have no way to intercept missiles. We won’t make it through!”

Clearchus was starting to get annoyed. He wanted to turn the ship around and engage the Zacynthians in a real fight. Running from battle with no weapons was the opposite of what his gut was telling him to do. The only positive side to this problem was that once they reached the planet, the ships would be able to turn and fight. Even better, Clearchus would get to land his troops and fight the kind of battle he was born to command.

*

Tamara heard a shriek; the kind you would only ever hear when watching horror movies. It sent a shiver down her body that followed right down to the base of her spine. As she lay there, her eyes closed and her body still, she heard the noise again, but this time is was much closer. A pain in her eye made her squint, and the involuntary reaction was to open her eyes and lean over. The sight she was greeted with shocked her. The medical bay was torn to pieces with equipment heaped against the wall and smashed glass on the floor. Two Medes soldiers were trying to drag a third from underneath a smashed metal frame while he screamed out in agony. She pulled on the bed, and the pain from her left leg jolted as though she’d been struck with an iron bar.

Damn it! That is supposed to be fixed!

She sat up and did her best to ignore the pain. In her limited experience of wounds, the ones that you couldn’t feel were the most problematic. It had been days since the work had been done, and the metal replacements for her damaged limb should in theory give her an even stronger joint. She swung her legs to one side and lowered her feet gingerly to the ground. It gave her a good view of her legs, and what she saw didn’t impress her. The knee had been shattered, and the replacement parts had required the removal of the damaged tissue. The grafted skin was almost finished but retained a red discolouration, giving her leg a mottled, almost burnt appearance. One of the soldiers spotted her movement and took a step closer. A loud smashing sound shook the room, and two girders tore from the ceiling, crashing to the ground. The soldier managed to dodge the first one and jumped aside towards the doorway. He lifted himself up, looked back and then ran.

“What a bastard!” she snarled at the sight of the noble warrior abandoning the wounded.

Both her feet were now firmly on the ground, and as she lowered her weight down, a pang of pain show up her left leg. It reminded her of the visits by the physio over the last week.

Got to power through this!

Tamara pushed from the bed and found herself upright but poorly balanced. Now she could see the medical gown that all the patients in this room had to wear. It was light grey and based on a three-armhole design that needed no ties or snaps. It felt quite light and as far as she could tell, it seemed to be made from some type of demure cloth. It was actually quite comfortable but nothing like the kind of clothing she was used to. As a young, aggressive woman, she favoured tight clothes, leather jackets and generally anything that got her the attention she wanted. A dull grey gown left her feeling vulnerable and weak. She took a step from the bed and was amazed to find herself still standing. More explosions through the Rashnu required her to grab the bed, rails and finally the wall as she staggered from the room. The wailing soldier had stopped, and she couldn’t find any sign of him or the man that had been helping. They were either dead or had left. Either way it didn’t matter to her. They had all abandoned her, and she had no loyalty to them.

Medes bastards, I won’t forget this!

She made it out of the door and into the corridor. There were a number of bodies on the floor as well as a soldier wearing Terran armour. She stopped and bent down to examine him. He was face down and it required great effort to roll the man over. Upon seeing his Terran face, she took a step back in surprise.

Terrans? On the Rashnu? What’s going on here?

Tamara looked down at the man, and her attention was drawn to the clothing. It definitely wasn’t the style used by the Legion. The more she looked, the more she recognised insignia and styling taken directly from the Medes. His weapon was a standard issue Medes rifle. Nothing particularly special, but the fact that a Terran carried it suggested only one thing to her; he must have been fighting for Artaxerxes. The insignia was definitely not from the Black Legion, and no Terran made use of Medes weapons. She grabbed the rifle, checked it was loaded and continued further down the corridor. There were signs of battle throughout the ship, and it appeared multiple boarding parties must have made it inside before being cut down. The ship shook again, and she was thrown heavily against the wall. She saw movement at the end, so she leaned against the wall to make herself as small a target as possible.

“Tamara?” shouted the nearest. She quickly recognised the voice.

“Xenophon?”

The group ran along the corridor and directly towards her. As they closed the distance, she recognised them and their Terran weapons and armour. Roxana, Artemas and Glaucon ran with him and reached her in seconds.

“What’s going on here?” she demanded. Xenophon was pulling her back in the direction they had arrived. Glaucon spotted the difficulty with her leg and placed his arm behind her shoulder blade to help support her weight.

“We’re in orbit over Cunaxa Secundus. Artaxerxes is sending his ships in with suicide runs against the capital ships. Rashnu is burning, along with half the fleet.”

She looked at him in surprise. “We’re losing the battle?”

Roxana was scouting ahead of the small group and looked back, shaking her head.

“No. The Legion is on the way but right now, Cyrus and his forces are making their way to the surface.”

They kept moving, but the increasing shudders coming up through the ship made their journey even more perilous. Roxana was thrown to the wall at one point and fell down in front of Glaucon. He then tripped, and the entire group fell to the floor. Xenophon looked to them as he lifted himself back up.

“Come on, I don’t think she has long to go. You saw from the windows on the way here; the ship is on a decaying orbit to Cunaxa. We need to get off before she’s dragged into the atmosphere and burns up.”

The others helped Tamara to her feet, and they pushed on through the damaged corridors. One screen was still active on their right, and Tamara grabbed at it, desperate to see what was happening. It showed the exterior of the ship just as if it was a glass window, but in reality it was repeating the view on an external camera mount.

“Look at it,” she said with awe; perhaps even reverence in her voice.

The other three gave the screen no more than a cursory glance. Above the planet the great columns of ships continued their death struggle while hundreds of smaller craft descended to the planet below.

“What will happen to the fleet?” she asked.

Roxana, the most experienced of them all in Naval matters, looked at the ships and quickly assessed the situation.

“The sides are evenly matched, but Artaxerxes has orbital platforms and more fighters. Over time, he would win, but Clearchus is coming with the Legion. That’s why he has ordered most of his ships to launch suicide runs on Cyrus’ larger ships, like the Rashnu. He hopes to cripple the major vessels and potentially kill Cyrus. That’s probably what the boarding troops were doing here. Why else send mercenary Terrans aboard? So yeah, the fleet will survive, well, some of it.”

Tamara rubbed her face, her body still wracked from the pain in her leg.

“Cyrus, where is here? Is he on board?” she asked, already forgetting what she had been told in the last few minutes.

Glaucon helped her away from the screen.

“No, he got off the minute we were rammed. Most of the Anusiyans boarded landing craft twenty minutes ago. He is launching a full-scale ground attack on the Imperial compound. Cyrus means to end this war once and for all.”

Xenophon stepped away and beckoned to the T-junction ahead.

“Right leads to the weapons arrays and evacuation point, left goes further inside.”

“So?” replied Glaucon. “We need to get off the ship, so take the right.”

Xenophon paused, much to the surprise of the others.

“I don’t know. We could stay on board, ride the ship through the atmosphere and then use the evacuation pods to escape.”

Roxana looked at him and laughed.

“Are you serious? Why bother? The chances of surviving re-entry are low, and we still have to get off the ship. Let’s stick to the plan and get out now!”

Another heavy impact shook the corridor, forcing them to move. Xenophon followed Artemas. She had taken the right turn and was already well on her way to reaching the weapons array deck. The others gave chase and in less than three minutes, all of them were in the ruins of the deck. Boxes of parts and bodies from both sides lay around the gun mounts. Artemas lifted her hand and pointed to a series of dull yellow dots. They moved to the end and veered off into a poorly lit area.

“That’s the place!”

She ran towards it. Glaucon and Xenophon helped Tamara, and they all chased after her. The bend led to a line of circular entrances, of which only two remained open. The others were sealed up and showed signs of thermal scoring. A body lay near the entrance to one of the open doorways. Roxana ignored it and moved inside the waiting escape pod. The others followed her, placing Tamara into one of the thirty seats inside.

“Why so big?” asked Glaucon as he helped Tamara strap herself in.

Xenophon sat down next to her and pulled his own straps on.

“You’ve seen these ships, haven’t you? Over crewed with more people than you could ever possibly need and crewed by people of dubious quality. They probably have a few thousand crew on this ship alone.

“Few thousand?” said Roxana as she hit the sealant button. The entry door slammed shut, quickly followed by two internal airlock seals. With the final dull thud, the vessel started its automatic escape mode.

“An Immortal class battleship has over six thousand crew, all automatons plus detachments of Anusiyans for security. Rashnu is bigger again.”

With that, Roxana dropped into the nearest seat and strapped herself in. A loud clunk indicated they had broken the seal with the super-battleship, and then they were away. Unlike the larger ships, this small vessel was equipped with a number of photosensitive reinforced glass portholes. They were double layered and small, but did allow a view of the battle as the craft drifted downwards.

“Look at it, have you ever seen a battle like this before?” asked Glaucon.

Roxana shook her head.

“No, not even the fighting at Fort Plymouth matched this.”

The mention of the massive Alliance space station took Xenophon right back to his time in the Navy. He’d been conscripted like many others to fight in the hopeless war against Laconia. The ambush of the Alliance fleet and the subsequent terrible defeat had shaped all of their futures. Now it was simply referred to as the Battle of Aegospotami, after the region of space. It had been the final climatic battle of the war, with the result being the unconditional of surrender of Attica and occupation by Laconian soldiers.

“At least this is a battle,” he added, still bitter about what had happened.

“You were at Aegospotami?”Artemas asked. Until now she had seemed uninterested in their tales of battles past.

Both Xenophon and Roxana looked to her, surprised at her interest and also suspicious of the tone in her voice. There had been rumours during the war about possible military assistance by the Medes on the side of Laconia, but it had never been proven.

“Why the interest, Artemas?” asked Roxana.

Artemas looked back to the window and the space battle. The beams of light lit up her face through the photosensitive glass and flickered in a kaleidoscope of colours.

“My uncle told me about the battle. He spent a lot of time with Terrans after the death of his father Darius. That is where he came across people like Clearchus and the other Dukas. He told me it was your feelings of superiority over our people that gave him the idea to create the Black Legion.”

Tamara turned from her view out of the window and to Artemas. She looked genuinely interested in the last part of what she had to say.

“Cyrus’ father, Darius? Wasn’t he the Emperor?”

Artemas smiled at her.

“Yes, he was the God King, sometimes called the Great King or the Emperor. They are one and the same for our people. Cyrus and his brother were both there when Darius died. Tissaphernes the Betrayer accused my uncle of plotting to overthrow Artaxerxes, the new Emperor. He was to be executed, but his mother, Parysatis, persuaded him to send Cyrus to the border. That was where he met many Terrans, and once you had finished your wars, what did he find?”

Glaucon nodded at this point.

“Terran worlds occupied by the League, disgruntled citizens, exiles and soldiers without work.”

“So that was how he started this whole expedition,” explained Xenophon to himself, loud enough for the others to hear. He looked back to Artemas.

“I thought Cyrus had explained to our commanders that he had chosen his place on the border. It was something to do with an argument. Is this the same story?”

She smiled.

“Xenophon, you should know by now that the same event often comes with many different stories. The facts are simple. There was a disagreement with the brothers, and Cyrus travelled to the border with the Terran worlds.”

Glaucon laughed.

“And now we are in the heart of Median territory with a mixed army of Medes and Terrans to topple the God King,” he said, slowly but sarcastically.

The windows of the module became darker as they reacted with the growing heat outside of the craft. Streaks of flame filled the view, and then they turned completely black. It was as though the glass itself had become scorched from the intense heat.

“Re-entry, great,” muttered Glaucon.

“Uh, where are we going, anyway?” asked Tamara.

Her question seemed to wake up both Glaucon and Xenophon. They realised that none of them had even discussed where to go. Xenophon nearly panicked until he spotted Artemas pointing at the control unit in front of her.

“I set the coordinates when we ran in here. The fleet has been making a large number of drops in one particular area. That is where we are going.”

“What?” Glaucon said angrily.

“Well, where would you suggest we go?”

Glaucon shook his head but didn’t reply. Xenophon could see he was angry but probably down to the situation, not so much the actual decision.

“It’s not like we could have stayed in orbit. We were too low anyway, and the escape pods don’t have the power to get away from the pull of the planet. If we stayed up there, we’d probably get picked off in the battle. Even a fighter could destroy us with a single attack.”

They all knew she was right, but as the flames moved from the windows, they could see the clear skies around the pod and what lay beneath them. It wasn’t a world of trees, rivers and tranquillity. Instead, it was the heavily built-up planet of Cunaxa Secundus.

“Have you seen this place?” asked Xenophon. He leaned forward to look through the small forward facing windows. Directly in front of them were majestic spires, some even larger than those on Kashan. Mighty buildings, towers and huge walls made the city look more like a massive fortress.

“This is the Citadel of Cunaxa,” Artemas said proudly.

As they moved closer, they could see that all of the buildings in the area paled to insignificance compared to the natural peak in the centre of the capital; it was surrounded by a dozen star-shaped fortresses and massive walls. Each one was fitted with towers and bristling with turrets. Even more terrifying were the hundreds of fighters and landing craft dashing about in the skies, as the transports of Lord Cyrus disgorged thousands of warriors outside the walls. Streaks of smoke trailed behind damaged fighters and dozens of explosions marked where the fighting was the most severe. Even the sky around the city had darkened from the volume of fires, explosions and weapons fire. Artemas turned from the inferno, looking at them with a grim expression on her face.

“The Battle of Cunaxa has truly begun.”

Xenophon nodded and unclipped himself to check on the equipment in the small craft. Like all escape pods and lifeboats, it was equipped with emergency supplies as well as spare equipment, armour and even weapons. It wasn’t perfect, but anything was better than landing unarmed. Upon finding the lockers, he stopped alongside Tamara and looked at her medical gown.

“You should get ready. In a few minutes we’ll land, and I don’t think a gown is how you want to face Artaxerxes today.”

She tried to lean forward, but the straps held her firmly in place. Glaucon motioned for her to stay there and opened up the lockers containing emergency provisions, food, flares and clothing. There were a number of Medes jumpsuits and overalls. He grabbed a few and threw them over to her. She grabbed the first and held it in front of her. It was light grey and baggy, like something a deckhand would wear while repairing an engine.

“Are you kidding me?”

Glaucon laughed, throwing over boots and a belt.

“There isn’t that much in here. It’s mainly cold gear, layers and boots. You can stay with the robe if you want. I’m sure storming a fortress will be easy in that thing!”

Xenophon opened up the last of the internal containers. He paused in surprise, lifting out a piece of chest armour. It was light but surprisingly strong. What was really unexpected was that it was shaped for the female chest.

“Nice,” Glaucon gloated, enjoying Tamara’s discomfort; she so often jibbed and annoyed him.

Tamara shook her head in amusement and unclipped her straps on the seat.

“Nice, just keep passing it all back.”

They continued dragging it all out until the small craft was filled with an odd assortment of gear. Most of it was useless, and even Roxana could find few uses for survival rations. The prospect of landing under fire was of far more concern to her than what she would be eating in a week’s time. Tamara, on the other hand, had already stripped off her gown to reveal nothing but her pale flesh and more than a few scars. Glaucon and Xenophon looked away, both embarrassed, but Roxana was unable to tear her eyes away.

“Uh, Tamara. What happened to you?”

The young woman pulled on the baggy grey overalls, pulling the belt tight across her waist. It was all less than flattering. She looked to Glaucon and Xenophon, but they had turned their attention to the weapons. On the floor next to her was the chest armour. She lifted it up, groaned slightly as the pain returned to her damaged leg. It wasn’t the perfect shape for her, but it at least looked more feminine than the overalls. She held it to her front and nodded to Roxana.

“Can you give me a hand with this thing?”

Roxana pulled the straps, and the armour moved into position. Tamara continued fitting on anything she could find of use before answering Roxana’s question.

“You know the kind of work I used to do. Well, it didn’t always work out so well. In that business when things go bad, you get punished. I told you I was looking for something better.”

She twisted her neck to look at the woman.

“Don’t worry, though. Anybody that touched and hurt me got added to my list.”

Xenophon heard the last bit as he slammed in a magazine into one of the Medes combat rifles. It was one of their standard issue pulse weapons, not particularly different to the Doru weapons used by the Arcadians and also by Roxana.

“Your list?” he asked with raised eyebrows.

Tamara tilted her head to the weapons, and Xenophon tossed the rifle over to her. She grabbed it and lifted the stock to her shoulder to check the feel. It looked oversized on her small frame and odd assortment of clothing. Once satisfied, Tamara lowered the butt of the weapon to the floor.

“My list is up here,” she explained, tapping her head.

“Everybody that has screwed with me so far has paid.”

Xenophon wanted to laugh, but the look on her face, and his knowledge of what she was capable of, did nothing but send a shudder through his body. Only Glaucon seemed unperturbed by her words.

“Hey, little girl, I take it we aren’t on your list?”

She smiled back at him.

“You’re still alive, aren’t you?”

They all returned to their seats and pulled on their straps. The counter on the wall might not be in their language, but the dial clearly showed they would soon be on the ground. They watched through their nearest windows at the sight of ship after ship making its way down to the burning city and the great Citadel that pushed up from its core.

CHAPTER TEN

Citadel of Cunaxa, Cunaxa Secundus

The last kilometre to the surface was the roughest of the entire trip after escaping from the stricken Rashnu. Flak guns, pulse fire and missiles tore the skies apart as yet more craft swept down to disgorge their warriors into the fray; at least those that managed to avoid the gauntlet of firepower before crashing into the city as burning wrecks. Roxana had taken the controls; against the complaints of Glaucon who was convinced he was the better pilot. She’d manoeuvred them over the last hill range and brought them low of the landing grounds where so many craft had positioned themselves. Lines of tracer fire arced upwards, each stream seeking a target to cut apart. All the others could do was hold on to their seats and pray they would land in one piece.

“Come on, put us down!” Glaucon growled.

“Not yet, I’m taking us to the forward position where Cyrus has established his frontline. The IFF signals show that troops from Meno’s ships have landed as well. Cyrus must have persuaded him to help.”

She paused for a moment before adding. “Unless you’re planning on waiting this one out in the rear?”

Tamara chortled at the implied cowardice, looking away to ignore the glares from Glaucon. The craft shuddered as Roxana lifted the nose slightly to avoid gunfire and then dropped back down. Two rockets narrowly missed them, and then they were over the secondary landing area. They moved over three landed transport just seconds before one exploded in a massive orange fireball that sent metal and bodies flying in all directions. Xenophon watched the destruction as they screamed past.

“Glaucon’s right. We need to get down. The numbers aren’t on our side.”

Roxana banked the craft to the right and aimed directly at the outer walls of the Citadel.

“Okay, I have a drop zone, three hundred metres ahead. Hold on!”

She dropped the nose, jinking from side to side to avoid incoming fire as she closed the distance. It was incredible flying, and even Glaucon kept his mouth shut as they covered the short distance. Roxana said no more until they reached their glide path and started the landing procedure. The vessel deployed landing skids and the main engines reversed thrust at the last moment so that it feathered just before touching down. They made contact with the ground with a loud crunch and then off came their straps. Glaucon was first up and slammed his fist against the airlock seal. The first opened quickly, and he turned to help the others leave the craft. By the time he’d helped Tamara up, the warm air outside had wafted into the vessel.

“Everybody out, now!” ordered Xenophon.

There was no hesitation, and Artemas and the others moved right behind him, stepping out and into the shattered street in the heart of the city. Large numbers of buildings were burning away, but they paled to insignificance compared to the vast bulk of the Citadel of Cunaxa. The massive walls were pockmarked with damage and holes from the opening phases of the battle. Groups of automaton soldiers rushed into the ruins of the city to take cover from the blistering levels of gunfire coming from the walls. At the same time, large numbers of wheeled and tracked vehicles accelerated over the rubble towards a dozen small breaches that had already been opened up. Artemas stopped an officer as he led a company of soldiers to the front. She spoke briefly, and he then continued onwards. She looked to the others.

“Their second wave has breached the outer defences of the first starfort. Taochi troops are fighting through the defenders and making progress. That isn’t the main effort though. They are keeping them busy, so the primary force can breach the main walls. Meno and his men are assisting Cyrus at the main wall over there!”

Artemas pointed off to her right where the thirty-metre tall war joined the two star fortresses together. The forts were separated by almost half a kilometre of wall, and right in its centre was a massive arched entrance and thick metal doors that looked as though nothing could breach them. Each side of the arch was protected by a quadruple tower arrangement, and filled with turrets and soldiers.

“Why the wall? There is more open ground and little cover. It’s designed that way to create killing grounds.”

“True,” replied Artemas, upon spotting the arrival of an eight-wheel armoured personnel carrier. It was dull grey, and its front left corner was mangled from a crash or impact of some kind. Unlike most of the other vehicles, it flew the colours of Cyrus’ Anusiyan guards. It skidded, and a hatch opened to reveal a smartly uniformed officer. He looked to Artemas and then to the Terrans before speaking in a clipped accent and almost flawless English.

“Lord Cyrus asked me to look for any survivors from Rashnu,” he explained while looking up to the sky. The smoke was becoming thicker, and visibility had already reduced substantially since they had landed. He looked back to Xenophon, noting his uniform and Terran rank, but the Terrans looked equally surprised to hear the Medes warrior speaking their own language.

“You should come with me to the central command. Cyrus, Ariaeus and Meno are planning the main attacks against the walls. It is the most important part of the battlefield, and he will want you there.”

Xenophon nodded in agreement.

“Do it. Didn’t you say you knew this place well?” he said to Artemas. “You might have information your uncle could use in this battle.”

Glaucon helped Tamara to the now open side hatch of the APC and lifted her inside. The ground continued to shake from the arrival of mortar rounds. They came without warning from the sky and crashed around the assault positions. Most caused little damage, but the fear and uncertainly had an obvious affect on the less experienced soldiers, especially the automatons. Xenophon followed Tamara, but Glaucon grabbed him and stopped him vanishing inside.

“Why don’t we just use gunships and lands troops the other side?”

As if to answer his question, they looked up to the sight of a heavy transport carrying upwards of an entire company of automatons. Its under body gun turrets blasted the defenders along the wall as it limped over the lowest point. Over a dozen missiles reached up like contrails from an aircraft, slamming into the thin armour. The left-side engine was torn from the stubby wing, leaving the transport with no effective power and limited lift. Two more rockets struck its underside, each one causing yet more damage to the weakened craft. With a load roar, the remaining engine exploded, tipping the craft over and forcing it to stall. The pilots exhibited incredible skill as they tried to bring it down safely, but it vanished inside the fortress, leaving an ink-black wake behind it as it moved from view. A massive roar quickly followed, and they could only assume it had crashed inside the Citadel itself.

“Poor bastards,” Xenophon muttered.

Glaucon looked back to Xenophon with a look of surprise on his face.

“Yeah, okay…Let’s get out of here!”

Helping hands reached out to pull them inside the protected interior. It didn’t take long, and when the hatch was closed, the commander gave the order for them to continue forwards. Once safe, they accelerated away from the landing zone and joined dozens of other vehicles ferrying troops and equipment to the forward lines. Artemas spoke with the officer for almost a minute. She then moved back to her friends and protectors.

“There is an avenue that runs along the length of the wall. On one side are large numbers of buildings and towers. Artaxerxes has had them all demolished to create clear lines of fire from the walls. Cyrus’ forces have taken the street and are fighting to take control of the outer wall. The commander says Meno and his men are setting up artillery positions to clear the breaches before the attack.”

Xenophon nodded at this news.

“Sounds good, about time we brought in guns of our own. What about the Emperor, where is he?”

Artemas spoke to the officer, and he nodded furiously and returned to his own computer system. He continued barking orders, and a number of his soldiers climbed up to control a series of gun turrets on the top of the vehicle. Artemas pulled a handle, and a panel moved out in front of them. With a quick tap, it changed to a tactical map of the area around the vehicle. She pointed to the series of structures inside the enemy Citadel.

“The walls and starforts are just the outer defences. The inner section is what we know as the Citadel of Cunaxa. These domes and spires in the centre are the Imperial Quarters. Artaxerxes and his guards will be based at this part of the city. The defences are strong, and he is rumoured to have thousands of his best warriors from across the Empire stationed in there.”

“Great,” answered Glaucon. “Why not bombard the place from space? We have enough firepower with Cyrus’ ships, let alone with the ships from the Legion to wipe out the entire city. Hell, we could probably wipe out the entire planet and kill every one of his commanders. We kill him, and the war is over. Then we just march to Babylon Prime and put Cyrus on his shiny new throne.”

Artemas looked to Xenophon with irritation in her eyes.

“My uncle intends to rule the Empire, not conquer it. If he shows compassion to his subjects, he will be rewarded for it. Destruction of the city will create more enemies, and there is no guarantee the Emperor will be killed. Even worse, he might die but we would never know.”

She looked to the screen once more and tapped a button. It changed to the forward view from the APC. The road they followed was littered with burning vehicles, yet even more ground forces pushed forward to the positions near the great walls.

“No, for this war to end, Cyrus will need to have his brother in chains for public execution and trial. Anything else, and we could end up with a never-ending civil war like the battle between your own people.

*

Laconian Titan ‘Valediction’, Cunaxa Nebula

A sharp crack like that of a thunderbolt was the first indication that something terrible had happened on board the Titan. It wasn’t just the sound from the energy fields around the ship, but the feeling of something resembling a static electric field passing through every crewmember’s body. It was quickly followed by continuous alerts and impact warnings from every corner of the command deck.

“Shields are down!” cried Kybernetes Artell.

Strategos Clearchus wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead and looked at the screens himself. He could see the systems starting to fail as well as breaches opening up on their exposed flanks. He turned from the screen and looked at the virtual projection of the unfolding battle. It was as if the Titan was a giant magnet that attracted the attention and weapons fire of every single spacecraft in the sector. He could see the steams of pulse projectiles, plasma rounds and missiles as the Zacynthians turned their guns onto the Black Legion’s flagship. The destruction of the Titan would signify potential defeat for the Legion, and therefore the entire enterprise.

Gods, this isn’t good!

The image of Chief Engineer Kafa appeared on his personal screen.

“Strategos, I’ve transferred the remaining power to protect critical areas. The energy fields are limited though, and the armour will have to protect the rest.”

Clearchus nodded grimly.

“Good work, Kafa. Do what you can. We will be there soon!”

“Strategos, you need to evacuate the gun decks on the sections I’ve indicated. These have the weakest armour and are no longer protected with the shields.”

Kentarchos Broge Monsimm noted the comments from his position on the command deck and nodded to Clearchus, evidently frustrated that this ship-related issue was wasting the time of their supreme commander.

“I’ll take care of that,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone.

Clearchus watched suspiciously as a formation of five Terran and Median battleships managed to get alongside the Titan. They matched his course and speed while putting volley after volley into his flank. The status screens showed the armour plating was being shredded and blasted apart with every impact.

“Strategos, it’s Pleistoanax!” called out the Kentarchos.

Clearchus looked to his left and could see the dark shape of the elderly Laconian battleship Damnation. The great vessel moved directly into the centre of the enemy formation and opened fire with its archaic projectile weapons. They were nothing more than electromagnetic railguns, but what they lacked in technology, they made up for with rate of fire. Trails of metal projectiles ripped into the enemy, and almost immediately the incoming fire on Valediction decreased by over a half.

Good timing, Pleistoanax, my old friend.

Clearchus looked back to his tactical display and performed a number of quick calculations in his head. He could see the shield capacitors starting to increase as the firepower decreased against the shields. They had a window, so long as Damnation could keep the enemy ships occupied. The rest of the Legion had stayed almost intact with most of the major ships now through the enemy blockade. The problem was that the slower or damaged vessels were now trailing behind like a long tail. On the side of the screen were a number of indicators that marked the damage to the ship’s armour and minor systems.

That must be close enough, surely?

He looked to Kleandridas, his trusted deputy.

“How much further until we can deploy ground forces?”

Kleandridas glanced at the display near him and then checked his own system for the reports from the other ships. He stood with a small guard unit next to the tactical display and had been monitoring the datastreams coming from the planet.

“We will be in range in approximately…seven minutes, Strategos. After that, the rest of the fleet will catch up, one ship at a time.”

Clearchus took a deep breath as he calculated how many ships would arrive, and how many warriors he could land in the next few hours. It was a rough calculation, but he reckoned if he started now, he could have most of the Legion on the ground, and within an hour. Even more importantly, he would be able to bring the Laconian heavy equipment to bear for the first time in the campaign. With the money from Cyrus, he’d been able to procure various different engines of destruction, some almost fifty years old but with long and reliable track records.

I just need to get them on the surface!

He nodded in agreement with Kleandridas at his assessment and made the mental decision to move from the space battle to preparing for the drop. It was a minor shift but would require a different mindset, one for which he was much happier managing. Without hesitation, he lifted the intercom to speak with the fleet.

“This is Strategos Clearchus, your commander. The time has come for the Battle of Cunaxa. Load your dromons and prepare your gunships for battle. You will all receive the drop-off coordinates. Once you reach the designated point, you will start drop operations and will continue until every single warrior is on the surface. Topoteretes Kleandridas will send unit landing zones and operational plans to you in the next three minutes.”

He glanced at the officers on his command deck and was pleased to see that every one of them was busy managing the ship. There were no idle hands on this vessel, and he was certain it was the main reason they were still alive. He nodded to himself happily and turned his thoughts back to the awaiting battle.

“Lord Cyrus is already heavily engaged on the ground and as expected, his attack has stalled. The reduction of a fortress such as this is the mission the Black Legion was born to do. The plan is simple and consists of four segments. First we will land and quickly stabilise the line. The encirclement of the fortifications is critical to our success. Next the stratiotes will secure the walls with speed and ferocity from the ground and the air. Once they are taken, they will use the walls to provide covering fire into the compound itself. We will unleash a rain of fire of the kind never seen before on a Median world. Under this barrage, our spatharii will carry out the fourth and final stage, to smash our way inside the Citadel of Cunaxa and end this battle. Good hunting to you all!”

He replaced the handset and turned back to Kleandridas and the ship’s Kentarchos.

“Get the dromons ready. We’re going to end this within the hour.”

With that, he stepped away from the tactical display and marched from the command deck, closely escorted by his dekas of Epilektoi. The rest of the officers continued their work, and only Kentarchos Broge Monsimm watched him leave.

*

Citadel of Cunaxa, Cunaxa Secundus

The small group of Anusiyans advanced cautiously, careful to avoid being spotted and picked off by the many turrets and snipers dotted along the massive walls. Xenophon, Artemas and the rest of the group brought up the rear. They’d been forced to abandon the armoured column nearly two hundred metres further back, due to the rubble and destruction. Xenophon didn’t mind that so much. He had greater faith in his Terran armour than the thin-skinned vehicles of the Medes. Even better, he liked to be able to see and react to situations. Every second they’d been inside the APC was an opportunity for all of them to be cooked alive inside its metal hull.

“Why exactly are we heading to the frontline?” asked Roxana.

Xenophon turned back and helped her up and over a broken wall. He saw a smoke trail, but the missile had another target and instead chased a low flying fighter.

“You know this place, and if we don’t win, then we’ll be stuck down here. This isn’t just about survival, Roxana. This is about ending the war!”

Artemas heard their discussion and nodded in agreement.

“He’s right. I’ve been inside the Royal Quarters many times. It could make a difference.”

Glaucon pointed to the high walls.

“There’s something else as well.”

Xenophon, Roxana, Tamara and even Artemas looked to him patiently, waiting for his reply.

“Well?” asked Tamara, quickly losing interest.

“Can a Medes really break this siege? Cyrus needs Terran help for this one.”

Roxana sighed.

“You know, Glaucon, your arrogance really is a…”

A series of mortar shells landed nearby. It shredded two of the guards before they had time to throw themselves down and amongst any of the limited protection the shattered buildings offered. Xenophon jumped inside what looked like a school but was actually an abandoned militia barracks. More shells continued to fall, each smashing into the masonry indiscriminately. There were no more casualties, but the continuous sound of impacts and explosions forced them all to ground.

“Who are they aiming at?” shouted Roxana, as she ran into the building and threw herself down. She headed for a tipped over metal unit about the size of a land car and dragged herself behind it.

“Everybody okay?” called out Xenophon.

Artemas and Glaucon waited near the entrance of the structure and glanced out to the wall. Artemas lifted her hand in acknowledgement and quickly ducked back down. The mortar barrage had slowed, but the pulse rounds from the scores of soldiers on the walls continued at the same pace. Glaucon tried to move, but a projectile quickly caught him and glanced off his shoulder armour.

“Man, what would I give for a Laconian shield generator, right now!” he snapped.

A small group of the Medes guards rushed inside and scrambled over the rubble, trying to not fall. It was the same officer they had arrived with from the APC.

“Come with me. Lord Cyrus is just ahead.”

He turned and left through the side door and was gone. Artemas chased after him. Xenophon was close behind. It fell to Roxana and Glaucon to help Tamara cover the ground. She might have appreciated their help, but the complaining and whining suggested otherwise. Out of the doorway, they moved a short distance to a number of large pieces of equipment and two destroyed APCs. Behind them were dozens of soldiers. They were operating communications equipment. Lord Cyrus and his personal guard were on the right hand side of one of the broken vehicles and busy watching the massive arched entrance to the Citadel. They pushed on until he spotted them and Artemas. He turned and grabbed her, his emotions clear to all those around them.

“Have you seen this?” asked Roxana in a quiet voice.

She pointed to their left and back along the street. Behind the ruined walls and buildings, lay hundred upon hundreds of warriors. Most were automatons, dressed in their Medes uniforms and carrying light armour and weapons. There were also small squads taken from the Anusiyans, probably to boost their morale as well as their fighting ability. She then turned and pointed in the opposite direction. Xenophon followed her gaze and found a bizarre collection of Mulac warriors waiting for their orders. They were a loose confederation of mutants, pirates and mercenaries from the border that must have signed on after the operations at Cilicia. Further away were even larger and more terrifying creatures.

“Taochi? Where the hell did Cyrus get them from?”

He looked at the muscled shapes that looked more like the Minotaurs of Terran myth than the reality of the Median Empire. They each wore armour and carried edged weapons.

“Dekarchos and your comrades, I thank you all for protecting my niece,” said Cyrus in rushed tones. Your guards units crashed on the way down here, and the survivors are with Meno and his Terrans. They should be here in the next ten to fifteen minutes.”

Tamara laughed at the news.

“So coming back for me wasn’t so bad, after all!”

Ariaeus appeared from the rubble with a group of a dozen Anusiyans. He spoke quickly and pointed to the wall. Xenophon tried to follow the conversation, but he could only identify a few of the proper nouns they used. Meno, Clearchus and Artaxerxes were the only ones clear enough for him to follow.

“Lord Cyrus, your niece knows the Citadel complex, and she could provide tactical information,” he said.

Cyrus turned to Xenophon and then to his niece. They spoke in quick but loud tones. He then walked away to confer with Ariaeus and his other commanders.

“Well, was that it?” asked Xenophon.

Artemas tried to smile, but her grim expression refused to bend quite that far.

“He appreciates the information, but until we are through the walls, it is useless.”

Glaucon lifted his head slightly to look up at the walls. They were certainly impressive, but he could see them representing no greater obstacle than those faced by Xenias back at the Gates of Cilicia.

“Just get him to use his heavy artillery to bring them down, easy,” he announced.

Artemas shook her head in disagreement.

“No, the heavy equipment was lost in the landing. Cyrus has invested in manpower and light armour.”

“Yeah,” Xenophon added grimly, “that’s why he hired the Legion. We have the armour, shielding and heavy weapons to reduce places like this. Even the Laconians have access to breaching mortars. Maybe Cyrus should have waited before starting the attack?”

That thought gave Xenophon an idea. He moved forward to Cyrus and was instantly intercepted by his Anusiyans. Their speed was impressive, but Xenophon had no doubts his two Asgeirr-Carbines and his own martial prowess would result in their quick deaths. He didn’t back down and stood his ground, waiting for Cyrus to turn around.

“Dekarchos, I have a battle to plan.”

He started to move away, but Xenophon inched closer.

“Lord Cyrus. Dukas Meno and his forces will have access to siege equipment. Valediction and Poseidon were the designated ships for the Legion’s equipment. You saw what happened at Cilicia without the right tools. Get him and his troops to the frontline, and he can bring down the walls and give your men the support you need to get inside.”

Cyrus looked to his commanders and spoke briefly. One walked away and to speak with their communications teams. Cyrus looked back to Xenophon.

“Of course. This task was to be carried out by Clearchus. I forget sometimes that you Terrans equip yourselves for these kinds of battles. Meno’s warriors have established a fortified landing zone and are still landing their supplies for the battle.”

The Median commander nodded to Cyrus and spoke a mere handful of words. Cyrus nodded, turning back to Xenophon. The commander, in the meantime, appeared agitated and after making several quick calls on his equipment, gave the signal for yet another assault.

“We have to keep attacking. The minute we slow down, they will be on us.”

He then moved over to his officers where he could direct the battle. Xenophon and Glaucon moved off to the left where a ruined wall section gave them a reasonably safe view of the unfolding battle. Directly in front of Cyrus’ position were two full companies of Anusiyan guards. They were spread out amongst the rubble and taking pot shots at the enemy on the walls. Off to the flanks, a dozen platoons of soldiers charged out across the open ground towards the wall. Those with heavy weapons blasted away, and a number managed to tear large holes in the wall. Only a few made it past the maelstrom and surged into the tiny gaps.

“They’ll never take the place at this rate. A child can defend a hole the size of one man. We need breaches, big ones. Either that, or we take out their air defences and fly over it.”

Xenophon looked up at the scores of smoke and vapour trails from dromons, fighters and gunships. The sky was a dangerous place for any of them, least of all the vulnerable transports.

“No chance. We need air cover and time to bring down the gun emplacements and missile batteries. After we have taken the outer walls, our armoured troops can smash inside and take the place, room by room.”

A loud screaming sound announced the arrival of the armoured spearhead of Meno and his forces. Eight dromons and an equal number of fighters came in low and fast. Once in range, the fighters unleashed three volleys of guided missiles and then strafed the towers. Explosions rippled through the masonry and metal, and the entire frontline vanished in smoke and dust.

“Look,” exclaimed Artemas. She was pointing at one of the command screens. It was sitting on a table nearby and showed an aerial view of the battlefield from one of the many reconnaissance drones circling overhead. The dromons had all moved directly over the wall and were landing soldiers the other side. Two were destroyed by gunfire, but in the confusion, four managed to land under fire. Two more were chased off and crashed safely on Cyrus’ side of the wall.

“That isn’t Meno. Look at the dromons!” said Roxana. She was also watching the feed.

“You’re right. Those are Dukas Xenias’ troops,” said a surprised sounding Xenophon.

“Where the hell is Meno, then?”

They all looked at the map, but there were no more dromons to be seen within this part of the battlefield. Ariaeus noticed their interested and approached the screen. He tapped it and switched it off.

“Protect Lady Artemas and stay out of trouble. This battle will be fought and won by Medes warriors.”

Another platoon of Anusiyans arrived, but this time carrying some kind of relic. It looked like an old flag but emblazoned with the iconography of Cyrus. Four guards stood around it. They had carbines held in slings across their bodies. Xenophon looked in fascination at the design, noting the mention of Aegospotami towards the bottom. He assumed it was a battle honour of sorts.

“Looks like they’re getting ready for a big push, don’t you think?” Glaucon asked.

Xenophon nodded.

“Yeah, a suicide attack, more like. They need to wait until the entire Legion is here. We don’t have infinite resources for this fight.”

Tamara groaned, partially out of pain but also out of boredom. They had been in the position for several minutes now, and she was rarely known for her patience.

“So what are we going to do then? Wait here, join the attack, or move to the rear.”

Xenophon wasn’t quite sure as to what he should suggest. He was saved by an ear-splitting scream when two missiles whistled overhead and slammed into the building to their left. On cue, an armoured transport appeared almost a hundred metres away and stopped just metres from the blast. Dirt and debris landed all around the thick metal armour. Unlike the Medes vehicles, this one was tracked and heavily armoured. The markings were those of Meno’s, and as soon as it stopped, a large number of Terran spatharii jumped out and fanned out in front of the vehicles. Next came small groups of men carrying heavy pieces of equipment. They moved in front of the soldiers and activated the devices that created a shimmering, almost invisible field in front that could absorb or deflect most small arms fire.

“Shield generators, about damned time!” said Glaucon happily.

The door fitted to the front of the vehicle dropped down like a boarding ramp, and from the blackness inside emerged the shape of Dukas Meno. His armour was black and adorned with trophies from a dozen raids in his suspicious career. He carried a heavily modified pulse rifle in both hands but held it down low, as if he expected to not have to face a single enemy. He marched forward, his soldiers moving ahead with their mobile shield generators. They pushed passed Cyrus’ forward position and mixed in with the Anusiyans along their front position. Right behind them followed another three armoured vehicles; this time a series of tracked APCs fitted with close range rocket systems. They were designed to break siege works and built specifically for this kind of work. They stopped and just a few moments later, a number of built-in shield generators activated to create a barrier along their frontal armour. Meno marched past Xenophon and threw him a cursory glance.

“We’re going in, care to join us?” he said bitterly, stopping near Cyrus.

“My Lord, my vanguard is here and ready to break their lines. Dukas Xenias is landing spatharii behind their walls. This is the moment, are you ready to end this fight?”

Cyrus looked surprised, but Xenophon felt nothing but dread. He turned to look to his friends.

“Is he serious? He’s brought what, two hundred men and a few siege guns? They’ll be through the walls and massacred on the other side if they try to end this fight quickly.”

Roxana looked up to the walls.

“I agree. You saw the aerial imagery of the compound. The outer walls are just the first stage. The Citadel itself is going to be a problem. If they just send everything through the breaches, they’ll end up trapped between the walls and the Citadel. Getting a few men inside isn’t the problem; it’s getting enough men and equipment inside alive and able to finish the job.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Citadel of Cunaxa, Cunaxa Secundus

As the previous seven great sieges of the Citadel of Cunaxa had shown, its great walls were both tall and thick. Bodies littered their foundations and holes covered the outer skin, yet still they stood. Cheering Medes soldiers taunted the attackers outside and took the occasional shot as they watched the shattered remnants of Cyrus’ attack fall back. Falling back was something of a misnomer; it was in reality something more akin to a total rout. The nickname being called down was the unbreakable walls of Cunaxa and for those few survivors running for their lives, the name was all too true. The defeat of Cyrus’ ground attack on the outer walls cost him over two thousand warriors, most of whom were the lightly armoured automatons. A surprising number made it to the breaches, but it was the prepared ground on the other side that took the greatest toll. As small groups emerged through the narrow breaches in the ancient walls, the sight of thousands of waiting warriors greeted them. Dug in behind recently built inner defensive walls and bunkers, they shot dead hundreds as they staggered inside. To make matters worse, the scores of turrets on the towers and the Royal buildings picked off the odd straggler that survived the initial gunfire. Xenophon and his group had moved back and joined one of the mixed groups of Arcadian warriors that had just arrived by APC. They were men and women from Dukas Xenias’ forces and included a number of the Night Blades stratiotes unit they had first joined, back when the Legion had been formed. There was little time for niceties though, as multiple defensive barrages from the Citadel itself had forced them all into the ruins for protection.

“What the hell are they doing?” asked Tamara.

From the massive towers that studded the walls came massive enfilade fire. Volley after volley of fully automatic pulse gunfire shredded the attackers, sending the survivors running for cover or into retreat.

“This is a disaster!” snapped Cyrus to Meno.

He looked accusingly at the Terran, but he seemed more interested in watching the survivors retreating through their frontlines. He tapped the communications node in his helmet as though he was suffering some kind of malfunction.

“This is Dukas Meno. I am not asking for your advice. I am giving you an order!”

There was a short pause, and he turned and spoke to one of his waiting retainers. The soldier was dressed like all the Thessalian spatharii in his Black Legion uniform but had regional armour and equipment. The soldier nodded and went to speak with his comrades. Meno spotted Cyrus looking at him.

“The Mulacs, they are refusing to provide close support to the forward units.”

Cyrus brought his fist down on the upturned metal box being used to rest the mapping equipment on. He started to speak, but a serious of loud explosions behind their positions forced them to drop down to cover. It didn’t last long, and as they returned to their positions, Meno stepped to the computer and examined the aerial view. Trails from a dozen missile turrets rushed out and struck groups huddling behind whatever cover they could find. Each impact added more dead Medes to the list of casualties. Meno watched with a self-satisfied smug as his own men waited near the walls with their powerful mobile shield generators. At the same time, hundreds of automatons streamed past them, many of whom had thrown away their weapons and were running for their lives. The dull staccato crackle of pulse file from behind their own positions served as an apt reminder as to the dangers of retreat. Meno had seen firsthand how the Median officers had set up a series of command posts at fixed intervals. Each had a number of pulse-cannon positioned to repel a possible enemy counterattack or to discourage cowardice.

“I see your own men didn’t join the attack?” accused Ariaeus.

Meno looked at the debacle and tilted his head slightly. The sound of the Medes killing their own men for retreating reminded him of how little respect he had for them. Even more deplorable, these soldiers were poorly prepared for the ardours of siege warfare. Their armour was hopelessly weak, and they lacked anything more powerful than pulse cannons to bring down the walls. The look on his face was nothing but contemptuous for either of the Median commanders. To Ariaeus it could have been confusion, but Cyrus knew immediately he was being disrespectful towards his second-in-command.

“Meno, answer him!”

The Terran Dukas looked at Cyrus and considered his options.

This idle, pompous coward waits behind his own men.

The battle was not going well, and of those troops in position, he could count less than a thousand truly capable of bringing the first assault of the battle to a successful conclusion. Even more deplorable though, there was no clear leader on the ground. In theory, Cyrus was in charge, yet none of the Legion or the allied factions from the length and breadth of the Empire would take the noble seriously on his own. Clearchus was the only man in the Legion truly capable of keeping the disparate factions in order. Of them all, he was the strongest and the most experienced in the command of large land battles.

Clearchus, you are my enemy, but today we all need you to come down from your damned ship and do the job you were paid for!

Cyrus spotted his expression and for the briefest of moments, he felt nervous at the sight of a fully armoured Terran Dukas stood so close.

“Noble Ariaeus. My numbers are limited. Most of my heavy infantry are still making their way here. I will not waste them when you have warriors purely capable of this task,” he explained, lifting his hands towards the walls.

“This task? You mean the task of dying in great numbers in front and behind these walls?” sneered Ariaeus.

Meno smiled.

“Partially, though they do seem inherently capable of this role. No, there is more than this. They are fulfilling a vital role that only foot soldiers can achieve. I have learned their capabilities, numbers and strong points, all without losing any of my experienced infantry. When the time comes, you will be thankful for their armour and skills. Now I can place my armoured units into the safest and most tactically sound position along this wall. We will start the primary attack shortly.”

Ariaeus looked less than impressed at these words. He pointed to the walls. As the commander of Cyrus’ ground forces, he was responsible for the largest contingent of warriors, larger than the entire Black Legion.

“What about Xenias and his men? Now they are trapped inside the Citadel and without help. Will you let a fellow Dukas die for the sake of a few minutes?”

Meno snorted. “Xenias is no fool.”

He then stepped out from the cover and looked up to the walls. The Medes officers stayed safely in cover and watched as a dozen pulse rounds struck around him. Two struck his torso and simply bounced off, striking the debris around him. He pointed to a series of five towers off to the left, their tops just showing from behind the high walls.

“Have you not heard? The survivors of his unit have taken control of the third tower, up there!”

“But that’s inside the wall!” complained Ariaeus.

Cyrus took a step forward and pulled the pistol Clearchus had given him from his belt. His face was resolute, and it was clear that he intended to do something. Ariaeus spotted him moving closer to the Terran commander. He was still standing out and in plain sight of the enemy. But before he spoke, his commander stopped and listened to something, presumably on his intercom unit. He looked at Ariaeus, shook his head and spoke angrily. After he’d finished, he moved closer to Meno and Ariaeus.

“Then we had better hope Clearchus and the rest of the Legion gets here soon. I’ve just been sent the code signal from Valediction. They are in orbit and dropping gunships and dromons at this very moment. Herakles is doing the same, and a dozen heavy transports are bringing in the rest of the ground troops. It still may not be soon enough. We have to secure these walls and relieve Xenias’ troops. Quickly, because if we’re stuck out here, in less than an hour, we’ll be dead.”

Meno looked first to Ariaeus and then back to Cyrus.

“What?”

He turned away and moved to the tactical mapping units balanced precariously on the metal crates and containers. The aerial view showed the Citadel, as well as the ruined city around it. To the right were a dozen landing zones; each marked in green. He then moved his hand to the top of the map.

“Here. It isn’t just Clearchus and the Legion that have arrived. I’ve just received word from our scouts to the North that a secondary force has been detected three kilometres out from the city limits. They are advancing at speed and making for this point.”

Ariaeus spoke quickly, but Cyrus lifted his hand and simply said. “Terran.”

The Median noble looked unimpressed at being forced to resume speaking in the Dukas’ native tongue, but he had no choice.

“Whose secondary force? Are they with us or against us?”

Cyrus shrugged and stabbed his hand directly between the Citadel and the landing zones.

“The scouts’ last message was that the vehicles were carrying the battle standards of Tissaphernes. Their estimates were eight thousand or more infantry and upwards of a hundred armoured vehicles. There is more though. Before they were attacked, the scouts said they’d also identified massive machines from the robotic domains. I suggest that he means to cut us off from our reserves. If he succeeds, then we’ll be the ones trapped here, and I promise you, my brother will want his revenge!”

Cyrus rubbed his chin as he considered his options.

“Machines from the robotic domains, is he insane?” muttered Ariaeus.

Meno watched the display but only for a moment. He contacted his own forces. He did not so much look concerned, more suspicious of having his forces facing unexpected enemies. As he spoke, a group of automatons rushed past them, running as fast as their bruised and bloodied legs would carry them. A second group also ran past but slowed and finally stopped upon seeing their leader out on the frontline. They seemed surprised and also a little relived to see Cyrus out reviewing the enemy battle line rather than running back as quickly as possible.

Cyrus noticed them stop but paid them no attention. A small group of automatons was useful but nothing compared to the battle he needed to manage. He looked to Meno, but he was still busy coordinating his newly arrived ground forces. He spotted Cyrus and stopped speaking for a moment. Cyrus turned his head and look up to the wall.

“Where is the nearest breach?”

Meno looked to the wall and quickly identified the position of his own forces and heavy equipment. The tactical display showed where impacts had occurred, as well as estimates to the damage so far inflicted on the old and surprisingly tough set of fortifications. One area in particular caught his eye. He raised his hand and pointed to a section two hundred metres further along the wall.

“That is the weakest. A few more shots, and we’ll have a gap big enough to get an APC through. Why?”

“Good. Bring it down and bring your forces forward. On my command, we are taking that wall and pushing through to Xenias. If we delay any longer, the reinforcements of Tissaphernes could be our undoing. Understood?”

Meno considered his options for a moment. He would much rather wait for Clearchus. The Laconian commander and his vast numbers of heavy infantry and specialised equipment were their greatest chance of victory, but there were benefits to winning this battle without his help. If he was smart and managed to play the significant part in the battle, he might be rewarded to a degree even greater than that of his rivals, the Laconians. The possibility of coming out on top of his hated rival was the perfect motivation.

“My Lord,” he said grandly and with a hint of a bow, “in five minutes, I will have a thousand spatharii and over a thousand stratiotes ready for the attack. That is more than enough when combined with your own warriors to finish this battle. We will swarm through the breach like water through a broken dam.”

Cyrus allowed himself a slight smile at his change of heart. He was all too familiar with the rivalries and disagreements between the different Terran factions. He’d explained this to many of his compatriots in the past, and in his opinion, it was the source of both their strength and their weakness. The idea, that one day the Terrans might work together sent shivers through his body, even to this day. He looked back at his frontline and the hundreds, no, thousands of warriors, each waiting for his fateful order to commence another advance to the walls.

Perhaps we might turn this around, after all.

“Start the bombardment. I want that wall brought down!”

Meno nodded and connected directly with the commander of the assault guns. He’d brought four with him, and they were already moving into position closer to the wall. Though classed as assault guns, this was not entirely accurate. They were actually fitted with quadruple howitzer barrels and designed to fire rocket propelled siege bombs. It was a peculiar technology, almost primitive, but perfect for destroying buildings, structures and thick masonry. But even better, he’d just received information that his air support had arrived. A fusillade of small arms fire pattered about the vehicles as they pushed inch-by-inch over the rubble and closer to the walls. The defenders must have realised the inherent danger presented by this specialist equipment, and as each second passed by, so did the increase in gunfire.

Back inside the ruins of the city street, the small group of Terrans and the soldiers of Xenias watched the columns of smoke rising from the Citadel. Although only recently arrived, no one seemed particularly keen to rush out from their rather basic cover and directly into the line of fire of the walls.

“This is insanity,” said one of the stratiotes. Xenophon looked at the young man but didn’t recognise him from his previous time in the unit. His tunic and armour were surprisingly clean, and his weapon looked like it was fresh out of its case.

“You’re not wrong, kid,” laughed Glaucon.

Xenophon’s friend lay down in the rubble and rested his pulse cannon on a mount of shattered bricks. The weapon was a powerful piece of equipment and generally only used in fixed positions. Glaucon seemed to be almost one with it and had made use of the oversized weapon in multiple engagements. He took careful aim to the top of the wall and fired a two second long burst. The noise at this distance was painful to hear, and the muzzle flash was bright and vivid. Two soldiers were cut apart from the wall and part of the masonry clipped off and dropped down to the ground outside the wall.

“Nice shooting!” called out one of the stratiotes.

At seeing the skill of Glaucon, the rest of the Night Blades took careful aim and put down a slow but accurate rain of fire that either suppressed the defender along a two hundred-metre stretch of the wall, or picked them off. It wasn’t the kind of thing likely to end a battle, but it did keep the men’s morale up and removed some of the defensive fire being put on the siege machines. Xenophon was tempted to aim with his carbines, but it seemed pointless. With their reduced range and accuracy, he would be wasting ammunition. He looked around. Missile after missile was fired directly upwards from the wall mounted turrets. They accelerated to supersonic speeds, and he almost cringed, waiting for their impact against one of the many Terran craft buzzing about over the battle. Much to his surprise, a barrage of anti-defence missiles slammed into the turrets. Xenophon spotted movement and pointed to the right.

“Look!”

Two more dromons, this time with the Lambda symbol of the Laconians, swooped down low over the battlefield. They moved with incredible precision and managed to avoid multiple lines of tracer fire. They unleashed their own cargos of shrike anti-turret missiles. Both ran parallel with the massive walls and sprayed the tops with continuous gunfire. Along the flanks of both craft were small turrets fitted with quadruple pulse rifles mountings. They performed terrible work on the defenders while dark shapes dropped from each side.

“Stratiotes!” whispered Roxana in amazement.

In seconds, they’d done what Meno and Cyrus had failed to do so far. They deposited almost fifty lightly armoured warriors onto the highest levels of the wall. Both then banked left and accelerated to supersonic speeds to escape the gunfire reaching out for them.

“How the hell did they survive that?” Glaucon asked in amazement. Xenophon pointed out to the right in answer to his question. A formation of a dozen gunships and even more armed drones were running a Wild Weasel mission over the site. The drones had already attracted the attention of the automated defences, and the fire from the gunships shredded any defensive system that attempted to target them.

“Clearchus is what has happened. What you’re seeing is how a battle should be conducted. I think we might turn this around, after all!” Xenophon said.

As if to answer his comments, the siege guns of Meno opened fire. Each shot released four low velocity rocket projectiles that followed each other a fraction of a second later. As each rocket smashed into the wall, another followed close behind and continued breaking a way through the walls. The actual shells themselves embedded deeply into the walls, then sent shaped charged into the metal and stonework. The ground shook with each blast, and those unfortunate to be too close could feel their teeth shake from the impact.

“Turn on your communication nodes to Legion traffic!” Roxana called out from the cover.

Xenophon checked the setting on the heads up display in his armour. It was on, but set to the open command channel being used by Cyrus and the other Medes forces. It hadn’t occurred to him to revert to the setting used when with his fellow Terrans. As soon as he selected the channel, he detected multiple streams coming in at different command levels. He bypassed the low-level material and went directly to the commander.

“…destruction. Secure the walls and wait for Laconian ground forces. I repeat, do not move ahead further than the walls.”

That’s Clearchus. He’s finally here!

Xenophon spun around and saw the Night Blades were checking their weapons and preparing to move out. There was a marked difference between this unit and those of the Medes that were almost certainly terrified at the prospect of being sent back into the fray. He called out to the senior Dekarchos who was checking the armour of those nearest him.

“What’s going on?”

The man looked at him, instantly seeing the similar rank on Xenophon’s uniform.

“We’ve just been given our orders. We’ve been selected to take that tower!” he said and pointed to the wall. Xenophon placed his hand up to block the bright sunlight and found the point he was referring to. It was halfway between their current position and where the siege guns were currently working. Part of the outer wall had fallen away to create a steep, potentially impossible surface to climb. It was the highest part of the wall and part of one of the tower’s strongpoints. Xenophon laughed and turned back.

“Are you serious?”

The stratiotes were already ready for the attack. They carried a pulse rifle or carbine as well as a mixture of close quarter weapons and even a few pulse-cannons. One even seemed to be carrying similar weapons to Xenophon, much to his surprise.

“Very,” replied a familiar voice.

Komes Pasion, leader of the Night Blades, appeared from out of the cover. Like most of the senior Terran officers, he wore elaborate Terran armour and a helmet of ancient design. Xenophon stepped out and approached the man who extended his hand in friendship. They grasped each other’s forearms, a symbol of respect and unity. Roxana and Glaucon lifted up slightly to see what was happening, much to Pasion’s amusement.

“The tower seemed to be the most heavily armed part of this section of wall. In the last assault by the automatons, the majority were killed by enfilade gunfire from the flank gun mounts on the tower itself. It is very heavily armoured and also equipped with localised shielding. Our rockets and mortars are doing nothing against it. It’s protected front and back by crewed gun emplacements. It has to be eliminated.”

Xenophon raised an eyebrow at his comments and looked back to the tower. It was certainly imposing and covered in bumps. A mixture of pulse fire and rockets reached out almost continually, making the surrounding ground a death trap to anybody wanting to scale the walls or move into the breaches. Komes Pasion checked his stratiotes were ready before speaking again.

“I see you’ve been keeping the old crew busy, then? So tell me, Dekarchos. What is a Terran officer doing so close to the Medes’ frontline? Are you looking to die today?”

Glaucon stepped out and Lady Artemas followed.

“Lady Artemas? Why are you here?” Pasion asked with evident concern.

Xenophon beckoned for her to approach.

“We’ve been given the task of keeping her safe.”

“I see. What about that young, wild thing that was always hanging about with you?”

A hand appeared from inside the rubble, quickly followed by a grimacing Tamara.

“I’m still here. Some asshole shot me in the leg.”

Pasion laughed but then looked back to his unit. They were all dressed and armoured the same and looked very different to the bizarre mixture of gear being used by Xenophon and his friends.

“I’ve got the soldiers and the equipment, but I’ve got no local knowledge of this place. I’ve called in drone support, but four have been shot down already. Who knows when I’ll have useful recon before we attack? Just look at that thing. From what I’ve seen, this is going to be one hell of a tough nut to crack, and that assumes we can even get near the thing.”

Artemas nodded gently and then looked to the wall.

“It doesn’t need to be that way. I’ve been here many times before, inside and outside the Citadel. I’ve been coming here since I was a child. I can help you.”

Pasion looked to Xenophon, tempted by her offer but also wary of taking advice from a Medes. She could be just as likely trying to get him killed, as to helping him. Xenophon, on the other hand, he trusted implicitly. He’d witnessed the man in combat, and he knew too well how experienced the man was. He looked as though he was going to turn them down, but the sound of heavy gunfire from the tower in question caught his attention. From here on the ground, and hiding in rubble, the tower looked more like a fortress than a mere strongpoint on the outer wall. He sighed as he weighed up his options. Artemas spotted his trepidation and waved towards the front of the tower.

“I’ve been inside it before. The outer part of the wall is all shielding and armour. You will not get through it.”

The Komes shook his head, either not believing her or simply not wanting to accept the impossible task he’d been given. Artemas continued.

“This is its weakness, though. The tower has no outwards facing weapons. Their firing arcs are for covering the walls on either side. There is just one shielded turret at the top with a single weapon mount.”

“How would you know that?” asked Pasion, scarcely believing it could be true.

“I used to hide up there!” she replied playfully.

The Komes looked back to the tower and watched it carefully. He checked the gunfire, but he could find no telltale muzzle flashes from the front, apart from the very highest position.

She’s right, he thought.

“Very well. I could do with your help on this one, but bringing the Lady could be risky. Assaulting a tower filled with hostiles, and armed with who knows what, might not be good for our bonus situation.”

Xenophon, Glaucon and Artemas looked confused. The Komes grinned.

“If she is hurt or injured, who do you think will pay the price?”

“Hey!” answered Glaucon. “If we don’t take this place, then we don’t get paid. She knows the area, and she can take care of herself, trust me!”

Artemas looked at him and tried to work out whether to be pleased or annoyed at his suggestion.

“Trust me, I don’t want to die any more than you do. I’m the best chance you have of getting inside, and the best chance of keeping you alive. Once we’re inside the walls, we’ll be protected from gunfire on either side.”

Pasion looked unconvinced.

“My tactical scans show the walls are solid.”

“That’s true. The outer skin is solid, but when you get through the two outer layers, you will reach the habitation segments. I used to play in them…a long time ago.”

Komes Pasion looked at her and tried to imagine her as a child. She looked as if she was only in her late twenties, perhaps early thirties, yet she spoke as though these events had happened generations ago. She looked up to the tower.

“Forget about trying to climb over it. The top is triple layered and shielded to protect the walls from aerial bombardment. Why do you think they’re still standing? To get inside, you need to move around the structure and drop back down from the side. There entrances on the battlements are reinforced but unshielded. We take the outer face with your grapples and then swing to the flanks to drop down to the walls.”

Komes Pasion looked to Xenophon for support, but all he did was nod. He paused for a little while longer, but it was clear this was the single best chance they had.

“Okay, we’ll give it a shot.”

He turned back to his men and pointed to the tower.

“Automatons assigned by Cyrus to our unit will provide covering fire for this op. They will keep the shooters on the walls busy. The top turret will be a problem only on the approach. They will not be able to use plunging fire if we stay close to the wall.”

A series of groans and complaints echoed along the line of soldiers.

“Listen! Would you rather they joined us on the assault or provided fire support?”

Muttering and laughter came from the rear, and the Komes arched into the middle of the group to find out what was happening.

“Come on then, share the joke.”

A stratiotes with a filthy Black Legion uniform lifted his hand. The left sleeve was torn, and a bandage was tied loosely across a minor wound. Of all the warriors assembled, his beard and face looked the oldest. Xenophon looked at him for a few seconds, realising he’d seen the man before, back on Attica.

The fencing instructor, Kantos!

“Komes, I was just saying I would prefer it if the automatons could clear our line of fire by going up first,” said the man.

A few others laughed but most kept quiet, now uncertain as to the mood of their commander at the soldier’s comments. He looked at them and spoke quietly through the oral communications node in his helmet. A few moments later, two full units of automatons moved out from cover and took position slightly ahead of the Night Blades. They lifted their rifles and took aim on the tower.

Xenophon kept his head down and moved out through the rubble towards the man. He stopped and released his visor so they could see each other’s face.

“Kantos?”

The old man smiled at the mention of his name.

“Xenophon, is it? Why aren’t you back home on Attica? This isn’t the place for young men of the city.”

Glaucon stepped alongside Xenophon to see what he was doing. The old man instantly recognised the rich playboy and troublemaker from back home.

“Glaucon, be damned. Last I heard you’d been fighting the Thirty Tyrants. Then you joined the Exiles for sedition.”

He looked to Xenophon and nodded slowly.

“Ah, it makes sense now. You are involved in the conspiracy of Gryllus?”

Both nodded.

“Yes, it was Erika Montoya and her people that did it and framed us for the murder. When this campaign is over, I’ll use my money to find the truth and to get my revenge,” Xenophon replied through clenched teeth.

Kantos reached out and placed his gloved hand onto Xenophon’s armoured shoulder.

“My friend, I will help you. Gryllus was a good man, a friend of the city, and many mourn him. A number of us stood against Montoya and her revolutionaries, weeks after the uprising on Attica. Your father wasn’t the only one that vanished suspiciously. My own brother was taken and found dead. Then they came for me.”

He looked down to the ground, desperate to hide his face. When he finally looked back up, his eyes were pale and his face tight with anger.

“A small group of us escaped and met up with the Legion just before Cilicia. When this is over, we’ll go back with you to Attica. There will be a reckoning!”

Glaucon smiled at this news. Kantos was an old man for sure, but he was quick witted, fast with his hands and a deadly fighter. He had every intention of returning home a rich man, but it would take money and people, plus a little force to achieve it.

“So, Kantos, how is your speed these days?”

Kantos laughed. “Better than your mouth.”

The three laughed and continued chatting for another minute until the Komes turned back. He could see Xenophon, Glaucon and a group of stratiotes together, listening to their adventures and tales so far. He hadn’t seen them this way for weeks. It was just what they needed prior to a fight.

We can use him.

He pointed to Xenophon.

“You know Xenophon and his people. They fought with us before and you know their reputation. They have local knowledge of the area and know the weak points of the tower. We will use out grapples, climb the tower and strike at these two points, as indicated by Lady Artemas.”

She moved from behind the cover where until now she had only been seen by a handful of the soldiers. Many had never seen a Medes woman before, let alone one of her breeding and obvious beauty. She pulled out her carbine, checked the magazine, flicking the safety off.

“Well, boys, are you ready to follow a woman into battle?” she asked wryly and nodded towards Komes Pasion. He threw her a magnetic grapple unit. She then turned from them and sprinted off. The rest of the Terrans were left stunned, and even Komes Pasion appeared lost for words. He pulled the bolt of his own rifle and waved it forward.

“Night Blades, to the tower!”

From total inactivity, the frontline transformed as dozens of lightly armoured stratiotes broke cover and rushed through the killing ground towards the tower. Xenophon, Roxana and Glaucon chased after her, but her speed was greater than even Roxana could manage. Tracer fire from the hundreds of defenders poured down at them but was quickly answered by the gunfire from the hidden automaton soldiers. Xenophon saw Artemas vanish into a great blast of dirt and smoke as three mortar shells dropped down directly into the attacking formation. The force of the blast threw him to the floor, and he felt the impact through the armoured legs of his spatharii armour. Glaucon staggered but managed to stay upright. His friend grabbed at him and lifted him to his feet. Scores of Night Blades streamed past them and to the base of the tower.

“Come on, we need to get up there!” he growled and then jumped ahead.

Xenophon peered through the smoke and saw the shape of Artemas. She had miraculously avoided the blast and was aiming the magnetic grapple up the tower. With little noise, the device launched a projectile up and over the defences until it locked into something on the other side. She tugged at it and then ran at the wall. With speed and grace, she jumped and landed feet first on the wall. The grapple wound in, and she ran up the wall as though she was on the horizontal surface.

Insane woman!

CHAPTER TWELVE

Citadel of Cunaxa, Cunaxa Secundus

Three Terran fighters jinked to avoid their pursuers. The advance forces of Tissaphernes had now arrived, and the growing air supremacy of the Terrans had been turned around completely. Even the autonomous drones used by both sides were shot down the minute they approached within several kilometres into the warzone. But more horrendous was the thick black smoke that had settled through parts of the city. Most was coming from the scores of destroyed buildings, but some came from the smouldering wrecks of dromons and armoured vehicles that had been torn apart by the violence in the city.

Tamara watched the unfolding battle from the relative safety of the broken rubble in front of the Citadel walls. One of the powerful siege machines burned with great intensity, but the other three continued to launch their deadly projectiles against the thick walls of the Citadel. She lowered her eyes down to the sight on her Doru MK II rifle. She’d already adjusted the optical sight to two hundred metres and watched the tower for signs of the enemy. Just as Artemas has said, the outer wall was clear and free from weaponry. She checked for the shapes of the Night Blades, but the greatest movement came from Artemas herself. She was already halfway up and increasing her lead with every step. About twenty of the stratiotes were also on the tower, lifting themselves up using the ropes from the grappling equipment.

“To the left,” whispered one of the men to her side.

A small group of eight Night Blades had stayed behind to assist the automatons in the overwatch gunfire. Four were expert shots, and the others performed the vital role of spotter. It was a job perfectly suited to the lightly armoured Night Blades. Tamara kept her eye on the scope and panned the weapon slowly to the right, looking for the potential target. The wall was almost two-thirds the height of the tower and covered with crenulations like something from the ancient past of a hundred different races. Small sections jutted out at fixed intervals with gaps for soldiers to fire from. They were covered with metal plating to stop being hit by bombs and missiles from above, and even sported low power energy fields. They flickered on and off to give the defenders an opportunity to shoot. It was these gaps that the Night Blades watched for, the times when they were vulnerable to attack. It was there that she saw two Medes warriors moving a heavy pulse cannon into position. The larger of the two seemed to be carrying most of the weight. The second carried a drum with cables running to the weapon.

Got you.

Tamara took careful aim at the larger figure and squeezed the trigger. The Doru rifle punched into her shoulder, accelerating the projectile at super high speeds. At the same time, it loaded in another two rounds and fired them off in almost the same moment. The first struck the Medes in the head, and the other two scattered nearby with one striking his throat. There was a slight puff of red mist, and then he instantly vanished from view. But most importantly, the dead man dropped the heavy weapon. It fell about a metre before the second man reached out of the gap to grab it. A second Night Blade shooter managed to strike him in the arm, and the weapon dropped from the wall and clattered amongst the rubble on the ground.

Yes! She thought happily.

It was a minor victory by all accounts, but with her injury and the maelstrom of battle raging all around her, it felt good to be back in the fight and doing something useful to help her comrades. She moved the sight back to the left and watched Artemas. The lithe and agile lady had made it two thirds up the tower and was now running to the left as though swinging on the rope. Tamara watched in awe, and she changed direction and ran. It was as if she wore magnetic boots. Just as she reached the right-hand side, her feet lifted up, and she sailed around the tower to the side. Then she let go. Tamara’s heart felt as it had stopped, as she watched her fall down and disappear onto the wall. She tracked the spot where she expected to find Artemas, but the shape of the wall hid everything from her. Movement on the tower caught her attention. It was somebody dressed in the same attire as her.

“Xenophon!” she uttered in both surprise and concern.

He was swinging along the tower, much like Artemas had been, but with a little less speed and grace. His left hand held onto the narrow wire, and his right hand was raised and pointing to the wall. Streaks flashed from the muzzle of one of his Asgeirr-Carbines. He then let go and vanished inside the wall structure, along with Artemas. Tamara let out a sigh at the sight of her two friends vanishing into the unknown.

*

Five kilometres from the Citadel came the main assault wave; squadrons of dromons with gunships and drone escorts swept in low and fast over Cunaxa’s urban sprawl. Even from this distance away, the gunfire and missiles launched from the primary defences reached out to strike them. The drones functioned much like ablative armour and rushed out in front to take the attention of the tracking systems. Some were shot out of the sky, but a surprising number made it through.

Right behind them came multiple formations of dromons, all of which were led by a single heavily armoured command dromon. Though superficially similar to the other craft, this one had been purchased by Clearchus from the substantial funds paid to him by Lord Cyrus. It had slightly less interior space but carried thicker front armour and even shielding. It was something never used before on dromons, though he suspected it would soon become common practice. Once activated, the shield unit had functioned much like an airbrake. It was one of the many reasons they were not normally used. Some cunning work by the Ionian engineers on board his Titan had allowed them to modify three separate units to create a crude cone of protection along the front of the craft. It was far from perfect, but their calculations made the craft proof against projectiles up to pulse cannon sizes. Two shells struck the nose and glanced off the shielding, sending streaks of multicoloured energy from the craft. A small piece of armour tore off from the impact as a low amount of kinetic energy managed to break through the many gaps in the improvised shield.

“Damn, that was close!” called out Clearchus.

The dromon shook from the impact but continued forwards on its course. Four more dromons formed up behind him in a wedge formation and deployed their ground attack arsenal. Dromons were usually unarmed, but the Laconians made use of both transport and gunship variants. The first wave, led by Clearchus, carried the best troops and also the dromons with the greatest number of weapons. Clearchus watched the sight of the battle through the toughened glass of the nose of his command dromon. The great bulk of his armour made anything but a modified vessel such as this useless to transport him and his elite bodyguard into battle. For this, the final and perhaps greatest battle of his life, he was wearing his best and most lavish armour. Like all Laconian military equipment, it was both effective and a sight like no other. The chest armour was muscled like a bronze cuirass of old, and his helmet was only slightly different to those his people had used back when shields and spears were the main weapons of war. His personal shield generator was built into his left arm. Although heavy, it would be able to provide him with full body protection in any direction he placed his forearm. His long crimson cloak looked black inside the darkened confines of the dromon. He turned back to his comrades. They were handpicked to be his elite bodyguard. There was no doubt in his mind that his unit could take any objective, no matter how well protected.

“Strategos, we’re moving over the Arcadian landing zones.”

Clearchus nodded at the news and watched from the small windows. They screamed past a number of dromons that were busy bringing more troops to the battle. They were not far from the Citadel now, and his body ached with anticipation of the epic battle he’d imagined for so many months. Looking ahead, the sight that greeted him was like one of the many paintings he’d seen back home of the greatest battles of ancient legend. Back when Laconians fought bloody, epic battles against the Medes. He checked the tactical overlay that was being projected inside his helmet. Signal traffic between the Terran units was substantial but proving effective. Every single unit from dekas sized squads right up through to tagmata were in contact and moving quickly to their respective fronts. He expected the main Terran effort to be ready for battle within twenty or thirty minutes.

All I have to do now is to get Cyrus to calm down and wait! He mused.

He sent a simple thought to his communications node and connected directly to his junior commanders. Each of the Dukas, including Proxenus, Kratez, Sophaenetus the Arcadian and Sosis, returned their current status and dispositions. Only Meno and Xenias were notable by their absence. Xenias was understandable. The last information he had was that the old Dukas had crash-landed inside the enemy compound and was trapped in a battle at the tower complex. His communications could have easily been damaged or jammed that close to the Emperor. After finally confirming their status, he turned his attention back to the primary battle zone around Cyrus. It was clear that although Cyrus had managed to bring enough of his troops to bear, he was having a hard time breaking through the outer defences. Meno had brought a number of troops, including some siege equipment, yet he was refusing contact. More ground troops from Xenias had arrived, and in that, he was thankful. Now in much smaller numbers, the Arcadians were, in his opinion, at least reliable and trustworthy. He was already regretting letting Meno and his Thessalians come on the operation. He instead connected directly to Cyrus.

“Lord Cyrus, I need a full report on your operation.”

“Clearchus?” came back a crackling voice, barely identifiable as being that of the Median commander. “When will you be here? I need protection for my flank.”

Clearchus shook his head angrily.

“Cyrus, please answer my question. What is your status?”

It became even harder to understand Cyrus, as gunfire and explosions seemed to drown out much of the sound. The helmets built-in filtering tools delayed the sound long enough to perform as much error checking and repair work as it could. It sent the butchered results to him a second later.

“Clearchus. Meno and his siege equipment are creating breaches, and more forces are already heavily engaged. On Meno’s advice, I will take the walls first.”

Clearchus sighed with relief.

Thank the Gods. Maybe Meno isn’t as much of an idiot as I thought.

“Lord Cyrus, it is imperative that you do not push any further. Secure the walls and await my arrival. My reconnaissance drones show he has formidable gun emplacements and additional troops within the compound. The main buildings are also very heavily shielded. It will need to be taken room by room with heavy infantry. This is a job for the spatharii. Understood?”

“Yes…yes!” answered Cyrus impatiently. “There is more, though. Tissaphernes has brought a large army, and it is heading for our right flank. I’ve despatched scouts, but they were eliminated just after sending their report. Scout drones show they are less than three kilometres from my position.”

Clearchus looked to the tactical overlay and noticed the movement off to the top. It was a region that was being guarded by a large contingent of six thousand automatons. There was no reason why he needed to get involved. At the very least, Cyrus’ forces should be able to hold them off.

The worst case is they would need help, but not yet.

Right now, he wanted to get his best troops into action before the enemy had time to react.

“That doesn’t matter, Cyrus. I will be on the ground in minutes, and we will take that wall. We’ll take care of Tissaphernes and his troops later.”

“No, you don’t understand. They have brought up machines from the robotic domains, vast machines, as well as thousands of troops and hundreds of vehicles and legions of Mulacs. Most of them were already in hiding. That’s why they are not showing on your overlays. Here, add this to your tactical data. It is the latest data from my forward units.”

Clearchus looked back to the overlay and tracked their progress. It appeared they were heading for a point that would split Cyrus off from the landing zones, but they were much further away than Cyrus was suggesting. The data attachment from Cyrus arrived, and he added it to the overlay. In an instant, the red colour that represented the enemy’s Northern forces increased to five times their size. Even more serious, there were a number of small units almost at the flank of the Citadel itself.

“Gods! How did this happen?” he muttered involuntarily.

If they succeed, the forces at the front will be trapped, and the Legion will be forced to defend the landing zones or risk being stuck here. I have to hold them back.

Clearchus selected the commanders on the overlay and sent tactical commands to them directly. It was efficient, and they each acknowledged the change of plan in seconds without the need for voice communications. He thought of Cyrus and his troops stuck outside the Citadel.

“Very well, Cyrus, maintain your current mission. Secure the walls and stabilise your flank. I have revised orders to the Boeotians, Arcadians and Megarans to assist you. They are bringing over four thousands Terrans to your aid. Proxenus, the commander of the Boeotian contingent will command them and help secure the outer section of the Citadel. He will take command of Meno and his forces upon his arrival.”

A missile exploded nearby and sent shards of red-hot steel into the left flank of the dromon. A small number of holes appeared but luckily, none of the ammunition was able to penetrate the metal skin. Clearchus glanced at the damage and turned his attention back to the warriors inside the dromon. Kleandridas turned away from the damage and back to Clearchus. He’d been following the conversation with interest, and he looked unimpressed.

“I’ve seen the reports from Cyrus. Can he take the walls without us? It will only be Proxenus and his combined forces trying to take the Citadel?”

Clearchus nodded but was stopped from speaking by the sound of a dromon exploding nearby. It had been packed with dozens of Laconian spatharii, men and women that Clearchus knew individually. His heart felt heavy, but as always, the battle had to come first. A fighter screamed past them with thick black smoke trailing from its engines. It quickly lost control and spun upside, tumbling to the ground; he looked away and then back to his deputy.

“Yes, it will be enough to take the walls, but Cyrus will need our Laconians to finish the job. My worry is that we need the ground troops to link up with Cyrus. By the time the rest of Proxenus’ troops are in position, Tissaphernes will hit them. We need to smash him and fast. After the flank is stable, we will reinforce Meno and Proxenus at the Citadel for the final push.”

Kleandridas nodded in agreement at this revised plan. Clearchus took a long breath, filling his lungs with air.

“We have a small window of opportunity, and Tissaphernes is right where we want him. This isn’t the way I wanted it, but it could be to our advantage. Cyrus’ early attack has drawn out Tissaphernes. If he’d waited, we might have already been fully engaged. With one swift hammer blow, we will scatter his troops. Then we will return and explain to Cyrus how Laconians besiege cities.”

Kleandridas grinned at this last comment. He’d fought in enough battles alongside Clearchus to know exactly what happened when Laconian heavy infantry were used, and it was anything but pretty.

“I will coordinate our dromons for a combat insertion. We’ll be on the ground in less than a minute, two thousand, seven hundred spatharii and a thousand stratiotes. Tissaphernes will never know what has hit him!”

As the commanders of the Laconians issued new orders, the force of dromons and their escorts broke away from their advance on the Citadel. The large formation split up into three separate divisions, with the bulk of the drones and fighter cover staying with the larger, central division that was led by Clearchus himself. One made directly for Tissaphernes and his massed forces, and the other two sped off to the flanks. Directly beneath them, moved the vanguard of the rest of the Legion. The fastest were the eight-wheeled armoured personnel carriers of the Arcadians. Behind them moved an array of tracked and wheeled vehicles, all bristling with weapons and covered in thick armour. Each contingent flew the colours of their respective regions, but the armour of the vehicles maintained the dull grey, consistent with the rest of the Legion. It was a great sledgehammer with one simple goal in mind, the reduction of the fortified Citadel. Clearchus and his airborne reinforcements were the scalpel, a force of almost four thousand warriors, and all being carried into battle by the large numbers of dromons.

*

Xenophon heard the loud drone from the horde of dromons and escorts behind him. He had little time to look, but was able to glance over his right shoulder long enough to spot the aerial reinforcements changing direction and shooting away parallel to the wall. He spotted scores of craft, probably over a hundred, but he had little time to enjoy the view. The wall of the Citadel was proving just as difficult to hold, as it had been to capture. Artemas had also heard them but instead had taken the opportunity to move from the door and had lifted her carbine, ready for trouble. They’d already cleared this section of the wall and were looking to move into the relative safety of the tower. Thirteen of the Night Blades had made it onto the same section, and all of them kept low to avoid being seen by those on the higher levels of the tower that looked down to the wall.

“You ready?” he called out to the others.

They all nodded even though their numbers and heavy equipment was limited. Roxana moved to the doorway but noticed something. She leapt to the right just as two of the Median soldiers moved out from the entrance to the spiral staircase leading inside the tower. They carried their pulse rifles low and were evidently expecting trouble. Glaucon didn’t hesitate and opened fire at point-blank range. He cut both of them apart as the others waited patiently near the wall. The roar from the powerful weapon pushed him back half a metre, yet he continued to hold down the trigger. Two more Medes soldiers appeared and tried to avoid the fire, but it was all in vain. The entire group were thrown back inside in a spray of bloody and battered armour.

“That’s it, go, go, go!” shouted Xenophon.

He was through the doorway and inside the wide room. It appeared to be a barracks. There were two more soldiers inside, but these were heavily armoured and much more thickly set. The first brought down a gold coloured blade that glanced off Xenophon’s shoulder armour. The power was surprisingly heavy, and he was knocked down to one knee. Artemas jumped inside, quickly parrying the man’s blade and beating him back with her own weapons. Glaucon’s arrival was announced by another burst of cannon fire that punched fist sized holes through the second soldier’s chest armour. As Artemas and two of the Night Blades chased down and finished the first soldier, more of them moved inside. Xenophon lifted himself up and tapped the node in his helmet.

“Komes, we’ve taken the first level of the tower.”

“Good work, Dekarchos. Keep moving. I need those enfilade guns taken care of. How about the wall?”

Xenophon moved back in the direction they’d arrived from and looked out onto the wall. The crenulations to the right faced the Terran battle lines. No more Night Blades had made it, and he could only assume they had been killed or forced back into cover. He could see movement. It was more Medes soldiers coming out of the other staircases and onto the top of the wall. He lifted his right arm and fired a long burst from his Asgeirr-Carbine. The fire caught one of them, but the others took cover and proceeded to send a withering hail of pulse rounds towards Xenophon. He ducked back and shouted over to the nearest Night Blades.

“You two! Protect this doorway. No one comes in or goes out, understood?”

The older of the two nodded and took up position on the left hand side. All the Night Blades were excellent shots, and Xenophon had no doubt that these two would easily be able to hold the doorway, at least for the few minutes he needed to finish his mission.

“Right, everybody else with me. We’re taking this damned tower!”

With that, Xenophon, Glaucon, Artemas, Roxana and the eleven Night Blades moved onto the wide, circular staircase that led up to the higher levels. The design had much in common with ancient Terran fortresses. Glaucon and Xenophon led the group as they surged upstairs. It seemed an age before they burst out into the next room to find a dozen Medes automaton soldiers. They were busy taking aim from the two positions on each side of the room. A bulge on the flanks of the tower allowed them a perfect view from which to shoot down onto either the walls or just in front of them. Xenophon charged ahead, and the others rushed to join him. With two Asgeirr-Carbines blasting away, he cleared the entire left side of soldiers before they even knew what was happening. The rest lifted their hands in the universal signal of surrender when they saw the enraged Terrans running amok in their tower. As quickly as that, the tower had been secured. Xenophon contact Komes Pasion.

“Komes, we’ve secured the tower. The walls are safe for assault.”

There was a short moment of crackling static, and the happy tone of the Komes appeared.

“Excellent work. Meno and his siege troops have made two breaches in the lower levels of the near wall. This is the moment, my friend. Give us whatever fire support you can. Gods willing, we’ll control this entire segment within the next twenty minutes!”

Artemas looked over to him, her blade dripping with the blood of the automaton she had killed.

“What did the Komes say?”

Xenophon smiled back to her and then looked at the rest of the weary warriors.

“The assault on the wall has begun. We’re to provide fire support while they storm the walls. If we take the rest of this wall, well, this will be the point for the entire army’s breakthrough.”

Glaucon walked to the left-side bulge and pushed his pulse cannon into position. He loaded in a new magazine.

“Well, we’d better get busy, then!”

Xenophon smiled at his friend, and for the shortest of moments, he felt a sense of calm. They had reached their objective, the great planet of Cunaxa, and their prize was almost in sight. If they could end this campaign today, he could start planning his return to Attica and more importantly, he could put serious thought into undoing those that had wronged him and Glaucon and take revenge for the murder of his father.

“Look, they are starting the attack!” Roxana called out from the other side of the tower. Xenophon rushed over, crouching for a better view. The small extended bulges were only a couple of metres wide and fitted with two vertical slits to shoot through. Fitted on the wall was an activation panel that was switched on, and a small generator field covered the slit with a deflection shield. It was simple but extremely effective, at least Xenophon hoped it was. He looked out through the narrow slit and watched the incredible sight of thousands of soldiers charging the walls. With the tower cleared, there was now space on both sides for the lightly armoured automatons to use grapples to climb the wall. An equal number made for the breaches created by the heavy weapons of Meno, although the great surge quickly turned into a crowd as the bottlenecks of the breaches slowed them down. Movement at the far end of the wall showed the arrival of Medes soldiers. They looked like automatons but wore different helmets and moved with speed and purpose that meant they must be Medes natives.

“Stop them!” he called.

Roxana had already spotted them and sat herself behind the dual pulse cannon mounted in the bulge. She took careful arm and pulled the trigger. The weapon mount shook, but its cradle absorbed the recoil and allowed her to fire a long and extremely noisy burst of fire. From this position on the tower, it was devastating. The one weapon was enough to clear the top of the wall and force the tiny group of survivors to flee to cover. More gunfire erupted from the other side, as Glaucon and one of the Night Blades turned the guns on the other wall. The tower had become a thorn in the centre of the enemy defences.

This might actually work! Xenophon thought, almost happily.

“We’ve got trouble!” shouted Glaucon.

Xenophon left his position, but the guns continued to fire in his absence. He moved quickly to Glaucon and looked out onto the wall. To the right were hundreds of Cyrus’ soldiers, climbing as quickly as they could up the sheer face. On the other side of the wall were an almost equal number of Medes soldiers. They were taking cover behind a series of secondary defences or running into one of scores of access hatches leading into the wall itself.

“Where are they going?”

Artemas was already there and watching carefully.

“I know what they are doing, Xenophon. The rear half of the wall includes armoured walkways. Each section is a hundred metres long and sealed with locked bulkhead doors at each end. From inside the wall, they can move throughout the structure without being seen.”

Xenophon shook his head.

“That’s great. Can they get to these towers?”

Artemas considered his question for a moment. She’d played in the tower and along the wall as a child, but she couldn’t recall the options available to the enemy right now. Loud footsteps caught their attention, and both Xenophon and Artemas moved to the staircase in anticipation of trouble. But the face of one of the Night Blades stratiotes appeared.

“Dekarchos, they found a way in from the lowest level and onto the wall access area. We’ve barricaded the floor doorway, but they are blasting through it.”

Xenophon turned to Artemas. “There’s your answer.”

With a quick flick of his wrists, he activated the razor sharp blades of his two Asgeirr-Carbines. They pushed out like sharpened projectiles in front of hands and large punch daggers. Glaucon looked to see what was happening.

“No, you four stay here,” Xenophon ordered and stepped into the stairs with Artemas. “You have to keep them clear. Once the walls are taken, we can get Cyrus’ troops to take over here.”

“Good luck!” Glaucon shouted to his friend and returned to his task of blasting every single Medes soldier he could set his sights onto. Xenophon glanced back at Glaucon, Roxana and the two stratiotes still with them, and then he rushed downstairs. It only took a few seconds to cover the distance but jumping into the lower level, he was greeted with a sight of blood and carnage. Three Night Blades stratiotes lay dead on the floor as well as the body of a single Mulac warrior. He’d fought them before on Cilicia and was well aware of how tough they were to kill and how violent they were in battle. Most of the survivors were busy defending the main doorway. The door itself had been blasted apart. A quick glance outside showed a larger group of Mulacs with energised shields over their heads. It was a crude copy of what the Laconians did, and many were still cut down from the gunfire unleashed by Glaucon and the others. Even so, enough made it across to put pressure on the doorway.

Down there!” shouted one of the Night Blades while pointing into the middle of the room. Xenophon turned his gaze down to where a metal plate riddled with holes continued to shake.

“We stopped them once, but they’ve brought up reinforcements. I bet…”

The hatch blew open with such immense force that the metal plating struck the reinforced ceiling and clattered to the ground. The shockwave threw Artemas, Xenophon and the two nearest stratiotes to the floor. Before any of them could recover, a group of a seven Mulacs jumped from their hiding place, rushing at them. Two more Night Blades were killed, and the survivors were forced to give ground and fall back to the staircase. Artemas was up first, firing a burst from her carbine. She was struck in the shoulder by the fist of a Mulac. Xenophon lifted himself up to one knee, but two Mulacs rushed him and held him down. Unlike Glaucon, Xenophon was only of average strength and could not force his way to safety. He struggled, but it made little difference.

“Artemas!” he cried out, fearful for her life.

Several more bursts of fire came from the staircase, followed by a dull impact to his head. His vision faded, shortly by his hearing. The last thing he could make out was the sound of heavy gunfire.

*

In the outer limits of the city, the great Legions of Tissaphernes had already smashed through the perimeter. Squads of automatons were in full flight, and much smaller groups of Medes soldiers did their best to stem the tide. As the Laconian reinforcements swept in, it was clear the entire front had collapsed. Mixed in with the wheeled vehicles were the monstrous creations of the robotic domains. Most of them were no bigger than humans, but some of the heavy siege machines were almost twenty metres tall and bristling with building levelling weapons. Their great height made them stick out from the rest of the troops like the spires of some ancient city.

Strategos Clearchus watched the great horde from his dromon with a look of surprise and awe. The shimmering energy fields coming from some of the larger robotic machines projected defences above them to protect the ground forces from aerial bombardment. He almost smiled at the prospect of getting his hands dirty. Never before had he seen such a battle array, and it sent surges of adrenalin pumping through his body. He’d never felt so alive. He opened his mouth to speak but was stopped by a bemused looking Kleandridas.

“Strategos, it is Tissaphernes. He wishes to speak with you.”

Clearchus looked at his comrade with a confused look. They were just seconds from their combat landing, and the incoming fire to the dromons was overwhelming. He tapped the button in front of him, and the image of the enemy commander appeared. Rather than keep it private, he tapped the button to the side of the Mede’s face, sending it out to every dromon and armoured vehicle in the Legion. The rest of the Terrans would also receive the audio.

“Strategos Clearchus, I see you have arrived on Cunaxa. I have no intention of engaging your forces. I have been given my orders by the Emperor himself to stop this insurrection by Cyrus. Stand your forces down, and I will bypass them and move on to Cyrus. Your consideration will, of course, be fully rewarded with double the payment you are receiving from the traitor.”

Clearchus smiled back at him, nodding to his pilot. The dromon swept in low, barely ten metres above the ground and then reversed its engines. The back draft kicked up substantial amounts of dust as they moved in to land.

“We have a job to do here, and so far, Cyrus is the only Medes that has kept his word. You betrayed us on Cilicia, and now you are trying to do the same again.”

Tissaphernes looked almost nervous on the video screen. Unlike most of the warriors currently engaged in battle, he wore limited armour and seemed to carry no substantial weapons. He was the kind of military commander that Clearchus hated; someone who sent others to die but did nothing himself.

“Clearchus, you are outnumbered, and I’m afraid, outclassed. It is my intention that after this is over, I will visit the Terran border worlds. Would you rather I came to them as a friend, or as a foe?”

Clearchus looked to Kleandridas. He was already holding onto the rails near the port doorway, ready to leap out and into battle. The rest of the Epilektoi checked their weapons for the last time. Clearchus nodded, fully decided on his course of action. He turned and looked directly into the video screen.

“Neither!”

The dromon made a loud thud and shook violently. They had landed. The side doors flew open, and Clearchus, along with his comrades, streamed out just one hundred metres from Tissaphernes’ troops. More and more landed. In less than two minutes, over five hundred spatharii were in action and charging directly into the columns of automatons in the ruins. They met head on in a terrible display of blood, bone, shields and armour.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Citadel of Cunaxa, Cunaxa Secundus

The tower that had been so violently defended by Xenophon and his comrades was filled with the dead and dying. Only half of the Night Blades were still standing. The others were either dead or being tended to by the newly arrived automatons. Cyrus entered the structure to see for himself the destruction wrought on both sides for its control. The lowest level was also the widest and housed a small armoury. Xenophon and Roxana both sat on the one side while bandages were applied to minor wounds. Glaucon stood near the doorway, watching every single person that entered, as if he expected them to be the enemy. Dukas Meno was first, followed by two other senior Terran commanders. Finally Cyrus and four of his guards arrived.

“Gods, where is my niece?” They were his first words upon seeing so many dead Terrans and Mulacs.

Artemas stepped away from the side of Xenophon and to her uncle. He grabbed her and pulled her close.

“You’re supposed to be well away from danger. What are you doing here?” he asked grimly.

“The tower, it had to be taken.”

Cyrus nodded but said no more. Xenophon heard them speaking in their own language and pushed himself away from the wall. The bandage on his left arm was a nuisance but didn’t stop him from moving.

“Lord Cyrus, how goes the battle?”

Cyrus looked back to the doorway and the sound of gunfire.

“We have the wall, thanks to you and your people. Xenias and his forces are still in their position. He has requested immediate help to clear the lower levels, so he can assist us. Apparently, the Mulacs are holding part of Artaxerxes’ left flank.”

He looked inside the tower and the bodies that littered the place.

“What happened here?”

Xenophon pointed to the staircase that led up to the multiple floors above them.

“We tried to hold them, but there were too many. Glaucon, Roxana and Lady Artemas here managed to start a counterattack that drove them back and pushed them to this floor. It was just in time for the arrival of Proxenus and the Boeotians. Apparently, your niece slew the last of the Mulacs single-handed.”

A Terran might have been impressed at this news, but Cyrus looked nonplussed at the entire thing. Artemas moved closer to him and spoke quietly.

“What is wrong?”

“Clearchus, he had to divert the Laconians to the Northern flank. He is heavily engaged and cannot assist us, not yet. That means we will have to wait here while Artaxerxes prepares for our final attack. I fear if I wait much longer, I will lose my chance.”

The Terran commanders approached him to discuss the battle, and she was forced to move aside. They spoke of the various options, but Cyrus was clearly not interested in her input. As she walked away, she noted that Cyrus had a haunted look to his eyes, like that of a man that had dropped or broken something irreplaceable.

“Artemas!” Xenophon called over to her.

She looked amongst the dozens of Terran soldiers and watched Xenophon walking to the doorway. She left Cyrus and the others and moved towards Xenophon. Artemas looked out of the door and to the base of the nearest wall. More and more soldiers arrived and brought rubble, crates and debris with them to create additional cover along the inner side of the wall. The entire Eastern wall of the Citadel of Cunaxa was now fully under the control of Cyrus and his forces. According to the reports coming in on the Black Legion frequency, over two thousand automatons now lined the battlements. Twice that number waited behind the thick walls for the order to move through the killing ground on the other side and towards the Citadel itself. The battle had calmed, even if just for a few minutes as Artaxerxes troops either surrendered or fell back to the secondary defences. At the same time, Cyrus brought in more troops to ensure his foothold was maintained. Roxana and Artemas stepped outside and moved in low behind the rubble. The Citadel was nearly four hundred metres away and bristling with turrets, weapons and spires. Artemas pointed at the shapes in the distance.

“Look at them, what are they doing?”

Roxana looked in the direction she was pointing in. Legion after legion of Medes soldiers were moving out from the Citadel itself. The gunfire had all but stopped from both sides, and it looked as if something significant was about to happen.

“Lord Cyrus!” Roxana called over to the commanders.

He turned, as well as Meno and Proxenus. They looked equally irritated by her interruption.

“The Medes, they are deploying outside of the Citadel.”

Cyrus stormed out from the safety of the tower and through the doorway into the open. A number of his elite guards took up position in front of him and at his flanks, in case a stray round or projectile struck near their commander. A number of the spatharii from Meno’s unit also moved near, so they could place a shield generator in front of the group. He watched in confusion as thousands upon thousands of soldiers assembled as if on parade. A subtle glimmer refracted from in front of them, the only way of detecting the immense energy shield that extended out from the spires for almost fifty metres around the base.

“Interesting, it looks to me like an invitation,” Proxenus said in a clipped accent.

He was one of the most experienced commanders amongst the Terrans. He was known to work hard to acquire the affection of his men, a virtue that some had taken advantage of in the early stages of the formation of the Legion. At only thirty years of age, he was one of the youngest commanders in the entire force. Meno looked at him suspiciously and then to the enemy.

“An invitation to what, though?”

Cyrus seemed more interested in just one part of the enemy formation.

“Look,” he said, extending his hand.

In the centre of the military formation was a slightly different coloured unit. A number of tall vertical standards flew in the brisk wind.

“My brother,” Cyrus whispered. There was a hint of reverence in his voice.

Proxenus watched the Medes with a mixture surprise and contempt. Everything he’d seen so far suggested they were far too interested in power, and they were happy to let their emotions run rampant over their lives. So many people had been recruits or forced to fight on behalf of Cyrus, yet he wondered which of the two would actually help the Empire.

Would the Medes even care?

He tapped a button his armour and focused on the amplified image shown on his right eye. The optical stabiliser on his helmet was impressive, and he was able to make out the expressions on the faces of the enemy, even at that distance.

“Yes, it’s him,” he confirmed, having seen the golden armour of the Emperor himself, and over three hundred of his elite bodyguard. What really caught his eye though, was that there were dozens of different races in his army; the most significant being an entire unit of Terran foot soldiers who were spreading out like a skirmish line in front of the Royal bodyguard.

“Zacynthians!” he muttered under his breath.

More reports flashed into the overlay inside his ancient Corinthian styled helm; everything from casualties to the arrival of more troops came straight to his helmet. Unlike traditional communications traffic, it was quick to analyse, and he could issue basic orders without even speaking. Most of the Terran reinforcements had made it to within a kilometre of the city walls, and it looked like Clearchus was doing his job. He connected directly to the Strategos.

“Proxenus, what is it?” barked the Laconian commander with difficulty. He was involved in some heavy exertions, probably some kind of hand-to-hand combat, if he knew anything about the Strategos.

“We’ve taken the Eastern wall. I’m bringing up more troops for the final battle.”

The next words were almost impossible to make out. Clearchus was shouting to his men at the same time. The last words were clear enough, though.

“Dig in and wait!”

Proxenus nodded, not that Clearchus would be able to see him. He looked to the direction of Cyrus and the other commanders. Xenophon and his comrades still sheltered behind the cover, but not a single shot seemed to be coming in their direction anymore. The air seemed calm for the time being, and if he closed his eyes, he could have been back home on his own world. He shook his head, walking over to Cyrus. He was now speaking with the newly arrived Ariaeus. Cyrus spotted him and nodded as a common courtesy.

“All of Ariaeus’ ground troops are in position. Seven thousand warriors, and every one of them ready for the final attack.”

“How about you, Dukas?” asked Ariaeus.

The arrogant little rat, Proxenus thought.

“Under a thousand this side of the wall, two thousand more within twenty minutes.”

He then looked directly at Cyrus.

“Clearchus has smashed the frontline of Tissaphernes. If he is lucky, the Laconians will force them to a withdrawal.”

Cyrus grinned.

“There is no such thing as luck with Clearchus. His people are obsessed with battle, and they see no boundaries. Do you know what he said to me when I asked what the borders of his people were?”

Proxenus sighed inwardly. Although he recognised the undoubtedly impressive military prowess of the Laconians, he certainly didn’t like having it thrust down his throat all of the time. Compared to the Medes, every single Terran was a god.

“No, Lord Cyrus, I have no idea,” he replied bitterly. In reality, he’d heard this quote so many times, he wondered if any Laconian had ever really said it, or if the words themselves were part of the mythos built up by the Laconians themselves to demonstrate their superiority. Cyrus looked at him, unsure as to whether the Terran really cared.

“All he did was to lift his weapon, point to the star and say, ‘As far as my reach!’”

Yes, it was the same line he’d heard attributed to a dozen Laconian leaders going back to the ancient times. Even so, he had no doubt that a Laconian army could smash any army it faced, especially one filled with the ranks of the Medes.

They were all were interrupted by the booming cries of the Medes assembled in front of the Citadel. At first, it sounded like a song, but quite quickly it was clear they were calling out a series of rising chants. Proxenus looked closely at each of the units. They appeared to be well equipped and more importantly, in very good spirits. Cyrus seemed agitated and kept glancing back to his own forces lined up and waiting. Two more units of mercenary Taochi had entered the open space behind the walls and lined up as if on parade. Everything that was happening was starting to make Proxenus nervous.

“Lord Cyrus, what is happening? My forces will be here shortly. We need to site heavy guns on the walls and complete the encirclement of the Citadel. This deployment can lead to just one thing.”

Cyrus appeared disinterested though and maintained his stare on his brother. There was movement amongst the enemy lines. The golden banners and armour of the Emperor’s guards moved up a wide set of steps, directly in the centre of the line.

“What is it?” asked Proxenus.

“My brother is sitting upon his great throne. It is where he would expect to sit to receive the heads of conquered enemies.”

From one of the breaches emerged the first troops of the Boeotian contingent. They were all spatharii and armed and armoured in a similar fashion to that of the Laconians. They pushed ahead, taking up station with the thousands of warriors waiting for what had to be the final battle. As they moved, the glimmer from their arms showed the semi-transparent body shields.

“We can finish this. We can end this in minutes!” said Cyrus, his face filled with passion and excitement.

Proxenus tried to intervene, but Ariaeus blocked his path and spoke calmly to his commander. His words were short, but Cyrus nodded, indicating for his second-in-command to move off to speak with the commanders of the allied Median contingents that he’d brought along. That was when Proxenus spotted the movement to the left of the enemy line. One of his junior Komes also saw it and called out.

“Dukas, they are withdrawing back into the Citadel.”

Proxenus watched carefully. He was all too familiar with the feigned withdrawals and devious tactics used by these barbarians. In his short but successful experience in war on the frontiers, he’d learned early on to never make quick assumptions about the Medes in battle. War horns blared like a scene from a battle thousands of years ago, and Proxenus was immediately filled with dread. He pushed up to Cyrus, much to the annoyance of one of his Taochi commanders.

“Lord Cyrus, what is happening? My forces are not at full strength.”

Cyrus looked down to him and smiled.

“Do not worry yourself, Proxenus. My brother has seen our strength and is retreating to his walls. The time is now!”

Proxenus reached out to grab him, but two of his ever-present Anusiyan guards blocked his path.

“No, this is madness. You know your brother. It is a ruse!”

Cyrus looked to the soldiers arrayed on both sides and back to Proxenus.

“Perhaps. Either way, I will not wait. He stands before me, ready for the taking. This battle, this victory shall be mine. Support me with everything you have. We attack in thirty seconds!”

With that, the Medes commander walked away to join the rest of his guards unit that were assembling towards the centre of his own line. It was also where most of the Taochi were now positioned. They each stood like an ancient Minotaur, with their thick armour and heavy close quarter combat weapons. Proxenus shook his head angrily and signalled for the other Dukas to convene with him. They met a short distance away in the remains of a smashed marble temple near the inside of the wall.

“Cyrus is attacking, with or without our help.”

“Is he mad?” replied Kratez, leader of the Achaeans.

The other three Terrans looked at him incredulously. Sophaenetus the Arcadian and Sosis had all brought up their faster moving stratiotes to the Citadel, but their spatharii were still making the journey to the front. Only the five hundred spatharii of Kratez had made it to join up with the ground troops of Meno and Xenias.

Sosis looked even less impressed at the news.

“I am not sending my light infantry into that meat grinder. Clearchus was quite clear. The final attack needs to be done in force, or we lose this fight.”

Proxenus looked back at the waiting legions. Cyrus was already giving an impassioned speech in his native language. The waiting warriors appeared to be fired up, though he was intimately familiar with how the idea of combat quickly changed to fear and panic once the guns started up again. As the other Dukas argued about whether to support the battle, Meno stopped them all.

“If we do not help Cyrus in this attack, then we all fail. Surely we have a better chance together than leaving him to fail?”

The words were actually sensible and for a second, Proxenus tried to work out what possible angle Meno was looking at for this battle. Finding none, he assumed that Meno must just be fearful for his own skin. Defeat in this battle would have serious repercussions for any that survived. A quick survey of the battlefield showed the open ground between the outer wall and the inner wall of the Citadel had almost no cover. Only the small buildings barracks, vehicle depots and power units stationed near the inside of the wall itself offered any cover. It gave him an idea.

“Right, this is the plan. Meno and Kratez will join the main frontal assault with their heavy infantry. Sophaenetus and Sosis, you will join me with all the stratiotes on a massed attack past the tower complex on the left. We will pick up Xenias and his troops on the way where they are still trapped. By this time, the main battle should be well underway. We will smash their flank and roll them up so that we hit the centre of the line on two fronts.”

Each of the Dukas nodded in agreement at the plan.

“Good, to your posts, we have but seconds!”

By the times the Dukas ran back to their units, Proxenus had reached the mixed formation of troops assembled at the tower. Xenophon and his companions were also there, waiting with a mixture of ranged and close combat weapons. Sophaenetus and Sosis, commander of the small Arcadian and Syracusan units were there, explaining to their stratiotes and the odd spatharii what the plan was. A loud horn with a frequency so low that it almost made the ground vibrate announced the start of Cyrus’ attack. All along ground in front of the wall the assembled legions stepped forward at a walking pace. Proxenus shook his head at the sight.

“Come on, we need to move!”

With that, the commanders and their groups of lightly armoured soldiers sprinted off to the left, each keeping their heads down low to avoid any potential gunfire. Not far from the front, Xenophon and his group were doing their best to keep up, even after the minor injuries they’d sustained in the fighting to secure the tower. With a terrifying scream, the defensive weapons of the Citadel as well as the soldiers themselves opened fire. Cyrus’ own troops, their battle standards lifted high and cheering for their commander, increased their pace. Proxenus and his comrades reached the tower being held by Xenias just as the first mortars and heavy ordnance started to land amongst Cyrus and his forces. The last stage in the battle for the Citadel of Cunaxa had begun.

“Clear the lower level!” shouted Proxenus. He then barged through the group of surprised enemy automatons waiting near the entrance and vanished inside the tower. It was structured much like the one Xenophon had secured but about fifty percent larger in its width. Most of the others pushed past and dug in around the tower while the small number of spatharii joined in for the attack. Xenophon and Glaucon jumped in to find Proxenus smashing the head of a Mulac into the wall. Two more Mulacs appeared from the staircase, and he swung his pulse cannon around to face them. One turned to run, but it was too late. The flash of the gun nearly blinded the Terrans, but it did its job. The bodies of the two shattered Mulacs slid down, and Xenophon jumped passed them to move upstairs. Others followed, including Artemas as they worked their way up to the next floor. Gunfire above indicated some kind of action was going on. By the time Xenophon had reached the open space, he ran into Xenias himself plus a dozen of his men engaged in a bitter hand-to-hand fight with an equal number of heavily armoured Mulacs.

“Protect the Dukas!” he shouted and leapt into action. Artemas joined in, her speed and skill more than a match for any single warrior in the room. Weight of numbers soon pressed against the Mulacs until just four remained. They were pushed up to the wall and fighting desperately. Seeing their fight was hopeless, they dropped their weapons and stood by to await their fate. Xenias almost struck them down, but Proxenus intervened and moved directly to Xenias.

“We need to keep moving. Cyrus has launched a full frontal assault on Artaxerxes’ defences. I need everybody you have to help in a push on our left flank, but leave your best shots. They can help supply us with covering fire from these towers.”

Xenias nodded, but he was clearly in pain. Drops of blood ran down his left leg, and his armour was battered and scorched. He glanced over when he saw Xenophon.

“You again!” he laughed. “You’d better come with us. We have something important to do!”

They made their way back down, letting small groups of fresh troops with long-range rifles move into the structure. Now that the fighting was over in that part of the battlefield, they would be able to rain down a withering hail of fire into the flak of the enemy formation. It would be helpful but not decisive for the coming struggle. They reached the door and moved out to see the first ranks of Cyrus’ Median army crash into the troops of Artaxerxes. It was like watching land-trains crash head on. Dozens, perhaps hundreds must have been crushed or killed in the first stage. Streaks from missiles and heavy weapons on both sides tore into the lines, yet nothing seemed to be able to thin out the thousands of warriors.

“This is complete insanity. Cyrus has gone completely mad,” Proxenus muttered.

“Are we staying or pushing on?” asked Sosis. He was now starting to doubt their plan.

Xenophon, although only a lowly dekarchos, pushed between the commanders.

“We have to join the battle. They are evenly matched, so this could go either way.”

Artemas and Roxana stood off to his side but said nothing. They were both completely overawed by the sight of the epic battle taking place. Only Glaucon seemed to be able to take his eyes away for even a moment.

“Come on, if we’re attacking, we need to do this now.”

Dukas Xenias nodded in agreement, and after being given the nod by Proxenus, turned to face his grubby looking warriors.

“Arcadians, it is time! Let’s finish this!”

With a cry, he lumbered forward, still hugging the outer wall and working around towards the enemy’s flank. The other stratiotes chased after, and like a stampeding herd, the entire force moved quickly ahead. They reached just a hundred metres from the nearest enemy when the defensive fire started. The few spatharii present did their best to shield the others from the gunfire, but like the Medes soldiers, the stratiotes were poorly equipped to deal with such a torrent of gunfire. Twenty-three were cut down before the front rank made it close enough to use pistols, blades and carbines effectively. Those with rifles slid into cover a short distance from the enemy line but most charged ahead. After passing the outer line of skirmishers, they crashed into the lightly armoured automatons, proceeding to shoot, hack and stab their way through.

“To the Emperor!” called out Proxenus. He was drowned out by the shouting and screams of hundreds of Medes and Terran soldiers.

Xenophon and his companions stayed closer to Xenias, having greater faith in their old commander’s skills, as well as his instincts. He instantly identified the weakest part of the horde, and with his carbine held low, he charged through. Any enemy troops coming too close were shot to pieces or hacked down by a dozen of his personal guards. Glaucon followed, blasting apart every enemy soldier he could identify. Roxana, Artemas and Xenophon concentrated on blade combat. Their experience, training and skill with these weapons were vastly superior to the Medes, and it took just three minutes for them to cut a swathe through to a raised piece of ground. Xenias stopped upon reaching it, moving only to pick off the odd automaton that moved into his path.

“Where is Cyrus?”

Proxenus was nowhere to be seen, nor were the other Dukas. He looked back and noted that less than a hundred Terrans had penetrated this far. The rest were engaged in a massed melee to the flank. He looked back and could see the Emperor, now stood and sheltering behind dozens of golden armoured warriors. They appeared agitated, and some rushed off to the right. He turned his head slightly and picked out the standard of Cyrus, along with the spatharii of Meno and a handful of his Anusiyans that still lived. Xenophon took aim, cutting down a group of automatons trying to block their path to assist in the final fight. They were an equal distance from the Emperor and the rest of their men.

“This is it, Dukas. We have to help him!” shouted Xenophon.

Xenias hesitated, fearful that by pushing forward, he would trap his small band right in the heart of the enemy army. Rather than wait, Xenophon jumped forward with his companions following. They hacked and blasted away as they continued forward. Xenias, never the man to stand by and watch, took aim and chased after them. Almost as soon as they started, they seemed to arrive at the side of the enemy leader. His guards surrounded him. At seeing a number of Terrans arriving on their flank, a group of the guards turned and jumped down to intercept them. They were armed with deadly looking glaives and others carried rifles. Xenophon, Artemas and Xenias crashed into them. Glaucon took careful aim at the Emperor. He lifted the weapon slightly, aiming at the leader’s head. Dozens more Terrans rushed past him to engage those trying to stop Xenophon. His friend looked back and saw Glaucon.

“Do it!” he screamed.

Glaucon breathed out slowly and pulled the trigger. The weapon slammed back into his body, and a burst of large calibre pulse rounds launched at the Emperor. He saw the figure move and then vanish in the maelstrom of the battle. Three of the guards fired back, so he was forced to duck down. He then lifted himself back up and took aim once more, finally seeing the commander being helped up.

You must have some amazing gear! Glaucon thought.

He lined up for another shot, but it was too late. Cyrus and more than forty Medes soldiers, Terrans and even three Taochi warriors cut their way through the Anusiyan guards; right up to Artaxerxes himself. At the same time, Xenophon and Artemas managed to reach the platform to hit the Emperor from the left. Cyrus made it first and charged directly at his half-brother. Artaxerxes drew a firearm from inside his gloriously detailed cloak and took aim. Three of Meno’s spatharii locked position around their commander, their body shields placed directly in front of Cyrus. Even so, the look on Cyrus’ face transformed as he realised the weapon was not a pistol, but in fact a thermal grenade. With a bright blue flash, the powerful explosion obliterated the Emperor and his immediate bodyguard. The spatharii protecting Cyrus were thrown back into the battle where they were instantly cut down. Cyrus was blasted onto his back, the superheated weapon leaving shards of burning hot metal and plasma stuck in his armour and body. Zacynthians guards, who proceeded to try and finish him off, quickly surrounded him. One stabbed down and embedded his bayoneted rifle into Cyrus’ shoulder, and another tried to cut at his face. A nearby automaton bravely leapt ahead and took the impact instead. Cyrus cried out in pain, and as quickly as the battle hard started, it began to lose its impetus.

“Get back!” Xenias called out at seeing the fallen Cyrus.

Some of the Terrans obeyed, but most of them were fired up and their bloodlust had to be satiated. Xenophon and his friends refused to give up, and they pushed ahead to their commander. Artemas took the head off the Anusiyan holding him down. Xenophon cut down two more with his Asgeirr-Carbines. Glaucon dropped his weapon and helped drag Cyrus back down the steps. The other Terrans did their best to close up their ranks and fight off the Medes that were so keen to end his life. Xenophon stabbed at another Medes soldier and checked on Cyrus. The multiple wounds on his chest and his torn armour told him the Medes noble had minutes, perhaps seconds to live. The burning plasma meant that he couldn’t even try and help remove the armour that was slowly killing him.

We can still make it back to the wall! He thought.

He stepped directly in front of the fallen Cyrus and around him the other spatharii stood like a Laconian army of old. They each had their body shield activated and provided a wall of energy and armour. Xenias and the rest joined them and metre-by-metre the army of Cyrus gave ground. More gunfire ripped into the army of Cyrus as the promised reinforcements arrived at the wall. They were too late to save the battle, but they were able to push forward and create a shielded wall from behind which the army could move back slowly. Once they’d withdrawn almost fifty metres, Xenophon left the front rank and knelt down next to Cyrus. Artemas was already holding his hand and sobbing. He looked to the face of Cyrus, the kind-hearted, if power-hungry Median. The plasma had burned through his armour, and his face was white. Blood ran from his mouth, and a trail of blood ran from where they’d dragged him. Xenias saw what was happening and moved over, keeping his left arm raised to provide protection from the continuous gunfire hitting their army.

“He’s gone, Xenophon. This battle is over. Cyrus is dead.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Strategos Clearchus and Topoteretes Kleandridas marched past the waiting automaton and Black Legion forces inside the Citadel. Both wore their blood spattered Laconian armour with pride, their weapons held in both arms, and their crimson cloaks flowing behind them. It looked like the arrival of the conquering heroes, but the reality was far from clear. Ariaeus had apparently halted the battle in the Citadel, and Clearchus was determined to find out with his own eyes what was happening. He continued forward and through a gap created between two blocks of Terran spatharii. Every single warrior stood in silence, and the only obvious movement to his eyes were the myriad of medics dragging the wounded or the dead from the open ground inside the inner ward of the Citadel. He shook his heady angrily at the scene of Cyrus’ foolish final gambit, and for the difficult situation he had place the Legion in. Directly behind him marched over a hundred of his elite Epilektoi, led by the equally tired and bloodied Komes Artemis.

You fool Cyrus. You complete fool.

He marched directly to the front ranks of the army and stopped. At the centre stood most of the Dukas of the Legion as well as Ariaeus. The Medes commander was the only one lacking either dirt or blood on his armour. Clearchus did nothing to hide his contempt as he approached the group.

“Where is he?”

Dukas Xenias nodded to his commander, pointing to his left where Lady Artemas and her companions led by Dekarchos Xenophon were stood. On the ground, on a cloak taken from an Arcadian Komes lay the battered and broken body of Lord Cyrus, paymaster of the Legion, and their only reason for being in the Empire. Clearchus stepped closer and bent down to examine the figure. He looked at his armour, his skin and the expression on his face. Cyrus’ hand was still clamped around his sword, and even Clearchus felt sympathy for the fallen figure. He lifted himself up and glanced of those nearby. He locked his eyes on Xenophon.

“Dekarchos, you saw what happened?”

He nodded in reply.

“Yes, Strategos. The Emperor leading the battle was a double, a plant to draw in Cyrus. He managed to get close enough to attack Artaxerxes, only for the imposter to detonate a thermal plasma weapon. He was mortally wounded by the blast.”

“I see,” Clearchus replied slowly. He looked to the others for more information. “Dukas Xenias. Where is Artaxerxes?”

The Dukas turned and pointed ahead to a large group of Anusiyans. What caught his eye was that a small contingent of Terrans was stood with them. They wore Terran armour but Medes uniforms and weapons. One man in particular looked very familiar. As he watched, a delegation of Medes and Terran warriors marched forwards to the Terran line. Clearchus clenched his fist, tempted for the briefest of moments to launch into a bloody assault upon them.

Stay calm you fool; you have an army to protect.

Instead, he looked to the Terran commanders on his own side.

“Proxenus, Xenias and you, yes, Lady Artemas, come with me.”

He took one step and looked over to Ariaeus, the Medes General and until recently, the deputy commander of Cyrus’ Median contingent.

“You as well.”

He marched out, and alongside him marched the other commanders. Xenophon moved with them, standing to the side of Artemas. The four Terrans and two Medes marched out in front of their army, and to the blood soaked open ground. The Medes contingent was triple the size, but only a few moved at the front. As they reached a short distance apart, he recognised the form of Tissaphernes, the median noble whose troops he had just defeated. The others were new to him, apart from a man with the armour of the Zacynthians. They stopped and Tissaphernes stepped forwards.

“Strategos Clearchus, it is good to meet with you once more.”

Clearchus shook his head and did his best to stay civil.

“I see you managed to escape the rout of your own army.”

Tissaphernes smiled in return.

“And you managed to miss the battle; shame for Cyrus. If you had been here, perhaps Cyrus might have survived. Anyway, that is not why I am here.”

Clearchus interrupted him before he could say more.

“Who is this wretch?” he demanded, pointing directly at the Zacynthian.

The Terran nodded to Clearchus, showing a degree of respect to his fellow Terran.

“I am Arkeisios, second-in-command to Dukas Phalinus, the trainer of Artaxerxes conscripts.”

Clearchus allowed himself a low smile.

“Dukas Phalinus? Where is he now?”

Arkeisios said nothing, but Clearchus was well aware that his commander was still engaged in the massive space battle that continued above them, in orbit around Cunaxa. He’d been out of contact since arriving at the Citadel, but the news had been good so far. Pleistoanax had established a strong cordon around the world and was fighting off any surviving Median ships that tried to break the blockade. Though the main battle was over, a number of small vessels had tried to break past the Terran cordon and could be seen falling like shooting stars through Cunaxa’s atmosphere.

“Strategos, my master wishes to negotiate directly with you and your senior commanders. He asked me to express to you his admiration in this minor battle and that his respect for your martial skills is great.”

“Respect?” spat Dukas Xenias, evidently not in the mood for platitudes and niceties.

“Why doesn’t he give the order and let us end this, once and for all?”

Clearchus lifted his hand, instantly silencing the Dukas. Tissaphernes smiled, pleased that he both had the attention of Clearchus, and also that the Terran had just given him all the information he needed.

“The Great King himself has no interest in fighting you or your mighty Legion. I have already explained to him that you are mercenaries, adventurers and not invaders. What use would you have for a despoiled world such as this? The Great King can muster an army like this one before you a hundred times over.”

Clearchus was now becoming impatient. He looked to Proxenus and Xenophon, neither of whom had yet said a word. Even Ariaeus was subdued. Tissaphernes spoke directly to him, but none of the Terrans understood the fast language. It didn’t take long before Ariaeus bowed and stepped forward to Tissaphernes’ side and turned to face Clearchus. He lifted his hand and spoke no more than a dozen words into his military communication node. Almost as one, the Median troops alongside the Black Legion dropped their weapons and lay down prostrate on the ground. Only the few hundred surviving mercenary Taochi and the thousands of Terrans remained, each poised for what they expected to be a bloody last stand.

“The Great King has issued a full pardon for all Medes involved in the revolt. I have given up my command of these forces and am joining Tissaphernes, as ordered by the Emperor.”

He then spoke directly to Artemas, and a bitter exchange followed. She spat at his feet, turned to Xenophon and then to Clearchus.

“He says I am the only Medes that will not be pardoned. I must stay, on account of my crimes and support for my uncle. If I attempt to leave, Tissaphernes will order his fleet to reengage our ships.”

Xenias and Proxenus both took a step forward, but again Clearchus held them back.

Tissaphernes tilted his head slightly, looking curiously at Clearchus.

“I see it is only you that can hold back your Terrans. Cyrus chose you well.”

The two Dukas kept their calm and instead turned to Clearchus. Xenias moved closer, speaking as quietly as he could.

“What is the plan?”

Clearchus took a deep, slow breath before answering.

“To live, old friend. I intend for the Legion to go on living.”

Tissaphernes indicated with his hand towards the Royal buildings in the Citadel.

“The Emperor wishes to discuss terms with your commanders. There are tasks throughout the Empire for which your warriors are eminently suited.”

Clearchus shook his head.

“I have no interest in travelling through the Empire running errands. Either we will leave this place, peacefully and with our wounded and honour intact, or…”

He took a step closer to the right-hand of Artaxerxes.

“I will order the Legion to sack this place. Every Medes warrior here will die, your civilians will be enslaved, and we will strip the city of everything of value.”

Tissaphernes’ expression altered just a fraction, and Clearchus sensed the enemy commander was starting to feel unsafe. He tried to remain calm and collected, but his eyes told a different story. They darted about desperately, probably looking for friends and allies nearby in case Clearchus carried through his threat.

“That is not necessary,” he said finally. He then beckoned to the top of the steps where dozens of civilian automatons appeared, carrying heavy containers.

“I have been ordered to provide you and your soldiers food, water and provisions for your voyage home. It will be a long journey, but I’m sure we can negotiate a safe and mutually agreeable path for your fleet to follow. The Great King has also promised to pay your troops the rewards offered by the usurper, in way of compensation for your troubles.”

The civilians moved past them, and Xenophon noted they were carrying fruit, meat and vegetables. There were even a number of medics with the equipment of their trade. However, Tissaphernes moved back and proceeded to walk up the steps to the Royal Quarters of the Citadel. Halfway up he stopped and turned back.

“Bring your senior commanders and meet me in the Royal Chamber,” he explained and then pointed to one of the spire structures.

“We will arrange your compensation and journey. In the meantime, we have grounded our air operations. You may commence your withdrawal procedures immediately. Perhaps while your forces pack up, you might come inside and give the Great King’s offer some consideration, as well? Please make sure you bring the niece of the traitor with you. She belongs to us now.”

He then bowed down low with both arms extended out to the side. Xenophon reached out and placed his hand on Artemas’ side. She felt his hand immediately and knew her friend would not let her go without a violent struggle.

“You are under no obligation, of course,” he finished with a smile.

Tissaphernes then turned his back on the Terrans and marched up the steps. His entourage followed, leaving the Terran senior officers and commanders out in the open and away from their men. The silence within the confines of the fortified Citadel was choking, and Xenophon looked back to see his comrades waiting patiently in the front rank of the newly arrived Laconian spatharii. Clearchus took a single step back and looked to his commanders.

“Well?”

Proxenus shook his head angrily.

“I don’t like any of this. Until we are back in space, our ground troops are vulnerable. Our supplies are low, and the route home is treacherous. I say we pack and leave immediately, before the Emperor changes his mind. Sophaenetus and Kratez nodded in agreement, leaving just Meno and Xenias.

“I disagree,” Meno stated firmly. “We cannot be beaten in a stand-up fight, and Tissaphernes knows this. We can assault and capture this place in less than an hour.”

He turned and looked to the Terrans.

“Look at them. Have you ever seen such a sight before? Terran warriors from a dozen worlds, many enemies and yet all are here, to fight under your command. It is something that has not happened in our lifetimes.”

Clearchus was surprised at this attitude. He had little, if any respect for Meno, yet his suggestion had some sense to it.

“Xenias? You’ve not spoken. Speak.”

Xenias, the most wounded of the main command, looked unimpressed at any of the options.

“I don’t like any of this. I don’t trust these Medes any further than I can throw them. If we leave, we will go empty handed. I suggest we bargain, but from a position of strength. Until we leave, this planet is in danger, and we can use that.”

“What would you suggest we do instead, then?”

Xenias said no more. But Xenophon indicated he wanted to speak.

“Yes, Dekarchos. You’ve experience of the Medes and their ways. You have something to add?”

Xenophon swallowed, well aware of the precarious situation they were in. He might lack the speed of Artemas or the strength of Glaucon, but his great advantage came from his mental capacity. He’d always been a quick thinker, and he sensed great peril in this place.

“We need to leave, but as one. I suggest we forget treasure, loot or even food. We bring warships down into the atmosphere, those that are capable, and conduct a careful and secure withdrawal. There will be other times for plunder and loot.”

Clearchus nodded at his reply.

“Spoken like a true Attican citizen. How can I ask our forces to leave with nothing? Are you prepared to leave your woman behind?”

It was not the response Xenophon had hoped for, and for the first time, he felt hostility towards the famed Laconian commander.

“I suggest you join your comrades and prepare to leave. Artemas, you will stay with me for the duration of our negotiations. I will not take my heavy infantry away until I have something to show for it.”

He then turned to Xenias.

“I am placing the withdrawal in your hands. My junior commander, Komes Chirisophus will stay behind with his seven hundred spatharii. That should be more than adequate as a rearguard, don’t you think?”

The other commanders nodded, knowing that a number of Laconians like that could easily storm the Citadel against odds ten times their number, probably even more. Clearchus then spoke for a few moments though his command node. The response was almost instantaneous, as junior commanders redressed the ranks of the soldiers while others sent signals to the armoured units to pack up and leave. Sophaenetus and Kratez, two of the experienced Dukas, also left the main force to join Clearchus and the others. Between them, they represented the majority of the Legion. Clearchus looked to them.

“This is it, then. Dukas Xenias, I want you to complete the evacuation of our forces with haste. I want our troops packed and leaving within the next six hours.”

There was an audible gasp from the others at the suggestion. It was more reasonable to spend at least one or two days to conduct a full and thorough withdrawal, but six hours was barely enough time to leave with just the infantry.

“Use the heavy transports to bring back the armour and artillery. As for the troops, bring them all in here. Land the dromons right inside this Citadel. If the Medes try anything, we’ll be in the place to do the most good.”

Xenias nodded and turned to walk back to the assembled Legion. Clearchus turned on the steps, looking back at his army. They’d left with over ten thousand, and he suspected they had lost over a quarter already. Many of the losses had occurred with the destruction of Xenias’ Titan, but a good number more had occurred during the actual fighting on Cunaxa itself.

Clearchus, Proxenus, Meno, Sophaenetus and Kratez, five armoured and powerful figures, marched up the steps with a dozen Epilektoi, as well as Artemas, Xenophon and the rest of the senior commanders right behind them. As they continued onwards, they moved past unit after unit of Medes soldiers. Many of them were automatons, but there were also Terrans and Medes soldiers amongst their number. At the top the steps was a wide-open training area surrounded on three sides by tall marble columns. To the rear of this stood a grand entrance leading into the base of the largest spire. Flanking the entrance were six Taochi warriors. These great beasts wore the colours of Artaxerxes, and like most of their comrades, they carried edged weapons. Small groups of Medes warriors waited nearby, carrying either a rifle or carbine, and watching the Terrans carefully.

“Have you been here before?” asked Xenophon.

Artemas replied in hushed tones.

“Only once. This is where the Emperor resides when he is on this world.”

They approached the doorway, and the Taochi reluctantly stepped aside. Clearchus moved ahead, and the form of Tissaphernes appeared in the middle.

“Good, I see you have chosen the commonsense option.”

He then spotted Artemas and her guard.

“Uh, who is this?”

Xenophon thought he was looking at Artemas, but then realised he was actually looking directly at him. Clearchus moved his head slightly and could see where Tissaphernes was watching.

“That is Dekarchos Xenophon. He was charged by Cyrus to protect his niece.”

“Really,” replied Tissaphernes, with venom in his voice.

He took a step closer, but Xenophon blocked his path and lifted his right hand, brandishing his Asgeirr-Carbine. Tissaphernes simply smiled, turned and continued walking ahead of the group inside the base of the spire. In the centre of the great structure stood a glass elevator. The width of the massive spire was as large as some interior rooms. Tissaphernes had already reached it and stepped inside. Ariaeus stood alongside him plus two of the Anusiyan guards. Arkeisios the Zacynthian was also there with his pulse carbine held across his stomach. Clearchus and the others stepped into the elevator and waited in front of their enemy. None of them said a word as the group moved up the open space and towards the top of the structure. There were no floors, just lavish walls, devoid of windows or any other useful distractions. The transparent elevator stopped as it reached the high level. The door opened and out walked Tissaphernes, followed by the others. The walls sloped to a point directly above them, and the only one different to the four walls extended into a small tunnel that led to the side of a massive chamber. The walls in this section were filled with statues, artwork and artefacts from hundreds of worlds, some of which were certainly Terran of origin. In the centre of the room stood a great oval table, surrounded by two-dozen stone chairs. They looked as if they’d been cut from a single piece of granite. Tissaphernes beckoned for them to sit.

“Please, the Great King will join us shortly.”

The Dukas moved into position with only Xenophon, Artemas and Clearchus staying on their feet. Kleandridas did neither. Instead, he walked around the room, checking for sighs of danger to his commander and the Dukas.

Tissaphernes shook his head and sat on the other side of the table with Ariaeus and Arkeisios at his side. Clearchus looked all around the spacious room and directly upwards, but there was nothing in this place other than valuables, probably looted over the centuries, perhaps even millennia. The room was at least the size of a standard training hall, and as best as he could tell, it was suspended between four of the largest spires. There were large hexagonal windows cut into the walls on all sides, giving a perfect view of both the Citadel and the city. Columns of smoke continued to rise. The shapes of a dozen Terran heavy landers could just be made out in the city suburbs as they landed to take away the armour and troops still in position in the outlying parts of the city. A message appeared on his overlay. It was discreet, and nobody other than him would know. He glanced at it briefly.

Pleistoanax, good, I was wondering when I’d hear from you.

It was a short message, but the information was vital. His deputy had already deployed landers to the surface and confirmed that so far, he had recovered twelve percent of the Legion’s forces. Apparently, he’d requisitioned the landers used by Cyrus to speed up the process. Anything damaged or unusable, he’d set for demolition. By all accounts, they were ahead of schedule. Clearchus sent a short reply back to continue the evacuation and to coordinate directly with Dukas Xenias. He was waiting at the Citadel. Satisfied his message was received, he moved back to the Median commander.

“Where is he? If your King will not show his face, then we will walk.”

The door on the opposite side of the room hissed open, and in walked a dozen Anusiyan guards. They marched in, two abreast, fanning out to form a wide wall of guards. Behind then came the shapes of several tall figures, dressed in exquisite golden armour, flowing cloaks and tall helms. Xenophon looked at Artemas. She was also watching and spoke quietly.

“Artaxerxes?”

*

Glaucon and Roxana had been searching the rubble and ruins outside the Citadel walls for fifteen minutes now, and still there was no sign of Tamara. Only a handful of the Night Blades had joined them. The rest were busy loading wounded warriors onto the constant stream of dromons leaving both sides of the Citadel walls. With the Medes soldiers now gone, it was just the Terran troops left, and they were more efficient and orderly than even the best Medes soldiers.

“Glaucon?” called out a voice above them.

They looked up to see a group of Night Blades, each with rifles and lying prone amongst the rubble and debris. They had their weapons trained on the Citadel buildings, though for what reason it wasn’t clear.

“Tamara, what are you doing still here?” asked Roxana.

She lowered her rifle and looked down.

“There’s something going on up there. We were helping move some of the wounded when Kantos spotted machines from the robotic domains near the spires.”

“What? Where?” Glaucon asked.

Tamara pointed to the structures in the distance; specifically a series of four mighty towers, surrounding what looked like a great metallic eye, the size of a small spacecraft. On the top of each of the spires were metal shapes. Only by watching them for several seconds was it clear that they were even moving, so slow and careful was their advance. Their size and position made them look as much a part of the peaks of the Citadel as machines.

“Uh, isn’t that where Clearchus and the others are?” asked Roxana.

Glaucon nodded and said nothing, but Roxana reacted instantly and connected directly to the staff of Xenias. As she waited, she looked back to the spires.

“They must have been up there right from the start of the battle. I don’t like this.”

“This is Dekarchos Roxana Devereux. We’ve detected possible hostiles in the vicinity of Clearchus and the command staff within the Citadel. At least twenty machines, possible combat drones, and they are moving around the spires. Please advise.”

There was a pause. She could hear the sound of people talking, and the booming voice of the Dukas appeared.

“Dekarchos Devereux. I see the targets, any idea what they are?”

“Machines, Sir. My unit thinks they might be machines from the robotic domains. I’ve seen similar models before. They looked a little like combat drones to me, and they are moving slowly enough our scanners won’t pick up their movement. If it’s true, they might be moving in to trap the Strategos.”

“Good work, Dekarchos. I’ll deal with this myself. Get your unit out of there!”

With that, he was gone. The small group were now alone and outside the walls.

“So that’s it? What about Xenophon and Artemas? Aren’t they going up to meet with the Emperor there?” Glaucon asked.

Roxana nodded and wiped dirt from her face. A heavily armoured dromon with Laconian markings had just landed nearby. No sooner as it hit the ground did a small group jump out to check for survivors. While waiting, a small groups of warriors clambered aboard. She looked at the vessel and back to the others.

“Wait, I have an idea. Glaucon, help them down. We need to get on that boat! We aren’t leaving without Xenophon.”

*

Xenophon moved back a pace and pushed his left hand in front of Artemas. It was a simple but clear signal that he was suspicious of what was happening. The group of warriors had deployed in front of them, with the golden figures of the Median nobility moving in behind them. There was something unsettling, and he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. The other Terrans watched suspiciously, expecting something to happen. It would of course be suicidal for the Medes. With the best and strongest Terrans in this room, they could easily overpower fifty Medes warriors.

“Good day, gentlemen,” said a smooth voice from the back of the group.

The Medes warriors separated to reveal those in the middle. Four golden clothed nobles carried an object between them. It was sculpted from a glazed metal, of a sort even Xenophon was unfamiliar with. It was almost a metre tall and shaped like a miniature altar. They lowered it to the ground and stepped back. An almost perfect three-dimensional representation of Artaxerxes appeared.

“I welcome you to one of my Imperial palaces,” he said, in the same voice as they heard when the group had arrived.

Clearchus took three paces forward so that he was stood just two metres from the guards. He turned, pointing to Tissaphernes.

“You said we would be negotiating terms with the Emperor himself, not some artificial representation. Where is he?”

Tissaphernes said nothing, and a gentle chuckle came from the model.

“Dukas Clearchus,” he started, deliberately choosing to avoid his official title within the Legion, “why would you think I was on this planet? Do you think me stupid enough to position myself in such a way that I would be left exposed and vulnerable? No, Cunaxa was always going to be the trap, and the end of the road if you will, for my dear brother.”

The other Terrans stood up, with the sole exception of Meno who seemed perfectly satisfied with what was going on. Xenophon had moved with Artemas away from the table and in the opposite direction to the Emperor’s image.

“Artemas, my dear,” he said, instantly forcing Xenophon to stop his progress. She looked at him, refusing to speak.

“Come now…there is a place here, even for you.”

“Never!” she spat out, and Xenophon had to hold her tightly to stop her pushing forward. It would have been a useless gesture, with the Emperor not even present in any meaningful way.

“I see. Well, that matters not to me.”

He then extended his arms and gestured to the table.

“I understand that my loyal Satrap, Tissaphernes, has already discussed some of my proposals with you? Let us sit and discuss them.”

Clearchus refused to move.

“What about my people? There is no discussion until this is resolved.”

Artaxerxes smiled.

“All Terrans are free to leave. If you look outside, you will see that I have already assigned automatons to assist in the loading of your vessels. Believe me, Clearchus. I have no interest in keeping you here any longer than is necessary.”

“And what if we decide we want to stay?” said an angry sounding Proxenus.

“Ah, you I do not know,” replied Artaxerxes, returning his gaze to the Terran leader.

“If for any reason your forces decide to stay, then I am afraid I will be forced to bring in my primary fleet.”

Xenophon looked to Clearchus for a sign. Instead, the Terran’s face was hard and emotionless as the Emperor continued to speak.

“Yes, I am sorry to say that the forces you engaged here were merely local forces, with some Terran mercenaries thrown in for a bit of colour. I will be arriving soon and with over a thousand ships. I will, of course, concede that there is no possibility of my ground troops beating your warriors in a fair fight. Instead, I will surround and destroy your little fleet, and then simply starve or bombard your troops still here. To be brutally honest, I haven’t really decided yet.”

Clearchus’ overlay unit displayed a notification of an emergency transmission from the orbiting ships. It was Pleistoanax, and his voice was almost in a panic, something very unexpected for a professional Laconian soldier.

“Strategos, you will not believe this. Two fleets have just arrived; we are counting nearly a thousand ships of different classes. They are close, and I expect they will be here within the hour. There are over a dozen super-battleships, all with the markings of the Emperor. ”

Clearchus held his breath, trying his best not to give anything away to those present, especially the Medes that were watching his every move. He activated the communications node and sent his deputy a simple and clear message.

“Get everybody off this world in the next fifteen minutes. Abandon or destroy anything you can’t take. We are out of time.”

Kleandridas nodded with a movement that was barely discernible and moved off to the side of the room, acting as though he was still looking for traps or other signs of danger to his commander. Clearchus looked back to the Emperor, but it was clear the enemy leader was well aware of what was happening. He gave Clearchus a look that told him exactly who was in charge of the current situation, and it sent a shiver down his spine.

“Now, let us discuss some of your options.”

Clearchus moved back and made to sit sat back down, though with great care.

“We will not serve the Empire, in any capacity. All we have to discuss is how to get my people out of your territory with the least consequences for your own people. You are well aware I can order my Legion to sack any territory I point them at. They answer directly to me.”

At the same time, he sent a mental command to his communications node in his helmet. All of those present, including Xenophon, knew exactly what he had heard. He told them to prepare to leave quickly due to the imminent arrival of the fleet. Xenophon however was having none of it, and instead, tapped his left hand to check it was loaded with ammunition. He looked to Clearchus and then directed his eyes to the doorway behind him, leading back into the spire elevator. Clearchus nodded, but before he could react, Meno stood up and pointed directly at him.

“Now!”

With a crashing sound, the shapes of a four robotic combat drones tore their way through the roof and dropped down amongst those inside. These were the large, armoured models they’d all fought so many times before and were bristling with blades and other weapons. As soon as they hit the ground, Tissaphernes dashed through the nearest archway and only stopped when safely behind armed warriors. Two of the machines blocked the path behind him and turned to face the Terrans now trapped inside. The Emperor started to laugh, his voice distorting with evident malevolent pleasure at their predicament.

All the Terrans leapt to their feet with their weapons drawn. Clearchus had already activated his personal body shield on his left side, and the blade on his right Asgeirr-Carbine was fully extended. Proxenus, Sophaenetus and Kratez turned to face their foes, but only Clearchus was equipped with the humming energy field. His personal retinue of Epilektoi, under the command of Komes Artemis, surrounded them in a protective cordon, raising their weapons to their shoulders. Kleandridas took his place at the front, his weapons drawn and ready. Though a little late, he finally activated his own personal shield. The Emperor laughed very slowly, putting on a show of amusement at their discomfort.

“At this very moment, I am approaching this world with my Royal Fleet plus additional escorts for your ships. I have many uses for your Legion in my Empire. They will be well paid under my the control of my own officer corps.”

He paused, letting the Terrans fully understand what he had to say.

“But I have no need of your troublesome commanders.”

With those last words, his image vanished, and the room fell silent. The nobles in golden clothing dropped their cloaks to reveal the armour of the Zacynthians. They drew carbines from inside their clothing and levelled them at the assembled Dukas. Still nothing happened, and the machines and small groups of soldiers waited. At the same time, the group of Terran commanders, as well as Artemas and Xenophon, prepared for the inevitable. Tissaphernes watched all of this with glee and finally called out a single word. It meant nothing to the Terrans, but Artemas knew instantly what was going to happen. She grabbed Xenophon and pulled him to the floor.

“Down!” she screamed.

At the same time, the combat drones opened fire with their belt-fed pulse cannons. Proxenus and Kleandridas took the brunt of the initial bursts as they jumped towards the guards directly in front of Tissaphernes. Proxenus was cut down before he had time to fire, as dozens of heavy calibre rounds slammed into his engraved armour. He spun about wildly, dropping to the ground just two metres from the table. His body was torn apart by multiple impacts. Kleandridas managed to cut down two guards with gunfire before one of the machines brought its armoured fist down onto his skull with an impact that snapped his spine like a dry twig. The room erupted into a bloodbath as every single warrior and machine inside opened fire. The sharp cracks from the Terran pulse weapons were drowned out by the massed cannons of the machines. One drone was destroyed and three Median guards killed before the Terrans were amongst them.

Sophaenetus and Kratez leapt at the nearest drone, and half of the surviving Epilektoi charged towards Tissaphernes. They quickly cut down all, but the golden dressed Terran mercenaries were formed in a line of armour and weapons. Both small groups blasted at each other. They were quickly forced to use whatever furniture, columns and fallen bodies they could find for cover. In the centre of the room stood Clearchus, Komes Artemis and four brave Epilektoi, all of them engaged in a bloody and one-sided struggle with the other two combat drones.

“Come on!” shouted Xenophon.

He and Artemas lifted themselves from the fray and attacked the machines keeping Sophaenetus and Kratez busy. All four managed to put enough gunfire onto the first drone to force it to the ground, but not before a spiteful blade from its left side stuck out and decapitated Sophaenetus, sending his broken remains to the ground. Xenophon stabbed both of his fists into its torso and finished it off with two short bursts. The second machine swung at Kratez and threw him against the wall. Before he could move, a pair of the Anusiyan guards took aim and struck him with a dozen rounds in the face and torso. He slumped down to leave just Clearchus and Meno remaining of the assembled Dukas. Xenophon ducked down to avoid gunfire from another group of guards as they surged inside. He could see the Laconian commander in the middle of the room, surrounded by the remaining drones and multiple groups of Anusiyans. Clearchus stabbed his blade into the machine’s body before leaning to avoid a counter-strike from the other robot. Xenophon rolled across the floor and leapt up to attack in time to parry a strike against the flank of Komes Artemis. He then followed up with a stab to the attacker’s chest that jammed the weapon on his right hand into the armour. He yanked back his arm and the weapon detached. He tried to grab it, but more gunfire ripped through the structure and part of the outer wall torn down to reveal the smoke filled sky of the Citadel. He rolled back to avoid being hit.

“Force them back!” called out Lady Artemas. She lifted her carbine to cut down another one of the enemy soldiers. Though only the four of them remained able to fight, they had managed to push back the enemy to the one entrance still defended by three Epilektoi. The wide archway filled with streaks of pulse fire as both sides tried to gain the advantage. Two of the drones were still in the room, and it took the bulk and shielding of Clearchus for them to be able to get close enough to make one of them twist too far. They barged it to the breached wall so that it fell the great distance out into the open space. Xenophon smiled and reached to Clearchus to move him to the opening where he could see friendly dromons moving into position to take away survivors.

“Excellent. Now we can leave this place!”

Xenophon opened his mouth to shout, but he was too late. A glaive thrust through Clearchus’ back, and the tip of the razor sharp weapon pushed out of his chest. To his side stood the grinning Meno, with his hands still on the shaft.

“No!” shouted Xenophon, but Artemas knocked him down as a fusillade of gunshots tore about them, hammering into the body of Komes Artemis. Xenophon took aim with his remaining weapon, but it simply clicked, now completely out of ammunition. He ripped it off and grabbed at one of the many fallen pulse rifles.

Clearchus dropped to his knee and coughed; a great mouthful of blood gushed from his mouth and ran down his chest. He spun around and with a quick flick of his wrist embedded his Asgeirr-Carbine’s blade into Meno’s face. Both collapsed to the ground, their blood mingling in a great pool on the floor. Clearchus’ weapon detached from his arm and fell to the ground with a clatter. With his life falling away, Clearchus looked into Xenophon’s eyes and spat out his final words.

“Protect…protect the Legion.”

With that, he tipped over, lifeless. Xenophon reached out, grabbed the weapon and looked over to Artemas. He saw her contorted and bitter face.

Clearchus, he’s gone. The Strategos is dead!

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

As the smoke cleared from the dromons first volley of rockets, the crew watched sections of the structure fall away. The armoured Laconian dromon spun into position so that the passengers on board could get a clear view of the breach. Streaks of tracer and pulse fire clattered around it as the last dromons swept down to evacuate the remaining warriors. Turret fire struck its armoured flank, but luckily, two Arcadian gunships were able to engage and destroy it before the dromon could be eliminated. As it moved closer, Roxana opened the side door and took careful aim with her Doru Mk II Rifle. She could see some kind of violent struggle taking place and tapped her throat mic that she’d taken from the sidewall of the craft.

“Get us closer!” she shouted.

The pilot looked at her and shook his head.

“We can’t stay here long! What ever you’re planning, do it quickly!”

Roxana nodded and looked back inside her scope. She could see just a few Terrans that were pinned down behind a table. To their right were two machines and dozens of Medes soldiers. They seemed to be taking their time and simply sprayed round after round into the huddled warriors. As they moved, she spotted the dark clothing of Lady Artemas.

Xenophon, where are you?

Then she spotted his helmet through all the smoke. The dromon moved until it was just a few metres from the wall they’d already breached. The crew on board opened fire with the door mounted guns and managed to kill two of the Medes plus shattering one of the machines. Roxana grabbed the intercom and called out through the external speakers.

“Get out of there now!”

The face of Artemas turned and looked directly at her on the dromon. She then turned away, presumably talking to those near her. Roxana’s heart skipped a beat as she watched Xenophon and Artemas both lift themselves up and return fire before rushing for the breach.

“Cover them!” shouted Glaucon from his position closer to the rear of the craft. He lurched over as he took aim, and his voice and movement suggested his nerves were at breaking point. Both pintle mounted weapon stations opened up with a terrible effect. Parallel lines of pulse rounds tore into the structure as machines and soldiers tried to intercept the two escaping people. The dromon moved in so close that the backwash from the engines started to pull at the loose masonry from the battle and cast it to the ground.

Roxana spotted Artemas leaping from the edge of the smashed building and was forced to lurch to her right to give her space to land. She made it with just a few centimetres to spare. As soon as her feet hit the metalwork, she spun around to check on Xenophon. He was right behind her but had neither the speed nor the agility of Artemas. He fell short by half a metre, and both Roxana and Artemas had to reach out and grab his arms before he fell away. Laconian soldiers inside the dromon grabbed both of them to prevent the entire group being plucked out of the craft, and then they were away. The roar of the engines and the tapping sound of rounds striking the metal armour signalled the danger they were still in.

“Hold on, we need to get out of here! Scanners show three groups of fighters on an intercept course,” called out the pilot.

Xenophon stood up and looked back at the tracer fire and explosions. Dozens of dromons were lifting off from inside and outside the Citadel while fighters swept in and bombarded any enemy positions that might try to prevent them from escaping. He turned back and nodded to his friends.

“Thank you, I thought we were dead there.”

The pilot then interrupted him before he could continue.

“Dekarchos, I have an urgent message from Topoteretes Pleistoanax. He says three Medes escort destroyers have broken through the blockade and are in the lower atmosphere. They’ve already shot down a rescue dromon and are coming this way with heavy fighter cover.”

He then looked directly to Xenophon.

“He needs the status of the Strategos and the others. Did they get out?”

Xenophon shook his head bitterly.

“No, every single one of them is dead. We were betrayed, all of us.”

A rocket exploded off to their right, and the dromon lost height for a few seconds. The internal alarms sounded. The pilot’s skill was exemplary, however, and he quickly righted the craft and made for the route taken by the other craft. A great aerial battle was underway as newly arrived Medes fighters tried to halt their escape. Xenophon saw Roxana looking at him with a confused look on her face.

“What happened down there?” she asked.

Artemas spoke first though.

“It was Tissaphernes and Meno. The whole thing was a trap, and they butchered them, right as we were discussing peace.”

“What,” shouted out one of the spatharii who was listening intently, “how did they kill the Strategos?”

Xenophon sighed.

“He died surrounded by his enemies. I can’t remember how many he killed, but he died with Kleandridas and the others at his side. Combat drones and Medes warriors overwhelmed them.

“Bastards!” snapped another of the spatharii.

“We have to go back!” called out another. “I’m not leaving this place until we have our revenge.”

The pilot could hear what was going on and nodded to his co-pilot. He then looked back to the men and women in the rear of the craft.

“We can’t go back. The entire Legion is either in the air or dead on the ground. Another ten minutes, and anybody not in space will join them there.”

With that short but brutal assessment, the dromon moved into position with three other similar craft. Two fighters pushed ahead of them to act as escorts, and the entire formation blasted upwards using every amount of available thrust. Glaucon was buffeted about, but the straps holding in position around the side-mounted gun kept him secure. He took aim at one of the enemy craft and called out to the others.

“I don’t like it. Look up there.”

He pointed to a dark cloud of fighters that must have just deployed from the light Medes’ cruisers. Small orange fireballs indicated missile impacts as they fell upon the Terran escorts. Xenophon counted at least fifty dromons in the air, and he knew that half of the Legion could easily be at risk.

Thousands of warriors are now completely defenceless.

“Here they come, hold on!” shouted the pilot.

Shapes from a dozen Medes fighters screamed past with their guns blazing. Terran fighters were hot on their tails, but a number still managed to get their sights on the dromons. Holes appeared on the left side of the vessel, and a number of the soldiers panicked as the air was sucked out violently. Two of the spatharii were struck by metal slugs travelling at hypersonic speeds before exiting on the other side of the craft. The internal repair system vented a gas inside the craft, plugging the breaches with a form of thermal resin. It was temporary but would do the job until they landed, and the damage could be properly fixed.

We’re screwed. The Legion is gone! Xenophon thought bitterly.

It wasn’t fair. They’d got this far, only to be cut down as they escaped the grasp of Artaxerxes and his traitors. There didn’t appear to be any other casualties in their own dromon, just those unfortunate to have been killed on the last stage of their escape. He looked to Artemas and couldn’t hide his admiration, not just for her beauty but also for her stoic courage. He would be dead if it were not for her, and that made him even angrier at their predicament. The sky darkened as a massive black shape blocked out the light from the sun for a few seconds.

“Gods! It’s Damnation!”

Xenophon had no idea what she meant until he saw the shape of the aged Terran battleship dropping through the atmosphere. Its entire under surface appeared to be burning away, and it left a trail of fire and smoke like a shooting star heading to the surface.

What the hell are they doing?

Xenophon assumed, like most of the others, that the ship had lost power and been pulled down through the atmosphere. Instead though, this one seemed to be slowing down, and her weapons systems were busy launching projectiles in all directions.

“It’s Pleistoanax,” said one of the Laconian soldiers on board.

They all watched as the burning craft unleashed a torrent of firepower that cut a swath through the enemy craft, giving the dromons the window they needed to blast up and away from Cunaxa. Every single pilot took advantage of the respite they had been granted and accelerated away. As the flotilla of small craft rushed past the burning ship, Xenophon looked back. He felt both anger and sadness at seeing the burning warship as she fell ever downwards, her guns firing continually like a fallen beast lashing out at its attacker. Hundreds of small explosions surrounded her bulk and it was clear, at least to him, that the ship had lost its ability to pull back into orbit. His thoughts were answered when the ship broke apart just half a kilometre above the city of Cunaxa itself. Fuel, ammunitions and burning chunks of metal rained down upon the city and its mighty Citadel. The flames and flashes vanished as they moved up and out of the atmosphere and to the fleet of waiting ships. The Titans and the escorting battleships were drawn up in a defensive formation with hundreds of small vessels moving soldiers, equipment and survivors to safety.

“What do we do now?” asked Tamara, still nursing her injuries and until now, silent in the dromon. Glaucon looked over from his position at the gun on the flank and shrugged. Xenophon looked to Roxana and then to Artemas. Neither appeared particularly optimistic at their prospects.

“I’ll tell you what we’re going to do,” he said firmly. “We’ll jump to safety, leave the Empire, and then rebuild the Legion.”

“Leave?” asked Glaucon incredulously. “Do you know how many weeks, maybe even months that kind of journey will take?”

Xenophon nodded slowly.

“Yes, it will be long and dangerous. But, we either do that or we give up right now. We will have to work together. Laconians, Arcadians, even Thessalians.”

They sat in silence and waited as their dromon followed a group of other Laconian craft to the port-landing bay on the Titan Valediction. The landing was fast, much faster than normal. Many more craft were coming in behind them, and the turn around by the crew was efficient and very smooth. Artemas stepped out first, followed by Glaucon and Xenophon who both helped the wounded Tamara down the ramp. Waiting for them were a group of Laconian commanders, including Dukas Chirisophus as well as Dukas Xenias of the Arcadians. Xenophon tried to salute, but he needed his hands to help Tamara. A group of medics rushed over with two moving to her, and the others moved inside to check the other casualties. Dukas Chirisophus stepped up to Xenophon.

“Dekarchos. We heard about the Strategos. We will mourn him properly soon. I need to know, did he have a plan? What did he want to do next? Some of our people want to go back down, some want to leave for home, and some want to negotiate.”

Dukas Xenias nodded in agreement.

“My troops will follow the lead of the Laconians for this.”

Xenophon looked to Artemas. She did her best to smile, turning away to speak with Roxana.

“Dukas. Before he died, he said just one thing to me. He told me to protect the Legion.”

Chirisophus looked confused at his answer.

“Protect the Legion? How exactly did he propose this?”

Xenophon was starting to become impatient. As the medics took Tamara away, the others moved to Xenophon’s side. Glaucon seemed especially annoyed at the Laconian’s tone.

“He didn’t have much time to say anything else. He was busy dying.”

Xenophon turned to Artemas and beckoned towards her.

“This is Lady Artemas, niece of Cyrus. She has knowledge of this part of the Empire, detailed local knowledge. With her help, I’m sure I can project a route that will take us home safely.”

The small group of bloodied and tired looking Dukas looked at each other and spoke in hushed tones. More craft continued to land, and the medics were hard pressed to get the wounded out and to the medical bays before another arrived. Finally, they stopped. Chirisophus took a step closer to Xenophon and looked down to the bloody weapon given up by his commander.

“Until we convene a full military council, I have been chosen to lead the Legion. As one of Clearchus’ warriors in his last battle, you have a place among my people. From today, you may consider yourself a true friend of Laconia. Now, the Medes fleets are converging on our own forces, and our situation is looking precarious at best. You were there when our Strategos fell, and you heard his words. You carry his weapon, and every commander in the fleet will take heed of your words…for now.”

That last part sounded almost like a threat, but Xenophon chose to ignore it.

“So, Xenophon. What would you recommend?”

Without hesitation, Xenophon answered.

“Choose any destination that will move us away from this place, and jump. When we are safe, we can rebuild the Legion and plan our next step.”

Chirisophus seemed satisfied with this simple proposal and turned away from Xenophon. He looked one last time, almost longingly at the damaged weapon of Clearchus and then marched back into the innards of the Titan. The other Dukas moved to follow him, with the exception of Xenias, commander of the surviving Arcadians. He placed his hand on the Dekarchos’ shoulder.

“You’ve done well, Xenophon.”

He then looked around to the others. Glaucon was cut and bruised all over, yet still carried his pulse cannon across his shoulder. Roxana’s was covered in grime and blood still dripped from a number of cuts to her scalp. Even Artemas, the beautiful Median woman was bruised and scratched.

“I want you to know, you all have a place with Arcadia. You have friends here, and I suspect our journey home may be even more dangerous than the one that brought us here.”

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving Xenophon cradling his prized relic and standing amongst the wounded warriors and dozens of medics. The great hulk of the ship shuddered every few seconds as Median energy weapons licked at her shields ineffectually. Xenophon opened his mouth to speak, but the rumble as the main engines powered up stopped him. Instead, he turned to his friends and then to Artemas. She looked just as bruised and exhausted as he was. None of them spoke until finally Glaucon took a step away.

“I need a drink. Who’s coming with me?”

Roxana smiled and moved towards him. Xenophon looked back to Artemas who took a slow breath and nodded in agreement.

“Yes, I think we could all do with a drink, a very strong drink.”

APPENDIX

APPENDIX I: THE GALAXY

APPENDIX II: PEOPLE

Andronicus

One of the senior commanders of the ground troops in the Arcadian contingent. He played a minor part in the action at Cilicia and was involved in the debacle of the Olympia.

Ariaeus

Median general and Cyrus’ second in command. Rival of Tissaphernes but young, powerful and ambitious. Commanded a fleet that was double the size of Clearchus as well as over 20,000 automaton stratiotes. Famous for leading a series of revolt in the border lands against central Median control.

Arkeisios

Second-in-commander to Dukas Phalinus, the trainer of Artaxerxes conscripts and responsible for establishing the defences of the Cunaxa Nebula. A Zacynthian like his commander.

Artaxerxes (Emperor of the Medes)

The half brother of Lord Cyrus and leader of the most powerful empire in the known universe. Artaxerxes was a shrewd tactician and ruthless in ambition. His personal fortune and Royal Fleet were the envy of every Terran world.

Artemas of Caria

The beautiful daughter of Lygdamis, one of the Median governors of the independent Ionian Territories.

Artemis (Komes)

Commander of the elite Epilektoi unit station on the Titan Valediction. Close friend of Kleandridas and famous for taking the Alliance battle standard at Aegospotami. One of the most experienced junior officers in the Legion.

Cyrus

Half-brother of the Emperor. Tall for a Imperial but still lithe and quick. Lived in self-imposed exile following the death of his father, rather than risk the wrath of his power-hungry brother Artaxerxes. Secretly arranged for groups of mercenaries to mass at the Cilician Gates. Their mission was the usurpation of the Emperor himself.

Crixus

Laconian politician and former general. Leader of the Thirty Tyrants on Attica during the occupation and considered both a hero on his home world and a tyrant on Attica.

Clearchus (Strategos)

Clearchus was a famous Strategos, possibly the most famous human leader in the last hundred years and the military leader of the Black Legion. Two metres tall, strong and an expert on space and ground combat. Like all Laconians, his body tough and strong through continuous training and conflict. He missed the end of the war with the Alliance and had been exiled to one of the League’s distant outposts until being found by Cyrus.

Erika Montoya

A Terran politician on the planet Attica. After decades of service for the state she became of the Thirty. One of the few official to survive the pogrom following the reinstatement of democracy. Rumoured to have business dealings with the Laconians and born into one of the richest estates in the Alliance.

Ezekiel Manus

The Kybernetes of the Black Legion cruiser Vendetta, who took over command of the ship following the death of the kentarchos.

Julius (Dekarchos)

Dekarchos of the elite 6th Spatharios onboard the Arcadian Titan Olympia. Assisted in the evacuation following the disaster and commended for bravery under fire.

Glaucon

Friend of Xenophon. A playboy from a one of the richest families on Attica. Strong democrat, escapes with Xenophon after being accused of helping one of the collaborators.

Gryllus

Xenophon’s father, murdered on Attica. Member of the Thirty but fought publically for citizens of Attica. Considered a hero after being murdered by Xenophon. In reality killed by Montoya and her henchman.

Kantos

Fencing instructor from Attica. Served with the Black Legion. Had not been heard of after having been exiled for sedition after fighting the Thirty Tyrants on Attica. His brother was killed prior to him leaving Attica to join the Legion.

Kleandridas

One of the two topoteretes of the Ten Thousand, deputy commanders of the Armada and close friends of Clearchus. He was from a poor mining family that were killed during the Mining Revolt, a famous event in Arcadian history. There were later rumours that the revolt was staged by the Medes under the command of Ariaeus.

Meno the Thassalian (Dukas)

A scarred mercenary commander that commanded the Titan Poseidon. Rumoured to be one of the richest Terrans in the fleet, if not the entire Terran territory. He was violent, ill tempered, but a great tactician. His Titan was the most sophisticated and powerful in the Legion and led the vanguard to the climactic battle against Artaxerxes.

Menon

A disgraced Satrap that turned to piracy and slavery on the Imperial frontier. His politics were confused and his allegiance uncertain until his actions at the climax of the battle at the Khorram shipyards where he saved the life of Artaxerxes. Not to be confused with Meno the Thessalian, one of the commanders of the Black Legion.

Pasion (Komes)

Commander of the Night Blades. A strong supporter of Dukas Xenias and one of the first Terran officers to be involved in the fighting at the Cilician Gates. Quick to anger and very distrustful of the Medes he was also an expert in the use of heavy weapons and explosives.

Pleistoanax

One of the two topoteretes of the Ten Thousand, deputy commanders of the armada. He oversaw the operation at the Cilician gates while Clearchus and Kleandridas commanded the operation from the ground. An outstanding officer and the best in his class at the Arcadian Army Academy. Considered by many to be the finest tactician in the fleet. He might have even made it as commander of the Legion if it were not for his infamous womanising.

Roxana Devereux

Officer in the Alliance Navy, friend of Xenophon. Met on Attica before enlistment. A confidant and tall women with thick auburn hair and grey eyes . She was almost the same height and build as Xenophon himself and spent time both in the Alliance military and working as a mercenary prior to the expedition.

Sharon Hughes

Pentatchos on the Vendetta. Leader of one of the many spatharii units that served on the Arcadian titan Olympia. Famous for being the only survivor of her unit following the calamity of the Olympia incident.

Tamara

A young teenage warrior with the Black legion. A runaway with experience of smuggling and black market dealing.

Tissaphernes

Media Satrap and high lord of the rich region around the Cilician Gates. Close friend of the Emperor and major rival of Cyrus.

Xenias (Dukas)

An Arcadian soldier and commander of the Olympia. He took a vast contingent of 2,000 mercenaries with him to join the Ten Thousand. His junior commanders included Komes Pasion, leader of the Night Blades.

Xenophon

A citizen of Attica and rumoured to be a pupil of Kratez . Saw limited service during the Terran Civil War. Prefect of the Inner Wards on Attica, eventually forced into exile with Glaucon. Blamed for death of Gryllus who fought for the rights of the citizens with the Thirty. Joined the Ten Thousand mercenaries that fought for the rebel prince Cyrus against the Empire. Though an ardent Attica loyalist, he showed sympathy towards the Laconians and argued against continuing hostilities with them all his life. Famously single for most of his life, avoids getting too involved with any one person. He was tall and slender, with cropped blonde hair and dark blue eyes and known for being both introverted, highly conservative and intellectual.

APPENDIX III: TERMINOLOGY

Anusiya

The elite royal military of the Median Empire. Known as Anusiya in their own language, it means something akin to immortals due to their large numbers that never dwindle.

Arcadia

A Terran world famous for its stoic warriors and weak stability. Many Alliance politicians would joke about the elections not being needed on Arcadia, this was apparently due to the number of coups.

Asgeirr-Carbine

Laconian close-quarter weapon. Fits in the fist and lower arm of a warrior and combines a razor sharp blade and a cut down pulse carbine. The entire unit is compact and very light. Short ranged but very powerful, its blade can punch through most armour.

Attica

The heavily populated homeworld of the Atticans and the capital world of the old Terran Alliance. It was one of the earliest colonies established by the Terrans in their earliest years of expansion. Home of Xenophon, Glaucon and Roxana.

Citadel of Cunaxa.

Built on top of a natural peak in the centre of the capital, it was surrounded by a dozen star-shaped fortresses and joining walls of thirty metres in height. Behind all of this was the Citadel itself, a mighty structure covered in domes and pillars that reached up into the clouds. Landing pads, weapon turrets and shield generators covered the entire site. It was the most impressive defensive structure on the planet of Cunaxa Secundus, the second most important planet in the Median Empire and guarded the route to the Imperial homeworld of Babylon Prime.

Combat Drones

War machines built on the worlds of the robotic domains for defensive purposes throughout the Medes Empire. The standard models were of a similar size to a Terran but much broader in the upper body. They lacked complicated hands, and instead were equipped with low velocity pulse weapons and blades. They were designed to be resilient, but lacked tactical awareness or planning capabilities.

Dekas

A small unit of ten soldiers, commanded by a Dekarchos.

Doru Mk II Rifle

Arcadian, standard weapon used by the light infantry for scouting and special operations. The Doru MK II is a uses a high velocity pulse round and is capable of long distance interdiction and can penetrate most modern armours.

Dromon

Generic name for small transports, assault ships and rescue ships. One of the most popular types of craft used throughout the Terran planets. Most were capable of atmospheric flight.

Elamite

A Scythian Class heavy battleship of the Median Empire. Almost half a kilometre long, frequently used as a command ship for median fleets. One of the largest ships ever seen outside of the Median Empire’s own territory.

Epilektoi

The elite bodyguard unit of the Laconians used to defend senior commander at home and on campaign. A full company of these warriors were stationed on the Titan Valediction under the command of Komes Artemis. The unit contained ten elite Dekarchos, each promoted from the ranks of Laconian bodyguard units.

Fort Plymouth

The most distant and powerful of the Alliance Olympus class outposts. It was situated within striking distance of the border worlds of the Empire. It was the home of the Armada during the last war with the Laconians. With thousands of personnel and hundreds of ships, it was impregnable to all but a full invasion. Stationed over 200 parsecs from Attica and nearly 230 parsecs from Laconia. 14 jumps were required for the trip, a journey that would take 2 weeks from Attica if stops were made at Alliance refuelling stations. With tankers, the trip could be conducted in half the time.

Hydra class destroyer

A common Alliance destroyer. At a length of one hundred and fifty metres, and with a crew of one hundred and ninety five, the vessels were the smallest self-sufficient ships in the Alliance Armada. The destroyers had the look of large predatory fish from Ancient Earth, with large frontal sections and long tails that carried a multitude of antenna and sensors.

Ionia Territories

A disputed area that had once been under Terran control. It had now been carved up into a dozen separate territories, each controlled by a powerful Ionian warlord. The high gravity world had helped breed a swarthy but short people who specialised in shipbuilding and high-energy weapons.

Laconia

Ruled by seven men that included a dual kingship, knows as the two Basileus, five Ephors and a vocal ‘popular assembly’. In reality the planet was controlled by the Ephors who were elected for life as tyrants. The Basileus were little more than generals with little political power. The manpower for the state was provided by a complex series of indentured workers who were little more than slaves and commonly revolted.

Laconian Infantry

Laconian spatharios were the traditional heavy infantry of Laconia. They wore their traditional crimson Laconian uniforms, topped with their iconic helmets. Unlike most other Terrans they also wore the common infantryman’s breastplate, an archaic looking device made of an advanced polymer compound that was proof against many common weapons. Only the senior commanders and the elite bodyguard unit were entitled to wear the red tunics and armour. Other Laconian units were allowed to wear the crimson cloak but only for ceremonial purposes.

Laconian League

The pre-eminent Terran empire lead by military colony of Laconia. An equal to any colony on its own and the master of the League that it ruled through a series of complex oaths and agreements. Made extensive use of ancient Byzantine iconography and titles.

Median Empire

A massive Imperial state of over a thousand worlds spread through the galaxy. Its capital, Babylon Prime, is based in the heart of its territory and protected by an elite navy of a thousand ships. Its worlds include hundreds of races from primitive farming worlds to the death worlds and the advanced robotic domains. The dominant race are the Medes who inhabit the core worlds of the Empire.

Mulacs

A generic name for several species of mutants, pirates and mercenaries. These creatures were often used by the Medes as scouts and raiders for their own forces. In more recent years they have been found carving out their own territories in the border regions.

Night Blades

The elite special forces reconnaissance unit onboard the Olympia. Commanded by Komes Pasion. Their specialisms were raiding, recon and assault.

Olympia

The renegade Titan from Arcadia, commanded by Dukas Xenias. The first ship that Xenophon and his comrades served on in the expedition under Lord Cyrus.

Ranks

The Ten Thousand under Clearchus used the traditional system of military ranks used in the Laconian military. This system dated in part back to the system used thousands of years earlier on Earth. They were a bizarre mixture of naval and army titles that had become mixed over the millennia. These ranks include:

Senior Ranks

Strategos, General of a campaign

Topoteretes, sub commanders of the strategos, usually two per tagma

Anticensor, leader of engineers

Akolouthos, leader of the general’s bodyguard. Allowed to wear red uniforms

Dukas, commander of a multiple tagma (group of professional bandon or ship squadrons, usually 1,000+ warriors)

Komes, leader of a small fleet (5-10 ships) or 300 infantry (a bandon)

Kentarchos, ship’s captain or commander of infantry company of 100 warriors (kentarchiai)

Kybernetes, ship’s executive officer

Junior Ranks

Dekarchos, commander of 10 warriors, or junior command position on a ship

Pentarchos, commander of 5 warriors, or junior command position on a ship

Auletes, communications officer

Satraps

Regional governors in the Median Empire. These men were the most powerful nobles and controlled their regions of space with an iron fist. They answered directly to the Emperor himself and were responsible for raising and commanding the Imperial fleets.

Spatharios

The spatharios (plural: spatharii) was a Terran heavy infantryman, used frequently by the Arcadians and Laconians.

Stratiotes

A common Terran solder, frequently used to denote the light infantry in Terran armies or the heavy infantry of non Terrans.

Su’bartu Maelstrom

A vast cluster of star systems populated by dead planets. Situated between the fertile border worlds and the rich inner systems close to Median territory. An extremely dangerous area to pass through due to lack of fuel and supplies for dozens of jumps. Even a Titan would take two to three weeks to make the journey. The maelstrom is so dangerous only one in three ships ever makes it through. At the Median side of the maelstrom is the massive Babylon Starfort, home of the Imperial Fleet; the fleet in the known Galaxy.

Terran Alliance

Formed following the historic victories of the Terrans against the Empire. Money and ships were provided as a tithe and in turn the Alliance provided security and trade. They were the arch rivals of the Laconian League, headed by Laconia. Much richer and more diverse than the Laconians. They were famous for their use of Romanesque titles in civilian and military life.

Titan

The largest capital ship used by the Terrans. Capable of carrying tens of thousands of crew and warriors. Five Titans accompanied the Ten Thousand. Each Titan was commanded by the senior Dukas, selected based on the man with the largest contingent. Titan in the fleet included Valediction (under Clearchus), Olympia (under Xenias)

Topoteretes

Senior commanders that would normally commanded half of the military forces at any one time. Also the personal sworn bodyguards of the Strategos.

Taochi

A race of terrifying warriors that had swept through large parts of the Median Empire before being crushed by a vast Imperial Armada. The refugees from these worlds numbered in the millions. As with all conquered tribes the Taochi now served as part of the Imperial Army. The race was bipedal and of similar shapes and build like an upright bull but with a strongly muscled upper torsos and arms. They famously eschewed firearms in combat.

Virtual Observation System (VOB)

The inner surface of a deck is controlled at a molecular level to give it the characteristics of a flawless three dimensional video display. Standing on the deck was like flying through space, with the full ability to see outside of the ship, past the armour and into space itself.

APPENDIX IV: THE TEN THOUSAND

Almost 10,400 Terran mercenaries, sixty ships including Titans plus 20,000 automatons in the Median fleet. Led by Strategos Clearchus with 2 topoteretes and 10 Dukas. 400 more joined the army following Cunaxa. The ships included frigates, cruisers and destroyers as well as untold scores of transports and supply ships.

Titan Valediction

700 spatharii under Chirisophus the Laconian 1000 spatharii, 1000 stratiotes under Clearchus of Sparta, 1,000 spatharii under Sophaenetus the Stymphalian

Titan Olympia

4,000 spatharii under Xenias the Arcadian, until he left the army in Syria 300 spatharii and 300 stratiotes (Night Blades) under Pasion the Megaran, until he left the army Titan Herakles

1,500 spatharii and 500 stratiotes under Proxenus of Boeotia 500 spatharii under Kratez the Achaean (not to be confused with the philosopher) 1,000 spatharii under Sophaenetus the Arcadian

Titan Herakles

1,500 spatharii and 500 stratiotes under Proxenus of Boeotia 500 spatharii under Kratez the Achaean 1,000 spatharii under Sophaenetus the Arcadian

Titan Poseidon

300 spatharii under Sosis the Syracusan 1,000 spatharii and 500 stratiotes under Menon 400 spatharii deserters from Artaxerxes’ army

Table of Contents

Table of Contents

BLACK LEGION: GATES OF CILICIA

PREFACE

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

BLACK LEGION: ASSAULT ON KHORRAM

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

EPILOGUE

BLACK LEGION: WARLORDS OF CUNAXA

PREFACE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

APPENDIX

APPENDIX I: THE GALAXY

APPENDIX II: PEOPLE

APPENDIX III: TERMINOLOGY

APPENDIX IV: THE TEN THOUSAND