CHAPTER ONE

Terran Light Cruiser ‘Drakonis’, Core Worlds

Kentarchos Ezekiel Manus walked from left to right on his command deck for the fifth time in a row. The handful of crew did their best to ignore him, but his lack of humour was becoming more evident as time went on. Like all of the Legion, he was an experienced Terran officer with the scars to prove it. Even so, the constant beep of the computer systems and scanners kept them all on edge, including him. Try as they might want to relax, they had no choice but to remain vigilant. They were not waiting just outside the borders of the Cunaxa Sector for signs of the enemy. Drakonis was there, as well as two other scouts, providing a secure perimeter for the entire Black Legion. Between them they were watching the three main space lanes behind the fleet and there could not have been a more important role. The Kentarchos checked the ship’s clock and found it had changed by only a few minutes since the last time he’d looked at it.

Will this never end? he thought.

The counter was the only thing that gave him respite, yet every glance merely reminded him of how much longer he would remain in such a dangerous place. They were well armed and equipped, but only to defend themselves against a modest foe. If a large capital ship could move in and disrupt his engines, he would be trapped and destroyed in a matter of minutes. All this did little to calm his nerves, and he resorted to checking the assessment reports that were updated every few minutes from the science and engineering stations. There was nothing of note, but at least it gave him something to think about. The rest of the crew did the same, all straining at their repetitive jobs through the stress of an immediate threat warning.

Auletes Pradonis, the ship’s communications officer, wiped sweat from his face. A mixture of the stress and the heat was causing him the greatest trouble. His eyes flickered, and for the briefest of moments they closed. He could have fallen asleep on his feet but something inside shook him, and he opened his eyes almost in a daze. One of the junior officers spotted him and lifted his lip slightly in acknowledgment of the shared fatigue they suffered. More information appeared on his system, and he transferred it up to the Kentarchos using just his hands in front of the display. He was one of the younger officers on the cruiser, yet his experience at Cunaxa had proven his worth, along with every other member of the vessel’s crew. Ezekiel Manus considered them to be some of the finest warriors he’d ever come across. He moved the last few steps to his commander and stopped.

“Kentarchos, reports are back in from the scouts. The latest sweep confirms no signs of the enemy and no sensory data from the drone unit.”

He looked at the information without showing as much as a glimmer of pleasure. The two scouts were only a few hundred kilometres away but far enough from the ship to escape the worst of its interference of their systems. The Seafox spacecraft were an aged design dating back almost seventy years. Although underpowered for a two-man craft, they did carry an impressive sensor package, as well as a single turret mounted twin-barrelled pulse cannon. He looked at the nearest with its odd double wing design and tiny engines. It was a craft from an earlier age, and he wondered how long it would last if it ever came to combat. There was no great rush to update the design, purely down to the fact that they were mere transports for electronic equipment.

“Good work, keep at it.”

He turned from the screen and moved a few paces back into the command deck while the auletes returned to his post. Like everything else about the rest of the ship, the command deck was more modern than Vendetta though lacked the niceties of a proper ship of the line. Cruisers and battleships were incredibly expensive assets and their construction could take many years, whereas this vessel was mass-produced to a basic specification. He missed the decrepit old ship he’d taken command of following the death of his Kentarchos. Vendetta might have been old, but in her day she’d been one of the prized warships of the fleet and had been refitted a hundred times.

Cunaxa.

The thought of that violent battle seemed like a story somebody else had told him now. Yes, he’d fought in skirmishes and border battles all his life. He’d seen officers die and ships explode while he had emerged every time completely unscathed. Every battle prior to Cunaxa had been a minor skirmish or exercise in comparison, and although they had triumphed, they were now on the run and had left hundreds of their dead behind on that alien world.

Maybe we should have stayed and razed the city to the ground?

The battle around Cunaxa had left many of the Legion’s officers bitter and resentful. They’d left without booty, captives, or the knowledge that they had won a great victory. Instead of Cunaxa being the crowning achievement of the Black Legion, it was actually their mark of greatest failure. Many had argued for a last minute orbital bombardment. It would have required staying in orbit for another few hours, but the end result would have been the nuclear annihilation of the Citadel at Cunaxa. Manus had been one of those pushing for the bombardment, along with many of the other Kentarchoi. Against his better judgement, he had fallen in with the wishes of the lowly dekarchos from Attica who claimed to speak for Clearchus himself. After that, it had all changed for the Legion, and to his surprise the young man had been right.

What was his name? It was something like Xanthus, Xylon, no…it was longer.

He considered the problem for a few more seconds. The man had become something of a myth in the Legion, due to him having brought back the weapons of Clearchus. In the past, they had been nothing more than engraved and slightly modified Laconian weapons, but now they had become holy relics of a mighty warrior. Cut down and betrayed by the great enemy.

Xenophon, that was his name.

He recalled the imagery on the scout drones they had left behind to monitor Cunaxa. Within six hours of their withdrawal, an armada from the Robotic Domains had arrived, followed shortly by an entire wing of Elamites that quickly identified and then destroyed the drones.

If we’d stayed for vengeance, we would have all died.

What really stuck with him the most was Drakonis was nothing like the ancient Vendetta, but she had her charms, that he couldn’t deny. The Raptor class of light cruisers was used by a dozen different Terran worlds and were popular for many reasons, the most notable being the cheapness of construction and the relative long life of the vessels. According to rumour, there were over three hundred in service overall and more were being produced every month. Her engines were three times larger and more powerful than his previous ship while the hull was half the size. Her weapons were modest, and he doubted they would stand up to much more than one or two Medes cruisers if it came to it. Luckily, the shield generators were as modern and advanced as the engines.

It wasn’t the ship that was the problem for him though; it was his mission. He stopped and looked at the bank of video displays that showed feeds from all around the ship. It was a significantly cheaper and more basic version of the VOB system used on the larger capital ships and another reminder of what he had lost since abandoning Vendetta.

We must wait for nine hours before returning to the fleet, not a minute earlier.

He recalled his orders, as well as his promotion to Kentarchos, and grimaced at the thought of waiting here any longer. According to the clock, they had been there a little over eight hours, and already he felt as though he was suffocating inside her hull. There was always the lingering doubt in his mind that they would jump to the fleet’s coordinates, only to find them gone. Their fuel cells were only half-full and two jumps was their limit without access to a Legion replenishment ship. If an enemy patrol came across his ship, he’d have a matter of minutes to get away or risk the loss of everything.

So truly no pressure on me at all, he mused.

The air conditioning system had failed three times in the last hour, and the oxygen scrubbers seemed incapable of cleaning the air sufficiently to stop him from coughing almost continually. The heat inside the vessel was stifling, and every extra minute aboard made him wonder if he was actually being punished for the damage and eventual loss of Vendetta.

What could I have done any differently, though?

It was a boring, almost soul-destroying mission, perhaps one of the most boring he’d ever had, but it was the tension that had proven nail biting. Sitting out there where the fleet had so recently been was incredibly stressful. Twenty hours ago the fleet had been assembled in all its glory as the last of the scouts had returned and the capital ships had begun preparations for the next jump. The numbers helped, but it was the three Titans that truly made every member of the Legion feel safe. No ship existed that could threaten a Terran Titan on its own.

Ezekiel Manus looked at the screen to his left where he’d marked on his log each time they’d performed a jump of fifteen parsecs; it was the standard distance travelled by Terran ships when in hostile territory, and the furthest they could safely travel without taking risks. With there being so many damaged ships in the fleet, they could not afford to take any chances. The loss of just one ship could mean the deaths of hundreds, perhaps thousands of Terrans. All ships in the fleet could make multiple jumps, but they were beginning to run low on fuel, and that was where he came in with his single light cruiser. The mission was disliked by all of his crew, but as a naval officer, he knew only too well how important it was.

Following the bittersweet victory at Cunaxa, the Legion had been making slow progress out of the Core Worlds and towards the less populated fringe territories. Though still deep inside the Median Empire, the further they made it from the Core Worlds, the further they would be from the Royal Army and Navy of the Emperor.

What’s that?

For a second Ezekiel Manus thought he was hearing things, but then he recognised the emergency alert sounding through the command deck. The pulsating sound should have alerted him immediately, yet after doing this same mission three times now, he found his mind and body stunned at the noise.

“Turn that damn thing off!” he snapped, barely coherent with such a dry mouth.

He licked his lip and coughed once more to clear his throat.

“What do we have?” he asked nervously.

“Seafox One reports a fluctuating signal coming from sector Alpha Three.”

Ezekiel Manus creased his forehead at that information.

“That’s near the third gas giant, isn’t it?”

The tactical officer nodded in agreement.

“Yes, Kentarchos. Sensor readings suggest something small is coming through, perhaps a frigate or civilian ship.”

Or a scout for their fleet.

“Battle stations! Bring the birds home.”

The pilots of the small reconnaissance craft didn’t wait around to see what was happening, and in just under two minutes, they were landing inside the compact hangars of the ship. The readings from sector Alpha Three had now doubled in strength, and it was clear to everybody on board Drakonis that they were facing a ship of some kind. Ezekiel Manus stared at the nearest screen that showed a magnified view of the region identified as being the source. He saw nothing, but the sensors suggested otherwise.

“What the hell is it?” he demanded, his nerves almost fraying at the delay.

The tactical officer shook his head.

“Kentarchos, I think it’s a Medes scout ship. The energy signature is a dampening field. They are trying to impede our scans.”

Ezekiel Manus clenched his fist and rested it under his chin. His orders were clear and simple. He watched this sector for signs of the enemy and returned at the first sight of them. Except that right now he had no idea what was out there other than the readings on his sensors.

“What are your orders?” asked the Kybernetes.

He pointed to the distorted sensor readings on the display.

“Move us in for a closer look.”

“Aye, Sir.”

Kybernetes Maxentius had been no more than a lowly dekarchos on the gundeck prior to Cunaxa. He was one of the many Terrans from the Ionian colonies out on the violent border between Terran and Medes space. They considered themselves to be superior to the other Terrans in both wealth and culture. Maxentius seemed to have neither though. His accent was rough and his manners even rougher. He was a head taller than Ezekiel Manus and completely bald. He walked back to his station and sent his orders to the various crew on the command deck. The ship rumbled slightly as the engines powered up, and then they were moving from their position.

“Sensors are going crazy. They’ve spotted us!” called out the tactical officer.

Kybernetes Maxentius twisted his head around to look at the Kentarchos, but the man was already speaking.

“Full power to engines, bow shields at one-hundred and fifty percent. Ready our weapons.”

It was standard procedure in battle to boost the shields, but the extra power going to the bow implied he expected an attack from their target. The excitement turned quickly back to routine as they covered the distance using their conventional engines. The jump-drive would use up far too much fuel and also move them right past their target. There was also the problem of the lack of shielding if they dropped out right next to an enemy vessel. Ezekiel Manus felt confident, but only for moment. Then came the news he’d been dreading.

“Sir, she’s ghosting!”

He paused and considered the information. It wasn’t completely unexpected, but at least he now knew.

“Prep the fighters and stay on our present course.”

The tactical officer seemed surprised and had to be nudged along by the Kybernetes.

“Keep on the job. The Kentarchos knows what he’s doing.”

The tactical officer had to double as the fighter controller, due to the reduced crew and facilities aboard the light cruiser. Normally, a vessel such as this one would carry a single fighter for reconnaissance work, but its design had been much improved. It was capable of carrying four craft, as well as four dromons in armoured pods on each side of the ship. The pods had been installed for later models so they could carry additional craft and troops, but right now they all wished they had access to greater firepower.

“Seafires are loaded and waiting for the signal, Kentarchos.”

The Seafires were single-engine fighters that had been modified from their normal use as space station defence craft to work on board small ships and carriers. They were fast, agile, and heavily armed for their size. With two sets of quadruple pulse cannons, they were powerful enough to deal with any fighter, Terran, or Medes. Unlike the heavy fighters used in the rest of the fleet, however, they were poorly equipped to deal with capital ships, and their range was poor. They would be critical in a battle if it was against other fighters or a missile armed opponent and perfect for attacking decoys, missiles, and drones.

“Good, keep them ready. They may well be needed.”

The Kentarchos looked back at the largest display that mimicked a front view of the ship. The electronic interference and jamming made it impossible to identify anything about it, but the long-range cameras had finally found something and locked on it.

“Focus in, now,” he said.

The excitement in his voice was clear, and all the officers remained silent as they waited for the cameras to lock down on the target. The image moved into focus and then out again before finally fixing on the shape. It filled the screen and showed considerable detail even though it was poorly lit.

“I know it, a Medes light cruiser.”

“I concur,” said the tactical officer.

A couple of seconds was all it took to cross-reference the information with what they already had on file. The computer compared the key features and came up with an almost perfect match. Even so, the officer checked the specification manually before passing on the analysis. It wouldn’t be the first time the computer had got it wrong.

“My files show it is a Khanda class light cruiser, a standard class of warship in the Imperial Navy. We have records of over three hundred variations of the design. This one is the smallest.”

The Kentarchos examined the imagery carefully.

“Specification?”

“Estimated crew of seventy automatons, and a handful of Median officers if it is the scout model. Some assault models are equipped for station attack with internal bays for Taochi boarding parties.”

Ezekiel Manus didn’t like the sound of the latter design at all. He was sparsely crewed himself, and he’d heard accounts of the Taochi in battle on Cunaxa. Apart from looking like something from Terran myth, he knew full well they were strong, tough, and brutes in close combat. He wiped his jaw and looked to the flanks of the ship.

“So, no fighters and light weaponry.”

“Affirmative, Kentarchos.”

Manus nodded to himself as he assimilated all the information. There was a chance, only a faint one that this vessel was an assault vessel, but he quickly discounted it. Why would such a vessel be out alone? The more he thought about it, the more he was convinced that this was a heavy scout ship.

“They are no match for us, not on their own.”

The tactical officer brought up a number of options with each highlighting potential weaknesses on the ship.

“If we were to jam their communications, we could move in quickly, disable her engines, and then…”

“What exactly?”

“Either board her, destroy her, or use the opportunity to escape.”

Manus’ lip twitched at this information. The opportunity to take on a single light cruiser was something not to be taken lightly, but he did rather like the idea of taking one as a prize. He scratched at his cheek and then nodded to him.

“Very well. I want her jammed before we’re detected. Use all the power we have left and keep her locked down. Under no circumstances can we let this ship relay information back to its masters.”

He then looked to the tactical officer.

“I don’t want her captured. I don’t even want her damaged. It does us no good to leave her out there to send information back or even to follow us.”

He moved his attention back to the ship on the screen.

“I want nothing but her complete and utter destruction. Do you understand me?”

The man nodded in agreement and moved back to his consoles. Kybernetes Maxentius moved in to take his place alongside the commander.

“Kentarchos, we will be in range in less than nine minutes.”

“Good,” he replied, “this needs to be done quickly. Are they jammed?”

The Kybernetes nodded quickly.

“Aye, Sir, they are on their own, for now.”

Drakonis travelled at her fastest speed towards the vessel. The engines burned white hot, yet it would still take nearly nine minutes to get close enough to fire the powerful plasma guns at her at a distance where they couldn’t be avoided. Ezekiel Manus gave himself a moment’s respite as he looked at the black shape of the scout. It was completely different to that of the Terran vessel, small, sleek, and nearly impossible to see in space. In many ways, he preferred the configuration to that of his new ship.

It’s still a Median ship though, and filled with their slaves. They are worthy of nothing but our contempt.

He imagined the look on the automatons’ faces when the Terran ship appeared out of nowhere and unleashed all her weapons against the unsuspecting ship. He could visualise the impact of the beams and cannons, and the more he imagined it, the more he wanted to see it. That was the moment he sensed something was wrong. His heart felt as though it pulsed with adrenalin, and he swallowed uncomfortably, instantly dreading to know what was happening.

“What is it?”

The colour in the tactical officer’s face seemed to drain away.

“Uh, Sir, I’ve got something.”

The young man shook his head nervously as he spoke. There was no need for him to say anything more, as the tactical board lit up like some kind of high-intensity decoration. First there were indicators to the left, and then it filled with a hundred shapes in all directions.

“Gods, it’s a fleet!”

The mood transformed inside the ship as the officers rushed to ensure all their stations were responding, but it was too late, and a long continuous tone howled through the vessel, warning an imminent threat.

“Everything to shields!” snapped the Kybernetes.

A dull vibration announced the massive increase in power being sent to the shield generators. Even with the engines pumping power to the defensive systems, it wasn’t enough. The ship shuddered violently, and then all hell broke loose inside. Sirens blared loudly, and two screens vanished in a flash of broken glass. Another explosion rippled along the right-hand side of the command deck, and one of the junior officers staggered and fell to floor, leaving a growing pool of blood around his head. Ezekiel Manus grabbed at the straps at his seat while surveying the scene.

“Tactical, report!”

The tactical display showed scores of new vessels in the area around the light cruiser. The status display showed where impacts had been sustained through the ship, and each red mark left a lump in his throat. He knew his ship was taking a beating and paying for it in the lives of his crew.

“Thirteen breaches in the outer armour. Shields are gone, and our port thrusters are out of action.”

Another great volley of gunfire hammered along the port side of the ship that ripped out one of the hangar sections and two of the smaller weapon turrets.

“Armour has gone. One more hit, and they’ll be through to our reactors!”

Ezekiel Manus could hear the fear in his tactical officer’s face and twisted about to look at his Kybernetes.

“Manus, we can’t stay here any longer. We’ve done our job, and we’re seconds from destruction. What are your orders?”

It was true. They had done their job, and done it well and without incident. After hours waiting in this barren, forsaken space sector, they’d ensured the fleet could move on for another two jumps in safety. All that mattered to him now was that his crew and his ship could expect the same. He didn’t even have to consider his next words.

“Jump!”

*

Imperial Palace, Babylon Prime, Core Worlds

Tissaphernes had visited Babylon Prime a dozen times before, but nothing could prevent him from standing still in astonishment at the wealth all around him. He had only just dressed following a deep sleep in his guest accommodation, yet the fragrant air and sweet perfumes almost encouraged him to return to the soft fabrics and comfort of the bed. He adjusted his clothing and signalled for the dozen female automatons waiting alongside his bed to approach. Each carried part of his regalia, though not one of them carried an object more offensive than a piece of armour. All weapons were forbidden in the Imperial Capital, and even the elite Anusiyan warriors that formed the bodyguard of the Emperor himself had screened him.

Ten thousand warriors, I don’t think so, he mused angrily.

His arrival at the Palace had infuriated him when the legions of warriors had ceremoniously blocked his path to let four of their number approach and search him. It had been part of a ritual designed to remind all that none was above, or even equal to the Emperor himself. In theory, the Anusiya were ten thousand strong, but he had seen at least that number stationed on other worlds and half as many serving aboard the Elamites in Royal service. The more he thought about it, the more he realised the unit wanted to give the impression there were ten thousand wherever they happened to be.

So how many does he actually have?

He looked back into his spacious apartment complex and looked at the bed. There were fine silks drawn across the surface, each pulled taut by one of the many serving girls he had been supplied with. A small group of three female pleasure girls sent to him on the previous night waited for him in silence. He was tempted to return to them, but he had important work to do, and seeing this wealth reminded him of what he wanted for himself. The entire planet of Babylon Prime was the first planet of the Empire and the heart of the early Median Empire. Over time, the surrounding races and empires had been absorbed and classed as Satrapies, but none would ever doubt the power and importance of the Imperial Capital. He looked at the females once more and then shook his head, saying nothing to them.

Forget them, win the victory and glory will be all yours.

He walked to the nearest balcony on the middle floor of the obelisk shaped structure and looked out to the planet. Most outsiders assumed the world would be barren and ravaged from the scores of wars that had been fought on its surface over the millennia. Few knew how many millions of slaves had worked and died to create this unique paradise, a place built and dedicated to the power and memory of a single individual, the Emperor himself. Tissaphernes could see the city walls from where he stood, and its spires lifted up high into the sky. Unlike Cunaxa Secundus though, this was no military world. The barracks and shipyards of the Empire were all based on the adjacent worlds. There were only the Anusiya here. He looked up but could see nothing but the blue sky, plus a hundred orbital defence platforms and six star fortresses.

He almost laughed at himself at taking such pleasure in the myth of impregnability of the planet. If the world were so untouchable, there would have been no need for defences in space, but he wouldn’t be the one to tell this to the Emperor. Babylon Prime had been dedicated to wealth and beauty in ways he could never have dreamt. The sky was clear blue, kept clear by the heavy use of meteorological control satellites. Half of the planet was covered in rich oceans teaming with diverse life, and the many landmasses were only partially urbanised with cities built of cleaning metal, glass, stone, and crystal.

What’s that?

A noise caught his attention, and he twisted about to find a Taochi warrior and six Anusiyans had entered his chamber. All of them were fully armoured in their ceremonial purple plate and carried ancient weapons that looked as if carved from solid gold. The Taochi was massively built compared to the Medes warriors and looked as though he was in charge, an odd change that surprised Tissaphernes.

“What do you want?” he said.

The bitterness in his tone was angry enough to be obvious even to the indifferent Taochi, but not too irreverent that it may be noted and brought to the ear of Artaxerxes. He might be one of the Satraps, but there were two dozen more, and he knew too well that his value was only so high. One wrong word, and the God King would see his head removed and placed on the end of a pike. The Taochi looked directly at his face and spoke with a guttural, almost animalistic voice.

“The Emperor has summoned his servants.”

He then beckoned towards his six escorts.

“You will come with us.”

Tissaphernes hissed with irritation but dared not deny their authority. He hadn’t even noticed the insignia on the chest of the Taochi. It was simple carving but marked out the Taochi warrior as one of his race’s elite warlords. Their race had been chased from a hundred captured worlds by Cyrus the Great, the Empire’s greatest Emperor, and now served as shock troops.

“Who are you?”

The Taochi growled and said something completely unintelligible.

“What?”

He cleared his throat and then after a great struggle managed to pronounce the word in a tone that was easier for the Satrap to understand.

“Arteshban…Rostam.”

He seemed to have trouble with the last word.

“Leader of the Imperial bodyguard.”

Tissaphernes was genuinely shocked at this. The title of Arteshban was the highest position in the Imperial Army, effectively a general that was able to command a force of millions into battle. It was an honour only awarded to the Satraps and a handful of the most trusted nobles in the Empire. The Taochi were a broken, weakened race, and the idea of having them as commanders sent his mind reeling.

“Rostam. Who named you after our great champion?”

The Taochi warrior grinned.

“The God King let me choose any name I wished for my serving name.”

Tissaphernes adjusted the clasp on his cloak as he continued.

“Why Rostam?”

Again the warrior maintained his smile.

“I asked who the greatest champion in all of the Empire’s history was. He said it was Rostam, the slayer of mighty beasts and a warrior of no equal.”

Tissaphernes was beginning to get bored. Although he was intrigued by the story of Arteshban Rostam, he was finding it difficult to spend time in front of such an uneducated and uncivilised brute as the Taochi. He looked away and sighed before cutting off the warrior in mid-sentence.

“Very well, let us go.”

CHAPTER TWO

Imperial Palace, Babylon Prime, Core Worlds

Tissaphernes marched quickly through the outer limits of the Palace along with his unusual entourage. As expected, his escort said nothing, other than Arteshban Rostam. The Taochi warlord was proving unsettling for him as they moved block by block. It was quite clear to him that the Emperor had specifically placed him in the outlying apartments, both to remind him of the opulence and wealth of Babylon Prime, and also to put him in his place. Proximity to the Emperor was one of the clearest measures of your position in the cursus honorum, and that was beginning to frustrate him.

I am a Satrap, one of the thirty-four, and yet the Emperor places me in the same area as the planetary governors.

The anger began to well up inside him as they continued on the route through the Palace. It took almost an hour before they finally reached the inner curtain wall, the first marker that indicated they had reached the so-called Crimson Keep, the most lavish part of an already excessive world. At the gatehouse, itself an anachronism to a time thousands of years earlier when such fortifications were necessary, they met their first obstacle, a force of a hundred Taochi, each armed and armoured in the same fashion of Arteshban Rostam.

“What is this?” demanded Tissaphernes.

He would normally have expected to stand tall over subjects and soldiers alike in the Empire, but these Taochi were bigger than the Medes in every way. With their armour and weapons, they could have defended the entrance against even a Terran assault force. That brought a smile to his face.

The God King is frightened. He thinks the Terrans might come here, and at the same time wants to remind me of his power. The fool.

Arteshban Rostam called out to them in his own tongue. They quickly separated into two wide blocks, leaving a narrow corridor for the entourage to enter. As they passed through the first of three gates, the Satrap heard something above him. He looked up and spotted the dozen murder holes fitted in the arched ceiling above them. There were Median soldiers up there, but it was hard to make out their armour and weapons through such small holes.

Murder holes, here?

The very idea of fitting them into the Imperial Palace shocked him. The last person to enter Babylon Prime with an invading army had been the Medes themselves, when they created their first empire in this very star system. Murder holes were an ancient and barbaric device where weapons and deadly liquids could be poured down upon attackers. It was the ultimate in low-tech defences, and he doubted it would be even partially useful against warriors such as the Terrans. Arteshban Rostam watched him as they passed the second of the inner gates that had been pulled up into the ceiling.

“The God King demanded that all defences were upgraded to match the standard set by his illustrious ancestors.”

Tissaphernes listened but said nothing in reply. The accent was again incredibly thick on the creature’s throat, yet his command of the language was greater and more precise than he’d anticipated.

“The murder holes were my idea. Something we had on our own worlds before the cleansing.”

That last word came across as bitterly as he might have expected. The Taochi were a proud race and one that had been difficult for the Empire to defeat. It had taken generations to complete and cost millions of lives, but in the end, the Medes had succeeded and punished the remaining Taochi by destroying their worlds and scattering them through the Empire. They were now a people with no home, but their traditions and strengths remained.

“It is strange that Artaxerxes chose to elevate so many Taochi to his guard.”

Arteshban Rostam laughed at this; something that annoyed the Satrap even more.

“I do not see how.”

The creature did not even use his correct title. If he had been a Medes or automaton, then Tissaphernes would have seen to having the creature’s head removed for his insolence. On Babylon Prime, he was just another of the senior leaders of the Empire, and drawing the blood of the commander of the guard would be suicidal for him.

“Taochi have always been honourable. We fought, and we lost. We have never revolted and serve our new master well.”

Tissaphernes looked at him, wondering if any of what the creature said was true. He knew they were indeed strong, brave, and foolhardy. But he also knew they were a proud race of warriors, and he had no doubt that with the right support they would instantly turn on their masters without a moment’s hesitation.

Surely our great Emperor knows this as well? So why employ them?

They continued along the open areas filled with gardens, water features, and pleasant paths until passing through another set of guarded gates. As before, they were protected by a large number of warriors but this time only thirty, and they were all Medes, with a Median noble commanding them. They were dressed in the same uniforms as the Taochi and all carried the long rifles common to the Imperial soldiers. The commander waved them through, without even sparing a glance in the direction of the Satrap.

“Who else is here, and why were you sent to bring me?”

The Taochi warrior chuckled to himself, and they moved on to enter the Royal Court of the Imperial Palace. The open space led to a massive set of steps that moved up to the second floor of the ancient Royal Keep, the heart of the place. It flicked an odd gold and crimson colour in the light of the sun.

He knew the Emperor would be waiting inside the structure, but that wasn’t what had caught his attention. He stopped and found himself staring at the spectacle standing before him, much to his own annoyance. Arrayed along the great line of steps waited a formation of a thousand median nobles, all female, and every one of them stripped completely naked with nothing but the headgear of their homeworlds to distinguish them.

“The display of respect and allegiance,” said Arteshban Rostam.

The small group moved though the throng of Medes, and Tissaphernes found himself unable to keep his eyes from the great display of flesh that lay around him. He could see females of every age, shape, and colour and would have enjoyed nothing more than to spend the entire day in the open space and admiring their diversity. A shape on the steps drew his attention away from the naked flesh and sent a shiver down his spine.

“Mitra,” he hissed under his breath.

The Median warrior was bigger than Tissaphernes and would have rivalled even one of the mighty Terran warriors in stature. The figure was oiled and muscular like a wrestler. He was stripped to the waist and wore a plainly decorated cloth around his body. It was pale and lacking colour. His head was covered in a dull metal helm that looked a thousand years old. He stood to attention with his feet wide apart, and in his right hand a long glaive that stood four metres in height. The blade took up almost a metre of its length, and it glistened silver.

“The Emperor’s Justice,” Arteshban Rostam said.

The name was the colloquial term for the warrior responsible for both the personal bodyguard and executioner for Artaxerxes. The secondary role he had performed more than a hundred times, and it was rumoured he had never needed a second strike.

Interesting. Why is he here when he was not present at Cunaxa?

They pushed on to the steps and covered the ground quickly. Mitra moved nothing but his eyes, as they passed him and entered the large entrance to the main floor of the Royal Keep. No sooner were they inside, and the great doors creaked shut behind them. For a second, the Satrap sensed danger and reached for his belt, but he was unarmed.

“My Lord, in here, I will be your protector.”

Even through the thick accent, the Satrap could detect the sarcasm. The warrior pointed inside the structure. It was a large rectangular building with a single long table running down each side near the walls; enough space for a hundred guests on each side. At the far end were three steps and another table that face back into the hall. Behind this was the throne of the Emperor, raised a metre from he ground so that all might see the greatness. The seat was empty, at least for now.

So, I am summoned and find everybody else is already here, apart from him.

The tables were filled with scores of people, and as he moved along its length, he quickly recognised them. Most were high-ranking dignitaries of the smaller territories of just a few worlds. There were regional clothing differences that marked them out to the trained eye. It was the few so-called heroes of the battle at Cunaxa that appeared to be receiving the greatest attention. Halfway along the hall he stopped and looked at a dozen Terrans and Medes who were busy sharing war stories and drink. In the centre of the group was the Zacynthian warrior Mithridates.

That self-congratulatory thug, his achievement was nothing.

There were some who said it was the mercenary that delivered the blow that killed the rebel Cyrus. The story went that as the rebel moved to attack the Emperor, this lowly Terran leapt out and stabbed Cyrus with a bayoneted rifle, but that wasn’t the way Tissaphernes recalled the story. As he remembered, the Emperor had thrown a device at the enemy and mortally wounded Cyrus. The foot soldiers had merely finished off what he had done himself. The Terran spotted him and called out something, but Tissaphernes chose to ignore him and instead proceeded further along the hall. He finally reached the last section and relaxed a little upon finding their positions rose in importance to match his own.

“Your brothers,” said Arteshban Rostam.

He pointed to where a single seat remained from the seventeen on this side of the hall. There were eight seats on the one side and the other nine facing them. A mixture of male and female Medes from across the Empire were there, exchanging niceties and dining from a line of identical golden goblets. He approached his seat and sat down only to find a Mulac directly opposite him. They were an odd group of pirates, mutants, and raiders that had settled in some of the border regions of the Empire. This one was sitting with the Median Satraps, however, and that unnerved him, as these creatures were no Medes.

“You must be Tissaphernes,” said the Mulac gruffly.

“Must I?”

The Mulac snorted with amusement, but a low ding sound from behind him stopped him from speaking further. The hall hushed, and every head turned to face the throne. In walked Mitra who then stepped to the side and waited as patiently as he had done so on the steps. In chorus every single guest rose to their feet and lowered their heads. The golden form of the Emperor in his long flowing silks approached his seat and lowered himself. He wore the finest gold with strips of black and amethyst sewn into the material. Once he was comfortable, he indicated for them to return to their seats.

“Satraps, warriors, and governors of the Empire.”

The voice of the Emperor was clear and perfectly enunciated. No amplification circuits were required, as the acoustics of the room were perfectly attuned to spread his word to ever corner.

“I have brought you together to deal with a problem of great proportions.”

Tissaphernes watched his Great King speak and began to feel a mixture of irritation and anger build inside him. The mention of a problem was a concern to him, especially as he had heard nothing of the other Satraps being summoned to deal with the problem. As he understood it, the fight against the rebels led by Cyrus was to be dealt with by him, and now he anticipated the announcement of an attempt to defeat the Black Legion.

“We have a threat assembling on our border, one that threatens a hundred worlds, and I require all of my noble Satraps to assist in defeating it.”

Tissaphernes was very surprised to hear this.

What? The Terrans are hardly going to threaten a hundred worlds.

“The Satrapy of Mudrya has been turned against the Empire by the outlaw Amyrtaeus of Sais.”

This news shocked many in the hall, but Tissaphernes was only surprised it was not the Terrans that concerned the Great King. He had seen the reports on Amyrtaeus of Sais for the last few years. The outlaw had fought a successful guerrilla war against Medes rule in Mudrya for years.

“The leaders of my Kibris-Finiqyah Armada have failed in their duties and have been captured by Amyrtaeus.”

He looked out to his stunned audience as they waited to hear his orders.

“Each of you will provide a division of ships and a siege army within one month to join my Royal forces under the command of Arteshban Rostam.”

The noise coming from the hall was a mixture of shock and horror. The Arteshban had almost been accepted by most as the commander of the forces on Babylon Prime. The idea of the feral monster being placed in charge of a mighty invasion force was something very different. The creature moved from a position to the side of the grand podium and knelt down alongside Artaxerxes.

“God King, I will bring Mudrya back to your control, and Amyrtaeus’ head will be placed on a pike as a warning to all traitors.”

The Emperor nodded happily at this, but his expression remained impassive. He indicated for the warrior to stand and then continued.

“The Satrapy of Mudrya will suffer the Great Pain upon completion of this war.”

That drew an even stronger reaction. Even Tissaphernes was surprised to hear of the old punishment being used. The Great Pain was a measure used rarely by leaders in the past, whereby cities were selected at random and razed to the ground, with its inhabitants forced to burning along with the city itself. It was a cruel, barbaric punishment and only ever used against worlds that revolted.

“The traitor has already taken control of the regions of Kibris and Finiqyah and added the territories to expand his domain to threaten the Core Worlds. You will do everything in your power to assist in this campaign and to ensure nothing like this ever happens in your own territories.”

He then concentrated his look towards Tissaphernes with a glare that seemed to burn through his skull. It was one of the few times he had truly felt nervous.

“Lord Tissaphernes.”

He lifted himself to his feet and bowed.

“God King Artaxerxes.”

The Emperor smiled at this and then continued.

“What news of the Terran fools that dared move on Cunaxa? Must I intervene again to remove them from my domains?”

Tissaphernes could feel his face starting to flush.

“No, my King. I have made use of Ariaeus and Phalinus, as you requested.”

The God King nodded and indicated for him to return to his seat.

“Good. I have little interest in what happens to them, provided they leave my Empire. Chase them, or destroy them, just move them from the Core Worlds.”

He lifted his hands to encompass all of the Satraps and military commanders.

“If these, or any other rebels enter your territories, you will offer them nothing but scorched earth, blood, and pain. Do you understand?”

A great chorus of agreement echoed out of the hall, and only Tissaphernes watched on in silence. He moved his mouth to mimic the others, but his mind was on the Terrans, and as he reminded himself of the Emperor’s words, he could see that the great campaign he imagined had been transformed. Following Cunaxa, he expected the pursuit of the Terrans would give him the greatest honours. Now it seemed the Emperor’s only concern was his Core Worlds. Once they were safe, it was for any of the Satraps to deal with, and that galled him more than anything else.

So, he thinks this Amyrtaeus of Sais is the real threat? I’ll drag the ruins of the Titans to Babylon Prime and show him my value.

*

Planet Larissa, Core Worlds

The dromon dropped down into the thick atmosphere with a series of rough vibrations, shaking the craft from front to back. The exterior flashed and burned, but the armour and light shielding did its job to protect the vessel, and in just a few minutes, they were through and heading for the surface. A final vibration marked its descent as the spoilers and airbrakes deployed on their lowest setting. The airspeed dropped substantially, and then the journey changed as quickly as the vibrations had started. The internal screens showed a wide panoramic view of the planet below for the passengers to examine.

“Seven minutes,” said the pilot half-heartedly.

Larissa was one of the richest agricultural worlds the Terrans had ever seen, even when compared to the richest rural worlds back in the Terran territories. It was the only habitable planet in the current star system, yet produced enough food for half of all the key worlds around Babylon Prime for which it was responsible. A dozen stations circled the planet to assist in loading and offloading supplies, people, and equipment. Half of the Terran fleet remained in orbit while the rest waited in a holding pattern further out in space, all waiting and ready for signs of the Medes and their warships that were expected to arrive at any moment.

The Terrans had already made a dozen jumps prior to arriving just three hours after a massive Median convoy had jumped out, leaving the world completely free of Imperial security forces, apart from a single antiquated Median heavy cruiser. The ship had survived less than ninety seconds when the Legion ships attacked it. The black shape of the wreckage entering the atmosphere was now visible from the dromon as it continued downwards.

Only the regional security units, local police, and an armed citizenry remained to protect against pirates and marauders. These had all wisely stayed out of the way as the Terran ships moved into position. Though just as significant as many of the populated worlds in the Empire, it couldn’t have been more different that the rest. The surface was devoid of great cities, and most transportation was conducted using solar powered aircraft and large ground trains that used magnetic-levitation tracks that criss-crossed the fertile world.

“This place looks boring as hell,” grumbled Glaucon.

Xenophon chuckled at his friend. The two had visited scores of worlds, and even he had to admit this place was one of the least interesting he’d ever seen. Even so, after spending so much time in space or fighting on planets like Cunaxa, it would be nice to set foot on somewhere more peaceful. His own family had large rural holdings on Attica where there was still a great deal of arable land, even quite close to the capital.

“It will get a whole lot more interesting if that ship comes down anywhere near here,” replied Xenophon.

“It won’t make much of a difference,” added Roxana, “Almost the entire surface of this world is water or farmland.”

She’d been silent for the duration of their descent from the fleet. Of them all, she was the oldest though only by a few years. She was tall, even bigger than Xenophon, and her thick auburn hair and grey eyes had caught the attention of many of the other Terrans, both male and female. Even so, she’d been nothing but the most committed of the Legion, and her knowledge and skills were second to none amongst them.

“True. Just don’t forget what our luck has been like recently.”

Tamara groaned and attention quickly shifted to the young woman who was barely older than a girl. She rubbed her aching leg and grimaced. There was no obvious sign of injury as her uniform and armour covered it up.

“I thought you’d healed up?” asked Glaucon.

Tamara said nothing and just shifted her shoulder before returning to her leg.

“What’s the news from Artemas?” Roxana asked.

Xenophon felt a pang of concern at the mention of her name. Sending her ahead with an unarmed entourage had worried him greatly. The only concession had been to allow a party of unarmed Laconians to go with her. He had no doubt they were all deadly warriors, but even an automaton could kill a Laconian if timed correctly and with good weaponry. The entire situation unnerved him.

“She says the local trade council is ready to see us. That’s all she said.”

Roxana pointed to the window.

“Is that it?”

Xenophon craned his neck to look down at the Trading Post. It was not much bigger than a large town, but the number of landing platforms was greater than the number of buildings. He counted eight separate sets of tracks leaving the place in every direction.

“Yes, that looks like the Trading Post.”

He glanced down to his belt and checked his weapons. On one side sat a slimline pulse pistol. It was a modest affair and fitted with a small capacity magazine to reduce the overall size. If they hit trouble, it wouldn’t last much longer than thirty shots, but that was more than enough for what they needed; he hoped so anyway.

On the other side was a pouch containing a traditional Terran kopis, a front heavy chopping blade favoured by close combat veterans, as well as all Terran spatharii. The Medes were ever fearful of the Terrans and their reputation for carrying a wide assortment of close ranged weaponry. He forced himself to not smile as he looked at the handle of the weapon. It was not something he normally carried, but a simple trade with one of the Arcadians three days before for some power cells had found him its new owner. He reached down and pulled it from its sheath. The weapon’s grip was a pale brown, hard yet comfortable to hold. It was some form of antler, but he had no idea from what animal.

The blade, on the other hand, was anything but antiquated or natural. The razor-sharp metal had been sharpened further in the ship’s armoury, and its monofilament edge would cut through flesh, bone, and clothing with ease.

“Nice blade,” said Tamara.

Her attention was never easy to gain, but edged weaponry always seemed to work. She gazed as if looking at some kind of precious jewel as Xenophon twisted and turned the weapon in his hands. He stopped and looked at her and then threw it at her, blade first. It spun through the air, and she twisted a fraction before catching the hilt.

“Nice moves, little girl,” Glaucon laughed.

Tamara flipped and tossed the blade about like a toy and then handed it back to Xenophon with a mischievous look in her eye.

“If you die, can I have it?”

All of them laughed at this, and he feigned injury at her words.

“So harsh.”

He wiped his brow and looked back at the small number of people on board. As usual, the Legion had found it impossible to decide who would organise supplies, so it was being done on a ship by ship or contingent at a time.

The other Terrans were landing at different parts of the Trading Post to reduce the risk in case of trouble. The Thessalians had been the first, even though the Dukas of their provisional Titan had ordered them not to. Their reputation for hard and fast negotiation was not ideal on this world, but they would not be held back.

“Look.”

As the dromon rotated during its vertical descent, he spotted their craft. A column of Medes civilians was busy loading containers into their craft while a pair of Terran spatharii watched on with their weapons shouldered.

What did they promise for all that? he wondered.

The dromon shook and then as quickly as they’d arrived, they were on the ground. The doorway opened out, and the cool air of this alien world greeted him. He drank it in for a few seconds before detaching himself from the harness. Roxana placed a hand on his shoulder, and he turned to look at her. They’d been friends a long time now, since well before his own brief time in the Attican Navy.

“Are you ready?”

He nodded ever so slightly, lifting himself to his feet. It was only a short distance to the doorway, but he could already feel his nerves beginning to fray. There was a great deal riding on this negotiation, no matter what any of the others said to him. The fleet was almost out of food and fuel, and without it little to no chance they would be able to continue their journey onwards.

What really worried him though was if they stayed. There were many in the Legion, especially the Laconians, who relished the chance to take the fight to the Medes. It wasn’t just a fight that they wanted though; some advocated a direct strike on the homeworlds around Babylon Prime.

Fools, all of them.

Unlike most of the Legion, Xenophon was well schooled in ancient and modern history of both the Terrans and the Medes. Even though they’d been engaged in massive space battles already, he knew full well that the Royal Fleet of Artaxerxes was simply that. Every Satrap had access to a local fleet of similar numbers. He had already explained to the commanders of their little band of the risk they faced staying in one place too long. The Medes could pin them with a fleet, even sacrifice one just so that they could bring in more ships from the outer lying regions. His estimate was a month to bring in five regions worth of ships.

We have to negotiate and then get the hell out of this place before the Medes come visiting.

He moved down the ramp onto the pad itself and looked about at the town. The Terran traders and foraging parties had landed at the only inhabited site of significance. There were a small number of towers with two carrying communication arrays, but as far as he could tell, no weapons.

“This place, it seems awfully vulnerable for a supply world.”

Xenophon shook his head in disagreement.

“I don’t see how. They have foodstuff and provisions, valuable to planets but not for pirates and raiders. Don’t forget, there are Medes patrols in this area, and I bet one has already notified their high command of our presence.”

Glaucon sighed.

“You are probably right.”

“Yes,” Tamara said, moving ahead of them, “another reason why we need to get a shift on. Let’s go!”

She moved at quite a pace, and any locals that spotted her did their best to move out of the way of the slightly unhinged teenager. One Medes male stood his ground, and she stopped directly in front of him and looked up at his face before jumping and making a sound like a mad dog. The trader stepped back in surprise and moved aside to let them pass.

“See, they are no threat to us,” exclaimed Tamara and then moved off.

Glaucon watched her while speaking quietly to the others.

“Is it just me, or is she becoming more and more erratic?”

There was no time to answer because two Arcadian spatharii were waving at them to approach a clearing between four small buildings. Their walls were beige in colour and rough to the finish. The windows were small and their rooftops flat and uninteresting. A maglev train hurtled past making little noise until several seconds further ahead. Behind it moved scores of wagons, each covered and marked plain grey in colour.

“Keep your eyes open. You remember Cunaxa,” said Xenophon.

He was a little louder than he intended to be but pretended to ignore them as he spotted the small collection of Medes. There were a number of other aliens, as well as two larger creatures he’d not seen before. For a second, he thought they might be the violent Mulacs as seen in the territory of Tissaphernes. These were not quite so big and unlike the others, although they did wear chest armour in a dull type of metal.

Interesting.

He walked in and approached a chair that was held out for him. In a single, graceful gesture, he slipped into position and looked across the table at the weary looking Medes trader. Around them a dozen armed guards waited, and the sense of danger was stifling. Lady Artemas entered and lowered herself into position to his right. Glaucon, Roxana, and Tamara waited with the other guards. The conversation went on for what seemed an age before Artemas looked to Xenophon.

“Well?”

Xenophon creased his brow in confusion.

“Uh…I have no idea what any of you are saying.”

She looked back at the entourage and back to Xenophon.

“They say this will not do; the terms are not acceptable to the Governor of Larissa. He suggests if you want to pay this amount, then you should wait for the representatives from Babylon Prime to arrive,” Lady Artemas said, looking at him.

She was the beautiful daughter of Lygdamis, one of the Median governors of the independent Ionian Territories, and now the only Medes citizen in the Legion. She was the niece of the deceased Cyrus and close to Xenophon. Normally, she dressed in a closer fashion to that of Laconian women, but today she wore a long flowing crimson dress that hung low at the back and ran down to her feet. To all intents and purposes, she was attired as a Medes noblewoman, but Xenophon knew she wore her tight flitting reinforced corset and torso protection underneath.

Just in case, he recalled her saying.

She shook her head and translated the trader’s words one sentence at a time.

“The goods and provisions will cost triple what we are offering. They will consider taking a Terran warship in lieu of payment, but if we delay much longer, we can expect to run into Royal forces.”

Xenophon leaned in to whisper in her ear.

“I thought these people were soft and easy to manipulate?”

Artemas’ face remained completely emotionless as she replied.

“Larissa is still part of the Core Median Worlds. They can expect Imperial protection in a matter of days.”

Really?

He nodded to Glaucon who approached with his pulse cannon at his shoulder.

“How many captured automaton transports do we have?”

Glaucon had no idea and shrugged. Xenophon raised an eyebrow and waited patiently.

“I…uh, roughly twenty I think, Sir.”

Xenophon thanked him and then looked back at the Larissan entourage.

“I can offer you half of the money you request, plus five undamaged Media transports, each filled with jewels, metals, and material of importance to the God King and his Satraps.”

He then waited while Artemas translated, no doubt adding her own unique twist on his relatively simple statement. There was a short pause while the Larissans discussed the terms. They were of the same build as Artemas with their lightly built bodies and pale skin. Unlike most Medes, this particular group had looser skin and flabby bodies, betrayed by the excessive amounts of bare skin they seemed so proud to parade about. Finally, the leader of the group made some odd gestures, and the others joined in.

“Well?” asked Xenophon.

Artemas listened a little longer before speaking.

“They accept.”

She seemed almost surprised at this.

“The food and other provisions will be sent via the city spaceport. They will be released along with the payment in Imperial currency.”

“Agreed.”

“The Ships, they want them left in orbit when we leave.”

Xenophon stood up from his seat, and everybody else around them did the same. He extended his hand out to bind the agreement, and the Medes official did the same. When their forearms met, he was surprised even further at their complete lack of strength. He then turned and moved back to his colleagues while the Medes dispersed. A small group of Terran warriors moved out from the shadows to approach him.

“Good work there, Dekarchos,” said Komes Pasion.

The man was the commander of the elite Night Blades, the unit Xenophon and his friends had originally been a part of. Their numbers were now a good amount smaller, yet what they lacked in bodies, they made up for in experience and sheer aggression. His smile faded, and his jaw tightened though in just a few seconds. Xenophon automatically reached for the kopis blade fitted into the belt sheath, but the Komes placed his hand on the hilt to keep it still.

“It’s the Thessalians.”

Xenophon hadn’t even considered he would be talking about their people causing a problem. The Thessalians were similar in attitude as the Makedonians, both of being groups of Terrans that bordered on the wild and dangerous. Neither was wholly accepted as being civilised by the other Terrans, but their military prowess was undeniable, as was their skill in the use of fast ships and light infantry tactics.

It wasn’t the history of these people that worried Xenophon or Komes Pasion though. It was the fact that one of them had just removed the head of a Median trader with a kopis blade. He held the severed head by the hair in his left hand and shouted to his comrades.

“He thought he could profiteer from us!”

“He thought wrong!” laughed another.

Xenophon and Komes Pasion looked to each other, dismay and disappointment showing on their faces. Lady Artemas interrupted them before either could say another word.

“The warning has been sent. The Medes are calling out their militia. We should go.”

CHAPTER THREE

Median Battleship ‘Vairya’, on approach to Larissa

Tissaphernes sat upon his great golden seat in the centre of the command deck on a slightly raised platform that moved him higher than everybody else in the ship. The floor space around him was completely clear for a distance of three metres in all directions.

“My Lord, the fleet is ready and awaiting your command,” said the faceless automaton.

The deck contained over a hundred of his like, all dressed in identical multi-coloured tunics and small gold skullcaps. They were the mass manufactured indentured workers that filled the worlds of the Empire. They were intelligent and eminently capable, yet weak in physical stature and never particularly well trained or equipped. Tissaphernes looked at them and smiled. The memories of Babylon Prime were starting to fade, even though they were only a few days old. His mission was clear, and he had planned the end of the Terrans down to every ship in his fleet.

This will be glorious, and the Emperor himself will beg me for the use of one of these captured Titans.

That put a smile on his face that he didn’t even bother hiding from his crew. He had been away from his home and powerbase for some time now, but for the first time in many long months he was starting to relax. Cyrus, his rival for the control of the border regions of the Empire was dead, and he had been given complete command of the regional troops to chase the surviving Terrans out of the Core Worlds after the meeting on Babylon Prime.

They will die, and then I will return to Lydia and Caria with their bodies straddling my battleships.

The thought sent a shiver of pleasure through his body. The Terrans had proved more of a nuisance than he had expected and defeating them would be most enjoyable. He’d tried to cripple them back at the Cilician Gates, but they had managed to extricate themselves before they could be destroyed in his trap. This time he would bring the full might of his own forces, as well as the contingents supplied by the Emperor. The only disappointment had been the requirement to take the small fleet of Dukas Phalinus to assist. He had no need of their ships, but that hadn’t stopped him finding a use for them.

When this is all over, I will bring war on their worlds and families for daring to attack us.

He recalled the tales of old where the Emperors of the Median Empire had taken great war-fleets to the Terran Worlds. In the past, the heroes of Darius and Xerxes, some of the most infamous of the God Kings, had tried and failed to bring the Terrans to heal. Battles at the Hot Gates, Plataea, and Salamis had demonstrated time and time again that guile and cunning were needed to defeat them.

No God King will ever defeat them. Only I can win this war.

Should he prove successful in his mission, he knew he would have no problem clearing his borders of Ionia of Terran military power. Not that Tissaphernes wanted to remove the Terrans; he had other plans for them after seeing their skills when commanded by Clearchus and Cyrus. They might be a troublesome race, but they had their talents, and if focused, he was convinced he could use them to further his plans. An automaton officer caught his attention and bowed low.

“My Lord, you requested information on the Zacynthians.”

Tissaphernes frowned, trying to recall what he had asked for. The automaton waited and then realised his Lord wanted him to continue. As he started to speak, a group of automatons moved about him to assist with the replacement of parts of his armour.

“I…uh…the reports from the Dukas show he has a single battleship, twenty-four cruisers, and eleven light cruisers ready for battle.”

Tissaphernes nodded and sent him away, along with the remaining automatons that had finished the final touches of his clothing and armour. He had changed into an elaborate set of armour that combined the classical lines of the Median armour with the long flowing garb of the Imperial family. His shoulders were raised with beautiful carved and engraved golden plate, and atop his head a helm in the shape of a great beast. A purple cloak ran from his shoulders, his breastplate a dull ivory with intricate detailing and relief. His legs were clad in ivory and feet protected by tall boots, ribbed with lavish gold trim. He was the epitome of decadence and wealth, and he loved it. He looked to the automaton that had just spoken, recalling what he had said.

The fleet, ah, yes.

He looked out to the great horde of crew and smiled to himself. Tissaphernes was heavily armoured and protected by a small cadre of elite guards that waited along the side of the deck. Not one of automatons carried a weapon of any kind other than the dozen senior officers who moved about nervously. These men were of the elite Medes faction, the society that controlled the wealth and power of the Empire. Outside of the God King’s territories, the entire race was known as the Medes, although only the richest and noblest of their kind were true Medes. The Median sector was once the only part of the Empire, ruled by the Medes themselves before they expanded and absorbed the territories around them. As sectors fell, so did their capitals, yet unlike the races and Empires before them, the Medes were cunning. They maintained the existing local arrangements and societies, ruling them with their own local Satraps, each taken from the elite of their territories.

There were now thirty-four of these Satraps, including the capital worlds of Media itself, and Tissaphernes fancied expanding his area of control out and away from the rest of the Empire.

“Good, very good.”

He looked carefully at the automaton before him. There was nothing especially significant about him, apart from the markings on his skull cap and a dull orange sash he carried about his shoulder and down across his body. He was ranked as a Darbabad, the Terran equivalent of an Admiral of the fleet, and the only automaton on the ship that dared look the Satrap of Lydia and Caria directly in the eye.

“Lead the fleet to the assembly point, no closer than fifty parasangs to Larissa. If we approach any closer, it will be you that meets the Terrans first, after I have expunged you from this great ship.”

“My Lord,” was all the automaton said.

He turned and moved to his cadre of officers, who then relayed the orders directly to the rest of the fleet. It was slower than the system used by the Terrans, but it did keep automatons in the loop, and Tissaphernes liked to see where his orders went and who was following them correctly.

He looked down at the buttons around his great seat and snorted in derision. With a single tap, a structure much like a black cylinder rose from the ground to surround him in a centimetre thick semi-transparent material. It continued until reaching almost three metres and then stopped. There was a single flash, and the black transformed to show space and every single ship in his fleet. He looked at the largest of the battleships and lists of orders appeared next to them, confirming the direction and disposition he had decided.

Unlike other commanders, he liked to let his lesser command the fleet. This merely allowed him to observe, and one thing Tissaphernes liked to do more than anything else was to observe. Once satisfied everything was proceeding as planned, he lowered the screen and looked out to his crew.

“Servants of the God King!” he began.

As one the entire deck turned to face him, a hundred pairs of eyes, each united in fear and awe of their commander, resplendent in the wealth and trappings of the elite of their society.

“The God King himself has ordered that I, Satrap Tissaphernes, will chase these rebels from our lands. You have the honour of serving aboard Vairya, and as our name promises, we will dominate our enemies and leave nothing but hulks to burn.”

He stood up so that he might appear even taller and more magnificent than the rest, but not one of them made a noise. He expected nothing more. The automatons had been beaten and whipped to ensure complete obedience and discipline on his ship. He pointed to the front of the command deck and in the direction the ship would travel.

“To Larissa, and to victory!”

The unnamed Darbabad looked at him as he spoke, and although he said nothing, felt bile in his throat. He had nothing but contempt for his commander, but even in his high position would never dare to speak out.

We will fight, my Great Commander, but the Terrans are no fools. You will kill us all.

Tissaphernes spotted his face, and the two locked eyes for just a moment before the Darbabad looked back to the deck. There had been no discussion of any kind, but the Darbabad felt he’d just won a victory, no matter how small. Try as he might, he was unable to stop a small smile from forming on his face. He heard a noise and turned to see the Satrap standing directly in front of him. He said nothing, but as the automaton waited, he could feel his legs giving way. He looked down and spotted the ancient Terran kopis blade, a weapon taken as a prize of war centuries earlier in some unknown battle. Its bronze coloured blade connected to a jewel-encrusted hilt that dripped with blood. He followed the bright fluid until finding its source in the centre of his torso.

“Why?” he muttered, dropping to his knees.

Tissaphernes glanced down at him and smiled back. With a savaged motion, he ripped the blade from the wound and let the mortally wounded Darbabad fall to the ground to die a slow and painful death on the deck of the ship.

“Sarvan!” he roared out to the deck.

Another automaton moved out from a group of officers and approached him. He didn’t stop until his feet were just a few centimetres from the spluttering Darbabad. The Sarvan was the captain of the ship and the next in command below the Darbabad himself. Tissaphernes bent down and ripped the blood soaked sash from the dying officer and handed it to the younger automaton.

“Darbabad, take us to the assembly point.”

The new Darbabad placed the sash around his body and then bowed.

“My Lord.”

*

Planet Larissa, Core Worlds

They made it halfway back to the landing pad before the crowds began to move in to block them. At first it was just a dozen, but within a few more seconds, the number multiplied with many Medes moving to halt their progress. Most were unarmed civilians, but there were also a good number of Medes carrying firearms mixed in with the crowds. So far, none looked particularly threatening.

“This is a problem,” said Roxana in a matter-of-fact voice.

The route from the open plaza seemed to be getting busier by the second. There was no violence other than the shouting from the elated Terrans who had just killed the trader. The man spotted Glaucon from a narrow street a block away and beckoned for him to come to him to take a share in the spoils. Glaucon shook his head angrily.

“You idiots, you’ll get us all killed.”

Xenophon grabbed him and pulled him away.

“Ignore them. They’ve chosen their own path.”

The man continued shouting, but they had already moved away, and the line of sight between the two groups was blocked by a hexagonal six-storey structure with a communication antenna fitted on it. A bang drew Roxana’s eye, and she looked up to the top of the building. A bright shape launched up from the rooftop, leaving a trail of green smoke behind.

“Signal flare!” muttered Komes Pasion.

He stepped up to Xenophon and Artemas, the two official representatives sent to negotiate on behalf of the fleet.

“This mission is over. Word is coming down from the fleet. They are detecting large numbers approaching from the northern side of the town.”

“We can hold them off,” said Glaucon.

Komes Pasion laughed at this.

“True, but why?”

Gunshots blasted out in the distance, followed by shouting. A streak from a pulse rifle leapt up into the sky, and then the situation turned from an angry crowd to one of a hostile mob.

“It’s the Thessalians,” Roxana said bitterly.

Komes Pasion was already checking his weapons. The entire unit was lightly armoured due to the diplomatic nature of the operation. They were easily the match of anything the Medes could throw into battle, but a lack of armour or personal shielding would hurt them if they were forced in engage in combat for too long.

“We have to help them,” said Xenophon.

From their position, the small group of Terrans could see a crowd moving in on the tiny force of armed Thessalians. More gunshots rang out, and then a wild panic seemed to spread about the Medes people. Three of them fell down clutching gaping wounds, and through the gap came the surviving Thessalians. A Medes woman was knocked to her knees and trampled down by the four Terrans. A pulse round struck a man in the back, and the Terran slumped down alongside the fallen woman. In seconds, the Medes were at him, striking with cudgels and blades.

“Push them back!” said one of Pasion’s soldiers.

A volley of a dozen shots scattered the nearest Medes, but plenty more continued to hack at the fallen man. Tamara rushed ahead and narrowly avoided being struck by a burst from Glaucon before leaping into the crowd. Two fell down with blood gushing from wounds to their arms and torsos, and then she emerged, dragging the wounded Thessalian with her.

“You crazy fool!” called out Roxana.

She ran forward to help, and Xenophon joined her to assist. The rest formed a gun line, each of them next to the other in a wall of Terran flesh, protected by accurate and powerful Doru rifles. They fired three volleys over the heads of the crowd and scattered them quickly enough to get the wounded man to safety. Two of Pasion’s stratiotes helped him to his feet and half carried him between them.

“What the hell do we do now?” asked another.

Xenophon pointed to the skies.

“We need to get to the dromons before they realise how few of us there are.”

It was as if the crowd had heard him. The Medes had moved closer to the line of Terrans, and some were waving weapons provocatively. In the background of the crowd moved larger shapes. It was hard to see quite what they were. Xenophon pointed at them, ducking to avoid a rock that had been thrown at them.

“Uh, I don’t like this, look.”

“Where are the other Thessalians?” asked an unseen Terran.

“I don’t know,” Komes Pasion answered.

His face was hard, and he concentrated all his energy on looking for likely threats. The Medes were a nuisance, but he was determined not to break ranks and rush in at them. Apart from the potential massacre, it would leave them at the mercy of the locals. There were so many stories both of space battles and land battles with the Medes and their feigned retreats. The screams of powerful engines caught his attention, and he looked up to see the familiar shape of a dromon moving away from the town.

“Bastards!” shouted one of Pasion’s stratiotes.

More engines powered up from the landing platform where the last two dromons sat waiting. One was the craft Xenophon and his friends had come in on, the other the last remaining Thessalian dromon. Already the latter’s engines were kicking up clouds of dust. A group of a dozen Medes ran out to block their path. One wore a breastplate of the Royal Army, the full-time soldiers of the Medes. He barked orders, and more of the locals move around him with a mixture of weapons. Most were antiquated, but nearly half carried firearms of some type or other.

“Stay with me!” barked Komes Pasion as he quickly assessed the danger.

The experienced warrior ran at the group while shouting for the others to follow. Most of the Medes were too far away to help, and only one got off a shot before the Komes was among them. He didn’t try to kill them. Instead, he brutally manhandled a Medes out of the way and then crashed out through the back of the group. A Medes militiaman struck Glaucon, fracturing his nose and sending blood across his face.

“What the hell is going on here?” he shouted, as much to himself as the others.

He swung the stock of the pulse cannon into the chest of the militiaman and headbutt another, sending his foe to the ground crying. As with the Komes, he was now through the small group and into the narrow street behind. He covered twenty metres before he double-checked over his shoulder that the others had made it through. He thanked the gods upon seeing them struggling behind and spun about to find small, scattered groups of militiamen appearing between the buildings in front and to his sides.

“No, I don’t think so.”

He lowered his pulse cannon and pointed it at any Medes that looked like they were coming too close. A few had ventured to within five meters before deciding discretion was the better form of valour. There was more shouting off into the distance where the Thessalians were dragging more and more containers inside their last remaining dromon. The first already in the air circled overhead while its gunners looked for signs of trouble. The remaining craft just powered up its engines, and the four Thessalians clambered inside. The doors slid shut, and then it was off.

It made it ten meters up before it was struck. The weapon was not powerful enough to bring the dromon down, but it did encourage the door gunners on each side to turn their dual pulse cannons onto the crowd. A dozen rounds crashed about them, and as the crowd scattered in panic, they left two dead and a wounded child crying out.

“Idiots!” shouted Xenophon.

He stepped sideways to move towards the fallen Medes on their left, but Glaucon grabbed him and pushed him in the direction the others Terrans were moving.

“No, it’s too late for that. We need to leave.”

More shouting came from the other landing pad as the Thessalians’ dromon cleared the town and circled around to join the first. Sparks flickered along its right side as it was struck by light small arms fire, but nothing below a heavy-mounted anti-aircraft weapon had much of a chance at causing damage to it. More gunfire arced down from the door gunners, but this time the civilians were safely in cover.

“Follow me!” said Komes Pasion.

The stratiotes commander led the way with his small contingent of warriors close around him. Each kept their Doru Mark II rifles at the ready. A couple had slung their weapons, instead moving with a pistol in one hand and a kopis blade in the other. Two continued to help the injured Thessalian who had stayed with them, though probably not out of choice.

Xenophon and Artemas were next and Glaucon and Tamara; Roxana brought up the rear. They ran down the street and into the open area leading to their own landing pad and dromon. Unlike the Thessalian craft, it had stayed behind, and its crew waited behind empty containers on the floor with Doru rifles resting on the top. A handful of militiamen had tried to rush the dromon but were forced back by shots fired over their heads. A rocket rushed down from the second storey of a nearby structure, shattering the cover and killing one of the crew outright. A second was hurt and dragged back inside.

“Keep moving!” said the Komes.

They moved on as fast as they could, but sporadic gunfire forced them to the side of the street. They were halfway to the dromon when a huge cloud of dust blasted out and obscured it. By the time it cleared, the craft was already airborne. A missile rushed up to meet it but was blasted apart by the built-in defence system. A triple burst of sharp projectiles fired like a scattergun in the direction of the weapon and exploded its warhead just a few meters from the hull.

“Xenophon!” called out a woman’s voice from the back of the group.

Instinctively, Xenophon ducked down and spun about, just as a glaive whisked over his head. The Taochi warrior carrying the weapon found himself overbalanced and stumbled on one foot. Before he could right himself, Tamara ripped the kopis blade from Xenophon’s belt and brought it across the creature’s neck. The blade cut through its hide with surprising effectiveness, and it dropped to the ground, silent in death. Another of the warriors jumped at them, and this time it was Glaucon’s turn. The pulse cannon roared, and four holes the size of a man’s fist appeared in its chest. Even with this terrible damage, it staggered on, and Xenophon was forced to whip out his pulse pistol. A volley of rounds brought it down. Tamara made to hand him back the weapon, but he grimaced and turned away.

“You keep it.”

“Here they come!” said another of the spatharii.

The enemy had clearly hidden a small number of warriors amongst the crowd and in around the small town. One Terran warrior was dragged away from the group and clubbed to death while a handful of Medes foot soldiers in the armour of the Royal Army opened fire from high windows of buildings nearby. Rounds clattered about the spatharii, but due to good luck or poor shooting they managed to miss.

There!

Xenophon spotted the shape of an enemy soldier as he lifted his head. Xenophon flicked off the small safety toggle, firing a single shot. It was carefully aimed and struck the warrior in the cheek. He stumbled from view, but more soldiers moved out from their left flank. Glaucon and Komes Pasion ran towards the dromon, but its engines were already on, and it had lifted from the ground. Glaucon raised his pulse cannon at the craft.

“Bastards, they’re leaving without us!”

A stream of rounds from the left-hand door gunner killed a Taochi warrior just a metre behind him. He gave a mock salute to the gunner before looking back to his comrades. Xenophon spoke first.

“They had to leave. The area is too hot. New extraction coordinates are on the other side of the maglev platform.”

He looked about until spotting a terrain feature he recognised.

“There, about four hundred metres away. Move out!”

As the Terrans ran from the centre of the town, the Medes agents and warriors slipped back into the crowds. Stray shots still whistled down from the tops of the other buildings. The street narrowed until it was only wide enough for three people. Komes Pasion took the front position and struck or threatened anybody posing a risk. Soon they were through and following a curved road that dropped down into an underpass directly beneath the maglev tracks. Once underneath, Xenophon stopped and checked his communication node. It was still working; much to his surprise after the static and crackling he’d heard as they moved.

“This is Dekarchos Xenophon. We’re almost at the alternate landing zone.”

“Yes, we’re nearly there. Don’t hang about. There are more forces coming this way,” the pilot of the dromon answered.

Artemas tapped his shoulder.

“I can hear more of them coming. We have to move.”

Her words were punctuated by the arrival of four unarmoured Medes foot soldiers. They were dressed in dull automaton clothing, but they carried pulse rifles. The Terrans cut them down in a short burst, with only one managing to run away before being hit in the leg. As he stumbled off, a combat drone staggered into view. All of them had experienced the machines on the surface of Cunaxa, and they were rightly feared. As the manufactured foot soldiers of the Robotic Domains, they were incredibly tough but lacking in any form of intelligence or tactical training. Their firearms were devastating against lightly armoured soldiers, and their combat blades were deadly if engaged at close range.

What is going on here? Did they withdraw their forces to encourage us to waste time here?

“Go, now!” screamed Roxana.

She was already moving while pulling at Tamara and Xenophon to do the same. They ran through the poorly lit underpass as the metal machine moved down the ramp and to the lowest part. Pools of water filled gaps on the floor, and several of them splashed through them hard enough to send out small puffs of dirty water, splattering both the Terrans and the walls. They were almost at the opposite end when Artemas heard the sound of the combat drone’s weapon charging and threw herself to the wall.

“Get down!” she screamed.

Most of them listened, but one of Komes Pasion’s warriors either didn’t hear or chose to ignore the order of a mere Medes. The attitude of almost every Terran was to treat the Medes with nothing but contempt. In many ways they were right; the Terrans were stronger built, more resilient to damage, and seemed braver in all situations.

The Medes, on the other hand, were faster, lighter, and numerous beyond count. The Median Empire consisted of hundreds of worlds and many species and races living under the control of the Emperor and his Satraps.

Lady Artemas was more than just a Median beauty in a long flowing dress, though. She was also intelligent, skilled in the use of edged weapons, and an expert on the Medes themselves. If the man had listened, he might have avoided his fate.

The double-cannon on the machine’s arm opened up with a terrifying roar. The acoustics underground were very different, and the sound reverberated, giving it the quality of a heavy vehicle mounted main gun. The warrior’s arm was torn clean off before another round slammed into his back and blew out his internal organs through the front of his chest. It was a shocking, gory sight and would have broken a man with the strongest of stomachs. Even so, The Terrans had all seen this before and broke from cover to reach the other side and up the ramp.

“There it is!” said one of the warriors.

The small group ran as fast as their legs would carry them. Gunfire continued in the background, but not all of it was against them. The space from the maglev tracks and the landing platform was open ground and exposed to enemy fire. A smattering of light gunfire clattered about them, but the distance to the Medes on the other side of the tracks was sufficient enough to throw off their aim. Komes Pasion ran along the track and reached the lowest step of the staircase that wound around the base of the landing platform.

Glaucon stopped, took aim, and blasted at a position just a metre above the Komes. A body tumbled down, landing next to Tamara. The soldier moved, but she dropped to her knees and snapped his neck without even pausing to check who he was. Xenophon looked at her with a mixture of awe and trepidation.

Gods, what’s happening to her?

The girl was becoming more erratic and seemed to enjoy the violence more and more. Half of them were now climbing the stairs, but Xenophon had located a longer ramp to the right that ran to the top. He moved from the small group waiting their turn on the steps and ran to the base of the ramp.

“With me!”

Glaucon and his comrades were right behind, as well as two of Komes Pasion’s men. It took just seconds for them all to reach the highest level and the waiting dromon. Xenophon and Pasion reached the side door at the same time.

“As if it was some kind of running race,” said Xenophon.

The Komes smirked as he past him inside the craft. He waited outside, checking in their own people until all of them were accounted for. Finally, he stepped inside and slammed his fist on the quick seal button. The multiple-layered door system slid shut, and the engines roared with barely contained power. Dust blew around them, and then they were airborne. The dromon was a tough craft, but still two rounds managed to strike the engine cowlings as they made their escape. Artemas leaned over from her seat near the right-hand side window to look at the damage.

“One engine is down. Can we get into orbit with the others?”

Xenophon looked to Pasion, then Glaucon, and finally to her.

“We’ll find out in a few minutes.”

Roxana groaned at this, but there was now nothing to do but sit and wait. The sound of the pilot’s voice silenced them.

“It’s going to take fifteen minutes plus to get speed and height before we try to break atmo.”

The pilot sounded nervous but continued with a message directed specifically at Komes Pasion, the senior officer on board his dromon.

“The new Dukas of Valediction, Chirisophus has demanded all senior officer to report to his Titan.”

Xenophon was the first to speak.

“I wondered when this would happen.”

Lady Artemas sighed in frustration.

“He’s a hothead. What do you think he wants?”

Roxana shook her head in amusement at the question.

“It is very simple. The Legion is a force of violence that will explode at the earliest chance it gets. With Clearchus gone, the Legion is weak and at a vulnerable point.”

“It’s true,” Pasion added, “All the Komes in the Legion know we are in trouble. The fleet is damaged, we have many wounded, and nowhere near the supplies or fuel to make it home.”

“Yeah, I wonder what Chirisophus’ solution to that problem might be?”

Xenophon knew exactly what the Laconian would want to do, but Tamara said the words all of them dreaded.

“He’s a Laconian, and Laconians always choose the same solution.”

She looked directly at Xenophon and the Komes.

“He will want war and revenge for the death of Clearchus.”

She took a long breath before finishing.

“He will choose a direct assault on the Emperor himself, and the Legion will be destroyed.”

It was a simple piece of analysis, and although Xenophon wanted to refute some, or even all of her allegations, he knew she was correct. Chirisophus would embolden the Legion, based upon their recent successes, and hurl them into a battle they could never expect to win.

Ten thousand Terran mercenaries were certainly capable of great feats, but the Median Emperor could put armies into the field of millions. The Terrans could win a hundred battles and still they would end up surrounded, far from home, and with no reinforcements, supplies, or support. As Xenophon sat there, he imagined the Legion on a barren planet, with their standards flying and bodies all around them.

It will be glorious, that is sure. By the end of it, this Legion will be known on every Terran world, and it will mean all of our deaths.

That reminded him of his last conversation with the leader of the Black Legion, Strategos Clearchus. The mighty warlord had been on the ground with blood pouring from a dozen wounds when he had given Xenophon his final order.

“Protect the Legion.”

It was a simple request, but as Xenophon recalled his old commander’s face, his own turned from fear and worry to that of determination. He looked to Artemas who appeared distant as she waited for their assent to finish. He leaned forward and caught the attention of his comrades, including the Komes.

“We will go directly to Valediction and give them something better than Chirisophus will offer them.”

“What?” asked Tamara, her tone sarcastic and sharp, “Another battle?”

Xenophon smiled that wry grin Glaucon and Roxana remembered from back when they had spent time together on Attica before any of this had happened. Their bond was unique in the group, and one that had stood even when they had been on opposite sides. Xenophon looked at Roxana in particular as he spoke.

“I will offer the Legion their lives and a way home with wealth and glory.”

Glaucon raised an eyebrow at this.

“Really, and why will they listen to you?”

Komes Pasion seemed to agree with Glaucon.

“More importantly, why will Chirisophus give you even a moment’s consideration? He will want retribution for Clearchus, and I can’t say I completely disagree with that.”

Xenophon looked at Artemas for a few seconds as he considered his points. He was entirely correct, of course. Chirisophus was the natural successor to the Laconian Titan and most likely to be chosen as Strategos by the commanders of the ships of the fleet. Laconians may not be the great space farers, but they were unsurpassed at war and especially ground combat. If it were not to be him, who else would it be?

I will have to do whatever is required to get us away from here and in one piece.

“Somebody else will have to lead this Legion, and Chirisophus himself will help us choose a new Strategos, one with a degree of wit and intelligence.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Terran Titan ‘Valediction’, Larissa System, Core Worlds

The great hall of the mighty Titan Valediction was packed with all the senior officers of the Black Legion. The surviving Dukas and Komes from the battle of Cunaxa waited at the front. Behind them were a myriad of other ranks, including the leader of the engineers known as the Anticensor and then one Kentarchos for every ship in the fleet.

All the major combat units that had survived the bloody combat on the surface of Cunaxa three days earlier were represented.

Every man and woman wore their full military panoply, including the cloaks and colourings of all their units. As usual, the thick armour and crimson cloaks of the Laconians stood out the most, but it was the Akolouthos and his Epilektoi that put even the Laconian infantry to shame, as the elite personal bodyguard of the Laconians under the command of Komes Artemis. The Laconians waited in silence as the rest of the warriors took their places. The hall itself was an ancient affair, one built as though deep inside a fortress rather than the heart of a massive spacecraft. The Titans were more than just ships. They were poleis in space that contained everything that might be expected in a conventional community.

The Legion had left the Terran territories with four Titans, but after the loss of Olympia, there were just three remaining, and though each was a massive affair, they were all very different. Valediction was far from the most advanced, but it was the most warlike of the Legion with thick armour, layered shielding, and the firepower of an entire fleet. Herakles was a wonder of Boeotians and demonstrated the skills of their diverse peoples. She was the fastest of the Titans, with powerful weapons but the weakest shielding and armour. Then came Poseidon, the smallest yet the most advanced of the Titans and constructed at great expense by the Thessalians. She carried the smallest number of warriors that had been reinforced by the survivors of the destroyed Titan Olympia.

Xenophon waited patiently as each of the commanders approached the open space in front of the altar at the far end of the hall. He was lighter built than the majority of the warriors but still fit and athletic. Although he waited in the front row facing the altar, he still found it difficult to make out the facial expressions of those speaking.

“Which one is this?” whispered Tamara.

He looked over to her, doing his best not to move his body and draw attention from the senior commander. She was the youngest of his companions, no more than a teenager, yet her face had hardened with bitterness over the duration of their campaign deep inside the Median Empire.

“It’s Chirisophus, the Laconian Komes. The other Terrans know him as a Dukas. It’s all a little confusing.”

Tamara frowned. “Dukas, how?”

Xenophon smiled at her complete lack of understanding of the politics and hierarchy of the assembled Terrans. The Dukas was the senior position in each of the Terran contingents, and there was never more than one. Between them they would come together to choose one as the Strategos, the supreme commander.

“The Laconians consider a Komes the equivalent of a Dukas with the other factions, and with Clearchus dead, he’s been pushed up as being his successor.”

He waited patiently and looked at the interior with great fascination. He’d been here several times before, but as part of Lady Artemas’ personal guard was granted more substantial access to the place. There were thick columns running around its flanks, and the walls were rough, as if cut from rock itself rather than the flat, machinelike surfaces on board the other Titans. The artworks on the walls showed the battles of the Terrans, with priority given to the Laconians. The bright colours of the art contrasted with the grim and sombre effect given off by the great hall. This was the heart of Valediction and now both a place of pride and mourning at the loss of the Laconian’s leader Clearchus.

“He’s nearly done,” Xenophon whispered.

He looked about for the reason he was officially there. He and Tamara were inside the great hall while Glaucon and Roxana escorted their charge. Experience had shown him it was always advisable to have one or two people waiting at the destination, just in case anything untoward occurred.

This is a Titan, after all. Stranger things have happened!

Xenophon’s timing was almost perfect, and the man was indeed coming to the final stages of his speech and the long list of casualties. Men muttered and complained as names of those they had known were recalled, but it was when they reached the most significant losses that the agony and pain in the Laconian ranks became clear.

“My brothers,” he started, “it is with a heavy heart that I remind you of the loss of our great leader and warrior, Strategos Clearchus.”

He looked out at the great company of warriors and nodded his head slowly as though agreeing with them. Xenophon could see the genuine sadness on the man’s face, but the speech appeared contrived, confirming to him once more that Chirisophus was no orator. All that remained was to see how the other leaders would see him following the deaths of so many. Technically, the warriors of the Legion would choose their own leaders and then vote for a single Dukas to bear the responsibility of Strategos, the commanding general of the Legion.

“He died along with all our senior commanders in the great betrayal of Tissaphernes and his Medes bastards!”

The murmur turned very quickly into one of anger and reprisal. So many of the Terrans wanted revenge, especially the Laconians who had suffered heavy casualties during the final stages of the battle and evacuation. To leave the field of battle was against every ideal they held, and yet the order apparently came directly from Clearchus’ lips as he died.

“We must elect new officers for the units that have lost so many brothers. Clearchus, Kleandridas, Proxenus, Sophaenetus, Kratez and so many more were murdered and must be replaced, quickly. As is our tradition, the Legion will elect new Dukas and Komes for the contingents we came with. I stand for election to the command of my Laconian brothers!”

A wild cheer roared through the hall as the Laconians howled their approval. Even the idea of a vote seemed something of a joke inside their own warship. The noise continued for almost a minute before he spoke again.

“All senior commanders will then be given the chance to choose a single man to lead us. If I am selected as Strategos, I will turn this fleet back around and send us to the heart of the Medes territory!”

The noise this time was deafening, and Xenophon might have even joined in if he hadn’t been acutely aware of how fragile their situation was. They might be a powerful force, but they still numbered less than ten thousand warriors with just sixty-one ships to their name. The God King Artaxerxes commanded scores of regional Satraps, each one of whom commanded an army the equal of every Terran world combined.

This had better just be a bold boast, Chirisophus. If he wins, this could end us.

Xenophon had missed the next part of his speech due to the noise in the hall, but he could make out the others closer to him as men shouted out names of candidates. It was the Boeotian contingent off to the side that made the most noise. They were armoured much like the others with their helms and cuirass, but every one of them bore a newly painted device on their chests. Some wore helmets taken from the fallen warriors from the other factions, and apart from the club symbols might easily have been mistaken for any of the other groups. Tamara looked at them with a bemused expression.

“The club looks stupid,” she said too loudly.

One of the Atticans off to her flank heard and laughed to himself, but luckily none of the Boeotians unit heard her. Xenophon leaned in closer to her.

“The club is the ancient symbol of Herakles. Proxenus was a pureblood Boeotian, and Herakles is his planet’s patron. Show some respect.”

Tamara shrugged, but the look on her face still showed amusement.

“All of our officers are dead, and our Dukas is gone. We have warriors from the Laconian League as well as some from the Terran Alliance. We need a leader, a warrior.”

Another man shouted out with an accent similar to Xenophon’s, instantly marking him out as a man from Attica. He bore the same device as the Boeotians, even though they were historically rivals, and was positioned a short distance from the others. He pointed at them furiously.

“We all signed up to fight for Proxenus, not to fight for the Boeotians. They have voted for one of their own, and we will not be led by a Boeotian noble.”

More of them started shouting, and several of the Attican contingent ripped off their breastplates with the club insignia and cast them to the ground. A blow was struck, and in seconds, a dozen of the spatharii were fighting with hands and feet right in the middle of the great hall.

“Not again,” Xenophon muttered. He looked to his friends nearby. The force commanded by Proxenus had been one of the most reliable. Unfortunately, they came from multiple colonies and worlds, and the Terrans were never more embittered than when in combat with their rivals. Proxenus had been the kind of man that could maintain discipline through their mutual respect. With him gone, there was nothing to stop the old tribal loyalties and grudges coming to the front.

“With me.”

Tamara followed right behind, as Xenophon worked his way through the mass of warriors. Tamara’s blue hair made her stand out more than anybody else there. At first glance, she might have been mistaken for a child; if it were not for the black leather garments and Terran armour she wore. They only made it halfway through the morass when the sirens started to blast out through the great hall. Dukas Xenias and the few remaining senior officers shouted out for silence. It took a few seconds before the only sound that could be heard was the warning siren.

“This is a problem,” said Roxana.

The sound finally stopped, and the assembled officers waited and listened. Dukas Xenias, the commander of the Arcadian contingent lifted his arms to get their attention. A hologram showing a massive formation of warships appeared above him. Chirisophus looked at the imagery alongside him and shook his head angrily at the sight.

“We have been discovered. Zacynthian ships have just jumped into this sector,” explained Xenias.

The fighting between the Terrans was immediately forgotten, and all eyes were on him. Three other senior commanders closed in on him to speak, but he ignored them and pointed at the formation of newly arrived ships.

“They will be in range in less than an hour. We should get to our ships and prepare to continue our withdrawal.”

“Or to fight,” Chirisophus added in a calm, yet grim tone.

The Dukas wasn’t in charge, but not one of the Terrans argued with him. In time of crisis, they could all be counted upon to fight. Few in the Legion would baulk at the idea of exacting revenge upon the enemy they had fought just days before. No matter what decision was made, they could do nothing while aboard this ship. Only a handful of the officers remained as the rest broke ranks and rushed from the hall. The passageways leading to the hangars were minutes away, and every one of them wanted to be aboard their own ships if there was to be a battle. Being trapped on another commander’s ship was the last place any of them wanted to be.

“Zacynthians. What do they want now?” he said quietly, not to be heard by the others. Chirisophus, Xenias, and a small group of Komes waited as well as Xenophon and his comrades while the others marched out. It took less than a minute before they found themselves alone.

“Zacynthian ships? What do they want with us?” asked Chirisophus suspiciously.

Xenias sighed as he considered the news.

“They must be the forces of…”

He stopped upon spotting the beautiful and slender figure of Lady Artemas of Caria at the opposite end of the hall. She moved silently through the great hall, flanked by two spatharii warriors, to her close friends Xenophon, Glaucon, and Roxana. Her face was clearly of Medes ancestry with her tight jawbones and pale white skin. Around her body was a closely fitted dark brown corset inlaid with scale plate that glimmered in a dull russet tint. Her shoulders and neck were protected by Terran armour of some ancient design and decorated with Medes and Terran imagery. Her long black pants were padded by bronzed plates and of a similar fashion to her shoulder protection. At her feet were tall leather boots that continued up her legs to her knees. Even Xenophon was taken aback at the sight of her.

Interesting hair colour, he said to himself, his eyes moving up from her feet to her head.

The others may not have noticed, but Xenophon instantly recognised she had changed her hair to a bizarre shade of crimson and purple that seemed to shimmer between the colours. Her hair was long and ran down over her shoulders.

“Of whom?” Lady Artemas asked.

They looked at her; surprised she even knew what they were talking about. Without even looking at the imagery, she turned her attention to Xenias.

“These ships are the mercenary vessels of Dukas Phalinus, the Zacynthian commander.”

Chirisophus spat on the ground at the mention of the turncoat’s name.

“That bastard should have burned at Cunaxa!”

Artemas shrugged.

“Perhaps, in any case, he fights for the God King Artaxerxes, and a substantial reward has been placed for the destruction of this very fleet. I suspect he is here to claim the bounty.”

Dukas Xenias scowled at the news and especially the name of the renegade Dukas.

“I thought we’d already dealt with him at Cunaxa. Why is he still here?”

Chirisophus shook his head.

“No, Dukas, he was still in space when the Strategos was forced to break off from battle to land his warriors on the surface to finish your battle and rescue your warriors.”

Xenias’ face reddened slightly at the implied slight upon his honour. The battle had been massive on the surface, and the Terrans had achieved a victory like no other; yet they were forced to leave the field to the enemy and with Cyrus, their paymaster and pretender to the Medes throne dead. Clearchus had helped with the final stages, but he knew full well his own warriors had achieved much in the battle and sustained heavy losses for their gain. He opened his mouth to speak, but Xenophon stepped in to interrupt him.

“Dukas, might we join you on the command deck?”

Xenias wasn’t stupid and knew this was a simple ploy to stop the potential argument. Even so, the news of the ships was far more important than who had been more valiant at Cunaxa. He looked to Xenophon and nodded politely.

“A good point, Dekarchos, to the command deck.”

None of them even waited for Chirisophus and left him standing with his bodyguards. Tamara and Xenophon brought up the rear of the small group. As they left, she glanced back to see the Laconian soldier watching them.

“He doesn’t look pleased.”

Xenophon didn’t turn his head but spoke quietly as they reached the large arched entrance. They moved through before he finally replied.

“He’s a Laconian. They’re famed for their humour and their ability to maintain grudges.”

They made it a few more steps before he finished speaking.

“And he won’t forget this in a hurry.”

*

The Black Legion formed up as had been practiced a hundred times before. It was critical that each of the ships’ Kentarchos understood that in an emergency they would move into such a position that they would be able to defend themselves. A Titan at each end protected the flanks while the centre of the line was help by Valediction, the Laconian Titan. Spread between then were the eleven surviving battleships that escaped the carnage at Cunaxa. A second line, different types of cruisers spread out, all sixteen of them presenting their flanks towards the enemy formation of ships and with their broadside gunports open and ready for battle. Out in front of the fleet ran groups of torpedo boats, the heavily armed escorts that were the eyes and ears of the fleet. Boat hardly did them justice, as they were armed and armoured to the level of a Medes light cruiser and carried their own contingents of heavily armoured warriors detached from the larger forces aboard the three Titans.

“A shadow of what we started with,” mused Chirisophus as he looked at the formation.

The view from the command deck was impressive. In the past, they had used holographic displays and video screens, but now the entire centre of the ship could give the impression of being transparent. The commander would be able to look above and below the ship as if he were actually floating in space itself. This Virtual Observation System, nicknamed the VOB at some point in the past, was just one of the many advances that had been installed throughout the Legion’s ships. Chirisophus looked to the other officers and raised an eyebrow. Xenophon and Lady Artemas were also there, but it was the look of amusement on Dukas Xenias’ face that annoyed him the most.

“Well, what now? What do they want?”

Auletes Juda Bellee called out to him. As chief communications officer, it was her job to maintain contact with other vessels in the fleet, as well as monitoring the traffic between other vessels.

“Dukas, the enemy commander wishes to speak with you.”

“Really?” laughed Chirisophus, “And why would I want to speak with him?”

Xenophon pointed out to the expanse of space in front of their fleet.

“Dukas, the enemy has assembled a substantial force. If we can leave without fighting, it would be to our benefit.”

Chirisophus looked back at the ships as if he had missed something. It looked as though he was counting in his head before finally speaking, and the tone in his voice was nothing but arrogant.

“I make thirty-six ships with only one Terran battleship. That’s not a fleet. It’s a group of rebels and bandits. The Legion will crush them all in minutes and inflict the fate upon them that they all deserve.”

He paused, as if considering some higher purpose. As he waited, he lifted his hand and looked at his palm. A number of the Terrans watched him as if expecting him to find some kind of great revelation. His eyes looked upwards and then he spoke.

“Perhaps they want to join us, not to fight us.”

He looked to the others, specifically Xenias and grinned.

“After all, who would be mad enough to attack a Terran fleet led by veterans of Laconia? It would be madness!”

“You’ve presumably already forgotten about Pylos,” Xenophon said under his breath.

Chirisophus snapped back to look at his tormentor. Pylos had been one of the low points for the Laconians in their long war against Attica and her allies. Although Laconia had prevailed, the Battle of Pylos had been a shameful day. Even though they outnumbered the Atticans, they managed to lose their fleet and left a force of over four hundred elite Laconian warriors on the moon of Pylos. Even worse was that a quarter of those were of the elite aristocratic class known as the Spartiates. Diplomats were sent and a truce immediately agreed for their release. The price of the return of the prisoners had been to relinquish the local Laconian fleet and to agree to an armistice. It would be another twenty years for the war to be finally decided in Laconia’s favour.

Dukas Xenias had been silent until now, but his irritation at the arrogance of Chirisophus was becoming overwhelming. They were weeks, even months behind enemy territory.

“Komes,” he started, but Chirisophus twisted about, his crimson cloak flowing behind his body.

“No…not Komes. With Clearchus gone, I am now the commander of this Titan, and of this Legion. All true Laconians understand it is my rightful place to step into the void left by Clearchus. We will lead. You will all follow.”

Xenias’ eyes widened at the continuing attempts to undermine him. He was one of the few senior commanders remaining in the Legion, yet without his Titan was being treated as though a mere dekarchos. Chirisophus nodded to the ship’s captain, Kentarchos Broge Monsimm. The senior officer was even larger built than Chirisophus, and his dull red hair beautifully matched the crimson trim on his uniform.

“Kentarchos, prepare the ship for assault.”

“Yes, Dukas,” answered Kentarchos Monsimm in a clipped Laconian accent that oozed nobility. There were three distinct accents with the Laconians; the majority speaking in an almost rural drawl that drew the ire of many of their rivals. The Laconian elite spoke with clipped pronunciation that bordered on pretention yet maintained a hint of the old agrarian ancestry of the Laconian citizenry. The final accent was that of the foreigners living in the Laconian territories, known as the perioikoi. Almost a third of the Laconian force in the Legion spoke with this bastardised version of the agrarian accent.

“Battle? Why would we want to fight them? We have nothing to gain here,” said Dukas Xenias.

Chirisophus threw him a look of distain as he activated the audio lobe above his ear. In an instant, he had connected directly to every senior officer in the fleet.

“I wouldn’t expect an Arcadian that lost his Titan to understand.”

The tactical screen showed the formation of warships that had adopted their default battle formation, but he hadn’t given the order and that worried him. It was normal practice to assemble in line of battle based upon their position in space. He noted that Herakles had moved further forwards than the rest of the fleet and was still moving. He grimaced as he watched them start to accelerate away.

Why? The fools!

He connected to the ship before realising they had no commander as Proxenus of Boeotia was dead. It flummoxed him for a second before he spoke.

“Herakles, I need you back on the line of battle,” he said firmly.

A voice came back immediately, but it was the curt tone of an Attican officer.

“Dukas Chirisophus. We will deal with this problem ourselves. Thank you for your concern,” the man stated, with a slurring sound at the word Dukas.

He insults me! He will steal the Legion from my hands!

The pale shape of the massive Titan and its escorting wing of cruisers shifted closer to the approaching fleet of ships, leaving Chirisophus with a difficult decision. He could stay where he was and leave the battle to Herakles, and possibly lose the battle. The alternative was to chase after him, and therefore give Herakles and its warriors the position of honour in the fleet, perhaps even leadership. A minor twist of his neck gave him a view of Xenias, and it immediately filled him with anger.

“Laconians do not take lessons in leadership from Arcadians or Boeotians!” he roared to the amusement of Xenias but not the others.

“I don’t like this,” Lady Artemas said to Xenophon.

She moved so close her breath made his right ear tingle as she spoke. He had no time to respond. The ship began to vibrate slightly as the powerful engines fired up. Chirisophus selected the entire fleet and gave his orders in a firm and decisive tone.

“All ships, advance on the enemy! Let them burn.”

Xenophon looked at the Dukas with a desperate expression. Xenias nodded slowly, understanding the young man’s concerns. Xenias shook his head as he spoke, knowing full well he would be ignored.

“Chirisophus, you gain us nothing with these tactics.”

That was enough for Chirisophus, but he waited until he was sure the fleet was moving into battle, even if the formation was now scattered and deployed in such a manner they would end up attacking the enemy piecemeal. It didn’t worry him too much though. Deep down he doubted the thirty-six ships could even hold back Herakles, let alone the rest of the Legion. He closed his eyes, took in a long breath, and then stepped towards the Dukas before halting a metre from his face. Both men faced off like giants in their ceremonial armour, flowing cloaks, and tall Corinthian style helmets. If it were not for the shield generator equipment and advanced weaponry, they might have been ancient humans from thousands of years in the past.

“Xenias, you have no place here. Go back to your people, and leave my command deck.”

He turned away before twisting back to face him with a malevolent smile on his face.

“If you have any left.”

Xenias was a calm man most of the time, but the continuous insults from the Laconian were more than he could stand. A blade hissed out from his left arm like a cruel spike, and a second from his right soon followed. He raised his right hand with the spike pointing up to the ceiling of the command deck.

“That is enough!” he shouted.

Chirisophus had now turned about completely to face Xenias and smiled. His shield unit powered up and presented a defensive screen that covered half of his body in a shimmering light. The Laconians carried powerful generators in the arms of their armour that would weight down a normal warrior. Though Xenias wore impressive ballistic armour, it would be nothing compared to the energy shield carried by the Laconian.

“So, you would betray us in the mist of battle, brother?”

Xenias scowled, moved his left foot forward, and dropped into a fighting stance. A group of Epilektoi moved in to protect him, but he waved them off.

“I will deal with his betrayal.”

Xenias pointed to them as they withdrew.

“No, I would stop him from throwing away our Legion in a pointless battle.”

They were not interested in what he had to say though. Chirisophus saw his opportunity and activated the Asgeirr-Carbine built into his right arm. The combined weapon included a cut down pulse carbine as well as a deadly fighting blade, one fine enough to burn through armour plate with ease. Without saying a word, he leapt at Xenias and stabbed down with his right arm while bringing his shielded left arm up to protect himself.

“Xenias!” called out Xenophon.

The old warrior needed no advice on how to fight a battle. He took the impact of the powerful stab on his left arm and beat it aside. He kicked out at Chirisophus, but the Laconian was a fast warrior and easily evaded the strike. He tried to lock his right arm around Xenias’ neck, but with a strong shoulder barge the Arcadian separated them both. They circled like wary animals, each looking for an opening. Both men were powerful warriors with thick, rippling arms and barrel-like chests. They were the best their colonies had to offer, yet the animosity they held for their opponents bordered on the hatred they held for the Medes.

“Stop this, we have a battle to fight!” pleaded Xenophon, but neither would stop.

Xenias now moved in to strike, but each stab was beaten off against the vibrating energy field. Each impact sent a buzzing sound through the room, but the field never died. Chirisophus managed to slash at Xenias’ collar, but the blade in his arm cut just a few millimetres into the metal and left a pair of deep scratch marks in the armour.

“You fool!” Lady Artemas muttered.

She jumped in and deflected a wild attack from Chirisophus that swung near her face. Only her reflexes and speed saved her as the Asgeirr-Carbine whistled past her to slide along the breastplate of Xenias, leaving yet more marks on his armour. In a flash of movement, Artemas dropped to one knee and then kicked into the back of Chirisophus’ leg. A mighty warrior he might be, but the attack was beautifully timed, and as his leg swung out, he dropped to the ground on his back. Xenias watched in awe as the lithe Medes woman threw herself on top of the fallen Laconian and placed her leg across his throat. He looked up at her and laughed.

“My favourite position!”

This seemed to anger Artemas even more than usual, and she pulled back her hand to strike. Xenias lumbered into view and grabbed her arm before she could strike the fallen man. She might be fast, but her strength was inconsequential compared to the Terrans.

“Look!” he said nervously.

Even Chirisophus knew his tone was one that required examination. From the floor, he looked to the side at the tactical screen that showed the deployed fleet. The staggered line was only a short distance from the red icons that represented the Zacynthians. Jeane Coxand, the ship’s tactical officer had moved from his post and was pointing at the display. The man’s fingers were towards the top, and Chirisophus looked up to see another red formation moving to the right flank of the Legion.

“Dukas, we have been betrayed!”

“What?” he demanded.

Lady Artemas sprung from the ground and moved to the display. Her local knowledge was impressive, but her memory of ship designs and layouts was at times even more accurate than the data held on the Titan’s computer system. She stared intently at the shapes before looking to Xenias and then to Xenophon.

“These aren’t Zacynthian ships.”

She then looked to Chirisophus who had now risen top his feet and had wiped the dust from his armour. He walked past Xenias and threw him a withering stare before stopping alongside Artemas. The two couldn’t be more different; with Artemas the lithe, beautiful and elegant Medes princess, compared to the brutish hulk of the Laconian warrior.

“Whose are they?” he asked suspiciously.

Artemas shook her head in annoyance and pointed at the four largest shapes.

“They are warships from the Empire. Don’t you recognise them?”

All of them looked at the images as they increased in size. There were several different types of ships, and Xenophon counted each of them as more and more arrived. Finally, his count stopped but not before he reached a total of eighty-four ships.

“It’s Ariaeus,” said Artemas.

Xenias looked almost nervous at the sight, and Chirisophus took it as an immediate sign of weakness.

“You old fool!” he snapped and then indicated to his guards.

“Escort them out of here and to their quarters. I’m sick of the sight of them.”

A dozen Epilektoi stepped out from the flanks of the command deck and circled about the small group. Xenias’ hand twitched as he instinctively went for a weapon. Xenophon spotted the glimmer of a smile on the face of Chirisophus, and as his eyes met with Xenias; he moved his head slightly in disagreement. Xenias was no fool and relaxed his hand, much to the disappointment of the Laconian Dukas.

“Out, now!” his voice boomed, and then he turned his back on them.

Lady Artemas moved out first with the Dukas next to her. Glaucon, Roxana, Tamara, and Xenophon then followed. As soon as they were out and into the passageway, the door hissed shut with a thump. Two more Epilektoi guarded the entrance but neither moved. They instead waited as silent sentinels.

“What now?” asked Xenias.

Xenophon wiped his brow, considering their situation. They were aboard the Laconian Titan, a place where they could expect no help, certainly not if it conflicted with the direct wishes of Chirisophus. That thought rankled with Xenophon, especially after the great fuss the warrior had made upon their return from Cunaxa. He’d been promised to always be a friend of Laconia, yet when the time came he had been discarded with no more thought than the Laconian’s old rival, Xenias.

We need our own powerbase, a way to challenge the insanity of these fools.

He looked at Artemas, but her face was expressionless as if she wanted to hide both her thoughts and emotions. Glaucon, on the other hand, was far less politic. He nodded to the door.

“We aren’t making any decision from here. We need a ship and a crew that will listen.”

The Dukas and Xenophon said the same word at exactly the same time as realisation dawned on them.

“Poseidon!”

CHAPTER FIVE

Terran Titan ‘Poseidon’, Larissa System, Core Worlds

The dromon shuddered as it made its way past the fighter escort and to the Titan’s hangar. The pilot was forced to bank sharply as one of the many gun batteries blasted away at distant targets. Each time the guns fired, the interior of the ship flickered with coloured lights. Xenophon looked out through one of the tiny windows and shook his head. He could see the flashes of gunfire as they moved through the shielded outer walls of the hangar. It was the size of several fields inside and divided up into protected hangar areas where armoured dromons waited.

“I don’t like this, not at all.”

Several rounds of pulse fire struck the hull as they moved in to land.

“Dukas, they do not want us to land!” said the pilot.

Xenias moved to his window and looked inside the ship. A single dromon burned in the background while the rest of the interior looked like a warzone. He snorted at the sight of such a disaster.

“What’s the plan?” asked Artemas.

Xenophon looked from her and towards the Dukas.

“We need a plan, Dukas. This place is falling apart, and the enemy is already upon us.”

Xenias nodded in agreement and tapped a button to bring up a tactical view of the area of space. The Black Legion was in a great mess with ships all over the place. Though most were heading for the enemy ships, they were now moving ahead piecemeal. He shook his head angrily.

“If Clearchus was here, this would never happen.”

He turned and looked to the small group in the dromon. Apart from Xenophon and his people, there were also four Arcadian guards dressed in almost identical clothing and armour as Xenias.

“I was never a great fan of the man. He was pig-headed, arrogant, and sometimes a fool. But right now we could use his leadership and discipline.”

He sighed angrily.

“We are just a brief moment away from losing this entire Legion. I must, no…we must fix this, and fast!”

It was as if he was both explaining it to them and also trying to persuade himself. None of the others on board disagreed with him, however. Xenias checked something on the tactical screen before speaking.

“First of all, the Poseidon needs to be brought under control. She’s already dropping back and needs a base to operate from.”

Glaucon pointed at the window and towards the line of enemy ships, just as they vanished to be replaced by the cold interior of the Titan.

“They’re deploying to our front and on our right flank.”

The Dukas looked to his small band but stopped moving when his eyes reached Xenophon. He lifted his eyebrows in a questioning look at the young man.

“As one of the remaining Dukas, my voice carries weight. Your advice has been useful so far. What would you suggest? I can get the attention of the bulk of the fleet, perhaps all of them other than the Laconians.”

Xenophon ran dozens of scenarios through his mind based on historical battles, war game simulations, and general knowledge. He glanced at Roxana and could see her doing the same. The Terrans had fought in a myriad of great space battles over the centuries against the Medes and their allies. There was no immediate situation he could think of though where he could make use of a historical precedent to help them. He weighed up the number of ships, the tactical position in the Larissa System, and the capabilities of each side.

Salamis? he thought for a second.

The battles were fought in a similar location, where the Terrans had fought a larger Median fleet in a desperate though massively successful battle. They had won through the use of greater skill and training, as opposed to equipment or firepower. A quick glance at the spread out formation of Terran ships reminded him of their precarious situation. Unlike that battle a century earlier, this fleet was made up of dozens of feuding factions with no recognised leadership. The only thing he could count on was the skill and capability of the individual ships and their crews.

And their desire for vengeance, he realised.

Roxana pointed at the largest of the Medes ships.

“We could get the fleet to concentrate on the largest of their ships. Hit their commanders and ignore the smaller vessels.”

Xenophon tilted his head slightly and shrugged. He knew this was his moment, but doubt was already gnawing at him. He had no authority in the fleet, but he had little faith in the remaining officers of the Legion to get them through this particular battle or even in the days that might follow.

They need somebody to lead them away from this, with honour and body intact.

He looked to Xenias and could see he was waiting for something, anything in fact. Since the escape from Cunaxa the survivors of the land battle, especially those closest to Clearchus, had gained prominence. Xenias carried authority, and Xenophon himself was starting to be listened to now, particularly when it came to local knowledge in terms of geography and military history.

Maybe all that time spent in books wasn’t completely wasted.

He took in a short breath and then began. He had a great list of things they might do but decided to keep things simple and tell him what he knew to be true rather than assumptions or ideas.

“Dukas, the Medes are subtle and flexible when it comes to war. They do not have the best warriors or generals, but they do have numbers and are not afraid to lose battles to win wars.”

Tamara tilted her head and groaned at this, but Roxana lifted her hand to silence her. Out of them all there, she was the only person that had spent time in the military. She knew only too well that Xenophon and Artemas were the keys to understanding this area of space.

“No, it’s true. Let him finish.”

Xenophon smiled in thanks towards her. They had been friends since he was a child. Although slightly older, they had been more like siblings than they had any right to be. While Glaucon had tried to win her over on numerous occasions at lavish parties back on their homeworld of Attica, Xenophon had never once tried. He looked at the ships and then wiped his brow with the back of his hand.

“No, I cannot believe they would simply turn up, deploy, and then fight us in open battle for one great engagement. They would lose, even against us in such a disorganised manner. Even worse, the Emperor himself could not afford such a disaster this close to his capital. It could unravel his entire hold on the Empire.”

Artemas stepped closer and placed her hand on Xenophon’s shoulder.

“True. My people remember well what happened at the great battle of Plataea. My father would happily sacrifice his entire fleet to destroy this Legion, but never at the expense of the Empire.”

Glaucon raised an eyebrow as though he didn’t really believe what she was telling him. The opinion of the Medes to the average Terran was lower than any other human, yet the Medes had won battles before, even when it seemed they were technically losing. Artemas placed her hand on Glaucon’s shoulder.

“Artaxerxes is no fool, and he will understand the futility of engaging in a battle that is to your advantage and so close to home.”

Xenias smiled at this, now starting to understand what was happening. Memories of a dozen old battles appeared to him, great failures of command that left elite Terran fleets stranded and cut off from home while being cut down over weeks of prolonged combat.

“It is a feint,” he said quietly, almost to himself.

Roxana leaned forward a little.

“What?”

Xenophon cleared his throat and continued.

“This entire attack is a feint, a trick to draw us into a battle we think we can win. He sent the Terrans in to face us first, knowing we could never resist the chance to smash those we consider even lower than the Medes themselves.”

She recoiled slightly as he spoke, and his face instantly softened in an apology.

“I didn’t mean that. I..”

Artemas lifted her hand and placed a finger on her mouth to silence him.

“I know.”

He flushed a little.

“Exactly,” answered Xenophon, “and once we are engaged and start to smash their fleet, we will pursue in small groups, and that is when they will strike.”

“Classic hit and run, it’s what I would do,” said Artemas.

A couple of the other Terran spatharii heard her words and gave her a sarcastic look. It didn’t concern her, and instead of ignoring them, she looked directly back at them and smiled.

“Yes, you heard, and in case you’re wondering, I have launched hit and run attacks against your people.”

She looked back to Xenophon and his friends to see them all looking at her in an odd, even startled way. She leaned in close and spoke quietly so that the others might not hear.

“Well, I did jump out at a few of your traitors prior to Cunaxa.”

Tamara laughed and had to place her arm in front of her mouth to stop making the noise while Glaucon merely coughed to disguise his pleasure. She turned to Xenophon and gave him the softest smile he’d seen in what felt like days.

“I recall I ambushed you a few times too.”

He could feel his face redden, and Glaucon laughed even louder. Xenias closed his eyes and breathed slowly for a few seconds. The dromon struck the hangar floor and slid to a halt on the firm surface of the Titan. The vibration slowed and then there was silence.

“Very well, that is how it shall be.”

He lifted himself to his feet and threw a quick glance at his arms to check he was suitably attired and ready for battle.

“Watch yourselves, this ship has fallen to mutiny.”

A triple burst of gunfire confirmed his assertion, but it didn’t stop him from hitting the door release button. It hissed open, and the subtle change of pressure sent dust and vapour up in a cloud.

“Out, now!” he growled.

Xenophon marched out of the dromon and onto the deck of the massive warship to find a violent struggle already underway. At least two Boeotians were dead at the far end, with a third being dragged to safety behind his comrades. Out in the middle a swirling melee with up to thirty warriors raged amongst the dromons. It was hard to tell most of them apart due to their armour and clothing, but in just a few seconds, Xenophon had identified the main groupings.

“Stop this!” he shouted as loudly as he could.

Glaucon and Roxana moved past him and waited at the bottom of the ramp with their carbines at the ready. Dukas Xenias marched down behind them in full battle attire. A group of Arcadians spotted him and rushed to his side, perhaps expecting him to join in. No sooner had he reached the ground where Xenophon waited, when a pair of Atticans jumped into view. Xenophon grappled with the first man, but it took the intervention of the much stronger Glaucon to finally put the man on the ground. The second slowed and then stopped before coming to grips with the new arrivals. Xenias released the two spikes from his arm armour and strode out into the melee.

“I am Dukas Xenias, commander of the Arcadian contingent, and I am taking command of this ship!”

A few stopped and listened but most continued to fight while almost half didn’t even notice he’d arrived. A Boeotian soldier in the uniform of a dekarchos leapt towards him, but he was no match for the sheer speed and savagery of the Dukas. With a single twist of his arm, he slammed his right fist into the soldier’s chest. The spike easily punched through the armour and into the sternum. He snapped his hand back out, and the man dropped to the floor like a lifeless doll. The brutal efficiency caught even the most violent of the brawlers to stop in their tracks. One lifted a pistol, but the four Arcadian bodyguards took quick aim with their own rifles directly at the man’s head.

“I will not tell you again. Now, what in the name of all the Gods is going on here?”

He looked to his left and then to his right before stopping and staring hard at one man in particular. He was a little shorter than the average, but completely bald and surrounded by a pack of angry looking Boeotians. In his hand, he carried some kind of metal bar.

“You. Your name?”

The man appeared taken aback at the question.

“I…uh…Dekarchos Andronicus.”

Xenias shook his head.

“No, not Dekarchos anymore, you’re lucky to still be a rank and file spatharios.”

The demotion was all show, but it had its effect. The Dukas was a hereditary title in civilian life, but out here in the Legion it was awarded based upon merit and seniority. Xenias had no actual authority over the other contingents, yet not one of them stepped forward to contradict his orders.

“Now, who is in charge here?” he demanded.

A man in the full panoply of a Komes appeared off to the side. He was armoured from head to toe and carried a stolen Laconian Asgeirr-Carbine. At his flanks moved six other warriors in an odd mixture of Terran armour. It wasn’t immediately clear which of the contingents they were all from until the shorter one spoke with a thick Thessalian drawl.

“Dukas, this isn’t your ship. We will not take orders from an Arcadian, especially one that lost his own ship!”

A heavy impact shook the vessel, and a number of those present stumbled and fell from the impact. Any that were still arguing, stopped and looked about as though they might find the source of the impact in that very room. Xenias glanced over to his comrades and stopped when he saw Xenophon.

“I need you,” he said quickly.

Xenophon lifted his head back slightly in confusion, but loud speakers fitted through the ship erupted into excited chatter. One voice continued barking down at them though.

“Sosis the Syracusan,” Xenias muttered under his breath.

The man called out to the warriors of the ship to move to their stations. Some listened, but many others argued about what to do instead. Xenophon looked at them and back to Xenias. The confusion was spreading like wildfire, and he had no idea of the state of the fleet.

“Okay, I have an idea. I know a way we can win this fight and get out in one piece,” he said finally.

Xenias looked at him, remembering the first time he’d met the inexperienced Xenophon. The young man had until recently been one of the lightly equipped stratiotes, yet even then he had proven himself a resourceful tactician. If he was going to place his faith in someone, it might as well be the nobleman from Attica with a penchant for fine wines, foreign women, and more importantly, for getting out of very tricky situations.

“Good, come with me to the command deck. We have work to do.”

*

The journey to the heart of the ship was just as eventful as their landing in the hangar. Two of Xenias’ guards had been injured making their way with them as groups of Terrans roamed the halls of the Titan’s cavernous interior. The impression given was that of a captured galleon being run by a group of drunken privateers, and it instilled little confidence in Xenias.

They finally reached the entrance to the command deck, and only one of the Terran guards moved to stop them entering. Glaucon grabbed the man by the arm and pulled him aside. The sight that greeted them immediately annoyed Xenias. Half of the officers were missing and only a handful remained to manage their stations. Komes Sosis marched about in the centre as he barked orders and didn’t even notice the arrival of the Terrans. Xenias moved right to him and then turned to look at the formation of ships around them. The VOB gave a perfect view of space and the scattered formation of Legion ships. Most had pushed on to attack the Zacynthian ships of Dukas Phalinus. An even smaller group had split off to block the approach of the additional forty ships of Ariaeus. The cruisers were hard to spot at this distance, but the larger warships and the Titan stood out like giants in comparison.

“Dukas?” asked Komes Sosis with a nervous look.

“Yes, it’s me.”

He took another step towards the Komes before finally stopping.

“What is your plan, Komes?”

“I…uh…we are preparing to send in our contingent to support Valediction in the centre of the line.”

“Preparing?” grumbled Xenias.

The Komes opened his mouth to speak, but Xenophon interrupted him.

“No. This is classic Medes deployment. They will not have sent in all their units. We need to drawn the rest in. Then we can deal with them properly.”

“Komes, Valediction has broken through their lines. They’ve destroyed six ships already,” said the Titan’s auletes, irritation clearly in his tone of voice.

Komes Sosis smiled at this news.

“As you can see, Dukas, the enemy cannot stand against us.”

Xenias turned to face the crew.

“I am the only Dukas on this ship. You will obey me. After this battle, you will vote on your officers, but right now, I am in charge.”

Komes Sosis looked as though he might move to block him, but Glaucon and Tamara closed in subtlety around the Dukas. Sosis sighed before finally lowering his head.

“Very well, Dukas, your suggestion?”

Xenias lifted an eyebrow as he looked at Xenophon.

“You’re on.”

Now every pair of eyes was on him, and Xenophon could feel his nerves kicking in. It wasn’t just the Titan that was at risk with his plan; it was the entire contingent travelling with the ship, fully one-third of the Legion. He looked at their disposition and wondered once more if his plan had any chance of succeeding. The Titans would never take orders from him or Xenias.

The captains of the escorts and light warships are nearly all Atticans, though. If I give the orders, will they obey?

“Give the order to move in around Larissa as though we are helping to withdraw ground forces.”

“What?” growled Sosis; “You would withdraw from the field of battle when we are in our moment of victory?”

“Get as many of the others in the Legion to do the same,” continued Xenophon, ignoring Sosis. Even Xenias appeared surprised at this idea.

“What happens if you’re right, and the rest of the enemy arrives?”

Lady Artemas intervened at this point and aimed her hand at the portion of open space behind the Legion.

“Once the Legion splits apart, they will have to commit or risk letting some of your ships escape. This plan forces them to act, and they will not give up the chance to strike while you wait to bring your troops back aboard.”

“Exactly,” added Xenophon, “It will encourage their arrogance and hubris. And when they show their numbers, we will know what to do.”

“Which is?” grumbled Sosis.

Glaucon laughed at this question.

“Fight of course, what else would we do?”

Xenias moved back to leave Xenophon at the front. For the briefest of moments, there was a silence. Xenophon looked to his comrades, who did their best to not call out at the absurdity of the situation. Xenias moved his hand out as if showing him the command deck.

“Dekarchos, your plan.”

Xenophon swallowed, his throat dry, and his nerves were at the limit. Everybody looked at him again, some with interest, others with scorn. There was no turning back now. He nodded slowly and then looked at the tactical screen that showed the deployment of their fraction of the fleet.

“Put me on with the other ships.”

The auletes looked to Sosis who simply nodded in agreement.

“You’re on, Dekarchos.”

Xenophon took one more breath before speaking.

“This is Dekarchos Xenophon, tactical advisor to Dukas Xenias and veteran of the Attican fleet.”

His service in the fleet was modest, but he knew its mention would carry weight. Although the Terran Alliance commanded by Attica had been defeated by the Laconians and her allies, there had never been any doubt of the skill and training of the Attican fleet. One for one, the Attican ships were the equal of any vessel from any race or colony, and Xenophon knew the Legion would understand this.

“I was the last one of us alive to speak with our Strategos. He told me to protect the Legion, and that is exactly what I will do. This is not a battle. This is a trap set by the Medes to pin our fleet and then destroy it before we are ready to fight.”

He paused for effect before moving to the most difficult part of his transmission.

“You all know what happened at Plataea, the great victory our ancestors fought in space and on the ground against this very enemy. Superior numbers meant nothing, even when we were disorganised. No enemy will unleash his full numbers against us while we stand formed up and ready. I call upon you to execute the Plataean Manoeuvre.”

Sosis and his comrades looked as confused as Xenias. Few were unfamiliar with the famous battle in the Legion, but as for the manoeuvre, not one of them had even heard of it, let alone understood its significance.

“Herakles and all supporting ships will fall back to the attached coordinates to continue a fake extraction of troops from the planet below. Escorts will spread out between our divisions. It is critical that…”

He was cut off by an angry transmission from Valediction.

“This is Chirisophus, belay that order. We will continue this fight. Only a coward would give ground to our common enemy.”

Xenias shook his head angrily at this before joining in.

“Dukas Xenias here. The Dekarchos is correct. This is but a fraction of the enemy forces. We have nothing to gain here by getting ourselves surrounded. We are conducting a feigned withdrawal.”

Again the commander of the Laconian Titan waded in.

“Leave if you wish, but not a single Laconian vessel will withdraw, under pain of death!”

A dozen red lights lit up on the tactical display behind the division of ships commanded by Ariaeus. Small flashes marked gunfire, but so far it was restricted to the combat between the two groups of Terran ships. Xenias showed a glimmer of doubt and grimaced as one of the Legion’s smaller escort vessels exploded in a blue flash.

“Are you sure about this? The Medes ships are not attacking.”

At least a third of the ships that had been positioned around Valediction had altered course, and the overall impression was one of a complete breakdown in communication. Valediction maintained her position as she broke through the Zacynthian line while Herakles had moved to watch the flank where the Medes waited. Half of the escorts had fallen back, along with most of the cruisers.

“You see the problem, Dukas. We have no leadership. Who is in charge?” said Xenophon. He pointed to the display and made sure the other officers were listening.

“It doesn’t matter what orders any of us gives. We have contingents from every Terran world here, and none like taking orders from the other. The Medes are weaker, but they understand discipline, and when Artaxerxes gives orders, they will respond.”

He then looked Sosis.

“If I’m right, you will see something incredible in the next few minutes. Get your boarding crews ready and move the small vessels out; give the impression they are on transport and resupply runs.”

Sosis paused but only for a moment and then turned away. Xenophon connected via the communication node over his ear to the commanders of the fleet still listening to him.

“The enemy will assume we are unprepared and will move in to stop us from escaping. Close range is our strength, but if they suspect we are ready, they will stand off and use their numbers against us. Prepare your vessels for encirclement and ready the warriors of the Legion. It is time to unleash the corvus.”

The mention of the corvus surprised all of them, including Xenias. Tamara seemed especially confused even though she knew the meaning of the world.

“The raven?”

Xenophon nodded.

“Kind of.”

Then Artemas spoke.

“Corvus? What is this? Some kind of fast missile?”

Glaucon grinned at her confusion.

“No, not really.”

Xenophon watched the tactical screen carefully, nodding to himself as the fleet began to fall apart. The three Titans were separated, and the cruisers and torpedo boats had scattered between them. It was a complete mess, and the orders coming from each of the Titans added yet more confusion to the audio channel, exactly as was required by Plataean Manoeuvre. On the outside it looked as if every ship was operating on its own, whereas in reality the non-Laconian vessels were conducting the perfect ruse. Xenophon closed his eyes, thanking the gods for the fact that most of the naval officers were Atticans. He suspected without them this plan would never get put into action.

“Well?” asked Artemas.

Roxana pointed to one of the smaller torpedo boats, the smallest ships in the Alliance fleet. The image enlarged to show the vessel and its myriad of attached weapon systems and gun ports, none of which were actually ready for battle.

“The corvus is fitted to the lightest of the Legion’s ships. They are rarely used these days, as Terran ships are too substantial in their defences for them to work. The corvus is a boarding system for getting troops onto other ships.”

This didn’t seem to help though.

“Boarding system?”

Glaucon assisted with a simple hand demonstration. He used one hand like a beak and then pecked at her pale hand. His action surprised her and made her jump, much to the amusement of the other Terrans.

“We call it a bite and hold manoeuvre. Once the corvus has made contact, the warriors on board activate the boarding unit and then storm the ship. It is violent and dangerous.”

He then looked to Xenophon and lowered his head as though impressed.

“But perfect to use against the light ships of the Medes.”

Another red light appeared, then another, and before anyone could speak the display filled with hundreds of new markers.

“By the Gods!” exclaimed Sosis, barely able to contain his shock. Only the tactical officer seemed able to maintain any degree of composure.

“I have over a hundred light and medium vessels, plus a super-battleship, it looks like the Rashnu.”

“No,” said Artemas bitterly, “It can’t be. Show me.”

With a deft flick of the wrist, the image VOB changed to move them closer to the enemy fleet. Scores of the lighter, elegant ships seemed to float about them, but it was the vast hulk of the flagship that interested them the most.

“No, that isn’t the Rashnu. It is the Sraosha.”

Sosis, Xenias, and Xenophon all said the same thing at once.

“Sraosha?”

Artemas turned to face them all.

“It is the flagship of Tissaphernes. He has brought his entire fleet to bear.”

The great shape of the super-battleship was now close enough that they could make out the detail from bow to stern. Unlike the Terran ships, the vessel was multi-coloured and garish to look upon. Though smaller than the Titans, it was still substantially bigger than the other Terran fleets and easily able to stand up to a Titan for a considerable time in a battle. More lights flashed, and another three divisions of ships jumped in behind, above and below the Legion’s forces.

“I have Ariaeus on a closed channel,” said the ship’s auletes.

“On the main screen,” Sosis snapped.

The chain of command was clearly still undetermined, but Xenias said nothing for the time being. The image of the Medes commander appeared, flanked by automatons, the artificially created soldiers of the Empire.

“I come offering my assistance to end this violence,” he said calmly.

“What? Are you insane?” Sosis started before Xenias could interrupt him. He waved him off and positioned himself in front of the display to speak.

“Ariaeus, you left us at Cunaxa. Why are you here, really?”

Ariaeus smiled that sinister look that the Terrans had become so used to.

“My friend, I was left at Cunaxa to fend for myself. My services were to the fallen Cyrus, not you. The God King has granted me this opportunity to negotiate your safe passage home back through the territories of the Most Noble Satrap Tissaphernes. We will provide an escort for your force back to the border through the Gates of Cilicia. I have even been authorised to allow you to stop and trade with our merchants along the way.”

Some of the officers muttered to each other. Nearly half appeared to like what they were hearing while the others sneered at every word coming from the hated Median’s voice.

“And Tissaphernes, why is he here?”

Again Ariaeus smiled.

“Ah, he does like to make an entrance. I am here to make the offering. He is here to offer a degree of, well…protection. You will, of course, be moving through his sovereign territory.”

The image of Chirisophus appeared alongside that of Ariaeus. The Terran commander still wore his Laconian armour and uniform, but a small cut on his forehead had started to bleed. The trickle of dark red blood ran down past his eye and to his upper lip.

“Ariaeus, you treasonous bastard. We know about the negotiations of the Medes. To hell with you all. No Laconians will ever deal with your kind again!”

His image vanished from the communication system as abruptly as it had arrived. None of those on the command deck appeared particularly surprised, least of all Xenophon who waited politely until the man had gone before speaking.

“Now we know where the Laconians stand.”

Xenias leaned towards Xenophon and whispered in his ear.

“They refuse to give ground, no matter the circumstances. That is no great shock to me. Is this part of the plan?”

Xenophon scratched his chin for a second before answering.

“Kind of.”

Xenias’ lip quivered slightly at those words, and he opened his mouth to speak but stopped himself. He trusted Xenophon; there was no doubt about that. Even so, he looked nervous. Xenophon tried to help him relax without giving away too much.

“Chirisophus is right. They will never let us leave peacefully. The only way out of here is to cripple this force first.”

He nodded to the tactical screen that showed the Legion broken up into three large divisions and the great horde of enemy ships now positioned all about them. Xenias raised his eyebrows at the image.

“Okay, I hope your plan is going to work.”

So do I, he thought nervously.

Apart from being outnumbered, the scattered Legion was also in such a position that if any of their ships attempted withdrawal, they would be eliminated piecemeal. A large contingent of the capital ships waited in orbit, and scores of smaller craft moved as though transporting supplies from the surface to the waiting craft. To all intents and purposes, the Legion looked as if it had been caught right in the middle of a resupply operation. Sosis must have worked it out as well because he marched over to Xenias and smashed his fist down onto the nearest console.

“You fools, we have given up our position to face an ignominious defeat while we dawdle around this useless planet! The enemy’s warships are closing in around our Titans.”

His face seemed to redden as he took in more air.

“Without our Titans, we will have nothing…nothing!”

The red markers showing the Median fleets moved ever so slightly, but both Xenophon and Roxana had spotted the course changes. He looked at the group to the right, and she tilted her head and pointed at the other force with her eyebrows. Xenophon nodded.

They are closing in to attack; we have only a few minutes before they hit the Titans.

Sosis turned about to speak with the crew, but Xenias grabbed him.

“No, brother, the plan will work. We’ll rely on one thing to beat them, and it is something these Medes have demonstrated to us one time too many.”

Sosis spat on the floor to the shock of the officers on the ship.

“That is?”

Lady Artemas moved up to them both without making a sound. Her elegance and beauty were undeniable, even though her Medes ancestry should have been an anathema to the present situation.

“The Dukas is correct. Arrogance is the greatest failing of the God King. Tissaphernes commands here, and he has your ships surrounded and trapped.”

“How is that a weakness? Each of our ships faces multiple enemies,” Sosis said, shaking his head.

Xenophon placed his hand on the man’s arm.

“Terran infantry are the greatest the galaxy has ever known. We will not defeat this fleet in a ranged battle, as they would like. They have come close to finish us, but the reality is they are too close now. We will destroy them using the old ways, and that is where our smaller ships will do their work.”

Sosis’ face lightened at this piece of information.

“Wait. You mean the light ships will attack them?”

Xenophon grinned at this.

“Yes, once the heavies start their gun line battle, we will pin their other ships with our smaller vessels and send in dromons to finish the job.”

Sosis remained silent for a moment, considering what Xenophon was saying.

“This will leave us stuck here. We cannot leave this sector while our warriors are aboard their ships.”

“True,” answered Xenophon, “but out fleet is mangled and lacking supplies and spare ships. This battle will leave us stronger, better equipped, and more importantly, it will unite us.”

Xenias pointed to the scores of ships visible on the screen.

“And I intend on getting us a fourth Titan for the fleet.”

All of them looked to the shape of the Median super-battleship. It was as powerful as it was garish. Around it moved an entire squadron of the heavy Elamite battleships they had already encountered in multiple engagements. As they watched the great vessel, their awe turned to excitement at the opportunity for such a prize. Xenophon did his best to hide his smile at the complete change in the attitude of the crew of the Titan at this news.

Terrans will fight and kill each other until none remain, but nothing unites us more than a common foe, he recalled from his teachings back home.

“May I?” asked Sosis.

Xenias nodded, and the man moved towards his Kybernetes, the ship’s second-in-command, and the man responsible for the day-today running of the Titan.

“Prepare our warriors for full frontal assault. It is time for us to expand our fleet!”

The Kybernetes’ lip moved just a fraction, but his pleasure was clear at this news. Few Terrans would fail to be excited at the prospect of the capture or defeat of such a mighty enemy force. As he walked away, Sosis lowered his head slightly to Xenias and his companions.

“Dukas, your advice is sound, and your advisors are…imaginative. You were right to return to this vessel. The enemy are all around us like vultures, but it is us that will do the killing.”

His entire face almost beamed with pleasure.

“Your plan has brought them within arm’s reach, and I look forward to this engagement. It will be glorious.”

“As do we all,” replied Xenias.

He tilted his chair a fraction before continuing.

“I assume you will accept my command, until the vote of course?”

Sosis once more bowed down a little in acknowledgement, and Xenias finally allowed a narrow smile to appear on his stern face. The tension on the ship had almost matched that of the Laconian Titan. Sosis however was more flexible than his Laconian compatriot. Xenias nodded in thanks.

“Good. I am sure the warriors on this ship will choose you as their commander once the battle is over. In the meantime, I will ensure we devastate this rabble, and I would appreciate your assistance in doing so.”

“Of course, Dukas.”

A man clearing his voice made him turn about to stare down at Xenophon and his group.

“What about us?” Glaucon asked.

He looked as excited at the prospect of battles as the rest but also a little unsure as to what their part would be in the upcoming fight. Sosis placed the back of his hand to his chin and thought for a moment. Xenias was technically in charge of the Titan, for now at least, but the Komes was best placed to deal with those still on the ship. He answered the question before Xenias had time to open his mouth.

“I have mixed contingents of Atticans, Arcadians, and Laconians on board, and they are causing all kinds of trouble. They will not obey orders from any officers outside of their own contingents, but they might listen to one of Attica’s old conservatives?”

Xenophon didn’t seem particularly convinced at this but could understand Sosis’ idea. Though he was from the pro-democracy world of Attica, his family had never really fitted in. Like many of the wealthier people upon Attica, he had favoured the more traditional political and economic ideas over what he considered to be the mob-rule mentality of the democrats.

“Why would they listen to me?” he asked, even though he knew the answer already.

“They are not working well together. Perhaps you met some of them on your way here?” Sosis answered.

Glaucon coughed in amusement at this comment.

“Yes, we spoke with a few. They weren’t particularly polite.”

Sosis extended the palm of his right hand.

“If you can do something with them, they are yours. I cannot have them on my ship. Ever since we left Cunaxa, they have caused trouble. There will be over a thousand spatharii and a smattering of stratiotes. I need them off my ship now, and the man that can control them would be a worthy Komes.”

Xenophon looked up to Xenias.

“This is surely better suited to you? I can help fight this battle.”

Xenias shook his head.

“Your plan is being executed, my friend. I will see it through. I need people to win this fight, and your little group have proven somewhat imaginative in solving problems. Unite the spatharii and make them yours. I suggest you make use of them. They are all experienced, and with the right persuasion will do the job. I suspect there will be plenty for them to do once this battle gets underway.”

That was the last he said before moving back to the officers on the command deck. Xenophon watched them for a few seconds, now feeling completely apart from the battle and even the ship.

“Xenophon, shall we?” asked Glaucon.

He looked at the small band. They were on a hostile ship filled with Terrans more intent on killing each other than the enemy, and he had been split away from his own plan, yet the thought of his own command, even one such as this, filled him with a feeling he hadn’t felt for some time. It was pride. Xenophon had never really been much of a follower, yet it had never occurred to him that one day he might actually have his own command. It was exciting.

“Yes, let’s show them what Terrans can actually do when they have an enemy they hate more than their own brothers!”

Tamara said nothing, but the thought of wanton violence must have excited her, as she was out and in the corridor in seconds. Glaucon was next but slowed to say just a few words to his friend.

“If we’re ever going to go home, we will need friends and support. If we do this right, it could be the making of us.”

Roxana had heard him and walked past them nonchalantly.

“Don’t start counting your chickens yet, Gentlemen. You have a long way to go.”

Artemas brought up the rear with an even more bemused look on her face.

“Chickens?”

CHAPTER SIX

Terran Titan ‘Poseidon, Larissa System, Core Worlds

Komes Sosis wiped the beads of sweat from his brow as he looked at the tactical dispositions once more. The enemy Terran vessels had fled the field of battle just as he had expected. The Laconians under the command of the reckless Chirisophus were in full pursuit, and Sosis was starting to feel a little uncomfortable. He’d fought the Medes and the Terrans enough in the past to know that neither would throw their forces into the battle unless there was something to gain. The Terrans, especially, were mercenaries and would do nothing unless there was a reward for them.

How is letting your force get smashed to our benefit? he wondered.

Until Xenias and Xenophon had arrived on his ship, it was something he’d barely given any consideration to. It was the words of Xenophon that stayed with him the most, and he suspected that was because they were now so far from home they could not afford the luxury of a mistake. He looked to the ships once more and swallowed.

“Dukas, they are getting awfully close.”

Xenias nodded in agreement.

“Yes, I think Dekarchos Xenophon is correct. They intend on pinning us here and causing heavy casualties. Even if we prevail, they will simply withdraw and send in more ships to hit us at the next jump coordinates.”

As he considered the words from Xenias, he finally felt he understood the enemy strategy. He very much doubted the Medes would be spoiling for an epic battle that they might lose. The more he considered the situation, it was clear to him the Medes wanted to simply wound the fleet, and to go on wounding them until they were so weak even a child could wipe out what remained. It was a cruel way to destroy such a formidable fighting force but also elegant.

“They can attack us every day with a hundred fresh ships until not one of us remains.”

Xenias was surprised to hear the words from Sosis.

“I agree. They can lose a hundred a day and still class this as a victory. The Medes do not value their own people in the way we do.”

Sosis wiped his brow, imagining the final days of their fleet.

“When we are weak enough, our numbers are low, and the Titans are on the verge of surrender, that is when the big guns will come for us, and we will be unable to stop them taking our Titans.”

Xenias frowned at the last part.

“You think they mean to capture us? I suppose they might try and recruit us to fight as mercenaries, just like those bastards out there. They might also just be waiting to bring in their capital ships to destroy us piecemeal. You recall the Laconian last stand at the Hot Gates? They didn’t finish them off in battle. They merely bombarded the final position of the Laconian monarch and his men until all were annihilated.”

Sosis laughed, much to the surprise of the rest of the officers on the command deck.

“They don’t need big guns; they have enough ships here to wipe us out in less than an hour.”

Xenias had run the scenario through his head so many times now. Xenophon’s plan was simple, and he would have liked to have the man with him to help with the operation. Sosis was a proud man, and though he might take orders from the Dukas, the junior officer would likely cause more problems than he might fix.

No, I have my role to play, and he has his.

The thought of Xenophon trying to get the warring Terrans to work together put a twisted grin on his face.

If he lives, he might even make himself a Komes.

That brought him back to their predicament. Sosis was of course correct. The rest of the Legion was now completely surrounded by Medes ships, which in the last ten minutes had managed to infiltrate every single group of ships, though so far none had initiated any kind of offensive action. The Terran ships looked clumsy and old fashioned in many respects compared to those of the Medes. Where the Terrans were heavily armed and armoured, the Medes ships were smaller, lighter, and weaker. Yet the great numbers of the Medes would always give them the advantage.

“They are close enough I think. The corvus will require less than sixty seconds at this range.”

“I agree,” said Sosis slowly.

The corvus had its benefits. That was something Xenias had no doubt about. It was the fact that by using the corvus they would give up any chance of escape or mobility that concerned him.

Xenophon, if they don’t take the bait, we will be finished.

“It is time then,” he said.

Komes Sosis squeezed his aching temples for the briefest of moments. He looked to the old warrior while the bright shapes of a hundred ships filled the background. Although the command deck was tense with the enormity of what was about to happen, it was still impossible to hide the excitement showing in his cheekbones. He nodded, barely able to speak. Xenias closed his eyes, the enormity of what he was about to say now filled his body. He knew the plan was a good one, but there was still doubt in his soul.

To hell with them, we must strike!

He opened his eyes and gave his orders to every vessel in the fleet that had decided to listen rather than fight alongside the smaller force of Laconians against the Terran traitors.

“Bring me their fleet!”

Due to the view offered by the VOB system, every single person on the command deck was granted a privileged position from which they could watch the battle unfold. The opening phase wasn’t the most inspiring, but it was necessary. Normally, the fleets would engage with heavy weapons to bring down shields. This battle was different. The impression given was that they had been caught in the middle of a transport operation and expected no major combat. That was why so few ships opened fire. Just as Xenophon had intended, the cloud of small vessels moved in on the Medes ships using every ounce of speed. In less than a minute, the first of them had reached the closest of the Medes ships, and it was then that the first of their commanders must have realised something strange was going on.

Come on, when will this begin? Xenias thought, waiting patiently.

That was when the guns started up. The first volleys were impressive, but as the battleships and Titans exchanged broadsides, the blackness of space filled with beams. The larger ships used their cutters to punch through armour while the plasma weapons hammered in bursts against shielding to try and create gaps for the heavier weapons. Great balls of blue energy roared back and forth, and in seconds, the entire region of space was filled with violence. The Legion ships were doing something unusual. Instead of engaging the enemy in a battle of attrition, they fought a battle of confusion. Volleys of lasers ripped through the fleet’s most distance ships and left those nearby completely unmolested.

“This is it then. There’s no turning back,” Sosis said more to himself than to anybody else on the command deck.

“Torpedo boats are in range. They are activating their corvus,” said the tactical officer.

Xenias watched an enlarged image from their right flank. Two of the smallest Legion ships had moved alongside a Medes cruiser. The enemy ships were easily ten times their size, yet the smaller ships looked as though they had crashed into the ship. In a flash, the shields dropped, and the gunfire reduced substantially.

“Excellent,” said Sosis with a widening grin on his face, “this is not what I expected.”

They watched as more and more of the nearest ships became ensnared by the myriad of smaller ships. Some of the torpedo boats had even moved in on the armoured heavy cruisers and latched on.

“Xenophon wasn’t as great a fool as I thought. They will not turn their heavy weapons on our ships at this range for fear of hurting themselves.”

Xenias chuckled.

“Indeed. Their own self-interest will be their undoing. Just look, over two score ships have been reached and are locked in with our small vessels.”

Sosis scratched his chin and watched as reports filled the screens around them. At the same time, the VOB system showed the kaleidoscope of colour as ship after ship blasted away with heavy weapons.

“What now, Dukas? Do we assist them?”

Xenias shook his head.

“No, the lighter ships have been pinned. Now it is time for our heavies to do their work. Proceed to phase two.”

Sosis nodded in agreement and then indicated for the Kybernetes to approach. The man moved quickly, even as the thuds of plasma projectiles crashed into the shielded flanks of the Titan. Each impact dropped them by a fraction of a percent, and very occasionally a stray round worked its way through the outer skin of armour.

“Give me full power to the engines!” said Sosis.

Xenias smiled as the engines powered up, and the mighty Titan shuddered with raw power. Around them the remainder of the battleships, cruisers, and battlecruisers set course for the most powerful ships in the Median fleet. It was the shape of the Medes flagship that took the greatest attention of both Sosis and Xenias. The Dukas pointed at her hull and roared.

“Make sure the spatharii are ready for full assault. I want them on board the Sraosha, and I want it taken, now!”

*

Xenophon looked at the horde of warriors and felt a lump in his throat. There was at least a handful that recognised him from their violent entry earlier on when they had landed alongside Dukas Xenias. Though they had stopped fighting, they were far from wanting to listen to any officer, especially a mere Dekarchos from Attica.

“Warriors, I need you to follow me,” he started, but his voice felt like a squeak. Several of the men spoke over him, and he was forced to call out again, this time louder.

“Listen to me!”

His words came over as being more aggressive than he intended, but at least it gained their attention. He was now back in the uniform and clothing he had worn prior to the fighting on Cunaxa. Under his spatharii armour was the dark grey material of his tunic and the iconography of both Attica and Lady Artemas, for whom he had been made a bodyguard. He almost lost his balance when a volley of plasma pulses thudded hard against the ship’s flank. The multi-layered shielding of the Titan easily beat aside the attack.

“We’re not gonna fight for you, traitor!” shouted a man in a common Attican accent.

Xenophon tried to spot him, but it fell to Tamara to spot the movement off at the rear of the group. She pointed at him, nodding as if asking whether he wanted her to move in, but Xenophon beckoned for her to stay where she was.

“It is true; I did work for the Thirty. I did it to help our people, not to attack them.”

The rabble of warriors once more descended into argument before the sound of Dukas Xenias drowned them all out over the internal speakers.

“Spatharii, prepare for assault. In less than three minutes, we will be in range of the Sraosha. Ready your dromons!”

The hangar areas transformed from a bustle of angry voices and complaints to one of complete silence. There were no officers, apart from a smattering of junior pentarchos that commanded five-man teams known as Pempas. Some seemed keen at the prospect of a boarding action but most continued to drone on with their own petty arguments. Xenophon tried to speak again, but the noise was too great. Artemas moved closer to him and grabbed his hand that was still firmly gripped around the custom Asgeirr-Carbine he had taken from their fallen commander.

“Use it. They will listen to the man that carries his weapon,” she whispered into his ear.

The custom Asgeirr-Carbine was in his right hand. Apart from the colouring, it was little different to the gear used by any other Laconian, yet it was the property of the revered leader. Even among this group of argumentative Terrans, there were few that would deny Clearchus’ right to command the Legion.

“By the authority given to me by the Strategos, I claim this command.”

Artemas looked over to him in surprise. There were grumbles and murmurs from others, and it looked very unlikely they would help. Glaucon moved to his friend’s side and pointed at one of the warriors at the front of the group.

“What do you want?” he demanded.

The man look confused but finally answered.

“A fight…a damned good one!”

Two other men nearby laughed at him.

“Money!” called out another.

More voices joined them.

“Women!”

“The Sraosha is out there waiting for us.”

“The what?” asked a woman in the armour of Attica.

Xenophon smiled at Glaucon before answering the woman’s question.

“The Sraosha is an infamous Medes warship, the flagship of Tissaphernes, the Bastard!”

It was an old nickname used for the worst and least loved of all the Median commanders. Tissaphernes himself was itself a byword for cruelty and enslavement back on the Terran worlds. Artemas almost had to hide her face to avoid betraying the amusement she felt at this obvious ploy.

“The Sraosha is responsible for the destruction of a dozen Terran worlds, and commands this enemy fleet in their attempt to destroy our Legion once and for all!”

Roxana and Artemas looked in surprise at his words. Some still tried to shout down Xenophon but most were more interested in this enemy vessel. He had one final gambit to try and to the amazement of his friends, it worked.

“Sosis himself intends to capture this ship and use it for his sport. I say, we take the ship and make it our own, a ship for the free fighters of the Legion. Will you come with me?”

There was little more a mercenary loved than the chance for spoils and rewards in war. The cry of excitement, lust, and greed ripped through the hangars like a burning wildfire. He knew his words were simple and riddled with cliché, yet these warriors were no great intellectuals. Most were out of work soldiers and the rest freebooters, robbers, and scoundrels.

“My name is Xenophon, friend and ally of Clearchus. I fought alongside him when he died, and he charged me with the job of protecting the Legion,” he shouted as loudly as he could.

“Xenophon?” called out a man, “You fought on the mountains at Cilicia?”

“Yes,” answered Glaucon, “and he was at the side of Clearchus when our generals were betrayed.”

The excitement in the hangar bay was beginning to change, but there were still some that had no interest in becoming one of Xenophon’s personal soldiers.

“I promise you, if we take this ship it will be yours. You may choose your own officers and even a Komes for this new army.”

The word army raised the eyebrow of Roxana who was still too busy watching for signs of hostility in the crowd. A thousand men was hardly an army, but the words seem to resonate amongst them. Perhaps it was the cramped conditions, but the mood altered in seconds from one of a defeated, miserable, and angry rabble to one of Terran, lusty for loot and vengeance.

“To the ships, we will claim this warship in your name!”

Apart from a few stragglers, the horde of wild and excited warriors surged towards the lines of waiting dromons. The ubiquitous transports of the Terrans waited patiently, and their pilots and gunners watched in surprise as scores of warriors piled inside, stowing their gear ready for the fight. Archrivals sat alongside each other, all their previous disagreement forgotten with for now, until the end of the battle.

“Your people are incredible,” said Lady Artemas.

Tamara and Glaucon moved to their flanks, their body language now softening as the possibility of violence had vanished. Xenophon spotted one craft to the left that had just four warriors inside and made for it.

“Hey, what about us?” asked Roxana.

“Xenophon checked the straps of his helmet as he moved.

“I need all of you with me. This isn’t going to be easy, and these spatharii are not keen to work together. They are rash and dangerous.”

“Really?” asked Glaucon.

The look on his face suggested sarcasm, but Xenophon chose to ignore it and moved to the ramp. Tamara was already inside, her long, bright hair drawing the attention of the men inside.

“Hey, little girl, want to come and sit with me?” asked the first, a leering look on his face.

She walked up to him and slammed her knee into the man’s face before sitting down. The middle-aged warrior leaned forward, blood pouring from his broken nose.

“You little…!”

He cut short when the larger form of Glaucon entered and sat next to the young woman. Although Glaucon wore similar armour to them, he also carried the pulse cannon he’d collected some time ago. He was bigger and more heavily built than Xenophon, and his expression suggested they should let it lie. Roxana and Artemas moved in next and slid down next to the others who now decided to stay silent. More warriors ran inside carrying a mixture of equipment before Xenophon hit the seal button. The hatches closed up, and he dropped into his seat and activated the straps and clamping units.

“You all ready?”

All but Artemas nodded in agreement.

“What’s wrong?”

Artemas shook her head in irritation.

“Why are we here? We can’t do any more good commanding this fight without getting involved in the middle of it.”

Glaucon lowered his head a little and indicated towards the scores of other warriors in the craft before speaking in a low, hushed voice.

“These are not schoolboys, Lady Artemas.”

The Lady part sounded strained, but she said nothing.

“Xenophon has no command, but he is the only person in the Legion with the wit to get us out of here safely. His family used to trade a great deal with your people. He’s probably the most knowledgeable of this region.”

His face then softened.

“Apart from you of course, but you are…”

“A female?”

Glaucon looked almost hurt at the suggestion.

“What has that got to do with anything?” said Roxana.

Glaucon lifted his hands up defensively.

“Hey, where is all of this coming from? No, all I am saying is that you are of Medes stock, and you will never be completely trusted.”

“Even after all I have done for your people?”

Glaucon nodded.

“Of course. You’ve seen how well we trust each other, why would it be any different for the people we actually have a united cause against.”

Tamara watched the other warriors climbing aboard the other dromons. She had spotted a single group of Arcadians who refused to board one of them. One was shouting, and a blow was struck before they were finally left alone. She looked back at her comrades. Glaucon placed a hand on her arm.

“I know. This Legion isn’t as strong as you would think. Look at them all. They fight for no honourable reason, and only loot can make them do anything other than their basest desires. If we want to stay alive, we need leadership.”

Tamara looked to Xenophon. He was busy examining the schematic of the vast enemy warship. The shape was shown on the primary screen in the crew area, along with overlays from their previous actions aboard Elamites.

“And for leadership we need something to unite them together.”

Artemas instantly grasped what he was saying. She leaned in to his face and breathed gently in his left ear. It sent a shiver down his body.

“This is to create a powerbase for him, why? To command the Legion?”

Glaucon raised his eyebrows as though he wasn’t sure, and then spotted Xenophon tapping the communication node that had now interfaced directly to his helmet system.

“This is acting Komes Xenophon of Attica.”

Glaucon was very surprised to hear his friend self-promoting himself and wanted to say something. He even got as far as opening his mouth when Artemas placed a hand on his leg. Again he felt a chill through his body that he found both pleasurable and disconcerting.

She’s not mine. Keep your eyes on the mission, you old fool!

The doors to the hangars were now open, and one by one the dromons powered out of the armoured hull of the Titan. As each craft approached the shields, they flickered off for just long enough to allow each of them to leave. Multiple layers on the shields ensured at least one was active at any one time as they moved into space. Xenophon looked to his friends who were still watching at the massive vessel. Glaucon spotted him and twisted about to speak to him.

“You realise we have no more than a thousand warriors to take that thing? We’ll be lucky if we get a single warrior inside her hull. What about the shielding?”

Artemas pointed at the ship.

“There are entry points at the stern just behind the secondary gundecks. It is a standard design for heavy battleships. Move there, and you’ll get inside and avoid their main defences. The shields are of use only against high impact and energy weapons.”

She then lifted the side of her lip up in a grin.

“Surely you know this, Glaucon?”

He sighed in annoyance.

“Getting through the shielding once we’re there doesn’t concern me. It’s the bit about making it to their ship in one piece that does.”

Xenophon considered what both of them were saying and then looked back at the screen towards the front of the craft. It showed the battle but also the cloud of dromons heading for the enemy ships. More than forty fighters had formed up alongside them, and the Titan itself had now concentrated its firepower on the battleship. Lines of plasma bolts leapt about them as they approached, and he felt a deep-rooted fear that they might not even reach the ship.

She’s right. We need to get there in one piece.

The communications node allowed him to speak directly to the Auletes aboard Poseidon. The response was almost instant, something that surprised even him in the middle of a battle.

“Komes Xenophon,” came back the voice.

Xenophon allowed himself a momentary chuckle at the use of his temporary name. He was far from being a Komes, yet word must have reached the Titan of his self-appointment.

“I need all available fire put on the shields of the Sraosha. Keep the guns off us.”

A hundred shots hammered the dromons, and it was a testament to their construction and light shields that any made it through at all. A single powerful battery unleashed a devastating volley of plasma before cutting out. Shot after shot hammered into hull of Sraosha, and with each impact, a shield flickered and then cut out. Xenophon twisted his neck to see the massed gunports of the Titan bearing down on the enemy flagship.

Yes! That’s more like it.

He looked to the others on the dromon and did his best to encourage them.

“It’s temporary, but the gunfire will keep them busy. If they want to stop the Titan destroying them, they will need to use all their power for the shields, and I mean all their power. That means just the kinetic turrets to deal with, and that should be enough to get us to her hull.”

Glaucon exhaled slowly, hoping against hope that his friend was correct.

“Okay, let’s hope both of you are right.”

Xenophon nodded a thank you and then contacted the commanders of the other dromons as they swarmed in around the ship. While they spoke, Roxana moved back from the small windows to speak with Artemas. The voices faded, and soon all but Xenophon were speechless as they covered the distance between the two massive ships. Fighters moved about like flies, but the big ships were doing the most damage in this battle. The beams of light made it almost impossible to determine exactly what was happening until the dromon banked to avoid pulse cannon fire. The manoeuvre gave them a perfect view of the brightly coloured flagship of the enemy fleet. One of the officers on board the other dromons must have said something to annoy Xenophon because he quickly erupted into an angry outburst over the communication node.

“In less than a minute, we will reach the Sraosha. I want her taken in one piece. Do not destroy her engines, you fools. Kill the crew, command the bridge, and then take the prize!”

Tamara raised one eyebrow at his conversation and looked back to the narrow face of Artemas.

“You said it was a heavy battleship. What else do you know?”

Roxana heard the question and leaned over to watch while Artemas ran a finger down her cheek, considering the question.

“These are standard warships used to command squadrons of Elamites in battles. It is larger and more powerful but not of the same calibre as your Titans. I suspect this one is the command ship for one of Tissaphernes’ admirals.”

It was Xenophon’s turn to look confused, especially at the suggestion it was not the ship he thought it was. He stopped talking to the officers and looked accusingly at Artemas.

“Wait, I thought you said this was Tissaphernes’ ship?”

His expression seemed almost desperate as he asked the question.

“Well, in a certain manner it is his ship. The colours are definitely his, but he would never dare enter battle like this though. I suspect he is in deep-space, waiting for the word to come in and finish the job with his personal squadron of heavy Elamites.”

If Xenophon hadn’t been strapped in, he would have leapt from his seat. Instead, he could do no more than glare at her before saying more.

“You tricked me, why?”

Artemas tried to soften his expression with a gentle smile, but it seemed to infuriate him even more. She sighed before answering him.

“Gods, you Terrans are so tetchy. I was trying to help your cause. This is a flagship, and it has given you and your warriors a common purpose to bring about their destruction. When the battle is over, and if you prevail, you will have the ship and your warriors’ respect.”

“Great,” muttered Roxana, “and if we fail, we will have wasted our efforts on just another command ship.”

They were now just a few seconds from reaching the ship, and the defensive fire had increased exponentially. From the view inside the dromon, they witnessed the destruction of at least three dromons before drifting beneath the warship’s guns and approaching the entry points. On the screen, the coloured shapes of the other dromons showed most had listened to Xenophon and were making for the areas flagged by Artemas.

He trusted her but didn’t for a moment believe the others would feel the same if he told them where the intelligence came from. With a gentle thud, they made contact with the ship and the boarding tube connected to the access points on the vessel.

“Ready?” Xenophon asked.

Without waiting for an order, the airlocks deactivated, and the pressure between the dromon and the battleship quickly normalised. It took only a few seconds and then there was a safe, pressurised entry point to the ship. Xenophon peered through the short tunnel and out past the doorway. He could see the brightly lit interior with pale blue lights casting hard black shadows through the passageway.

“Where does this lead?”

Artemas tapped her tight fitting helmet to check the communication node interface. Her combination of Terran and Medes equipment made her look even more exotic than was normal for her.

“All of the lower entry points lead to the aft evacuation level. It is where the crew head in an emergency. After we make it there, we can spread out through the ship. Apart from the barrack levels in the upper superstructure, the layout is the same as an Elamite…just bigger.”

“What if they try and escape?” asked Tamara.

Roxana looked back over her shoulder and pointed to the display in the crew compartment. The unit showed the position of the other dromons fixed around the ship.

“Our craft are lodge in a dozen places. They can move, but a light speed jump would kill us all.”

Xenophon nodded as he tried to visualise the internal layout of the Elamites. There were long passageways leading front to back on those ships, and based on their recent encounters, the Legion had drawn up basic assault plans depending on which parts of the ship they entered.

“What about the power units, are they separate, like the Elamites?”

Artemas nodded.

“Good.”

Xenophon tapped the communications node to speak with his fellow officers.

“Once you’re clear, use Elamite Plan Beta. The layout is the same. I repeat. Elamite Plan Beta.”

There were six main plans for dealing with a boarding action of an Elamite, and the Beta plan was based upon disabling the offensive capability of a ship first. They would disable the guns before turning on the rest of the crew. Once the guns were out of commission even more troops could be landed, if necessary. He moved to the airlock, but a dozen spatharii had already beaten him to it. One looked back at him.

“Komes, let’s do this.”

He had never seen the man before, but the mixture of terror and excitement on the young man’s face was contagious. Then they rushed off into the interior, and Xenophon followed right behind, and his small entourage were right behind him.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Terran Light Cruiser ‘Drakonis’, Core Worlds

Kentarchos Ezekiel Manus could feel the sweat dripping from his face as the engines fluttered one last time. A loud thudding sound followed, and he knew things were about to get much worse than they already were. A screaming sound moved throughout the ship as the tortured hull of the vessel was stretched and pulled in a dozen directions. The hull’s integrity remained solid, however, even after the strains of the forces upon the ship.

Come on, we’re nearly there!

He looked to the timer and counted down. Every second they spent travelling at this speed increased their safety margin, and more important, it would bring them to the armour, shields, and guns of the Black Legion.

Forty seconds, that’s all we need!

“What’s happening?”

The ship’s chief engineer stumbled from one screen to the next, yet his expression remained the same, one of total shock and fear at the information presented to him. The dull red imagery flickered on his face and exaggerated the lines of worry.

“Kentarchos, our engines. They’re gone!”

The tactical officer turned around to face him with an almost identical expression on his face. He shook his head in an angry fashion.

“It is the same with the shields. Everything is offline!”

With one final crashing sound, the lights flashed off, and the forward momentum of the vessel collapsed, dropping them down to their normal sub-light speed. A grinding sound gave the impression the ship was being torn in half, and all of the officers were thrown about. Only three remained on their feet because they’d held on at the very last moment. Those strapped in managed to avoid the cuts and cruises that came from such a violent and abrupt change in heading and velocity.

“Jump drive is offline. We’re on manoeuvring thrusters only.”

“It’s worse than that,” said Kybernetes Maxentius in a slow but certain tone.

“It usually is,” grumbled the Kentarchos.

The Kybernetes pointed to the bank of video monitors as the tactical officer turned in his chair. Most showed technical data and schematics, but nearly half were bonded together to show the entire fontal arc in front of the light cruiser. Where they had been showing slow moving stars, the imagery had completely changed to the almost black shape they had seen earlier.

“It’s the Khanda cruiser. They tracked us down.”

Kybernetes Maxentius didn’t even have to check his orders before speaking. He tapped his communication node to connect to all the command stations on board the ship. Before he opened his mouth, he could see the alerts coming from the tactical computers. The enemy gun ports were opening, and warnings alerted the officers of a potential attack.

“To your stations. We are under attack!”

The light cruiser shook when hit by a sustained volley of plasma charges. If the opponent had been something more substantial, like the Median ships of the line known as Elamite Battleships, then it would have already been over. Luckily, the Khanda class light cruiser was a scout class vessel, and lacked the heavy firepower to end the engagement quickly. Even so, the red alert and warning sounds running through the deck served as a reminder that without shields, the ship would take damage with each and every shot fired. Even the first volley was able to cause death and mutilation to anybody in the damaged sections. The Kybernetes pointed at the vessel and roared.

“Return fire, now!”

The laser blasts from Drakonis raked the Khanda, and its shield flickered in a bright display of different colours. There were only two cutters fitted to the ship, but as they ran along the length of the ship, it cut down three banks of shields. Several small explosions marked where the beam struck as the shields struggled to manage the strikes.

“Kentarchos, their shields are down to twenty-three percent,” said the tactical officer.

“Good, keep up the fire.”

More gunfire slammed into Drakonis, but it was too little to stop her from knocking down the shields of the Median cruiser. In a matter of seconds, the two ships found themselves in a similar position, with their shields down and their jump-engines offline. As soon as the shields dropped, the following laser blasts cut right through the outer hull plating and deep inside her structure. Six plasma bolts hammered the dorsal gun platforms of Drakonis, and a large part of the topside tore off and drifted into space, carrying a dozen crew and all the fixed weapon units.

“Structural damage to her command centre and engine room.”

Kentarchos Ezekiel Manus started to congratulate him when the threat indicator flickered red. He looked closely at the screen showing the area of space around his ship as well as the enemy cruiser sitting in front of his own vessel. The outline of the cruiser had been joined by another similar warship.

No, Gods no!

“Another Khanda class light cruiser, Kentarchos. They are demanding our surrender.”

The Kybernetes looked to his Kentarchos, the bitter disappointment clear on his face.

“Your orders, Kentarchos?”

He looked to his officers, but his facial expression had changed in the last minute. It had moved from desperation and worry to one of grim determination. His eyes tightened down a fraction before he spoke.

“We fight, and we don’t stop fighting until none of us remains.”

The Kybernetes looked to the other officers and pointed to the enemy warships.

“I want every ounce of power put to our weapons. We don’t stop while one of us is breathing!”

*

Medes’ Battleship ‘Sraosha’, Larissa System, Core Worlds

The light was much brighter than expected inside the cavernous interior of the Median battleship. Strip lights were embedded in the floor, ceiling, and walls so that most shadows were blotted out by even more light. The glyphs and marks on the walls were like nothing seen inside a Terran ship, yet the walkways felt familiar to most of them. Loudspeakers hidden inside the structure echoed with the shouting of Median voices, as the commanders shouted orders to the myriad of automatons that must have filled it. Xenophon pulled a set of thick cabling out of the way and moved ahead. Out in the distance he could see another group of Terrans pushing ahead.

“Keep moving!” he said encouragingly, not that any of them needed it.

As before, they were all armed and equipped as conventional spatharii, the heavy infantry of the Terrans. Each wore a full set of tactical armour that protected them via multiple sections of layered armour. They wore traditional helms, and in their hands they carried the infamous Doru Mk II high-velocity pulse rifle.

Every one of them was well equipped for long-range firepower, but Xenophon still wore the Asgeirr-Carbine on his right hand. It combined a short-ranged pulse carbine with the deadly razor sharp blade. Two of the warriors with them carried mobile shield generators that weighed half as much again as a man. Though cumbersome, they could prove critical in a fight.

“It’s clear!” called out one of the warriors from further inside the ship.

The group of thirty spatharii passed through the passageway and towards the rear gunnery decks. As they made quick progress, Xenophon checked in with the dozens of other dekarchos who were now inside and leading small groups of warriors to different parts of the vessel. He had no idea how the rest of the battle was going. His only interest at that moment was the success or failure of their boarding action.

“How are we doing?” asked Roxana, without taking an eye off the shadows ahead of them.

“Reports so far show the place is pretty quiet. One unit ran right into a repair crew; the rest are moving fast. We will have the stern overrun in minutes.”

Roxana didn’t seem to like that. She stopped and pulled Xenophon to one side. Even as she spoke, she maintained a careful watch down the passageway, ever wary of the signs of the enemy.

“I don’t like this, Xenophon, not one bit. Artemas is holding back, don’t you think? Shouldn’t there be warriors on a ship like this?”

A scream from further inside answered her question.

“Automatons!” shouted a Terran.

Xenophon looked at her, but it was the grinning Glaucon that spoke first.

“Answer your question?”

Two spatharii at the head of the group took a volley of pulse rounds that quickly killed them, sending the rest diving for cover. The body armour of the Terrans was impressive, but there was little it could do against such overwhelming close ranged firepower. The rear of the gunnery deck was a double-width passageway with grab rails on both sides and an open plan room to the right, leading to the gun units. The rear of these guns was the size of a dromon and the power capacitors half the size again. Thick cabling as wide as a man’s head ran up to the ceiling and floors, vanishing into the bowels of the ship.

They’ve automated the guns on this thing.

Xenophon tried to speak, but his communication node suddenly filled with the shout of dozens of officers as groups of the Medes foot soldiers appeared.

They left these decks purposefully clear. Is this standard practice, or did they pull back when they spotted our dromons coming this way?

He turned to Artemas, but she was already firing with her Doru pulse rifle. He couldn’t see exactly whom she was firing at, but the return shots came perilously close to her athletic figure. As she ran out of ammunition, she dropped the magazine and slipped in another without moving the gun itself. The movement was fluid and silent; instantly taking him back to their first meeting, where he recalled the beating he’d taken.

Could she have known about it?

He’d known her for some time now, and there were few he would trust more than the Medes woman. Even so, a lingering doubt shook him at the thought they might have been betrayed at such a vulnerable time. As she reloaded, she spotted him looking.

“The gunnery deck is a short distance ahead. We have to keep moving or they will trap us here.”

Xenophon shook his head.

“No, we need to be faster. Is the command centre the same on this ship?”

Artemas shook her head.

“I’ve never been near the command part of the ship.”

Three projectiles crashed nearby, and all of them ducked for cover. Xenophon was the first to get back to his feet.

“Do you know where on the ship we need to go?”

Artemas smiled at this question.

“These command ships have a single open deck near the upper side. Most of the crew are based there. I think the commander of the ship operates from there as well.”

Xenophon and Glaucon looked at each other.

“So whoever controls the deck, controls the ship,” said Glaucon.

“Indeed,” replied Xenophon.

He had no doubt she was right and for now concentrated on what he could affect instead. His training and combat experience kicked in, and he quickly appraised the situation.

“Shields to the front!” he growled.

The two men manhandled the generators to the front of the unit while the remainder returned fire in a massed exchange with the automatons. Though just a hundred metres apart, the combined firepower was deadly. Another spatharii was struck, but this time his armour deflected the shot and sent it crashing to the wall. With a gentle flicker, a faded pink colour shape appeared in front of the two men. Pulse rounds slammed into the units and bounced off to strike the walls instead.

“Good, now push!”

Rather than fight, the two men moved the generators, the other spatharii following right behind. It was slow work and took a full two minutes to move the entire length but finally they made it, and the Terran warriors were able to cut down the guards from the safety of their shielded position.

“What now then, the command deck?” asked Glaucon.

A dozen of the spatharii looked back at Xenophon and shouted out at what they had discovered so far. At the same time, reports came back in from the other units inside the ship. Most had broken through the outer defences and were moving in on the vital sections at the rear. Xenophon lifted himself up tall and pointed to the ceiling.

“The command deck. We will take this fight to their commanders!”

“Yes!” answered one of them men excitedly.

Xenophon looked to Artemas.

“I need the widest route to the deck. We need numbers there and fast.”

Artemas considered his words but only for a moment.

“There are dozens of levels, but the main passageways all run front to back. We can take multiple routes to the top deck and then rush the length of the ship.”

Tamara jumped up at a hatch and it swung open. A ladder slid down and stopped just centimetres from the ground.

“Like this?”

Artemas smiled at her.

“Yes, there will be access ladders on every floor in case the lifts and transport platforms are damaged. Either we take those or the ramps to the next level.”

Tamara climbed up and vanished above them. Several gunshots rang out, and Xenophon felt his pulse quicken as a body tumbled down from the hatch. The face of the young woman appeared upside down and looked at them with a wide grin.

“There’s a circular room up here with ramps on both sides.”

“Excellent,” answered Artemas, “That means we’re right next to the aft access bay. We can take the ramps up from there.”

“Do it,” said Xenophon and then moved to the ladder.

Five more armed automatons appeared from a dozen metres ahead, but when they spotted the large group of heavily armed Terrans, they quickly turned tail and ran. A few of the Terrans shot at them but none were hurt.

“Let them run,” Glaucon muttered, “They will spread fear deep inside her. It will make our job easier.”

*

Tissaphernes watched the ships from inside the dark interior of his secluded section of the command deck. The raised screens hid him from view, yet he could still make out the shapes of the crew all around him. He watched his fleet as it continued on its faster-than-light journey to meet with the rest of the ships he had assembled to execute the coup de grâce on the Terrans. It was a small fleet, no more than twenty ships though; a dozen of those were Elamite battleships, the feared heavy warship of the Empire and more than enough to conduct the final attack on the fleet.

And how is my little battle proceeding?

With nothing more than a movement of his eye, the imagery shifted and showed the latest reports coming in from his commanders at Larissa. He looked at the shapes of the Terran Titans and almost giggled at what he could see. The Terran ships had been caught while they plundered the planet, just as he had predicted.

He recalled the argument that had taken place before the Emperor himself as he, Ariaeus, and Phalinus had debated the merits of their different strategies. Phalinus didn’t seem to care what the plan was, providing he was paid while Ariaeus thought it best to provide food and supplies to the Terrans to get them to leave.

Tissaphernes had a different idea altogether, however. He had great plans and to do so he would need resources and support from the Emperor. This victory could guarantee him a free hand to smash the remaining Ionian Territories and finally do what no Medes had ever done before, to wipe out the Terrans once and for all.

So, pulling away the garrison did the trick.

The three Titans were separated, and he could see the Terran ships had been swamped by the greater number of his own ships. The smaller fleet of Phalinus had lost a few ships and was giving ground, but even they were dragging the entire thing out.

This is a wondrous work of art.

The images of the fighting ships reminded him of the enjoyment he experienced when watching the caged animals fighting in the pits back on his own worlds. The uncertainty and the savagery fed something inside him, something raw and animalistic. It made him want to rush directly into the battle, yet he knew more than most that you never showed your hand to the Terrans. He could be patient.

When they have just a few ships remaining, I will jump in to finish them.

He looked back at the battle and noticed the number of smaller Terran ships moving in around the larger battleships. The only fear he’d had about the operation was that the Terrans would unite and form up to present a devastating wall of fire, as they had done on multiple occasions at Cunaxa. Now they were spread out and weak. It was the perfect ending for them.

When it is all over, I will commission a painting of this exact moment; the one where I will be personally responsible for the annihilation of three more Titans and ten thousand savages!

“My Lord,” said the Darbabad.

Tissaphernes deactivated his viewing unit and waited as it lowered to reveal the nervous face of his Admiral. It was only then that he realised the ship had stopped moving.

“Yes?”

“We have reached the assembly point, My Lord.”

“And?”

The automaton swallowed quickly before speaking.

“Our scouts caught a scout cruiser attempting to leave the system. We suspect it is the same ship that fought its way from our fleet six hours ago. I have despatched additional ships to destroy them, and they have been jammed continually since being identified.”

Tissaphernes didn’t move, to all intents and purposes he might have been a golden statue sitting silently at the heart of the great battleship. Only when he lifted his hand to wipe his lip was it clear he was even alive.

“What was this Terran ship doing? Do they know how many ships we have in reserve?”

“I…uh, we suspect it was a scout watching the rear of the Black Legion.”

A scout? They must have failed in their mission. If the Terrans knew we were coming, why were they not ready?

A glimmer of doubt slipped into his mind, and he began to imagine the disasters that he knew of when his people fought the Terrans. The days of delay while fighting the Laconians at the Hot Gates, just so the Terrans could mobilize their ground and space forces for the final battle. Even their trick at Plataea, in pretending they were giving up the field of battle. The more he gave consideration to the scout, he realised he wanted to know more.

“The fleet is engaged and my reserve is ready?”

The Darbabad nodded quickly.

“Yes, My Lord.”

The Darbabad bent down and tapped a panel on the ground. It flicked three colours, and then a slightly distorted image of the battle at Larissa appeared. It wasn’t a video feed but rather a stylised representation of the battle, with colour blocks representing the divisions of the ships from the three factions.

“As arranged, the primary fleet of Phalinus is heavily engaged with the Laconian division. Your diversionary forces from Leleges, under the command of Darbabad Qahreman, have enveloped their remaining forces and are now heavily engaged also.”

Tissaphernes was happy to hear this. Darbabad Qahreman was one of his more experienced commanders and hailed from one of the ruling families in the Caira Satrapy. Technically, he was his nephew, although the marriage had fallen apart and severed the ties to his own noble house years earlier. He had chosen him to lead this part of the battle, due to his experience of leading the troublesome Leleges. The Leleges region was one of the ancient territories managed by his Satrapy of Caira. Though his two regions covered a substantial amount of space between the rest of the Empire and the Terran worlds, he still managed many different civilisations. The Leleges were conquered long ago, but their worlds were a rich source of slaves for his war machine, and its factories churned out cheap cruisers for the fleet. They were no match for professional soldiers and their ships some of the worst in the Empire, yet they served a purpose.

“Good.”

He looked at the list to the left of the battle display of his reserve fleet waiting with him in deep space. Unlike the vessels engaged, these were all Lydian ships, each commanded by Median nobility that were completely loyal to him. Their ships were the most expensive and lavish in his fleet.

“Who is winning?”

The Darbabad wiped his brow, nervous at giving the wrong analysis to his master.

“My Lord, the Terrans have suffered only a few losses so far. They have moved their ships close to the Lelegian forces, and it has reduced their weapons effectiveness. They are unable to engage them easily without risking harm to their own ships.”

Tissaphernes bit his lip as he considered his situation.

They should be breaking already, what’s going wrong?

“This is taking too long. I want the Terrans destroyed once and for all. Is every ship fighting?”

The Darbabad bowed his head for what felt like the hundredth time.

“The Terran jammers have denied us direct contact with Darbabad Qahreman, but we are still receiving regular updates from Phalinus.”

“Pah!” muttered Tissaphernes, “Let me guess, they are under pressure and urgently need help?”

Again the Darbabad bowed.

“They have lost a third of their forces, and the Laconians are pressing ahead hard.”

Tissaphernes smiled.

“Good.”

The arrogance of the Laconians will be the Terrans’ downfall. While they waste time fighting Phalinus, I will move in between their forces and smash the remainder of their fleet.

He looked to his automaton commander and sighed. The Darbabad looked desperately uncomfortable, but at least he could sense no attempt at hostility or arrogance from him.

It will come, eventually.

Tissaphernes had already identified the next likely candidate to take his place. As he looked to the crew on his ship, he noticed there was nobody there he could ever trust. Only the Median nobility with direct blood ties to his family could be relied upon, and they were either back home or commanding other parts of his forces during this campaign. The Darbabad waited patiently, unwilling to ask to leave.

Still, there might be something they can tell us.

“Do they have information about the performance of our own ships in the battle? I need to know what is happening before I commit my reserve.”

The Darbabad pointed to the map.

“My Lord, Phalinus says the Terrans have sent a large part of their fleet directly against Darbabad Qahreman, and his flagship is being boarded.”

Tissaphernes leaned back as he listened.

“Boarded? He knows to avoid engaging the Terrans at close range.”

It wasn’t so much a question, more a statement. Even so, he didn’t like entertaining even the smallest possibility that the Terrans might be doing something unexpected. He looked back to the imagery to reassure himself that their fleet was indeed separated and surrounded.

I need confirmation before I risk my personal ships. I need to interrogate their scouts.

He looked to Darbabad and noticed the shudder in the automaton’s body.

“This scout cruiser of yours, how far away is it?”

“Two jumps away, my Lord. I can have another ship there in less than an hour.”

Tissaphernes expression turned to anger.

“I know how long it takes to make two fifteen parsec jumps, you fool. Set the coordinates and activate the engines. I want to see this ship.”

The Darbabad’s face contorted; fear wracking his body. Tissaphernes lifted himself from what looked more like a throne than a seat and moved towards the terrified automaton. His race had been bred to be less impressive in both height and overall bulk, and due to the raised plinth the Median Satrap towered over him. Even as he moved, the automaton signalled to his junior officers to carry out his orders. Once done, he looked up to his Satrap. Tissaphernes smiled that short, cruel smile that put fear into the face of those around him.

“The fleet will remain here, of course. The battle around Larissa will take many hours, perhaps even days to be conducted.”

And I will not put myself at risk, unless I know my plans are unknown to the enemy.

“I will deal with this scout personally.”

The Darbabad didn’t even consider arguing with his commander and dutifully nodded in agreement. Only a fool would question the Satrap, especially when in the middle of a battle. The stories he’d heard about the dozens before him ensured he thought as little about planning and tactics as possible. Victory or defeat in space meant nothing to the Darbabad, only that he obeyed his orders.

“Of course, my Lord. The battleships have their orders to standby and wait for your command. I will send word to our scouts that we will be with them shortly.”

Tissaphernes took a single step and then stopped.

“I want that ship disabled, not destroyed. Once she is dead in space, send in boarding parties.”

The Darbabad tightened his forehead in a questioning expression, instantly knowing he had gone too far. The Satrap raised his eyebrows as he looked at the automaton and considered removing him before a moment of clarity swept over him.

“Yes, Darbabad. What is it?”

“My Lord. There are only two light cruisers out there with small crews. A boarding action will be unlikely to succeed, but prolonged bombardment is guaranteed to destroy them.”

Tissaphernes relaxed a fraction, happy that the Darbabad hadn’t found an actual issue with his plan. He stepped down until at the same level as his Admiral and walked along the deck. The Darbabad moved alongside him.

He didn’t appear convinced.

How would he know that?

“The Raptor class of Terran ships is a sturdy design, my Lord. They are protected with layered hulls, back up shield generators, and internal security barriers. This makes them resilient to attacks by raiders and corsairs.”

Tissaphernes was surprised to hear this but hid his emotions easily.

“You know of Terran ship designs?”

The Darbabad bowed.

“I apprenticed with a Lydian merchant, my Lord. We saw many of the Terran ships. Since then, I have made sure I study every warship design I ever come across.”

The Satrap smiled at this.

“I see. So how would you compare our ships with those of the Terrans?”

They continued along the deck even as the jump engines powered up to propel them forward at incredible speeds. Tissaphernes ignored what was happening, focusing his attention on his Darbabad.

“That would depend on which ships, My Lord.”

“Capital ships interest me Darbabad. They are the vessels that decide the future of our Empires, are they not?”

They moved past banks of computer units where the automaton crews relayed orders and information between the multiple decks. Not one of them even moved their eyes in the direction of the two moving through the ship.

“Yes, my Lord. The Terran cruisers and battleships are tough warships, thickly armoured and well protected with weapons and crews. They lack the speed, agility, and long distance travel of our own ships.”

“Yes, and what is the best way to beat them?”

The Darbabad considered this for a moment.

“To deny their strengths and exploit their weaknesses. Avoid engaging in decisive battles and fight them using attrition over time. We have a great Empire spread over massive distances. We can trade ships and time for their lives.”

Tissaphernes had heard this argument before. He had no doubt it was true, but there was just one problem with it. He had absolutely no interest in defeating the Legion over time. All he wanted was a victory in the Core Worlds to cement his position back home. He would return the hero of the Empire and live out his days carving out a new domain, all in the name of a thankful Emperor.

“I will be in my quarters. Notify me ten minutes before we are due to arrive.”

He moved away and then looked back thoughtfully.

“Let me know the minute one of the fleets gives ground.”

He looked out to his officers and crew, trying to imagine what the inside of the Terran ship must look like right now and laughed quietly. He had spent a great deal of time in the company of Terrans, due in part to his world’s proximity to those of the Terrans themselves. He was also very familiar with Clearchus and his officers, as well as one of the Titans. His crew might be weak and unimaginative, but he knew he had one advantage the Terrans would never have. His ship, fleet, and people were united in their cause. The Medes would fight and die, when and how he decided. That level of discipline was something the bitter and distrustful Terrans could never hope to achieve.

*

Terran Light Cruiser ‘Drakonis’, Core Worlds

The duel between the three ships had been proceeding for nearly an hour, and still there was no sign of the Terrans surrendering. Drakonis was burning from bow to stern, and more than thirty breaches had been torn through her layered plating. Even so, she was still able to return fire with the modest number of remaining gun batteries. The Seafire fighters had launched just three minutes after the attack had started, and between them they had managed to cripple the engines of the second cruiser while Drakonis had done the same for the first cruiser. Now the three vessels circled each other warily, taking it in turns to blast each other with whatever weapons remained. Her primary guns were long out of action now, but the point-defence turrets were still capable of causing significant damage at range. The shield generators had long been knocked out of action, and the secondary engines started to fluctuate. Even so, the battered and angry Kentarchos Manus refused to give up.

“Kentarchos, our transmissions are still jammed. Nobody knows we are out here.”

The commander of the ship shook his head bitterly.

“Bastards, so we’ll die out here with nobody the wiser! We have to get away from these two to warn the fleet. They have to know what is coming.”

An explosion ripped open the side of the command area, and two officers were knocked to the ground with minor injuries. Half of the remaining officers had already been patched up, but none had left their posts. Three spatharii rushed in through the main doorway and ducked inside.

“Kentarchos, they are boarding us.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Medes’ Battleship ‘Sraosha’, Larissa System, Core Worlds

The sixth floor of the battleship proved to be the most difficult to take so far. The layout mirrored the command deck, and this meant the one hundred or more automaton crew had a clear view of the ship along its entire length. Xenophon and Artemas took position on the right side of the wide passageway and sheltered behind a statue of some ancient Median god. Tamara, Roxana, and Glaucon took the other side. The eight other spatharii and one stratiotes fanned out behind them and waited patiently.

“We can’t just sit here,” said one of the Arcadians.

Glaucon signalled for the man to keep his head down and then looked to Xenophon.

“Well?”

His friend waited, counting quietly to himself.

“Xenophon?” asked Roxana.

He looked at them both with an annoyed expression.

“Be patient, another fifteen seconds.”

Two of the spatharii snorted and moved out from cover. Tamara spotted them moving and kicked at the nearest in the back of the leg. He stumbled down, and the other moved to intercept her. He reached a metre before finding her razor sharp blade at his throat. She tilted her head but not a word came from her mouth.

“Five…four,” Xenophon said in hushed tones.

A booming sound came from the opposite end of the wide passageway, somewhere roughly in the centre of the ship. It was followed by a series of ripples and blasts that wracked the deck from bow to stern. The small number of Terrans that had stayed with Xenophon and his band finally calmed down as more and more blasts shook the ground.

“Shock charges?” asked one.

“Some of them are. I reckon a couple were thermal breachers as well,” said the leader. He looked to Xenophon and gave him the barest modicum of a grin.

“Our turn?”

Xenophon lifted himself to his feet and pointed into the passageway.

“Watch for friendlies. We need this deck cleared. Now!”

That was all the encouragement they needed to move out from their cover. The passageway was as wide as some of the Terran ships, and the control consoles running inside were positioned so that commanding officers could see great distances. There was little in the way of cover as they moved from section to section before making it into a larger communal area.

“The ramps to the next level are inside,” said Artemas.

A dozen dots of light marked out the position of the automaton defenders. Some of their rounds hit the walls, but at least three struck the shield unit the Arcadian spatharii carried. The rounds bounced off and embedded in the walls.

“Wish I had some Laconian gear with us,” muttered Glaucon.

All of them felt the same at this point, but there was nothing they could do. With just one shield unit left, they would be forced to make use of whatever cover they could find. Glaucon had other ideas and instead of taking cover, stood out in the open, took aim with his pulse cannon, and then opened fire from the hip.

“Medes animals!” he roared with laughter.

The heavy rounds from his weapon did little damage, but as he ducked back, the glow-worm lights of the enemy’s weapons gave away their positions. Accurate rifle rounds from the Doru Mk II rifles carried by the Terrans cut down a dozen in as many seconds. Xenophon leaned out and examined the communal area. From doors on each side came squads of the enemy, with nearly half wearing light armour and carrying firearms.

“Now!”

He jumped out along with his comrades and hurled himself as fast as he could towards them. The others followed, each firing wilding as they ran. Two more of the enemy were brought to the ground before they were able to turn to fight. Most were too busy engaging the groups of Terrans that appeared from half a dozen places at once.

It’s working, Xenophon thought.

Glaucon was the strongest of his group and ran into the automatons first. Some might have advised standing back to fight, but it was standard practice for Terrans to get close. They were physically stronger, better armoured, and also well trained at this kind of fighting. The fact that so many Terrans were now streaming onto the deck made gunfire random and dangerous.

“Watch your back!” called out one Terran.

The spatharios nearest Tamara took a pulse-round directly in the forehead from an enemy soldier just five metres away. Incredibly, the armour saved him, but he was knocked out cold by the impact. Tamara dragged him behind a computer console while Xenophon pinned the warrior down with fire from his Asgeirr-Carbine. Even at this range, he was able to catch two. They tried to return fire but pulse cannon fire from Glaucon scattered them like cattle. Tamara saw her chance and flipped over the unit to embed her blade in the nearest terrified automaton’s throat. No sooner had she sunk it into the soft flesh, it was out and plunging back in again. Blood spurted over her face and helm as she howled with delight.

What the hell has got into her? Xenophon thought.

More Terrans broke into the deck, and it very quickly degenerated into a free-for-all, with hundreds engaged in a bloodthirsty close quarter battle. It would have been over in seconds; had not a group of two-dozen Median regular soldiers arrived with edged weapons. Glaucon chased ahead, but Xenophon called him back.

“We have this place covered. Give it fifteen more minutes, and it will be ours.”

“They need our help.”

Roxana shot another automaton in the back and grabbed Tamara away from yet another bloodbath. They made it a metre to find three automatons that had just arrived. All were armed with rifles and crashed directly into Roxana. Two fell down while the third took aim. As before, Tamara embedded her blade in her enemy’s throat, ripped the rifle from his hands, and pointed it at the two fallen warriors. A single blast to each finished them in seconds.

“No more,” said Xenophon, “We need to keep on. This mission is about disabling and capturing her, not exterminating her crew.”

Glaucon looked at the ramp on the right of the passageway.

“So that is the way we get to the command deck? What are we waiting for?”

“We aren’t,” laughed Xenophon.

He slid in a magazine to Clearchus’ old weapon and looked about to make sure his group was together.

“Artemas?” he asked.

“Here,” came an instant reply.

“The lithe and agile Medes noble stepped away from a fallen automaton and pulled her jewelled kopis blade from its chest. Xenophon nodded to her and then moved off.

“Follow me.”

The journey to the top of the Median battleship took less than five minutes. Sporadic fighting had slowed them at three chokepoints, but Xenophon finally reached the top of the final ramp that brought them to the rear of the main command deck. The passageway was wide and with tall ceilings. They’d killed at least another dozen of the crew on the way up, but most appeared to be heading to the centre of the ship where the bulk of the Terrans were. The last order Xenophon had given them was to keep them busy. It seemed to be working.

“How many crew and guards would you expect?” he asked.

Artemas shrugged.

“Who knows? Elamites have large crews. This one will be larger still.”

He paused for a moment near the top of the ramp to get his bearings. Glaucon stopped right next to him and adjusted one of the power settings on his pulse cannon.

“So, this is where the boss will be? Not in some Royal Chamber like on the last one?”

Artemas looked at him.

“Maybe. Either way, on older Elamites the Royal Chambers and command centres would be placed along the command deck. This is the nerve centre of these ships and where the armour is thickest. Your heavy cutters will have a hard time reaching here.”

“We won’t!” laughed one of the six spatharii that had come with them. They rushed past the group and away from the ramp into the unknown. Tamara tried to grab one and only managed to make him stumble. He staggered and fell flat on his face while the other five vanished. A blue flash whistled just a metre in front, and the shattered remnants of the five flew back. The flesh, bones, and armour of the warriors were fused together in a sickening mass of material that littered the top of the ramped area.

“Stay back!” shouted Xenophon.

It was too late. The entire squad had taken the full brunt of the gunfire. He connected to the other squads via his communication node and did his best to sound calm and collected while keeping his eyes away from the ruined men and women.

“Dekarchoi, report in!”

As the reports came in throughout the Median ship, he could quickly see that only half of the spatharii that boarded Sraosha were anywhere near the command deck. Glaucon leaned around the corner from the ramp to check in the direction of the deck and quickly ducked back.

“You are not going to believe this,” he said with a forced laugh.

Artemas and Tamara moved around him, both with the firearms at the ready. Artemas went to look around the corner, but Glaucon dragged her back.

“No, they have a combat drone out there. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen.”

A flash of blue burned a hole the size of a man’s head in the bulkhead nearby, forcing them to relocate back down the curved ramp. It was followed by the heavy thump of footsteps.

“It’s coming after us,” Tamara said from a hidden position behind a shattered statue. She leapt down to join them just as another blast of heavy gunfire smashed her previous position. Tamara hit the ground, rolled over, and then landed clumsily on her feet.

“It’s big!” she said in a high-pitched voice.

Glaucon laughed.

“Really?”

Xenophon checked his weapons; the others did the same. All were equipped with various pulse weapons, but none carried anything heavier than Glaucon’s pulse cannon.

“What’s the plan?” he asked.

Xenophon tilted his head and indicated back along the route they had entered from.

“The junction, one floor down. Remember the small rooms on each side?”

Glaucon nodded, even as the sounds of the footsteps increased. Xenophon raced off, and the others chased him.

“We lead it there and trap it!”

They increased their pace and crashed headlong into a new unit of spatharii that were working their way around. The leader pushed pass, heading in the direction Xenophon had just left.

“Don’t even think about it,” he said firmly.

The man must have recognised Xenophon because he actually stopped and considered what to do. This was unusual for the spatharii; as they were loathe to following the orders or even suggestions of officers from other units.

“Why not?”

A groaning roar from the machine answered his question. The metal beast moved into view just as the entire group of Terrans fell back. Only Glaucon remained for the briefest of moments as he fired a short burst from the pulse cannon that served only to annoy it further.

“All units, move in on the command deck, now!” said Xenophon over his communication node.

They moved at a running pace, finally reaching the hexagonal junction with the ramps at each end and small rooms positioned around it.

“This place?” asked Tamara.

Her tone wasn’t particularly confident, but Xenophon had no other immediate ideas.

“Yes, we need to get it to move into that room.”

Glaucon booted the door open and looked inside. It was a barrack room of sorts, with bunks for fifty or more automatons. It was unlit and only three metres in height form floor to ceiling.

“We need bait,” he said.

Artemas stepped inside with Roxana.

“We can draw it in. What’s the plan after that?”

Xenophon smiled as confidently as he could and lifted the old weapon of Clearchus up to show her.

“When it gets inside the doorway, we’ll hit it from the rear. Close combat weapons, grenades, and plasma charges should do the trick.”

Tamara looked at the frame and then to Xenophon.

“It will barely fit. What if you’re too late? We’ll be stuck inside with nothing that can hurt it.”

Xenophon pulled out a charge from his thigh pack and activated a thermal charge. Glaucon did the same.

“Trust me,” said Xenophon.

The leader of the other Terrans checked their weapons and indicated for his unit to spread out.

“What about us?”

Xenophon looked back at the ramp that led to another floor beneath them. The machine would be coming from the opposite direction, and the sound had already returned.

“Take your brothers to the next level and wait for the first explosion. Then get here fast. Understood?”

The Terran nodded and called out to his comrades. Xenophon opened his mouth to speak, but then spotted the foot of the machine. He jumped back and entered the room directly opposite to where Artemas and Roxana were positioned. Glaucon didn’t even see him move, and Tamara had to jump out and yank his arm to pull him away. It was a close run thing, but by the time the machine emerged from the ramp and onto the junction, there were only two visible to its sensors.

“Kill it!” screamed Artemas.

Both women opened fired and struck the machine with a hundred pulse rounds. Small holes and dents appeared all over its dull torso, but nothing major was damaged. They could now see the thing was twice the mass of a man and equipped with plated shield sections on its limbs and chest to guard against gunfire. Its arms stopped at the elbows. It carried large cannons in their place.

“Run!” cried out Roxana.

Xenophon watched from the other side as Artemas and Roxana hurled them themselves into the room. A double blast of blue energy crashed about them. One shot entered the room, the other ripping open the wall near the doorway and greatly increasing the size of the hole.

“Dekarchos Xenophon, we are on the command deck,” said one of the many junior officers that had led small groups through the ship.

“Take her!” was all he had time for before hurling himself out from his hiding place.

Tamara was faster though and leapt at the back of the machine, her pistol firing and stiletto thin knife stabbing at the weakly armoured rear of the combat drone. Xenophon and Glaucon arrived simultaneously, but it was already turning around. They both opened fire and managed to disable the left arm as it spun about.

“The charge!” said Glaucon.

Xenophon looked to his hand to find it had vanished. The machine was now presenting its flank to them and moving its other functioning arm to fire its devastating weapon.

What have I done?

The charge was the only realistic way the Terrans had determined to take on and destroy their armoured foes, following detailed debriefings immediately after Cunaxa. He almost broke down in disappointment when he spotted Tamara duck under the machines neck and slam a small device to its torso.

“Go, go, go!” she screamed.

Xenophon had no idea what she’d done but didn’t wait to find out. He hurled himself to the left, and the other two moved in the opposite direction. The blast was short and dull but still shook the flooring around them. By the time they were back on their feet, the other Terrans had arrived and poked at the fallen machine with their pulse rifles.

“Good work, Dekarchos,” said the temporary leader.

Xenophon shook his head.

“No, it was her.”

He pointed to Tamara. She gave an exaggerated bow in front of them.

“Good work, little lady.”

That instantly wiped the smile from her face. She moved closer to the man and brought the blade up in front of his face. He looked a little confused but said no more, instead waited as she slid it back into its sheath. Glaucon stepped next to her, turning his head towards Xenophon.

“What now?”

His friend was already at the shattered doorway and climbing past the wreckage of the machine. Roxana lifted herself up from one of the myriad of beds, but there was no sign of Artemas. His heart rate quickened, and he began to panic. His eyes scanned the ground, but it was the almost indistinguishable sound from his side that caught his attention. She was on him before he could turn, and he found himself losing his balance. He stumbled, and then Artemas appeared in front of him with her arms out and holding him up. She leaned in and kissed him on the lips in front of the entire group of Terrans, and then leaned back to look at him.

“Thank you, your timing was almost perfect.”

Tamara laughed at her insult, but Xenophon found he could barely speak. The adrenalin pounded through his body like an illegal drug, and no words came out.

“Speechless, huh?” muttered Glaucon.

He stepped to the doorway and looked in at his friend.

“It’s about time somebody learnt how to keep him quiet.”

Xenophon looked into the tight fitting helm that Artemas wore. Like the equipment used by the Terrans, it protected the top of the head, eyes, nose, and cheeks but left the mouth exposed. Many had pushed for changes in the past but had reached no further than the sealed envirosuits that could be worn underneath. The Terrans were very proud of their military heritage and designs, such as the classic Corinthian helm that were a mark of distinction and prowess in the Legion.

This isn’t over, not by a long shot.

He tore his eyes from her, much that he didn’t want to, and also partially because of the Terrans waiting patiently for him. He even forgot for a moment that he was deep inside the flagship of the Medes fleet. Xenophon had spent so much time on foreign vessels now that he was finding it normal to be on ships he barely recognised. The sound of gunfire still echoed through the innards of the massive vessel, and he knew he needed to finish what he had started.

But I need information first.

“This is Xenophon. What is the status of the fight?” he asked over the wide band communications channel. The voice of Dukas Xenias returned in seconds.

“Xenophon, good to hear you. There were rumours you’d met your end at the hands of a machine.”

“Almost. We have warriors throughout the ship.”

“Good work. The fighting is getting more and more confused. Every one of our ships is engaged in boarding actions on the Leleges ships. The Medes are sending in their reserve to help their comrades, but Ariaeus has pulled back his ships and is only fighting if we get too close. This is turning into a land battle in space.”

Xenophon smiled at the news. There was no love between Ariaeus and Tissaphernes; that much was clear to them all. It also created the spark for several new plans, depending on their circumstances.

“That is good news, Dukas. I recommend you continue pressure on the Leleges. Will we beat them?”

This time there was a much longer pause.

“Xenophon, unless Ariaeus offers them meaningful assistance, we will definitely beat them, and within the next two hours. What’s his plan?”

Xenophon shrugged.

“I suspect he had plans just as complex as those of Tissaphernes. Keep them apart, and we have a chance.”

“Understood. There’s something else though. We’ve taken prisoners on the other ships. Tissaphernes isn’t here. The fleet is commanded by his nephew, a warrior called Darbabad Qahreman, and he is on your damned ship. I don’t like it. Where the hell is he?”

“Tissaphernes’ nephew commands?”

Artemas heard Xenophon say the last words and it piqued her interest. She stepped closer to him and whispered.

“Which one?”

Xenophon looked to her and spoke quietly without really knowing why.

“Darbabad Qahreman.”

Artemas shrugged at this news.

“I’ve never met him. The name means Admiral in your language though. He may not be Tissaphernes, but he will be an experienced commander, and if the Satrap is not here, he will be more willing to exercise his command.”

Xenophon relayed the information to Xenias while the others checked their gear, and Tamara examined the fallen machine. Even as he spoke, Xenophon could see the young woman trying to prise the undamaged weapon from the drone’s body. He shook his head in a mixture of annoyance and amusement.

“Xenophon. Take that ship and help me finish this fight,” were the Dukas’ final words.

“We will do our best, Dukas.”

Glaucon rubbed his chin and then looked to Xenophon as if an idea had only just occurred to him. The look on his friend’s face was one he’d seen a hundred times before, often just before that had a major argument or fight of some kind. He tensed waiting for whatever was to come.

“Wait a minute. We boarded this ship to eliminate Tissaphernes, the bastard that turned on us and killed our commanders. If he isn’t here, then what the hell are we doing?”

Xenophon looked further into the ship before answering in a soft tone.

“Look, I thought this was his ship, and it is still the fleet’s flagship. The plan remains the same. We take this ship and use it against them.”

He spotted shadows ahead and lifted his weapon, but the crests were Terran. His pulse slowed almost immediately. He looked to his friends.

“We need to get back to the command deck and fast. Ariaeus is holding back and has given us a window, either deliberately or by accident. Either way we have to act.”

“Okay, let’s do this then,” said Roxana.

Xenophon looked to the others, especially Artemas.

“Are you ready?”

She nodded quickly.

“Let’s not spend a minute longer here than we have to.”

Their small group returned to the winding ramp that they had recently retreated down. To their surprise, they came across the bodies of three Terrans that must have found another way in. All had been cut down by the brutal power of the machine. Tamara bent down, checking them as they passed by.

“What if they have more?”

Xenophon said nothing at first but had been thinking exactly the same thing. He only hoped the commander of the ship kept one of those machines as something like an insurance policy. If there were more of them, then the battle for the command deck would end up as something very different. They finally reached the top of the ramp and the scene of the bloody gunfire that had stopped them, the last time. Unlike the previous attempt, all stopped and waited at the top.

“Right, when we get through the arch, we will be inside the command deck. Remember the Elamites. There will be lots of open space, computer systems, and large numbers of automatons.”

“Guards?” asked one of the spatharii that stayed with them.

“No idea.”

Xenophon connected to the other combat units on the ship and was disappointed to see only two others had made it this far. He gave them a countdown and then looked to his own group.

“Only two units have made it up here. That’s less than thirty in total.”

He sounded weary, perhaps worried at this news.

“Thirty, to take the entire deck?” asked Artemas with wide eyes.

Xenophon considered it for a moment. He remembered the last time they’d boarded a ship of anything like this size. Back then they were with a much larger group of Terrans, and it had proven a tough fight. Thirty warriors spread out over an area of almost a hectare. He knew it wasn’t going to be easy, but they had little choice.

“Yes, but we don’t have to take the lot. We need to cut off the head on this ship. The automatons will only fight for as long as they fear their commander.”

Tamara nodded excitedly at that.

“Yeah, we can do that.”

Xenophon checked over his team while counting down in his head. Timing would be critical, just as it had been on the lower deck. They were all well armed and armoured, and two of the additional spatharii carried looted pulse cannons from fallen Median soldiers.

“How is the shield unit?”

Glaucon nodded to the short but stout looking Arcadian. The Terran carried the heavy unit on his back and the control unit on his left arm. He held nothing more than a pulse pistol in his right.

“Well?” repeated Xenophon.

The man tapped a button, and the flicker of the shield sent a crisp ionised crackling through the open space before settling down. It was one of the larger units taken from a fallen breaching squad and created an angled field of three metres in both height and width.

“We get through the archway and then move like an armoured train.”

He pointed to the man with the generator unit.

“You will stay at the front with the shield. Understood?”

They all acknowledged his plan. There was now nothing to do but wait another twenty seconds for the other units to move into position. It felt a great deal longer but finally he reached the agreed time. Glaucon and Artemas watched him carefully, both with weapons ready.

“Now!”

The man with the shield moved out first and covered ten metres before the others caught up with him. His strong legs pushed him on even when the first volleys of gunfire smashed into the shield. The rest of the unit chased behind, all of them making sure they stayed well inside the protective arc of the shield unit. Xenophon could see the groups of automatons formed up in a double line ahead of them. Their guns were aimed at them. The gunfire was incredible, the shield humming and vibrating with each blast. He was right behind the generator backpack, and the heat increased with every shot.

“Spread out!” said Xenophon.

As they had drilled so many times in the past, they split up; with two groups moving left and right into the cover offered by the columns, pillars, computers, and statues on each side of the ship. The third group, including Xenophon and Artemas, remained in the middle with the shield. Glaucon took the left team and brought the two Terrans with similar weapons with him. They returned fire and in seconds, the open deck was filled with bolts of energy as both sides blasted away. It was the clattering of the pulse cannons that made the greatest noise. Between them, they felled seven of the automatons before they broke and ran for cover.

“It’s clear!” he called to Xenophon.

“Push on!” he replied.

Both flanks moved on, and Xenophon helped the Terran with the shield as they moved further onto the command deck. As they cleared the ramp and arched entrance, the deck widened until it was almost fifteen metres in width. His first impression was it looked like the top deck of an ancient trireme of the kind that ploughed the oceans of the past, flat topped, and crewed by hundreds. There were additional platforms and balconies up to fifty metres up in every direction, with barrier-less gantries joining them together. A shot glanced down and over the shield to strike his chest. Luckily, the angle worked against the attack, and the pulse round bounced and hit the ground.

“Close!” Artemas said grimly.

He looked back at her and raised his eyebrows questioningly.

“Where is the commander? This nephew of Tissaphernes.”

Artemas shrugged, and for a moment, Xenophon felt a sense of numbness in his body. More Terrans had now broken through, but it was nothing like the overwhelming assault on the lower decks that had proven such a successful diversion. They had some degree of surprise, but it wouldn’t last. His friends were now spread out as they spurred on the other Terrans in a wild gunfight against ten times as many automatons.

We have to end this, and fast!

The battle broke up into a series of images, each one more violent and shorter than the last. A pair of Terrans dragged a wounded comrade to safety behind a statue before being cut down by a Median officer carrying a pulse carbine. He in turn was almost cut in half by pulse cannon fire from Glaucon. On the other side, Tamara and four Terrans armed with pistols and kopis blades had broken out into a large crew section. They were busy butchering any and every automaton and Medes they could find. Xenophon fired at any targets that appeared, but there was still no sign of the illusive commander. A double-width blast door slid open, and a dozen Medes rushed in; each of these armed with carbines and medium armour plating. Their gunfire pinned down Glaucon’s team, and just as quickly the battle bogged down.

“Watch out!” yelled somebody.

Xenophon didn’t even know who was speaking, but four Median soldiers landed behind the shield and brought down cruel looking axes upon them. Xenophon had never seen these weapons in their hands before, and they swung them with surprising speed and dexterity. Xenophon was no monster in battle, but he was fast and almost as agile as Artemas. He parried the first strike with Clearchus’ weapon and then discharged a round into the face of his attacker. The nameless Terran carrying the shield generator took an impact in the shoulder. The armour absorbed most of the blow, but the impact still rendered his arm useless and forced him to his knees. Xenophon dodged another blow, but this time missed with his return fire.

This is starting to fall apart.

More gunfire came down from the scattering of Median soldiers on the higher levels and onto the open command deck, hitting Terrans and automatons alike. Several were struck before they were able to scramble behind cover. A loud, booming voice roared down like an ancient god, but in a language meaning nothing to anybody but Artemas and the other Medes. As it continued, she grabbed the soldier trying to lock Xenophon’s arm, snapped his neck, and hurled his body to the ground.

“It is Darbabad Qahreman. He is calling all of his warriors to aid in his defence.”

Two more Medes leapt in, and Tamara rushed from cover to knock them both to the ground. She straddled the one and stabbed him repeatedly in every gap in his armour she could find.

“Where is he?” asked Xenophon.

His voice was desperate, almost pleading.

Artemas listened to a few more words and then looked up at the raised platforms, gantries, and walkways. She stopped at one point and smiled while lifting her arm to point.

“There, six floors up on that balcony.”

Xenophon looked up quickly and strained his eyes. Further up inside the ship, the ceiling narrowed to the reverse side of a cylindrical observation window. It looked up into the levels of the gunnery decks and along a series of black granite pillars. A shape moved, and then he saw the form of a heavily armoured leader, resplendent in a tall helm and flowing cloak.

“We have him,” he said quietly, and a smile appeared on his face.

CHAPTER NINE

Carian Battleship ‘Boubak’, Core Worlds

Of all the ships in the Carian fleet, Boubak was the oldest. There were rumours at some of the Median shipyards that this particular ship was the oldest Elamite still operational in the entire fleet. If that were true, it would make her over four hundred years old, a feat that even the fleet’s commander, Darbabad Forouzandeh thought unlikely. The gun ports and fighters’ hangars were all sealed shut behind reinforced plating, giving the warship a sleek and agile look. The symbols and markings running along the flanks of the ship were written in jet black in the symbols of the Ancient Medes. Burn and friction markings covered her hull from a thousand voyages and battles.

“We have arrived!” said the Sarvan.

As he said the words, the large formation of Carian ships transferred their power to the dampeners and stabilisers, and they dropped out of light-speed. Without the incredible advances in ship design and engineering, it would have taken months for such deceleration. The old ship groaned at the immense strains placed on her with the rapid deceleration, but her engineers had built her well. In just a few seconds, the ship had effectively halted in space at the pre-selected coordinates.

“We are at the rendezvous point?” asked Darbabad Forouzandeh.

The Sarvan bowed in affirmation.

“Yes, Darbabad. We are within the boundaries of our objectives.”

“Good work, Sarvan.”

Like her ship, Darbabad Forouzandeh was of a certain age and pedigree that demanded even greater respect within the fleet. Most Darbabads were relatively young, a consequence of the brutal chain of command in the Medes naval fleets. Darbabad Forouzandeh had survived countless battles, encounters with violent officers, as well as the many political purges instigated by Tissaphernes. She was a mature Median noblewoman with more than eighty years of age to her name. Though old by Terran standards, this was only half of a Median noble’s lifespan in this part of the Empire. Forouzandeh was tall, elegant, and well spoken. Her crew respected her in ways no other ship commanders were. Although Forouzandeh was strict, she was also known to be extremely fair and even-handed. If the crew did as ordered, they could expect to be treated well. Disobedience, insurrection, and poor performance were all dealt with harshly, as one might expect in a professional naval unit.

“I would a full deck-by-deck report. All stations are to report in.”

The command deck of the ship was a hive of activity as the crew moved about. Their uniforms were colourful, especially when compared to the smart Imperial Navy uniform, tall black boots, and black gloves that she had been granted during her long career in the Imperial Navy many years earlier. As she watched them move about, she noticed one of the crew glanced at her before turning away to continue with his duties.

What is it?

All Median commanders had a duty to be paranoid, both for their own safety and for that of the ship. That one look reminded her of her past life, one where she had been expected to reach high positions, perhaps even fleet command in the Imperial fleet. Instead, she was a mere Darbabad in command of the old Elamite in the provincial Carian fleet of Tissaphernes. She sighed quietly so that no one might hear her dissatisfaction. She had no love for her Satrap, but at least she had escaped the purges following the debacle in the Ionian territories that almost destroyed her Imperial task force.

I won’t let that happen again, never.

All it took was a nod, and four Carian security guards moved from the shadows and approached the automaton that had attracted her attention. They moved like shadows, and as quickly as they moved to the deck, they were gone, along with their target. It might have been nothing, but Darbabad Forouzandeh was not taking chances. As she turned, a flicker of light caught her eye. It was nothing but her reflection, the movement of her long white hair that stopped her. It ran down past her shoulders and was as light as a feather. It moved like a low cloud before settling back on her shoulders. She was hardly young, but her hair, face, and figure suggested otherwise. This was what the peak of Median physical and genetic manipulation could do.

“Prepare for battle. Lord Tissaphernes may need immediate assistance.”

Her ship was filled with automatons, much like the other Median ships, and they continued to prepare the ship for battle. With the engines powered down, it was now possible to redirect the massive amounts of energy to the shield generators and capacitors. The generators ran off the main engines and could maintain shielding for some time, yet a single heavy hit could deplete them faster than they could be recovered. The capacitors were a way of temporarily storing several seconds worth of energy to pump into the shield in an emergency. Every extra second they had before battle was a second’s more energy in the capacitors.

For every group of automatons doing their jobs on the ship, there was a single Carian to watch over them. This was something rarely found in any of the Median ships, yet Darbabad Forouzandeh was a firm believer in maintaining a large cadre of pureblood Carians to ensure stability and discipline on her ship. Only those born to Carian families naturally could ever be considered part of the caste, and it meant that at least ten percent of the ship’s company were guaranteed to be loyal and completely trustworthy. An automaton was no match for a true-blooded Carian noble. The Carians were also all armed and armoured, unlike the automatons. This was both a deterrent and also gave her a powerful core of warriors in case of infantry combat.

Nothing can stop Boubak, thought Darbabad Forouzandeh as she looked at them.

Unlike most of the Median ships, this one contained a command deck closer in shape and size to a Terran ship. In the past, several of her commanders had tried to modify the internal configuration to match the more modern design, but she demanded the interior walls and stations were reinstalled to match the Laconian inspired interior. Few officers in any fleet could expect to be given such leeway, but although Forouzandeh had a black mark against her name, she was still known as one of the greatest ship commanders in any fleet in the Empire. This level of recognition granted her a degree of autonomy unmatched in the Empire. The change in the ship’s internal configuration meant it required less crew due to the automation, but this did place greater demands on the skill of the crew; another reason for the larger numbers of Carian officers on board.

“Get me a full tactical assessment.”

She then looked to her communications officer, a young Carian male, almost a boy in his looks. His left cheek was marked in a long black shape that ran down under his collar. It was the mark of one of the engineering families of Caria, a trade that demanded all offspring to follow in the same tradition.

Another wave of ships appeared right behind them and formed up into a tight formation. These were smaller than the Elamites but still almost double the size of the light cruisers that had first arrived to attack the Terran ship. As with Boubak, these ships also carried the black glyphs of Caria, giving them a unique look compared to those ships already engaged in battle at Larissa.

Seconds after their arrival, the gun ports on their flanks slid open and weapon turrets pushed out to expose their weapon systems to the elements. Even before the gunports opened, every single ship in the fleet was already scanning space via their targeting computers. In seconds, Tissaphernes’ ship, the scouts, and the Terran ship had all been flagged and thoroughly assessed. Satisfied that her wave of vessels was sufficiently prepared for whatever might occur, Darbabad Forouzandeh gave the order she had been dreading.

“Make contact with Lord Tissaphernes. Inform him of our dispositions and our battle readiness.”

“Yes, Darbabad,” answered the communications officer.

Darbabad Forouzandeh moved to her command position and looked at the bank of screens that mimicked a section of the VOB system used by the Terrans. It was raised half a metre above the rest of the deck and only visible to her and half a dozen of her senior officers. As with all other Median ships, the rest of the crew were kept contained and shown no more information than was necessary for the operation of their particular parts of the ship. As she waited, the image from the bow vanished to be replaced by the dour looking Tissaphernes.

“My Lord,” she said with the bare minimum of sincerity.

“Darbabad Forouzandeh. What are you doing here? My orders were for you to wait with the rest of our ships.”

Forouzandeh felt a shudder of fear running up her spine as she realised something was wrong. There was no possibility of making mistakes in the fleet of this Satrap, however. Rather than tell the truth, she simply smiled and nodded.

“Yes, my Lord. The rest of our ships remain, awaiting your orders.”

“Well? Explain yourself,” he said, his tone becoming more agitated.

“I received information from scouts at Larissa that enemy agents were planning on isolating your ship and taking you captive.”

Tissaphernes moved back a short distance, his brow creased as he considered her answer. His lip quivered, and she began to doubt he would accept this new information.

“Very well, you did the right thing. Send over the details to my command. We will deal with this appropriately.”

A Terran officer might feel guilty, but not Forouzandeh. Her quick thinking had just saved her skin, at least for another day.

Now all I need to do is to find out who sent that fake communication from the Satrap.

Even as she thought that, a terrible idea came to her. She looked at Tissaphernes, but his expression remained the same.

Surely not, could he have sent it as a test of loyalty?

“Darbabad,” he said with a slight change in the pitch of his voice.

“Prepare three boarding parties. I want this Terran ship secured and fast. I have a battle to fight, and I need their commander captured and interrogated within the hour.”

“Understood, my Lord.”

*

Terran Titan ‘Valediction’, Larissa System, Core Worlds

The great Titan shuddered as streaks of gunfire raked her bow. Several damaged sections along the one flank marked where an enemy cruiser had managed to punch through the shields long enough to bombard the breach with plasma charges. On any other ship, the damage would have been terminal, but on a Titan it was nothing more than a flesh wound. The casualties were just a few dozen, and most had survived the bombardments and were now being attended to in the ship’s cavernous medical bays.

The remaining ships of the Zacynthian fleet had formed up into a short line to protect their remaining battleship. Most of the fire was coming from the plasma projectiles, but they could do no more than knock down the shield for just a few seconds before the engines boosted their power capacity momentarily.

“Get the assault parties ready!” growled Chirisophus.

“Strategos,” said Jeane Coxand.

He looked to the tactical officer and did his best to hide his smile. He had been initially concerned that the ship’s company might not have accepted him as their Strategos. Instead, perhaps due to this battle, they had done so without even a moment’s discussion. As the next most senior Laconian in the fleet, there was not one among them that would question his right to command in the middle of battle.

That’s the difference between us, and them.

He looked to the ships that were trying their best to escape. The few Zacynthian ships still offering resistance drew in nothing but scorn from him. He had little respect for any of the other Terrans, but there were few lower in his opinion than those that would fight against their own. The irony of his thinking was completely lost on him, however. As he busied himself, he knew deep down that when the fighting was over, the internal struggle for command of both the Laconians and the Legion would proceed to the next stage. He had little doubt that victory would be an issue on board Valediction, but the others prized themselves on their own political ideals, and a situation that had no interest to him at all.

Those damned Boeotians and their confederacy, what idiots. They are nothing compared to the Atticans and their foolish dreams of a utopian mob rule. Look where that got them!

The Boeotians were unique in that they had managed to create a peaceful and powerful realm comprised of dozens of autonomous Terran states. They each considered themselves equals, an idea that amused Chirisophus perhaps more than any other. They had been allies of Laconian in the past, and no doubt that would continue into the future provided one thing remained the same, their enmity towards Attica, their ancient rival. Both sides had fought for centuries over the border worlds that lay between them, especially those of Phocis and Plataea.

The fools!

The thought of the democratic idealists drew a laugh from him that surprised the other officers on the deck. He waved them on, to continue the battle while he recalled the last days of Attica, prior to their defeat and occupation by Laconia.

Good days, indeed. And after my victory, this entire fleet will remember that a Laconian is the only real choice for survival…and victory!

It was strange, but these thoughts of old victories had completely distracted him from the momentous events occurring right under his nose. His smiling was halted by the report from Jeane Coxand, one that it seemed he had repeated now three times. The Kentarchos waited patiently alongside him.

“Strategos?” asked Kentarchos Broge Monsimm.

Chirisophus scowled, not liking the look he was receiving. The mere audacity of these officers suggesting he hadn’t been paying attention angered him more than the enemy he was supposed to be fighting. Two more officers overheard him before he forced himself to calm down.

“Report.”

Kentarchos Monsimm spoke first.

“Strategos, we are in the middle of the enemy formation, but we are taking damage.”

Jeane Coxand nodded smartly in agreement.

“We have breaches along the dorsal sections. The battleship is focussing fire on the damaged sections as we move past them.”

He looked at the VOB unit and quickly realised what had happened. Although the ship’s officers had full controls over their individual stations, he had no interest in yielding tactical control of the battle to anybody but himself. He had trusted the Titan to get them into the middle of the enemy vessels unscathed, yet even his Titan seemed to be letting him down. He shook his head angrily.

“Why must I do everything myself?”

He stormed over to the tactical officer’s station and pointed to an area of space slightly ahead of their ship. Jeane Coxand waited alongside him, waiting for the next barrage of complaints.

“Rotate and continue forward. Present our underside to them, but do not stop firing! You should be able to do this without my intervention.”

He used his hands to move a targeting grid along the flank of the enemy battleship. Even as he selected area, there were puffs of light as the flank mounted gun batteries continued to pound the Titan. Finally, he found the point he was looking for, the joint between the after section of the ship and the rearmost weapons battery. The mixture of his anger and new orders placated them, for now anyway, but it was also clear to them all that their new commander had plunged the Laconian division of the fleet into a dangerous position. The Zacynthian ships had now spread out, and although there was little chance of them claiming any degree of victory, they still had a very good chance of causing significant damage to the Titan and its escorts.

“Send the order to all Laconian ships to select this point as the primary target. They will fire heavy cutters on my command.”

Jeane Coxand nodded sharply and then sat back down at his console.

“Yes, Strategos.”

The Laconian wing was modest in size, but with the Titan leading the charge there was little the pitiful section of Zacynthian cruisers could do to stop them. Those that were able had already tried to reach the nav beacon and then jump out, but most were too heavily damaged to escape, and Chirisophus’ bloodlust was up. One cruiser had even tried to jump in the middle of the fight. As its engines powered up, their shields had dropped and a single volley cut through the armour, detonating the engines. The destruction of that ship had discouraged any others to join them.

Jeane Coxand sent the signal to the rest of the Laconian ships. In less than three minutes, they arrayed themselves ready for Chirisophus’ final manoeuvre. One by one the ships locked onto the battleship and powered up their weapons. Return fire struck the Laconians but caused only minor damage.

“They think they still have a chance,” he muttered quietly to himself.

The Laconian ships were now completely surrounded, yet every single one of them had their primary weapons trained onto just one of the Zacynthian ships. As the lights flashed green to indicate a target lock, Chirisophus lifted his hands up high in a dramatic gesture.

“These Zacynthians will pay for their betrayal!”

There was no response from the crew though, and that annoyed him far more than he would have expected. The Laconians were warriors, every one of them, and none would balk at death on the battlefield, but the cries and excitement coming from their new Strategos was at odds with their ethos. Thessalians or Arcadians might give themselves up to their urges in battle, but not these stoic warriors. Personal pride, ambition, and heroism came second to the military needs of the Legion. Chirisophus knew this, yet he was unable to understand what was happening.

“Strategos, an urgent message is coming in from Dukas Xenias,” said the auletes.

The mere thought of the Arcadian Dukas sent a pang of bitterness through his body.

That old fool. I have a battle, nay, a war to win!

Unlike Xenias, Strategos Chirisophus had taken his title as a given in the midst of the battle, and expected the rest of the Legion to follow his lead. Instead, only the Laconians had accepted his self-appointed position of Strategos. It was much worse than that though, especially to a Laconian’s ears. Not only had two thirds of the fleet sided with Xenias and his allies, but they had chosen to let an Arcadian Dukas lead, without even granting him the coveted Strategos. It was madness to him, and a decision that could cost many Terran lives.

It will be that damned Attican.

The more thought he gave to Xenias, the more he decided it was almost entirely due to the fact that Xenophon had allied himself with the old man. He could think of no other reason why so many of the Legion would choose him over a noble Laconian with a proven track record and the faith of Clearchus. It had to be down to the upstart junior officer that had seen the Strategos die.

All of this because he was in the right place at the right time.

He wanted to ignore the man, but the fight couldn’t be won just by his smaller contingent, certainly not before the others took heavy casualties. There was a part of him happy to see his competitor suffer, but that would also mean letting the thousands of other Terrans suffer too. There were small numbers of Laconians in the other units as well as old allies of his countrymen.

“Put him on the main screen.”

The face of the Dukas and Komes Sosis appeared right before him. The sight of the two together made him immediately suspicious. He assumed the Komes was now in league with Xenias and his Arcadians. It was a move that surprised him.

“I see you’ve found a new ship, Xenias. And Komes Sosis, always nice to see you.”

The mention of the other man’s title dripped with bitterness that only a fool would not hear. Xenias shook his head in irritation at the game. It mattered not a jot to him whether Sosis was a Komes, Dukas, or any other title right now.

“Chirisophus. This is turning into two separate battles; you of all people should know the dangers of splitting our forces. The Zacynthian ships are a diversion, nothing more. The bulk of their fleet is facing the entire Legion while you pursue one ship.”

That was a jibe, though Chirisophus couldn’t quite place the reference. He ignored everything Xenias had said after the mention of splitting the fleet.

What does he mean?

There was the glorious death at the Hot Gates where the Laconians and their allies, under the command of the Hero-King, Strategos Leonidas, but that was due to betrayal, not because they had split their forces. He thought back to the same period but could think of nothing more than the massive combined battles of Plataea, but even that affair had been down to confusion between the Atticans and the Laconians, and they had still been victorious over the Medes and their Terran mercenaries.

Ah, so he implies I am creating a problem such as Plataea. The idiot, he needs to learn his history a little better.

Chirisophus shook his head and then looked genuinely confused.

“You must be mistaken, Xenias. I have no idea what you are talking about.”

Xenias hissed in response, but Chirisophus continued to speak, drowning out the Arcadian in a barrage of words.

“Throughout this skirmish I have shown leadership at a time where we needed it most. Our numbers are finite, and we must fight and die as one. We must strike as a spearhead, directly into the heart of the enemy, quickly, powerfully, and decisively. Just as Clearchus would have done.”

Xenias lifted his hand to persuade him to stop.

“No, we do not have time for your ego and Laconian pride. The rest of the Legion has pinned the primary Median fleet. Their Carian warships are heavily engaged and troops are fighting boarding action on more than twenty of them.”

“So?” he replied.

Xenias raised an eyebrow at his question.

“A number of their ships are trying to move to the nav beacons to jump out. I need you to return to the fight and close the trap around them before they can escape. If we are to get home, we will need to demonstrate that any frontal assault on the Legion will result in failure.”

Chirisophus snorted in derision.

“If you had come with me, this fight would already be over. You split the fleet, and now you will face the consequences of your actions…Dukas.”

He looked to his officers on his own deck and considered the request. Kentarchos Broge Monsimm, the Titan’s commander, continued to manage the ship as they ploughed through the thin defensive screen of cruisers and moved in at point-blank range with the battleship. Chirisophus had almost forgotten about the attack he had planned. He looked back at the Dukas and smiled.

“One moment, Dukas, let me deal with this.”

He then turned his back on the Dukas, even as he started to speak. It was a great insult to any Terran, but to do it directly in the face of a chosen Dukas was tantamount to a physical attack.

“All ships, open fire.”

The order was calm and matter-of-fact, but the response was far from calm. A dozen voices repeated the order down from the Kybernetes and then to the tactical officer. The junior officers in control of their various batteries and gun stations then moved the orders down to the gunners. The response was devastating, and Chirisophus loved every minute of it.

Gods show them no mercy.

The heavy cutters were the most powerful weapons used by the Terrans. Though not immediately as deadly as plasma weapons, they were faster and applied continuous damage against their targets. With there being multiple breaches on the damaged battleship, it was easy for the cutters to work their way into the hull. The guns were already fully charged, and the initial volley struck the designated target like a raging torrent.

“By the Gods, this is beautiful!” he cried out without thinking.

The target area was no bigger than the size of a Terran fighter and easy to hit at this range, and with minimal changes in velocity. By the time the second cruiser had fired, the shields had already collapsed in this section. More ships opened fire as the cruisers and escorts used their main guns, and the Titan used its powerful cutters. Unlike the super-hot plasma projectiles from the other guns, the cutters were designed to burn through metal, flesh, and plastic in an instant. The outer plating tore off, and as quickly as the attack had started, the beams punched through and out through the other side of the ship.

“Beautiful,” said Chirisophus.

The beams continued to rip the ship apart until finally a series of explosions wracked its flanks. At first it looked like that was as far as the damage would go, but then one final blast vaporised half of the ship. When the blast cleared, there was nothing but three chunks of ship and an entire cloud of debris heading out in all directions.

“Strategos, sensors detect multiple escape pods launching away from us.”

Dukas Phalinus, you sly old dog.

He heard the words, but the implication didn’t get through to him for almost three full seconds. His attention was now firmly on the status of his rival and whether he might at that very moment be escaping from the heart of battle.

The shields!

He spun about and looked directly at Kentarchos Broge Monsimm who was effectively acting at his Kybernetes. The man was supposed to be a veteran commander of warships, yet he had allowed them to be positioned in such a way that they could be badly damaged by much weaker ships.

“All power to forward shields, brace for impact!” he said.

A dull throbbing sound shook the floor plates as the engines were pushed hard to pour additional energy directly into the shield generators and their capacitor reserves. It was only just in time as the first triple layering of shields was hit. As the debris struck, the thickened layers of shielding emitted a clattering sound like that of heavy rain on a tin roof. Chirisophus could barely contain his laughter, and soon after many of the other crew began to laugh at the sound. Dukas Xenias watched them and shook his head.

“What is it, Dukas?” asked Chirisophus upon seeing his rival’s face. The Laconian answered while continuing to laugh.

“It’s an old joke my friend, one that would be wasted on anybody else. We are all quite used to fighting under such bombardment conditions.”

He looked to his crew, and more laughed, especially enjoying the irritation of Xenias.

“Terrans are dying while you laugh. We have work to do.”

Xenias moved away from the screen. A junior officer replaced him.

“Indeed we do, old friend,” said Chirisophus in a quiet tone.

The word friend dripped in venom, and not one man or woman on his command deck would think for a moment they were any less than archrivals, perhaps even enemies. He turned from the screen and back to his own predicament. The Laconian ships were now in amongst the surviving Zacynthian ships. He wiped his jaw with his left hand as he watched a group trying to break formation. It was all too little, too late, however.

“Strategos, there are urgent requests for assistance from the rest of the Legion,” said his auletes.

Chirisophus turned about and looked back along the command deck. The VOB system gave him a clear view behind his own vessel and back towards the even larger battle that was taking place there. There were scores of Median ships moving about, as Terran ships tried to keep them pinned into position. The battle was more a massive space based melee, with the fights now consisting of just two or three ships at a time. Another volley of shots struck them, and he turned his eyes back to the Zacynthian vessels that had managed to make for a break in their line. It was a small group, but with all their power presumably going to their rear shields and engines were making remarkable progress.

“Forget Xenias. He can deal with his own problems.”

Kentarchos Broge Monsimm pulled his head back in surprise.

“Strategos, what about the rest of the Legion? Our tactical situation is critical. Ariaeus and his own forces have not yet entered battle. If we do not move back to assist Xenias, the Medes may choose to…”

This was too much for Chirisophus. He brought his fist down on the nearest computer display and managed to shatter part of the metal framing. A large crack ran from the right-hand side and along the screen before it flashed and then cut out completely.

“No, that is enough. We will finish off this last group of Terran scum, and then we will see if our great friend Xenias still needs help.”

Broge Monsimm looked to the other officers on the deck. The mood had shifted from that of cool, calm professionalism to one that bordered on insurrection. The battle with the Zacynthians had turned into something more resembling a turkey shoot, while Xenias and the Legion were busy fighting a massive action both in space and in hand-to-hand.

“Strategos, should we not be fighting our true enemy, the Medes?” asked Jeane Coxand.

Chirisophus spun about and smashed his armoured fist into the tactical officer. The blow was powerful and sent a spurt of blood and two teeth flying from his mouth. The violence of the attack stunned the other officers on the deck, and instead of managing the battle; they all turned their attention to the drama unfolding in the heart of their own ship. Chirisophus dropped to the ground with a knee across the young Terran’s throat.

“I am your commander, Dukas of Laconia and Strategos for this fleet.”

A click to his right made him instinctively look up. Facing off against him was Broge Monsimm with a pulse pistol placed just a few centimetres from his own temple.

“Monsimm, put that weapon down. This is treason.”

The Kentarchos shook his head and then pushed the weapon up to the metal plating on the helm of the Strategos. Even with the thick, slightly curved plates, the helmet would be next to useless at this range.

“No, Chirisophus. You are a Komes that has risked our own ships and that of the Legion. You are not thinking straight. The Legion comes first.”

He turned and looked to the rest of the crew.

“I relieve the Komes of his position as Strategos. For the rest of this fight we will operate under the command of Dukas Xenias. When this battle is over, there will be a reckoning, then and only then, will we choose our new commander.”

Chirisophus pushed himself up to face off against Broge Monsimm.

“I will not forget this, neither will my men.”

With a nod from the Kentarchos, a group of Laconian spatharii approached and moved into flanking positions around Chirisophus.

“Escort the Komes to his men. I suspect we will have need of ground troops in the next few hours of this battle.”

Chirisophus clenched his teeth, but the mood on the bridge had changed. The officers and men were all Monsimm’s, and he had no doubt they were completely loyal to him.

“If this had been a Laconian military ship, I would have your head removed from your shoulders.”

Broge Monsimm actually smiled at this.

“And that is where you are confused, old friend. This isn’t a Laconian military ship. This is a Titan of the Black Legion. If we fight as tribes, we will die alone. If you were a true-blooded Laconian you would understand this. We are only as good as the ship on our right that supports us, and you would see us cast out from the Legion, for nothing but pride.”

He looked to the guards.

“Get him off my deck!”

The Laconian commander shook them away, daring them to approach and instead stormed out of the command deck. His own men waited at the entrance and both bowed as he approached.

“Prepare our warriors. It’s time we showed these fools how real warriors fight.”

He marched off, thinking only of the Median ships that seemed to be causing so much trouble. An image formed in his mind, an image of the Median flagship and him at its heart with a Laconian blade embedded in Darbabad Qahreman’s throat. It was a minor thing, but the thought of killing the Darbabad seemed to improve his mood.

CHAPTER TEN

Terran Light Cruiser ‘Drakonis’, Core Worlds

Kentarchos Ezekiel Manus bent down and checked the pulses of the three Median soldiers. They lay together on the floor inside the command deck of the battered Terran warship. It took just a moment before he was satisfied the defenders had done their job.

“Good, they’re gone.”

Edge weapons had hit all as they’d rushed inside. It had been short, brutal, and bloody, but the Kentarchos had been adamant he wanted to avoid drawing attention to where their strength was inside the ship. He, along with his remaining officers, waited with weapons drawn as shouts and screams continued to spread through the vessel.

“Report?” he stated.

The tactical officer was now the only officer still waiting near a functioning computer terminal. Most of the other units were offline, but he had somehow kept most of his system functioning. Even as he looked at the screen, it died on him, leaving nothing but a black image.

“We’re holding, Kentarchos. They have breached us in seven places. Boarding parties are contained in the aft, and two more are coming up from the hangars.”

He turned to look to his commander.

“They have been pushed back by our security patrols. We’re holding, for now.”

Ezekiel Manus considered their situation. The ship was in trouble; of that he had no doubt. The only question was what he did now? He had a plan, but it was so risky, it made his chest hurt. Any alternative would be better, but he couldn’t think of it. Kybernetes Maxentius checked the entrance before looking back.

“Kentarchos, if we’re going to do it, we need to be fast. The port batteries only have a few more minutes remaining. Any longer, and we won’t reach the hatches.”

The Kentarchos nodded quickly. The ship had now stopped shaking from weapon impact, and that could mean only one thing.

They think we’re done, and they intend on taking my ship.

That was the final straw for him. Not that they would take the ship; the fact that once they had beaten off any opposition, they would take prisoners. The reputation of the Medes for torture and interrogation was well known on every Terran world. Worse than that would be the disgrace of his ship’s crew if they were tortured and gave away critical information on the Legion. Their homeworlds would soon learn of what happened, and it wouldn’t be forgotten, not for a long time.

“What about their own ships? Any chance in status?”

The tactical officer shook his head.

“No idea, Kentarchos. The last I saw was that one was crippled, and the other had lost some of their primary gun systems and their shields were down.”

“Open the blast shield,” he said grimly.

He didn’t hesitate and walked the short distance to where the front of the command deck stopped. The wall was normally occupied by digital projections but had become a sterile environment, marked by nothing but burns. He reached the panel on the left and hit the open button. For a second nothing happened, and then the entire wall seemed to move. It was only half of it, but in an instant the entire panel slid away to reveal the triple-paned window that looked out to the front of the ship. It was almost always closed for safety and security reasons, but with all the digital systems offline, it was the only way to look outside.

“Gods, we are in trouble!” said one of the officers without thinking.

The Kentarchos gave him a stern look and then walked to the window to look out into space. The shapes of the two Median light cruisers were easy to see at this distance, but it was the massive debris field that astounded him. The chunks of metal must have numbered in the thousand and created a trail of destruction that engulfed all three of them.

Kybernetes Maxentius moved alongside him and pulled down the helm onto his head. It was the Illyrian type of helmet, a design that could be traced back to the days of the Ancients. It covered the top of the head and the cheeks but left the face completely open, making it perfect for use aboard ships. It connected to the airtight suit underneath his bronze coloured body armour with a gentle clunk sound. As an officer, he wore a short blue plume that ran from the top and down to the back of the neck. Ezekiel Manus looked at his executive officer and then pulled on his own similar looking helm.

“Will this work, old friend?”

Maxentius grinned.

“Who knows? But if any of us survive, it will be one hell of a story!”

The Kentarchos nodded, doing his best to look confident. He turned back to the view and almost choked.

“Look!”

With a hand extended out, he pointed to the shapes of at least twenty Elamite battleships, the standard heavy warship of the Median Empire. Even as they watched, twice as many more ships of different classes jumped in to form a substantial war fleet.

“Who are they?” asked Maxentius.

Kentarchos Manus sighed.

“They all bear the markings of Tissaphernes and the colouring of his fleet.”

“His personal guard?” muttered his executive officer.

Kentarchos Manus nodded.

“That’s right. They want our ship all right, but there’s something even more important that they want.”

“The fleet,” answered Maxentius.

“Exactly. They will board us and then interrogate every last one of us for information on the Legion. The ship’s computers will be torn apart for anything they can use.”

“What information, though? We have nothing of note other than the obvious. Don’t forget, Kentarchos, they already know where the fleet is.”

Kentarchos Manus shook his head.

“No, my brother, they only know what they have learnt so far. There are unknowns everywhere. Is our entire fleet at Larissa, do we have a specific battle plan, and more importantly…what is our ultimate objective?”

Maxentius scratched his cheek as he considered his leader’s words.

“No matter what happens to us, this fleet will eventually get to the Legion. If they are unable to escape quickly enough, this force could decide our last battle.”

The Kentarchos grinned happily at his last words and then slapped his hand down on Maxentius’ shoulder.

“Then we had better let them know what’s happening out here.”

He gave the nod to the tactical officer, and the silent countdown began. The very second he activated the sequence he could feel a fire burning in his veins. Kybernetes Maxentius sent the signal to the rest of the crew, and in that moment any further planning became irrelevant. The Kentarchos looked to his small group of officers and then down to the kopis blade and pulse pistol he carried in each hand.

“Gentlemen, the odds of this plan working is so low, it is not even worth considering them.”

He looked at each of them in turn and then grasped his kopis tightly.

“It is time to leave Drakonis. The fleet needs us. May our dragon die as she lived.”

*

Median Battleship ‘Vairya’, Core Worlds

Vairya moved through space at incredible speeds, but from the inside it felt as if the ship itself had never moved more than a few metres. Every irregular surface had been retracted and the gun ports were closed, though this was more from tradition than for any other reason. In space, aerodynamics were completely redundant but that had little effect on the shipbuilders of the Empire.

Sixty seconds.

Tissaphernes counted down in his head as his mighty battleship completed the final stage of its journey. The engines were already changing their tone as the vessel prepared to slow down and halt almost instantly. It was a feat of engineering that a thousand years earlier would have been considered a miracle. To most of the crew it would be as if they had never moved, but Tissaphernes and a select group of senior officers retained access to the external feeds. It was an honour and a privilege to have access to their level of data.

Thirty seconds.

Reports continued to arrive from the fighting at Larissa, and as he had expected, both sides were now fully committed. Still, much as he wanted to jump in to end the battle, he would never do so unless completely sure of victory. The curved black cylinder he commanded from helped him feel separated from his crew and even the ship, a way that he likened to the God King himself. That put a twisted smile on his face. His lip twitched slightly as his count finished. Only three seconds passed by before his impatience got the better of him.

“My Lord, we have arrived,” said the Darbabad.

For the briefest of moments, he had no idea where his Admiral waited. The smoked semi-transparent material blocked out much of the view of the ship, and it took a while for him to find the dark shape among the stars. After a quick look, he chose to ignore the automaton and instead watched the nearest stars around the ship appear to slow down. A dull tone travelled through the ship, and then the stars stopped moving completely, the ship dropping to conventional speed. There was almost no difference to the crew; the inertial stabilisers accounted for the massive deceleration with a huge and temporary surge in power. Tissaphernes lifted himself to his feet and examined the imagery around his spacecraft. The view granted to him by this technology was similar to that of the VOB system used on Terran ships, except only Tissaphernes had access to the system.

Where is it?

He scanned to his right, stopping at the scene of the space battle. His pulse quickened as he imagined the damage his ships must have already caused. It was tempting to give the order to finish off the cruiser, but he knew that intelligence was of greater importance right now. He could enjoy finishing off the crew in his own time, when he was secure in his knowledge of the enemy’s intentions. At first glance, he could barely work out the shapes. The three light cruisers were surrounded by wreckage and several large sections of ship. There was no gunfire present and only a small number of fighters moving about. His great battleship slipped between his own cruisers and the disabled Terran vessel. They pushed through the wreckage like an icebreaker from the ancient past. Some might have perceived this as his way of protecting the other two ships.

Protect them? Why?

He had little interest in the scout ships. In fact, the more thought he gave them, the angrier he got that two of them had been unable to finish the fight quickly and efficiently. He considered what punishment might be suitable before turning his attention back on the enemy vessel. By dropping out of light-speed directly opposite the ship, he had been granted an extremely close view of the warship, one that intrigued him. The black scars along her hull showed where the heavy cutters had burnt through plating while the larger scorch pattern showed plasma blast damage. One particular hole ran completely through the ship and exposed a dozen compartments directly into space.

Ah, I wonder how many were sucked out?

He continued looking down its length until he reached the engine mounts. They were as damaged as the rest of the vessel, with one torn completely away and drifting a short distance away. Puffs of gas continued to vent from a hundred places, giving the ship a minuscule amount of lateral rotation as it drifted out of control.

So, they have been disabled.

“Darbabad, prepare my transport. I want to be there when they take her Kentarchos.”

The automaton bowed and walked away while the black unit descended into the floor. Once more Tissaphernes was greeted with the open view of his command deck and his horde of automatons. He took a single step and then halted.

What is that?

Movement appeared at the end of the command deck and then armoured shapes.

Is this treachery?

He instinctively tapped his thigh, and a heavily modified carbine cut down to the size of a large pistol slid out from a concealed pouch in the armour. He grabbed it and lifted the weapon to shoulder height. Alarms sounded throughout the ship, and he knew right away that something terrible was about to happen.

The impact against the battleship was massive, something far greater than a mere laser blast and rocket attack. Dozens of the automatons were thrown from their feet or their seats. He almost fell but grabbed onto a monitor console to his side and stayed upright long enough to see more shapes burst from doorways in the flanks of the command deck. He almost pulled the trigger on his pistol before spotting the armour of his Anusiyan guards. A dozen moved around him and formed a defensive screen. Only one faced him, the tallest of his number and carrying a double-barrelled pulse rifle at his shoulder.

“My Lord, the enemy ship…it has…”

Another massive vibration ripped through the ship, and this time he did fall to the ground, even as the Anusiyans tried to help him. Half of the lights flickered out, and flashes and blasts rippled through the vessel. They helped him up, and he moved to the control area and hit the button on the ground. The curved black walls rose up around him and immediately showed him an external view of the battleship.

Where is that ship?

He looked hard but other than the massive debris field, he could only make out two cruisers, both of which were Median vessels. He briefly wondered if the Terran ship had escaped, and it sent a chill through his body.

“My Lord,” said Darbabad.

The panicked officer staggered towards his command unit with blood streaming from a head wound.

“What?” snapped the Satrap.

The Darbabad hesitated as he looked at his master. More flashes and explosions continued to travel through the ship, and three automatons were cut in half just metres from where he stood. Two senior officers ran to him while a fourth dragged a bloodied leg behind him before stopping alongside their commander. Their words were heated, but finally the Darbabad shouted at them and then looked to Tissaphernes.

“My Lord, the enemy ship is gone.”

“What?” he roared with anger.

This fool has allowed them to escape; now he will pay.

He raised his pistol towards the Darbabad, but the terrified automaton continued to speak.

“Their ship has been destroyed by an internal meltdown. The debris has destroyed our port engine array and knocked out the shields.”

Tissaphernes had already begun to pull the trigger, but at the mention of the explosion, he released the pressure. The automaton almost passed out with relief at his stay of execution.

“What happened?”

The Darbabad tried to speak but fear and anxiety at this point were almost choking him. That, combined with the elation of not being executed, made it almost impossible to speak. One of the more junior officer knelt beside him.

“My Lord, I am the combat officer.”

Tissaphernes moved his eyes from the Darbabad and to this new officer.

“Answer my question then.”

“The enemy vessel diverted its energy reserves from life support, artificial gravity, and inertial dampeners to its jump engines and thrusters. They accelerated for one tenth of a second in our direction before the reactor went critical and destroyed the ship.”

The Satrap didn’t seem convinced.

“Why are we damaged then? There are no shockwaves in space.”

He looked about the command deck and watched as scores of his automatons scrambled about like ants. Most moved to their stations, but at least a dozen were being taken away on stretchers to the medical bays. The Darbabad finally found his voice and after a final cough began his explanation.

“My Lord, the enemy tried to ram us, but their power plant failed and sent the wreckage directly at us. Any other ship would have been destroyed, but Vairya is no common warship.”

Tissaphernes lip twitched at the mention of his ship’s name. It was indeed correct. His own warship was everything an Elamite could expect and more. She was long, broader, and fifty percent larger in mass. Her complement was nearly double in size, and like her sister ship, the Sraosha; she also contained contingents of heavy infantry and five of the latest combat drone robots.

The thought of the machines moved his attention from the Darbabad to heavily armoured stations positioned at both ends of the command deck. The reflective cylindrical units looked like part of the ship, but he knew what fearsome war machines lurked inside. Knowing the machines were there kept him calm, even when his ship was facing such a deadly attack.

This gift from the Robotic Domains is my last line of defence. If just one of those Terrans steps foot on my ship, I will release my machines.

The very idea of sending the horrifying machines with their thick armour and heavy weapons into the fray sent a tingle of excitement through his body. They were programmed to take orders from him and him alone and had been tested extensively prior to leaving Cunaxa. That reminded him of the two he had given as gifts to his maladjusted nephew now commanding the Leleges vessels in battle against the Terrans.

I wonder if Qahreman has used them yet?

He almost forgot about his predicament, as he imagined one of them finding a Terran Dukas or other leader, and pulling them limb from limb or vaporising them with heavy weapons fire.

“My Lord, what are your orders?”

It was the Darbabad that spoke, and Tissaphernes realised that as he had been fantasising about the destruction of the Terrans, he had completely failed to hear the last few words of the automaton. He was angry now, just as much with the Darbabad as he was with himself.

“How long till we are fully operational?”

“Three hours, My Lord.”

Tissaphernes face contorted at this news.

“Uh…three for everything. I can have the jump engines ready in two.”

Tissaphernes tilted his head and concentrated one eye on the terrified automaton.

“I want to be travelling to the rendezvous point in less than an hour.”

His face reddened.

“Or you will find yourself examining space from the outside. Do you understand me, Darbabad? Do you?”

*

Median Battleship ‘Sraosha’, Larissa System, Core Worlds

A pulse cannon round struck a girder half a metre to the side of Xenophon, and the impact sent shards of metal against his helmet. The impact was sudden, and although it caused no damage, it knocked him back a short distance. Artemas grabbed him and held him upright.

“Are you okay?”

Her voice was strained, made worse by the black burn mark that ran from the temple to cheek of his armoured helm. He shook his head as though he’d just been struck by a hammer and glanced at her.

“Just debris, nothing serious.”

Artemas’ attention was drawn to movement further away on the floor below them. An armoured figure took aim with a rifle. She pointed her own weapon at the soldier and struck him in the midriff with two shots. The figure staggered back, disappearing into the shadows.

“Nice,” Xenophon said.

He moved forward a short distance and then looked down from his current position. In all this time they had still only just made it to the third level up from the command deck. They had been forced to fight their way past a dozen automatons on the way up but had so far managed to avoid any serious injuries. Another more powerful blast came from the command deck and slammed into a pair of Terrans on the level below them. He leaned to the side to see what was happening when another volley smashed around him. He stumbled back, a sense of vertigo and caution overwhelming him at both the height and the danger.

The raised the level was only three metres wide and constructed from a highly polished granite type material. There were no rails or safety barriers fitted so that if he moved too close, he could easily fall.

“You all right there?” asked Glaucon.

There was a little sarcasm in his voice, but Xenophon could detect a strong degree of concern in there, too. His friend might be a little gruff, but over time he had mellowed considerably, and few would doubt his overly protective friendship of Xenophon. He reached to grab his friend to find an automaton carrying a rifle coming at him from the opposite direction. With no space to move, he lowered his centre of gravity and took aim with his pulse cannon. The power of the weapon at that range sent the unfortunate soul back a full metre before he stumbled and fell from the edge.

“Nice shooting,” said Artemas.

She stepped past him, nodded to Xenophon, and then continued forward to the wide bend leading to the next section. More Terrans had broken into the command deck now, but they were still heavily outnumbered. It took only a moment to reach the next level. It was constructed in almost the same fashion. From this position, they were granted a privileged view of the command deck. If they had the time it would have made a perfect sniping position, but the sporadic gunfire from above them reminded them of the presence of the Median commander.

“Move it. We need to end this fast,” said Xenophon without stopping.

They had all ditched their heavy weapons and moved to a mixture of edged weapons, carbines, and pistols, as dictated by the difficulty of the climb and the close proximity of the enemy. Only Glaucon retained his treasured weapon.

“Human!” said an unfamiliar voice above them.

All looked up to see the enemy commander, resplendent in his armour and looking down at them from the other side of the ship. Alongside him were four warriors, each heavily armoured in Terran plate and carrying long Medes rifles.

“What the hell are they doing there?” asked Tamara.

Roxana sheltered behind one of the few girders that kept them partially hidden from the other side and raked them with fire from her looted carbine. As she changed clips, she called out to Tamara.

“They are Zacynthians!”

A fusillade of shots pattered about them. As they fired back, it was clear the enemy commander had no interest in ducking down. Xenophon aimed with his own weapon, but even at that relatively short range, he found it hard to get a good hit.

“Glaucon, put him down, the arrogant bastard!”

His friend needed no persuasion, and as the others took cover where they could on the narrow gantry, he opened fire. The muzzle flash was as large as his head, yet as some of the round struck near the Median commander, they flashed blue and bounced off to strike the walls or even automatons nearby.

“There’s shielding up there!” said Tamara angrily.

She didn’t wait to see what the others were doing and sprinted off along the gantry to where it crossed over via a bridge section. She was briefly exposed, and dozens of rounds struck around her as she moved; and then she was on the other side.

“Tamara!” called out Roxana.

She took one step forward, and three rounds hit nearby with one striking her torso. Again the Terran armour deflected the round, but the impact slowed her down. Xenophon shook his head angrily and ran after her, grabbing her about the waist and pushing her on to the other side. The rest of their group moved close behind him, Artemas staying in the shadows with a captured Median rifle in her hands. Their rush drew additional gunfire, but Artemas killed two shooters before they even noticed her.

“Keep moving!” called out Glaucon, reaching the bridge and the congestion as the rest tried to cross. More gunfire rippled from the other side and the next level up, and he ducked to the right to try to avoid it. Four rounds managed to strike him, and he was knocked down onto one knee. All of them bounced off his armour, apart from one that blasted through the leg greave of his armour.

“Bastard!” he cried, in both anger and frustration.

He couldn’t stop, though. The only cover was once they were across the narrow bridging section. The others, apart from Xenophon, had now made it across. He could see the shape of Tamara as she crashed into a group of Medes and began hacking and stabbing at them. Roxana was there was well, and it quickly descended into a brutal melee. He tried to stand but felt his leg gave way. As he dropped down, an arm grabbed about him. He looked to his right and found the perfumed face of Artemas there.

“You old fool,” she laughed, manhandling him over the bridge.

Tamara had butchered two of the automatons before they broke and ran from the assault. Their small group of Terrans were stronger, better armoured and equipped for close range combat. Their relentless assault drove them along the section and up the ramp to the next level.

“Keep moving!” called out Xenophon from his position in the middle of the group.

Now that they had covered the open ground and moved over the bridge, it was safer to push on than to fall back or consolidate. The ramp was deserted but it was open, so they kept on to the final stage of their attack.

“Xenophon, this is Xenias,” came a familiar voice over his communication node.

“Dukas.”

“Your plan worked, Xenophon. We are thirty minutes from capturing or destroying this entire fleet. Our boarding actions and corvus units have rendered their ships useless. Their arrogance has destroyed them.”

Xenophon stopped for a second and sighed happily.

“That is good news, Dukas.”

The node crackled before continuing.

“For the Legion…but not for you.”

That information felt like a heavy stone in his chest. He almost missed a breath before he could speak, but the Dukas continued.

“Phalinus’ fleet is smashed, and Chirisophus has captured his battleship. Seven Lelegian ships have broken contact and are moving in on you. I cannot send you any more help, my friend. They will be there in minutes, and you can expect Medes reinforcements all over you. I suggest…”

The node crackled and then went dead. Glaucon moved past and noticed his friend had stopped. He went back and placed his hand on his armoured shoulder.

“Xenophon, what is it?”

“We’re running out of time. They are going to counter board this ship.”

Glaucon needed no more information. He simply looked up the ramp and then to his friend.

“Then we’d better take her fast!”

Tamara heard their voices but didn’t wait and charged to the top. The rest were close behind, emerging from the partial safety of the ramp and into the wider upper level of the command deck.

“Stop!” shouted a Terran with a thick Zacynthian accent.

They rushed out into the open space, adrenalin surging through their bodies. It was similar to the command deck, covering an area of nearly thirty metres in length and about half again in width. Computer systems covered one side, along with a black obelisk arrangement with the shape of a Medes officer in heavy armour behind its protection. A line of ten Terran spatharii in similar armour and equipment to the attacking Terrans dropped to their knees, and another ten moved up behind them in a standing position, their Medes rifles all trained on the little group.

“Stop this madness!” roared the voice they had heard just moments earlier.

The form from behind the black obelisk emerged and stepped behind his line of Terran mercenaries. Glaucon now made it to the top of the ramp to join his comrades and the four other Terrans that had made it this far. They were now outnumbered by at least two to one. Xenophon didn’t hesitate and lifted Clearchus’ weapon to face the enemy commander. He loosed three rounds at his head in quick succession, and the first two struck him directly in the centre of the face. Blue flashes marked the impacts, and the rounds bounced off to strike the ceiling. He shook his body like a dog shaking water from his body.

“Terrans, lay down your arms. We can end this violence today!”

Glaucon then opened fire with his pulse cannon, but after the second burst, he stopped, especially when half of the Terran guards seemed to point their pulse rifles directly at his head. He half expected them to open fire and quickly removed his finger from the trigger, but remained with the muzzle pointing at their commander.

“I have been sent by my uncle, Tissaphernes, to offer you the chance to join our Terran ranks. Your commanders have hidden this offer from you.”

He extended his hand out and upwards, as if trying to encompass the open space. From the darkness of the rear at least two-dozen more warriors appeared; this time they were Median Anusiyan bodyguards. There were now over forty guards around their commander while the remnants of Xenophon’s force consisted of just eight of them. He threw a quick glance to his left as the shape of Artemas slipped past him and moved between the two groups of warriors. She began to speak, but the Median leader raised his hand and made her stop.

“In their tongue, so they might understand us.”

His voice was easy to understand, and his command of the Terran language was at least as sophisticated as that of Artemas. Xenophon suspected this nephew of Tissaphernes probably spent as much time on the border fighting Terrans as his uncle did. Artemas bowed ever so slightly in deference.

“Noble Lord Qahreman.”

Glaucon shifted uncomfortably, and Tamara fingered her kopis blade, making sure it was positioned and balanced exactly as she intended, ready for the inevitable fight that was to come.

“We are here to demand your surrender,” continued Artemas.

Qahreman took a step forward; his long pale face twisted just a fraction. Two of his nearest guards stepped to block his progress, and he pushed one out of the way before stopping. He muttered something in his own tongue before Artemas shrugged and turned her back on him to face her comrades.

“Qahreman is lying. He will not let us leave, not now.”

She turned to face the fuming Median leader.

“He is time wasting.”

One of the Terran spatharii began to laugh. It started slowly but then reverberated though the hall like an operatic singer. The Terran was positioned directly in the middle of their second rank, flanked by his comrades on both sides, and just as well armoured. As he spoke, the Median leader appeared to calm.

“I am Arkeisios, second-in-command to Dukas Phalinus. This is nothing more than a scouting party. Our primary fleet will be here soon. Halt your attack, or face the consequences upon the arrival of Tissaphernes.”

Glaucon spat on the floor at the mention of the hated Satrap. The Median commander moved a little closer, but the shimmering field of the shield generator was still slightly visible as he moved. The communication node crackled again, and Xenophon found he was able to reach the Dukas, though he had no idea for how long.

“Dukas. I need you to fire everything you have, right now at this ship.”

“Xenophon…Are you mad? If we…”

Again the node crackled and was quickly jammed by one or more of the surviving Median ships. He knew it was possible to bypass the jamming relatively quickly, but the line of guns opposite him proved more of an urgent concern right now.

We have to be ready.

Xenophon could only hope that his message had made it through. He lowered his weapons and moved alongside Artemas. She looked at him, and although she seemed calm and confident, he could make out the worry in her face. He whispered as he moved near to her.

“Get ready.”

A flicker in his eye sent a shiver through her body. The enemy in front may not have seen it, but Tamara instantly knew that look and again checked her grip on her second kopis blade.

“What the hell is…” started one of the Terrans that had come with them. Roxana swung her left arm and struck the side of his helm. The impact was light but instantly quietened him. He considered moving towards her, but his two comrades held him back. One of them leaned in and whispered something in his ear. Xenophon moved another step closer and pointed to his small group of warriors.

“We were paid by one of your own to come here. Now all we ask is for you to let us return home, peacefully.”

Qahreman looked at him carefully, trying to assess the Terran’s character.

“You entered our Empire under arms. What of Cilicia, Khorram, and Larissa? These are sovereign territories of the Median Empire, yet you sack, burn, and loot them.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Median Battleship ‘Vairya’, Core Worlds

Tissaphernes swung his blade for the fifth time and embedded the weapon deep into the Navsarvan’s throat. The ship’s engineer slipped to the floor of the command deck, blood pouring from the terrible wounds. Even as he lay there gurgling, the blood continued to pump from the severed arteries. The Satrap roared in frustration at being delayed so long.

“Eight minutes, are you insane? Late is still late! We should be there already!”

He threw the weapon but managed to strike the fallen automaton with the hilt. It clattered off into the distance; his replacement waiting alongside the body with stoic determination. Tissaphernes moved close to him so that the officer could see the lines of his face. On the screen behind him he saw the massive formation of his ships that had decided to come to his aid, unasked for. They were following in a close formation, each waiting for the command to drop down to normal speed.

Those fools, I told them to stay at the assembly point.

It didn’t really matter now though. The ships were with him, and his communications with the small number of cruisers that had stayed behind were clear. The Terrans were gone; all for the loss of one, perhaps two of his own light cruisers. It was barely a loss.

“My Lord, we are receiving an urgent message from cruiser Zezal,” said the communications officer.

Zezal?

It took a moment for him to realise it was one of the unimportant light cruisers damaged in the fight with the Terran vessel. The light cruisers were ships that barely registered with him. They were small, weak, and ineffectual. They had their uses, of course, but not the ones that had engaged the Terran cruiser. The mere fact they had only kept the Terran busy for sometime was one of the reasons he’d refused to offer them much in the way of help. Those two ships were now a long way behind them, yet still they would not stop bleating for help. One of them was still able to engage its light-speed engines, but Tissaphernes had refused it permission to leave until it had recovered all Median casualties from the other ship. He looked at the automaton and shook his head angrily.

“Let me guess. They are still asking for help?”

The automaton nodded, but not a sound left its mouth. Tissaphernes looked at him with barely concealed contempt.

At least this one knows when to keep his eyes open and his mouth shut.

He recalled the massive blast that could have potentially destroyed his warship. It angered him that his own cruisers had been unable to stop that from happening. It was only the mistakes of the Terrans themselves by attempting the futile attempt to escape the fight. It irked him that he had travelled so far to find out what they knew, only to be foiled by their own engineering inadequacies.

Those Terrans have taken their secrets with them to the grave. I will have to be careful at Larissa.

“Send them one more message and be done with them. If they attempt to contact me again, block the channel. I do not want to hear from them until they have completed their duties. I want the wreck of the Terran ship thoroughly analysed.”

That made him smile. Performing a full forensic analysis of the ships would take days, perhaps even weeks. At least it would keep them away from him for now.

It might even keep them alive.

The capture of the scout would have allowed his interrogators to obtain critical battlefield information. More importantly though, it would have revealed the unknowns to him, and it was those that worried him the most. Tissaphernes was anything but a fool. With the Terrans gone, he had no way of knowing what their strategy for Larissa was. On so many occasions there had been catastrophic defeats for massive Median fleets that had simply marched into battle on the assumption that numbers would prevail.

Tissaphernes hadn’t swept the bulk of the Terrans from the Ionian Territories without learning the importance of military intelligence. He was convinced the vast array of warships he’d arranged to send into the battle would fail in winning. That might shock some, but victory had never been his intention, not yet in any case.

Where is that map?

He looked to his right and stopped upon spotting the model that had been created from the scattered reports coming in from the various forces at Larissa. Phalinus’ ships had sent in the most detailed reports yet, and while they begged for help, they implied only a small fraction of the Black Legion had engaged them, and this made Tissaphernes suspicious. He respected the combat power of the Terrans. That was one of the reasons he had spent so much on recruiting numbers of them in his own Satrapy, without informing the Emperor, of course. He had no doubts their loyalties lay purely in money, but unlike many of the other races he had come across, they were completely reliable, providing the money supply never ran out.

He recalled the occasions in the past where the Median Emperors had bought mercenary armies to fight on the frontiers, only to find their exorbitant pay requests had bankrupted the treasury. Losing their support was the least of the Empire’s troubles though.

Yes, there’s little more dangerous than an unpaid mercenary.

It was a simple maxim but one his ancestors had learnt the hard way. A force of hardened warriors at your doorstep waiting to get paid was a problem. After all, who would fight the mercenaries? More mercenaries? This was all irrelevant to him, as his own Satrapies were some of the wealthiest domains in the Empire. He had been forced to make use of Phalinus and his Zacynthians, but they were not without their uses. He’d sent as many as he could to his ships to beef up their internal security forces, but Phalinus himself was a special case. Prized by the Emperor, he had needed to give the Terran the impression of real combat command. That drew a smile from him.

Yes, the arrogance and pride of the Terrans can always be relied upon.

A battle at Larissa was the perfect opportunity to rid himself of his enemies at home and further afield. To give the impression the battle was real he’d been forced to sacrifice his own nephew and a sizable contingent of Carian ships.

“My Lord, they say the Terrans have…”

Tissaphernes lifted his hand to silence the automaton. He had been so busy contemplating his own short and long-term plans that the pathetic scouts had slipped his mind. The mere mention of them increased his blood pressure.

“Silence!”

When I arrive at Larissa, I will finish them off, and all of this will have been worthwhile. Who knows, that fool Qahreman might even survive this.

This seemed to calm him, and he tried to imagine how the fight might be going.

Ah well, if not…I can always get another nephew!

He looked back to his officers. They had pleaded with him before engaging the jump engines, but he had no time for their whining. The light cruisers were heavily damaged by the destruction of the Terran vessel, and he’d been sent requests for rescue parties, engineers, and even an assault party to help defend against a fully-fledged assault. He considered both of the Khanda class light cruisers to be lost; it was only a matter of minutes or hours before it would be decided.

I left them an escort. They should be thankful for that.

The thought of the Zacynthian warship put a smile on his face. It was one of the smallest ships in his fleet and nothing more than a token gesture for the survivors on the Khanda cruisers.

That will take care of yet another one of my Zacynthian friends.

He had tried to protest, but he had been given no leeway on this one thing. On the personal orders of the God King, he had been forced to make use of the Terran mercenaries. He had considered wasting them on scouting or patrols, but Dukas Phalinus had asked the Emperor for the opportunity for his forces to show their true strength. Tissaphernes spotted a chance and had offered him to lead the main contingent into battle alongside his own Leleges forces. By stripping out a number of the larger ships, he had reduced the effective power and chances for success for Phalinus. All under the guise of keeping a flexible reserve a short distance from Larissa. This left the primary fleet under strength for the job, but he knew the pig-headed arrogance of the Terrans would demand they fought, and hopefully died.

Either way, I win.

“I do not care. Tell them to deal with it themselves. I have a battle to win. Send a message to Darbabad Forouzandeh. I want her division of ships to meet with the rest of our forces at Larissa.”

The automaton almost spoke but quickly returned to his duties.

He then looked back at the new chief engineer for Vairya.

“Now, how soon until we arrive at the assembly point?”

The automaton bowed.

“Six minutes, My Lord.”

“Then ensure every crew member is at their station and ready.”

“My Lord.”

The Darbabad nodded smartly and then left to give his own orders. Tissaphernes watched him leave. As his eyes moved from right to left, he surveyed the damage on board his own ship, and it filled him with a bitter anger inside. At least a hundred automatons must have been killed or injured, due to the damage from the destroyed Terran cruiser and the large debris field it had created. That concerned him far less than the fact a mere light cruiser had been able to hurt his precious command ship. He looked down at the myriad of automatons and lifted his lip slightly.

“We will meet with the rest of the fleet in less than six minutes. We will stay no longer than is necessary to change course, re-spool our engines, and align the fleet. You will all fight at Larissa, and we will personally deal the final blow to their Titans.”

He expected something, a cheer, or a glimmer of pride. Instead, he saw nothing but emptiness in the eyes of his automatons. They carried out their tasks with no great pride or pleasure; it was a duty to them, nothing more.

Pathetic. When I claim all of Ionia, I will make changes, he thought.

The border worlds of Ionia were regions of space long contended with the Terrans. Over hundreds of years both sides had settled and counter settled worlds and moons, only to be evicted by the next warlord. Tissaphernes had been commanded to calm the region by the personal decree of the Emperor.

Yes, I will take best of both and create something never seen before in the Empire.

*

Median Battleship ‘Sraosha’, Larissa System, Core Worlds

Xenophon waited patiently and began to wonder if Xenias had decided against his request. Communications traffic outside of the ship was becoming more and more erratic. That moment of doubt spread throughout his entire body, and he wondered what would happen to them now. If Xenias failed to act, then they would be forced to deal with this situation on their own, and he had strong doubts they could come out on top. They were outnumbered and facing a large unit of skilled, heavily armed, and armoured Terran mercenaries. The enemy commander was shielded both by them and an energy unit powered directly from the ship.

You fool, you should have stayed with Xenias.

He enjoyed the soldier’s life, much more actually than he would ever have expected. Nonetheless, his real skill came in strategy and tactics, not in the blunt end of combat. It reminded him of the last words of Clearchus on Cunaxa.

“Xenophon?” asked Artemas.

He turned his eyes to look at her, and for what must have been the first time could see fear there. They had been in difficult situations before, but this was different. They were completely exposed, high off the ground level, and facing a deadly enemy. But his thoughts vanished in a flash when he spotted a white light above him. He had time but not much, and he used it to throw himself down to the ground. Artemas began to do the same as the flash rushed through the ship. The shockwave was so great it knocked everyone standing to the ground.

Only Xenophon and Artemas had managed to grab onto the consoles nearby. Glaucon must have sensed it earlier because he’d held onto a pipe on the right while Roxana and Tamara had been knocked further to the side of the raised open space.

“Now!” called out Glaucon.

He was the first to break cover and rushed at the Zacynthians. Without his pulse cannon, he was forced to make do with nothing more than his pistol. He didn’t even bother withdrawing his kopis blade and dashed into the middle of the group, shooting dead the first three Terran mercenaries. He looked back to Xenophon and waved with his pistol.

“Come on!”

Two of the Terrans climbed to their feet, but Glaucon kicked one to the floor and place the pistol to the other’s forehead.

“Stay down, boy!”

Xenophon rushed in to assist his friend and held the deadly looking Laconian weapon out at the scattered and fallen Zacynthians. One reached for a firearm. Xenophon responded with a double blast to his leg. The pulse rounds at this range blew a fist-sized hole through the armour and sent the poor man reeling in pain. Artemas arrived next, ignored the fallen and wounded around them, and pointed to where the enemy commander had been.

“Where is he?”

Xenophon climbed up to the slightly raised level to find the shield generator offline and the commander’s cloak strewn on the floor. He looked down to his comrades.

“Dammit, we need him!”

“Over here!” shouted Tamara.

All three turned their attention to the teenager. She had spotted movement on the bridge section leading to the next level. Small numbers of Median soldiers moved from cover, but they were in groups of two of three and quickly forced back by gunfire coming from the command deck of the ship. One took aim at Glaucon, only for a blade to appear out of his sternum. A squad of Laconian spatharii rushed up the ramp to meet them while one of their commanders pulled back his Asgeirr-Carbine from the mortally wounded Median warrior.

“Chirisophus must have got his act together,” muttered Glaucon.

Xenophon wasn’t so sure that was the good news his friend thought it was. The Laconians were undoubtedly the masters of ground combat, but these warriors all bore different emblems, showing they had been under the command of various different Komes. Upon spotting these feared warriors moving towards Xenophon and his friends, the remaining Zacynthians threw down their weapons and dropped to their knees in deference.

“Stop him!” shouted Xenophon.

His voice had rose in pitch, partially from the stress and strain of the fight, and also so that he might be heard over the din of the battle. It was a pointless gesture. The communication nodes in all of their helmets allowed crystal clear audio traffic, regardless of background noise and interference at short ranges.

Tamara broke from cover and chased after the tall Medes. From nowhere came the shadows of Median guards, but these were not the equal of the other warriors they had come across. The first two merely presented their bodies for her to gleefully cut down.

“Help her!” complained Roxana.

Artemas moved ahead and found her path blocked by a party of Median soldiers. She parried an attack with her blade, and then the Laconian joined battle. A furious melee ensued, and she found herself stuck in the middle of it. Xenophon ran past and paused only for her to shout at him.

“Keep moving…”

She ducked to avoid a blade and then stabbed the nearest in the throat.

“Stop Qahreman!”

He rushed on with Glaucon at his flank. Roxana tried to assist, but the gunfire from the opposite side of the ship forced her back. They had now moved to a ring-shaped level with a gap in the centre that ran down to the lower levels. Qahreman was on the other side, Tamara hot on his heels. She took aim with her rifle and knocked down a Median soldier that had been taking aim at the teenager. It wasn’t enough to stop a second who managed to strike the girl in the shoulder.

“Bastard!” she cried out, spinning wildly before hitting the ground.

Qahreman stopped and looked down at the injured Terran. His face was very similar to Tissaphernes. In fact he was the spitting image of the man. Xenophon saw all of this and increased his pace rather than waiting to take aim. More Medes soldiers appeared as if from thin air, and he began to find progress was slowed. More Laconians arrived, but the throng was doing its job. At least a dozen Medes had locked shoulder to block the path and presented thick armoured shields and pulse rifles in their direction.

Interesting, he thought. They are finally learning the value of Terran equipment and training.

It was the kind of topic he would have found fascinating to discuss with Glaucon, but the midst of battle was hardly the preferred time.

“Get back, brother,” said Glaucon.

Xenophon moved as suggested, noting his friend had recovered his massive pulse cannon. The weapon was not standard issue by any means, but since recovering it, he had never let another person touch it. He took aim at the centre of the line and held down the trigger. His stance settled back as he put his weight into the weapon to maintain a near continuous burst. By the time he stopped, half of the Medes were dead, and the others were ducking down behind the cover offered by their dead comrades.

“I’ll take care of this. Go and help Tamara.”

Xenophon didn’t hesitate, hurtled himself over the group and past them to the other side of the circular walkway. Qahreman watched his approach and placed his feet apart, adopting a fighting posture unlike anything Xenophon had seen before. Xenophon slid alongside his friend and bent down to lift her up. Incredibly, she was unhurt. The armour had absorbed the bulk of the impact, though he suspected the bruising would be impressive.

“You ready?” he asked.

Tamara coughed and then lifted both her hands, each containing a blood soaked kopis blade. Xenophon grinned and then pointed his right fist at their enemy. The razor sharp weapon Clearchus had wielded for so long pointed at the chest of the Median leader.

“I’ve said it already. This is your last chance. Surrender your ship and end this fight, or face complete destruction.”

The Medes noble laughed and cursed in his own tongue. He was taller than he appeared from a distance, easily a head taller than Xenophon, perhaps a little more again. His armour was a work of art and fitted him like a glove. His helm fitted so closely it was impossible to see where flesh ended and plate began. Yet it was the two short sagaris battle-axes that made his throat catch. These were not the clumsy weapons of old, but slender handles with heavy cutting blades running to a point.

“No, my Terran friend, it is you.”

The Median commander extended the weapon in his left hand towards the great battle that was taking place throughout the ship.

“Surrender now or you will be on your way to destruction!”

Tamara looked to Xenophon with a tight brow.

“Did he just say what I thought he said?”

Xenophon laughed and hurled himself forward at the mighty figure.

“So be it!” he roared.

Tamara reached him first and slid past to avoid the swinging axe. It was close, but she was as fast as even a Medes assassin. Xenophon stopped short and stabbed with his right hand. Qahreman batted the attack away with a rapid parry and brought his right hand down. Xenophon carried a fallen Median akinakes dagger and parried the attack, but only just. The weapon buckled under the weight of the strike, and part of the crossguard near his fingers splintered away.

“Now!” cried Tamara.

Xenophon couldn’t see the opening, but he stabbed with Clearchus’ heirloom, feeling the satisfying crunch as it punched into the thin armour along Qahreman’s left flank. He ripped out the weapon and struck again, but something lifted him high, and he was hurled across the air and crashed to the ground. The impact of his landing sent him sprawling along the polished black floor. The only thought he had as he moved was that he had to keep from the edge or he would fall to his death. He flayed about but succeeded in only rolling over twice before coming to a stop. He lay on his back, his vision blurred before he started to panic. Xenophon looked to his left, then his right. A shape rushed at him, and he lifted his arm to finds he was being lifted back up by Roxana.

“It’s Xenias. He hit us again. Next time tell him to stop after the first volley.”

She smiled, and he thanked the Gods she had been close enough to grab him. He squinted and looked at her face, but he was sure there was something wrong. It took a second or two before he picked up on the taut muscles in her cheeks.

She’s in pain.

He looked down and saw three small puncture wounds on her chest. His heart pulsed with a burst of adrenalin at seeing them. He had known Roxana for many years now, and although she was older than him, they had been good friends. She and Glaucon were the only real links he had back to his home on Attica, since being forcibly exiled during the rule of the Thirty Tyrants. That thought of home sent a charged feeling of bitterness through him. His father had died, and he knew exactly who had been the cause of it.

“Xenophon?” asked Roxana.

He immediately felt guilty for letting his mind wander and turned his attention to his friend. He did his best to smile and then looked down, dreading to see what had happened to her. The small puncture wounds were tiny, yet from each a trickle of dark red blood ran down to her navel.

“What happened to…”

She put her hand on his mouth.

“Not now, we need to finish him.”

She straightened him up and handed him a kopis blade, one of the many weapons now littering the decks of the ship. Just five metres away were Qahreman and Tamara engaged in a deadly duel. Tamara was quick and managed to inflict a number of light stabs to the taller fighter. Qahreman swung the axes with deadly precision. One strike was all it would take to end the fight in his favour. Glaucon had arrived, and he’d stumbled into the fight, only to find the speed of Qahreman to be too much. Two blows to his cuirass, and he had staggered back, shaking his head.

“What the hell do we do now?”

Artemas and two Arcadians arrived. She rushed ahead, but Xenophon grabbed her and held her back. Whether by instinct or accident, he saved her from the threat of four more Zacynthians who must have escaped from earlier. Each carried an aspis shield in their hands; a large device fitted with a low power shield and kopis blades. Xenophon looked at them and back to Artemas.

“Get him near the edge.”

She raised a questioning eyebrow but he said no more.

“Glaucon, help her.”

His friend lifted himself painfully towards Qahreman, who simply laughed as the Terrans tried to overwhelm him. One of the Arcadians ran in too close and received a blow to his temple from one of the deadly sagaris battle-axes. He crashed to the ground, nothing but a lifeless corpse. Glaucon, Roxana, Artemas, and Tamara all moved in to the fight, with just Xenophon staying back to survey the battle. A Zacynthian broke ranks and ran at him.

Come on! Get him to the edge!

The Zacynthian was on him and surprisingly good with his sword and shield. Xenophon beat aside the attacks from the Terran’s own kopis, but every time he returned the blow, it was deflected from the shielded aspis. The warrior managed to strike him with the edge of the shield, and to Xenophon’s surprise, he found himself down on one knee and reeling from the powerful blow. A quick glance to his right showed him that his friends were still busy fighting Qahreman, and his handful of guards in the confusion had no idea what was actually happening.

It’s now or never!

The signal to Dukas Xenias was short and coded. There was no acknowledgement, just the mighty rumble as the victorious Terran warships opened fire on the battleship once more. This time the impact knocked three warriors from the ledge they were fighting along, but Qahreman remained upright. Xenophon looked to the left, but all his comrades were either on the ground or hanging off the edge of the ledge. Glaucon hung by just one hand, and Roxana lay flat on her belly trying to help him.

Qahreman walked towards them laughing, enjoying their inability to even point a weapon at him.

“You fool, do you think I hadn’t expected you to do that? I do not need to beat you, only to keep you busy.”

Xenophon closed his eyes for the briefest of moments. He was responsible for the grinding operation to pin and destroy the Median fleet, yet it seemed the Medes must have kept a significant reserve for just this occasion. Then there was Ariaeus and his not inconsiderable forces that had still not committed to battle.

He pulled himself to his feet and felt his leg give way. He glanced down to see a bullet hole on his left greave. He could still move the leg, but the pain was considerable. He hadn’t even felt the initial impact and found that distinctly amusing. He took one step towards Qahreman and then stumbled and dropped back to his knee. As he fell down, a strong arm grabbed him, lifting him back to his feet.

“Xenophon!” grumbled a familiar voice.

He looked to his right, and there was the bulky form of Komes Artemis, resplendent in his Laconian armour, crimson cloak, and crested helm. A personal body shield shimmered on his left, and in his right hand he wore the close-fitted Asgeirr-Carbine, the weapon carried by all Laconian spatharii. The man’s face was grim; the kind he was used to of those professional soldiers that had joined the Legion.

“What are you doing here?”

The Laconian smiled.

“I’m ending this fight you started.”

He then looked to his right, signalling for his warriors to move ahead. These were no ordinary Laconians, however. These were the elite Epilektoi, the personal guards of the Laconian commander.

But that can only mean…

“I see you’ve cornered the rat.”

The shape of Chirisophus moved into view, along with dozens more of his warriors. Unlike Komes Artemis, his expression was dour. Xenophon nearly gulped at the sight of the man that seemed to despise him almost as much as the Median commander. Qahreman must have known who he was because he turned from Glaucon and moved directly towards the Laconian commander. His last few guards closed around him, each with shields raised and blades and rifles extended to their fronts.

“End this!” snapped Chirisophus.

The seven Laconian Spatharii moved as one shielded unit. Gunfire tore into their ranks, but not one round managed to break the shield. They pushed ahead at a quick walking pace until finally reaching a distance of a mere five metres.

“Now!”

The Laconians charged, and Xenophon found himself staring in awe as the fabled warriors crashed into Qahreman and his guards. The impact was like watching a heavy ground car hitting a wooden fence. The Medes were quickly scattered, and the Laconians dealt with them one at a time with mechanical precision. In less than ten seconds, four were dead and Qahreman stood alone. He still carried the pair of matched axes, both dripping with Terran blood.

“More blood for my noble Lord,” he said through clenched teeth.

Chirisophus smiled but refused to give the Median commander the luxury of a conversation. He was a Laconian and a master of war, he had no time or interest in starting a monologue with this officer.

“I will…” started Qahreman.

Chirisophus stepped forward and bashed his shield into Qahreman’s chest. Though he brought down his axes onto the shielded disk, it wasn’t enough to stop the forward drive of the Laconian. He smashed the shield again and then went to work with his Asgeirr-Carbine. The first penetration struck Qahreman in the detailed nipple of his beautiful armour. That wasn’t the end, far from it.

Chirisophus pulled back his right arm and stabbed again and again, the narrow blade punching through metal plate, clothing, and flesh with ease. After what seemed like the twentieth stab, he took a step back and let the mauled body slump to the ground.

“No…you will not,” he said with a glimmer of satisfaction on his face.

The Laconian turned back and looked directly to Xenophon. He might have enjoyed the look on the Attican’s face, but something was wrong. Instead of the excited feeling he anticipated, the man looked worried, perhaps even ill.

“Now what?”

Xenophon wiped at his brow and simply hit the helm of his armour.

“Xenias says his scouts have detected the approach of more ships.”

“Tissaphernes,” hissed Chirisophus.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Dukas Xenias surveyed the battle like an admiral on a great ocean in the days of old. They had pushed past the wrecks of two Median heavy cruisers that had been causing trouble to the smaller Terran vessels. As they pushed past, the port side of the Titan ground through the debris field like an icebreaker. A shrieking sound reverberated through the ship, but it was nothing the shield generators couldn’t handle. He looked around his deck and stopped upon spotting Komes Sosis and his small cadre of officers. Although Xenias was currently the overall commander for the Legion, the ship itself functioned under the direct leadership of Komes Sosis, a man he suspected would become a Dukas in his own right, especially based upon his performance so far in the battle.

“Komes, what is our status?”

Technically, the man was both the Komes and the Kentarchos of the Titan. It was one of those odd anomalies in the Terran ranks when the honorific title often took precedence over the rank itself. In either case it mattered to nobody. Komes Sosis was in charge of the Titan and Dukas Xenias the fleet. The only Terrans that would disagree would be those aboard the Laconian ships, and that was a discussion for another day, not in the middle of a space battle.

“Minor casualties, two decks breached, and seven gun batteries offline.”

Not great, it could have been a lot worse though.

The last few minutes had given him cause for concern, as a stray missile volley had disabled the shield generators for one flank of the ship. It should never have happened, yet freak occurrences do happen more often than people might think. A triple layered shield system was invulnerable, in theory.

The reality was very different though, and sustained bombardment could knock down shields as easily as a hit between the overlapping sections of the shield. Though they had been reactivated in less than a minute, the Titan had still sustained damage far greater than even at the Battle of Cunaxa.

We need to end this fast. Time is not on our side today.

The VOB system gave him a privileged view of the battlefield, and it was unlike anything he had seen before. All the space battles so far had been long-ranged affairs, with the ships of both sides moving through the classical formations of lines and columns while exchanging gunfire in the old ways. Those battles might have been difficult, perhaps even deadlier than this one, but at least they had been about firepower and manoeuvre. The battle for Larissa was just as he had described it to Xenophon. It was a ground battle in space, and after several hours of combat had changed into a great mess. According to the count, over half of the enemy fleet was either crippled or captured; the rest were undergoing violent boarding actions by the Legion.

“This is quite something. If any of us survive, it will be one for the history books,” said Komes Sosis.

“Indeed it is,” replied Xenias, “If only we had another three hours to finish the fight, we could consider it one of the greatest victories in our history. Hell, we could even consider staying here.”

The last comment was a throwaway, and he seriously doubted the idea of staying in this part of the Empire. In days or weeks they could expect to see dozens more fleets from the limitless hordes of the Medes. Their reputation had always been for vast number of warriors and ships, and he had no doubt it was true. He glanced at Sosis who was busy calling our orders to his gun crews. He’d spent most of his time during the battle managing his ship, but even his periodic visits to the Dukas had confirmed to him the battle was going their way. Few Terran ships had been lost and the casualties, whilst heavy in the assault parties, were still a great deal lower than he might have expected. He reached up and pointed to the dots in the distance.

“What about Ariaeus?”

Xenias’ expression darkened at the mention of Ariaeus. Right up until the disastrous ending of Cunaxa, he had been Cyrus’ second-in-command. None of the Terrans had ever truly trusted him, but so far he had avoided directly opposing the Legion. Large numbers of Terrans had wanted to support him in a push to put him on the throne, but so far better minds had prevailed.

Xenias had little stomach for a repeat of the vast assault on Cunaxa, especially as it was rumoured the Emperor had returned to his capital at Babylon Prime. An assault on that would require taking the Legion into a region of space never seen before and up against the might of the Empire, and for what?

“I don’t know. I suspect he has no real interest in the fight.”

“So why come here?”

Sosis considered this for a moment.

“Well, we’ve all met him. Cyrus placed a lot of trust in him and when it came to the fight, he was there. Maybe he’s been forced to come here.”

Xenias moved his head from side to side before stopping.

“I don’t know.”

Sosis didn’t seem impressed.

“If he’d come in thirty minutes ago, he could have won this battle for Artaxerxes. Now the Laconians are back, and they are free to engage any Median ships trying to assist in this fight.”

Xenias shrugged. Sosis laughed at his frustration and nodded towards the Laconian contingent that was busy smashing through the middle of the space battle.

“How in the name of all the Gods did you get the Laconians to return to the fray? I thought you and Chirisophus were less than friends.”

Xenias raised an eyebrow at this.

“That is something of an understatement. Who knows? One moment they were in the middle of their own personal fight, and then they turned back. According to Kentarchos Broge Monsimm, commander of Valediction, Chirisophus led an assault against the Median flagship.”

The return of the Laconian ships to the battle had been just as much a surprise to Xenias and Sosis as it had been to the enemy. Unlike the rest of the Terran fleet, however, the Laconian contingent was free from being wedged against Median ships in the myriad of boarding actions. They had swept through the centre of the battle and engaged any damaged Median ships while sending in boarding parties wherever they might be needed.

“I think this might be turning around,” Xenias said under his breath, “We just need to finish this before their reserve arrives.”

“Dukas!” called out an officer from the deck.

All eyes moved to watch the shape of a single Media light cruiser arriving a short distance from the massive space battle. Details and specifications appeared alongside it, and it was immediately flagged as hostile.

“Who is she? Is that one of Tissaphernes’ scouts?”

The secondary displays fitted throughout the command deck showed the cruiser from different directions. The Terran databases were detailed and quickly matched the silhouette and markings.

“It’s a Khanda class light cruiser, approximately seventy crew, limited hangar space, and very light weaponry,” explained Sosis with a firm tone.

“You’ve seen this class before?” asked Xenias.

Sosis nodded quickly.

“They are very common in the Ionian territories, as are those markings.”

He pointed to the black marks and glyphs covering the flanks of the ship. Xenias looked at them carefully but seemed none the wiser.

“Well?”

Sosis sighed.

“They are the markings of one of the Leleges, part of Tissaphernes’ Satrapy.”

It was the announcement that Xenias had been expecting, but the news from Drakonis had suggested the enemy would not be arriving yet, certainly not for a number of minutes, and that was time he needed to finish this battle.

“Very well, set condition…”

“Dukas, an incoming message from Kentarchos Ezekiel Manus,” said the auletes.

“Speak of the devil,” laughed Sosis.

He nodded to the video screen three metres in front and in the centre of the deck.

“Put him on.”

The image changed to show the interior of an unfamiliar ship. The crew around him were all Terrans, but it looked like a small number of Median automatons were lurking in the background, being watched over by two spatharii.

“Dukas, pleased hold your fire. We have captured this vessel. She goes by the name Zezal.”

“Stupid name for a ship,” muttered Sosis.

The officer had already sent the orders through the ship, and they were quickly permeating through the fleet. Once flagged as friendly, the auto-targeting would drop them into the green category.

“Kentarchos, can I assume you have a new home?”

The Terran officer laughed, and one of his officers moved alongside him.

“It’s not Drakonis, Dukas, but she sure is fast.”

Xenias scratched his cheek before speaking.

“What do you have?”

The Kentarchos spoke to his officer before continuing.

“Tissaphernes, Dukas, he has a combined heavy fleet of Carian warships, and they are moving in on you. The only reason we reached you is that they are heading to their rendezvous point.”

“To meet with what?”

Ezekiel Manus swallowed before answering.

“We do not know, but one thing I can tell you is that the Boubak is there and part of their forces.”

That one name meant more to the Terrans than an entire armada.

“Boubak? I heard she was lost a decade ago,” said Xenias.

Sosis didn’t seem particularly surprised though.

“If Boubak is here, then so is Darbabad Forouzandeh.”

Xenias knew her only by reputation, and he could see that Sosis was less than happy at the prospect of her arrival.

“She’s a wildcard, and that’s something we can ill afford out here.”

Dukas Xenias nodded firmly in agreement.

“I agree. We’ve encountered enough surprises as it is.”

He turned his attention back to Manus.

“How long do we have?”

The former commander of Drakonis leaned in close to the video screen. The sweat on his face was easy to see now, as well as the cuts and scrapes he must have received upon leaving his own ship. There were few details on how the Kentarchos had managed to escape from his wrecked ship, let alone capture an entire Median cruiser.

“Dukas, they will be with you in less than four minutes. The entire fleet.”

That one sentence turned the mood from optimism to one of biter resignation. Four minutes was nothing in a battle as vast and bloody as this one. They might have time to pull back a handful of ships, but the reality of the situation was that the fleet was pinned and in no shape to escape.

“Numbers?”

“Dozens and dozens of battleships, plus twice as many more heavy cruisers.”

He closed his eyes and then looked at the tactical display with the list of all Terran ships still functioning, as well as those that were captured. The fight was going well, but time was not on their side. He knew his next order would be the one that sealed their fate; he could only pray that it was the right decision.

“Pass the order through the fleet. Secure and make all vessels ready for an emergency light-speed jump in t-minus twenty minutes.”

Sosis nodded and then moved back to his officers. The face of Manus remained on the main communication screen.

“Dukas, what is your plan?”

Xenias’ hands were tied, and for the first time in a long time found he was completely out of ideas. He needed a plan, some way of turning this around, yet it eluded him. If only he had somebody around to throw ideas at him. It was times like these he missed the experience and knowledge of Clearchus. Unlike most Laconians, he was keen to absorb knowledge, even if that meant taking it from elsewhere. He was shrewd and cunning, yet like all of his kin, still quick to anger and easily baited.

I need a Laconian with some common sense.

That much was clear, but he had no real friends left with the Laconians or their traditional allies. All their senior officers and commanders had perished in the great massacre at Cunaxa. Of those remaining, he was the most experienced, and even he had no real idea on how to resolve what might turn out to be a massacre.

Xenophon!

He signalled for the auletes.

“Get me through to Xenophon. He is on board the Sraosha.”

*

Median Battleship ‘Sraosha’, Larissa System, Core Worlds

The capture of Sraosha took no more than a few minutes following the death of Darbabad Qahreman. Like most Median combat units, they put up a reasonable fight but only so long as the command structure remained. With the Laconians hunting down the last few Median officers, the automatons gave up in seconds. The upper levels were now under complete control, and Chirisophus left to finish the job, leaving Xenophon, Komes Artemis, and the others on the upper level deck.

“Well, what now?” asked the Komes.

An urgent message came through on Xenophon’s communication node. He turned away to listen.

“Xenophon, can you hear me?” asked the familiar voice, tinged with concern.

“I hear you. Sraosha is ours,” he replied with barely concealed glee.

The fight to take the enemy flagship had been no mean feat, yet the motley band of warriors from a dozen worlds had done the job. Although the Laconians had finished it off, there was little doubt as to who had done the bulk of the fighting.

“Well don’t get too comfortable. We have incoming forces under the command of Tissaphernes. Estimates put their number close to a hundred, with substantial battleships and escorts.”

“Gods,” Xenophon exclaimed, his calm expression instantly vanishing.

“It’s worse than that. We also have the forces of Ariaeus. They are just waiting out there, deliberately avoiding confrontation with us. I can guarantee that when Tissaphernes arrive and starts the final attack, he will demand the assistance of Ariaeus.”

Artemas saw him speaking and moved closer to him. Their small group had scattered following the fight. Roxana was on the ground being looked after by Tamara, and Glaucon was helping with the prisoners.

“What is it?” she asked.

Xenophon looked to her, his eyes wide with concern.

“There are more coming. We need a plan, and fast.”

Artemas had nothing to add at first, and as Xenophon began to mutter to himself, she tried to catch his words. Xenophon wasn’t looking for ideas. He was crunching plans in his head, and so far none of them looked good.

“Too few ships, too much damage, we cannot go back or forward. The enemy commander will not yield. Their weakness isn’t combat power…”

Then he smiled. He looked to Artemas and Komes Artemis and lifted his left hand with excitement.

“I have it. The key is Ariaeus.”

“What?” they both asked at the same time. Even Xenias, listening over the communication node, sounded confused.

“Xenophon, what do you mean?”

“You want him to help us? Help us fight Tissaphernes?”

Artemas seemed to have grasped the basic idea but not the details.

Xenophon shrugged.

“Yes, he has the fresh ships that could turn this battle around for us.”

The crackling voice of Xenias interrupted his explanation.

“This won’t work. Ariaeus has already been accused of colluding with Terrans. If he does this, he can expect nothing but the wrath of Artaxerxes. The best we can hope for is that he will stay on the sidelines.”

“That is no good,” said Komes Artemis, “We need decisive action, now!”

“Listen,” Xenophon said, but they continued to speak until finally loud whistles from Glaucon made them quieten down. His friend was on the other side of the level, but even he could see Xenophon needed silence.

“Thank you,” said Xenophon, “We don’t ask him to help. We force him to help.”

“How?” asked Xenias. The others around him repeated the question.

Xenophon instead faced Artemas.

“Can you access the controls of this ship?”

She squinted a little and then a smile spread across her face.

“I understand.”

She moved away from him, heading to the point where Darbabad Qahreman had commanded the vessel. Once safely behind the obsidian plates, she could press several buttons on the unit and access most of the systems. Blue and green imagery appeared with extensive detail on the ships and targets around her. Scattered reports and fragmented information came in from the rest of the ship, as entire sections were currently unmanned.

“I can access navigation settings and gunnery command.”

None of the others seemed to have grasped what was happening while she moved through the multiple panels to take control of the system. Xenophon and the others moved closer to her, each trying to get a view of the obsidian panels and displays around her. Xenophon was there first and pointed to the shapes of ships in the distance.

“Target Ariaeus and open fire with every weapon system still working.”

Komes Artemis stepped towards her with his weapon raised.

“What? Are you insane? You will kill us all. We cannot stand against all of their ships. We must conserve our force.”

Xenophon held back his hand and stepped between him and Lady Artemas.

“No, we need to use our brains. Remember the old adage, the enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

The Komes lowered his weapon, though he clearly didn’t fully understand. He looked to the panels and back to Lady Artemas.

“You have full control?” asked Komes Artemis.

“Yes. The only real security on these ships is that the command system can be operated by Median nobility; the system has already accepted me.”

Glaucon looked down at the deck where the spatharii were still rounding up prisoners.

“What about them? Can the ship function without a crew?”

Artemas shook her head.

“No. I can relay the orders, but somebody must then manually target and activate the weapon systems.”

Komes Artemis nodded, turning his head slightly away from them.

“I will get my teams working on this. I have a single unit near the port gunnery decks rounding up prisoners. Will that work?”

Lady Artemas examined the panels and checked the communication routes. She finally stopped and pointed at a series of weapon systems.

“Yes, the gun ports on decks four and five are still functioning and show their crews are nearby. I can get one of them angled far enough to fire upon Ariaeus. If you can get me some one here, I can move the ship around to use the dorsal mounts.”

Glaucon looked at the display and ran his finger along the route to reach it.

“I can do that.”

“Here, I have the Dukas,” said Lady Artemas.

On the left side of the obsidian pillars appeared a floating image with Xenias placed directly in the centre. The quality was not brilliant, but it did allow the entire group to see him.

“Is this working?” he asked.

“Dukas, we can see you,” said Xenophon.

“Good. This plan has the potential to work. Might I make one small revision?”

Xenophon shrugged.

“What do you suggest?”

“We have seven captured ships under our control now. I can have them formed up alongside you, and they can add their gunfire to yours. It will increase the effect on Tissaphernes when he arrives.”

“Good,” said Glaucon, “This might actually work.”

The other Terrans listened intently, none more so than Xenophon.

“There’s one other thing, Dukas. When he arrives, we must activate a total communications blackout until the battle is decided. He cannot know Ariaeus is the victim here.”

Dukas Xenias spoke to somebody out of the shot and then looked back at Xenophon.

“Agreed. I have already sent the signal. Once Tissaphernes jumps in, we will block all signals, including our own. Get moving, you don’t have long.”

He gripped Xenophon’s arm in the traditional Terran sign of friendship and then moved away. Three Terrans that boarded the ship at the same time followed him down the ramp and towards the lower decks. Komes Artemis began speaking to his spatharii, but Xenophon put his hand on the warrior’s shoulder and stopped him mid-sentence.

“Make sure they keep them alive. We need them to control the system.”

He grimaced at this.

“How do you suggest I persuade them to help? What can we possibly offer the crew of a capital ship in the heart of Mede’s space?”

Roxana could hear him from where she lay, still being tended by Tamara. She laughed at this question, much to Komes Artemis’ annoyance.

“Simple, make them an offer than no Medes ever would.”

“Such as?”

Xenophon gave a short nod of agreement.

“Their freedom, of course.”

*

Median Battleship ‘Vairya’, Planet Larissa, Core Worlds

The deceleration sent the same grinding sound throughout the ship, but this time it sounded louder and much worse than before. The damage sustained during the destruction of the Terran cruiser has loosened sections of the vessel to such a degree that only the internal security fields were capable of keeping them together.

“Ten seconds, my Lord.”

The star field slowed and then stopped as the ship moved to its conventional speed and appeared in the Larissa System. One by one, the remainder of his ships moved in around him until his massed fleet of heavy warships were assembled and ready.

“Report,” he said in a measured tone.

Even as his officers checked their systems, he used his own displays to examine the scene of the space battle. The ships were scattered, and at first, he wasn’t completely sure what he was looking at. Instead, he checked on the location of the flagships, his nephew’s vessel; the Sraosha was in the middle of the field, along with a surprisingly small number of Lelegian ships. The Terrans were closer to the planet and spread out in three main divisions. He had to move to the far side to spot Ariaeus’ vast fleet drawn up in line of battle and a good distance from the Terrans. Flashes from the gun ports on most of the ships indicated the battle was still underway.

I knew he would let me down.

“My Lord,” said his latest Darbabad.

“The Terrans have sustained medium casualties and have withdrawn around their Titans. They appear to be leaving the field.”

“What?” he snapped back.

The last thing Tissaphernes wanted was for the Terrans to escape from his grasp. There was little chance the Emperor would grant him leave to pursue them throughout the Empire. Whatever he did, it had to be done here, and now. As he watched, he noticed a barrage of plasma being released from Ariaeus’ ship. It was fascinating to see them move at massive velocities through space. To his horror, they slammed into the bow of Sraosha in a bright blue blast. More of them struck, and some hit the Lelegians nearby.

Treachery!

He glanced to the Terran ships, noting they were keeping their distance from Ariaeus. Then the gun ports of the Titans lit up, and gunfire streaked out to hit the stern of Sraosha. It was only one volley, and the fleet continued to move away.

“Ariaeus!” he screamed so that his voice carried throughout the command deck.

The Darbabad stood trembling, terrified beyond words and unable to speak. Tissaphernes stepped out from his control centre and looked down at him. His jaw clenched tightly as he spoke.

“Track and destroy Ariaeus. He will pay for this.”

The Darbabad shook his head and dropped to one knee.

“My Lord, this entire sector is being jammed. We are unable to communicate with the rest of our forces here.”

Tissaphernes moved closely and struck him across the face with the back of his hand.

“You fool, use visual communications. Three thousand years ago we could do this with smoke and mirrors.”

He pointed in the direction of Ariaeus.

“We will deal with the Terrans later. Ariaeus must pay, and pay now!”

*

Median Battleship ‘Sraosha’, Larissa System, Core Worlds

A triple blast of plasma ripped into the dorsal gun batteries, triggering a series of explosions that tore a section the size of a frigate from the top of the battleship. Alarms sounded throughout the command deck, and those automatons that had been persuaded to stay at their posts began to panic. The impacts of heavy gunfire against the frontal armour of Sraosha proved devastating. For every impact, there was another breach, and more systems were knocked offline. The hits from the rear were far less serious, but even they were knocking down the shields faster than they could be fixed. Up on the highest level, Xenophon looked down at the consternation on the primary command deck and then returned to the black command section, now occupied by Lady Artemas.

“We can’t take much more of this. We’ll lose the ship before Tissaphernes can make a decision.”

If we lose this ship, then we will lose the battle and the entire Legion.

The responsibility to his people felt like a lead weight on his shoulders. It was a burden he would happily hand to somebody else. His plan was completely reliant upon swift action by Tissaphernes. The longer he delayed, the worse it would be for the Sraosha, and also increase the chances the Median commander would discover his true intentions.

Come on! Respond!

Xenophon watched the screen, as he stood right next to Artemas. They were so close in the confined section of the ship that their bodies touched. He felt his heart pounding away in his chest as he waited for his plan to come to fruition. The red indicators marked yet more sections of the ship that had opened up to damage. She looked at him with a worried expression.

“What if they are already in communication? It isn’t hard to bypass jamming at close range via line of sight.”

Xenophon’s lungs spasmed involuntarily and he gasped. The feeling was uncomfortable and nearly made him retch.

“It’s a possibility. We have to trust in their hatred more than their common sense.”

He tried to sound confident, but it was nothing more than a show, and Artemas could easily see that. Even so, she returned to the screen and redirected what energy remained to the shields in the most vulnerable parts of the ship.

“Ariaeus knows the weaknesses of this ship only too well. I would estimate we could take another minute, perhaps two, of this bombardment. Once he gets through to the lower decks, we are done.”

Xenophon looked at the screens and pointed to the less damaged underside of the battleship.

“Can’t we do a partial rotation to limit the exposure of our breaches?”

Artemas didn’t even need to consider the suggestion.

“No, our engines and manoeuvring thrusters are all gone. We’re dead in the water.”

Her words surprised him. The old expression was obviously irrelevant in space, but more importantly, it was a Terran turn of phrase, not something he would ever have expected a Medes noble to use.

“Xenophon?” asked a familiar voice on his communication node.

“Yes?”

“This is Chirisophus. My troops have just secured the shield generator rooms. You’ve got a big problem, though.”

Xenophon was having enough of a problem staying positive from the bombardment. An internal problem would be far more of an issue.

“What is it?”

“The coolant systems and transport couplings have been torn apart. If you keep the shields up for much longer, this entire section will vent into space.

And take half of the ship with it, he thought.

He looked to Artemas; she shook her head grimly.

“Engines are offline, generators are overheating, and the guns are gone.”

That’s it then.

“There’s nothing I can do down here. I am getting my troops back to our dromons and off this wreck before it blows. I suggest you do the same.”

There was no offer of help or even discussion. Chirisophus had his own loyal unit of Laconians, and he would do whatever he pleased; Xenophon had no doubt of that.

“Understood, I suggest you return to Valediction.”

There was no reply from Chirisophus, and it took a moment before Xenophon recalled that there had been some trouble on board the Titan. If he lived to see another day, he would be fascinated to see how Chirisophus had lost control of a Titan.

He turned his attention back to the massive space battle and more importantly, the array of uncommitted Median vessels. He could see the long line of fresh ships that had just arrived. They had repositioned alongside Ariaeus’ forces, and already their fleet was beginning to look like a single homogeneous force. More impacts hit Sraosha as they sat in their exposed position between the fleets of the Terrans and the Medes. He closed his eyes and reached out to Artemas, turning her to face him.

“What have I done?”

With the damage sustained, there were only two things left for them to do. Either stay on the ship as she burned, or head to the lifeboats and abandon her before it was too late. He knew the latter was the only real choice, but trying to escape while under bombardment was almost as suicidal as staying and taking your chances on a wrecked vessel.

As he thought over his poor selection of options, he noticed Artemas had said nothing. She had no plan or words of encouragement but simply pulled him to her and then stopped. He felt her breathing increase, and he immediately thought she must have been shot or injured in some way.

Have they boarded us?

He looked past her and saw the first exchange of gunfire between the ships of Tissaphernes and Ariaeus. It almost took his breath away to see the combined fleet of almost two hundreds ships tearing each other apart with heavy gunfire.

“Tissaphernes has made his move,” she said gleefully and then pulled him to her lips.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Carian Battleship ‘Boubak’, Planet Larissa, Core Worlds

Darbabad Forouzandeh watched the final stage of the space battle unfold with nothing less than disappointment showing on her face. She had tried to make contact with Tissaphernes since her arrival, but he was blocking her transmissions as well as the rest of her division. Luckily, the rest of her group of warships remained in contact with her flagship. Twenty-two ships were now burning after a fight that had lasted little more than fifteen minutes. The bulk of casualties were those commanded by the unfortunate Ariaeus, and the same number again heavily damaged. She was pleased to see it was her own group of heavy battleships that had done the lion’s share of the work. She watched as a triple volley of heavy cutters ripped through the last remaining shield of a cruiser and then burned right through its hull.

Beautiful.

“Bring us around for one more pass. And somebody get me through to Tissaphernes. I don’t care what it takes!”

Her officers did their best to attempt some degree of coordination with the rest of their ships. At short ranges they had made contact with focused laser transmitters, but Tissaphernes was either unwilling or unable to reply to the same.

That fool is obsessed with betrayal and scheming. It’s more a judgement of his character than of anybody else. The first person usually to cry treason is usually the first one to think of it themself.

It was a throwaway thought, but as the fleet continued its bloody battle without any meaningful conversation between the groups of ships, she began to despair for her own kind. This wasn’t the first space battle she’d been involved in where the commanders had completely ignored the reports from their own ships; she just hoped it didn’t end the way these battles usually did. The only other option was that his own communications officers hadn’t noticed their attempts to use the backup communications system, and that worried her even more.

“Darbabad, something is wrong!”

The officer brought down several more pages of data as well as an updated battle schematic of the action around Larissa. Most of the space was filled with the two large fleets of Median ships.

“It’s Ariaeus’ ships. It seems they are closing their gun ports and presenting their flanks to us and the rest of Lord Tissaphernes’ fleet.”

Darbabad Forouzandeh angled her head as she considered the news. The imagery of the nearest capital ships confirmed they were indeed closing their gunports, something that would make their use now impossible in the battle.

“Their shields?” she asked.

“Uh…one moment…yes, they are dropping. Shields are down Darbabad!”

Darbabad Forouzandeh hit the button on the computer console.

“Cease fire!”

It was a short order and only sent to those immediate ships that were under her command. Even so, the effect was almost instantaneous, and she was unable to hide the smile of pride as her division of ships operated like a well-oiled machine.

If the rest of our Navy worked like this, the Terrans would have been our slaves a millennia ago!

She turned her attention back to the enemy ships, specifically the battleships of Ariaeus. Closing gun ports and leaving flanks exposed was only likely to have happened for one of two reasons. Either Ariaeus was attempting to escape, or it was a sign of surrender.

“What about the Terrans?”

Her tactical officer examined what little information was available to them before answering.

“Darbabad, they are withdrawing behind the planet and are being pursued by a small number of our Lelegian ships.”

Darbabad Forouzandeh turned quickly and looked at the imagery.

No, that doesn’t make sense.

The information told her one thing but her instinct said otherwise, and she wasn’t convinced. With a simple hand movement, the display enlarged the feed showing the ships that were busily pursuing the Terrans. Small amounts of gunfire flashed back and forth, but the shielding on the ships easily deflected the projectiles with light flashes of blue. Something wasn’t right, and it took her a moment until she spotted it. On each side of the ship moved small shapes. It was those she concentrated on.

“What in the name of Emperor are those?”

The tactical officer ran a series of scans and then brought up an image that showed three of them in great detail. They were small craft almost three times the size of a fighter.

“Dromons!” she hissed before twisting about to speak with her communications officer.

They were craft specific to the Terrans and some of the border worlds, and definitely not in use with Tissaphernes fleet. It could mean only one of two things; either they were from the fleet of Phalinus, or much more likely they were craft of the Legion.

“Look,” said the tactical officer.

He had selected just one of the dromons and enlarged the imagery so that it filled the display. The craft bore a number of markings, but it was one simple upturned ‘v’ that drew his attention.

“Laconians!” he said excitedly.

“Get me through to Tissaphernes within the next minute, or we will lose this fight. I don’t care what you have to do. Open fire on him if you must.”

She then moved her eyes to her Sarvan.

“Set course for the Lelegian ships. They have been captured, and this is a trap!”

The second-in-command of the ship gave his salute and moved to the small cadre of Carian officers. The Boubak broke from the main fleet in seconds and led a division of a dozen Elamite battleships on a rapid interception course with the Lelegian ships.

*

Median Battleship ‘Vairya’, Planet Larissa, Core Worlds

Tissaphernes watched the battle with barely concealed rage showing on his face. He had minimal control over his ships due to the jamming and had resorted to one-way traffic, via direct narrow band laser communication. It was less reliable but luckily almost impossible to jam. Another of Ariaeus’ cruisers vanished in a bright explosion, and like those before it, it simply wasn’t enough to sate his appetite.

I will have his head for this!

“My Lord, we have an urgent flash communication from seven ships, including Ariaeus and Darbabad Forouzandeh,” said the communications officer.

The ship’s Sarvan approached with a grim look on his face.

“I have told you already; I am not interested in what anybody has to say. Block their signal and repeat my last orders.”

The communications officer nodded without saying a word. Vairya was perhaps the single most efficient ship in the fleet right now, but there was no possibility of personal initiative, due to the regime of terror and control instituted by Tissaphernes himself over so many years. While the junior officer continued as instructed, the ship’s Sarvan reached the lower level step beneath the obsidian command structure, a look of terror barely concealed behind his eyes.

“What?” snapped the Satrap.

“The Boubak, she has locked onto us and has opened her dorsal gunports.”

Tissaphernes looked at the imagery inside his obsidian cocoon and quickly spotted the massive battleship. He immediately recognised the dated design and markings going back many centuries. Warning alerts triggered on the computer system, as the threat was assessed and then flagged as hostile. The Sarvan was nervous but he continued.

“Boubak is the next most powerful ship in our fleet, and her commander, Darbabad Forouzandeh is the most experienced Darbabad in the Empire.”

Tissaphernes knew all of this only too well, though he doubted Darbabad Forouzandeh would ever even consider turning her guns on him. After all, her family and reputation were firmly associated with his.

“Your orders?” said the Sarvan.

If he had been just a little closer Tissaphernes would have stepped out of the space, and struck him to the ground. Luckily for both of them, the distance was too great but that didn’t stop him deciding what cruel fate would befall this particular officer. The Darbabad moved up alongside him, bowed, and then gave an order to the Sarvan who moved quickly away.

“I see you have ingrained some common sense into the Sarvan. Good, another word and he would have been commanding a trash detail, or perhaps visiting the coldness of the void instead of commanding my starship.”

The Darbabad bowed again politely.

“My Lord, I have given the orders to our divisions, and we are making good progress against the rebels. They will not last much longer with the arrival of our battleships. Boubak’s wing has already turned Ariaeus’ flank.”

Tissaphernes’ lip quivered at this news.

“Good work, Darbabad. I see you were a wise choice to command this part of the fleet.”

Even as he spoke, a dozen flashes along the dorsal section of the other battleship indicated a volley of fire. For a moment he didn’t notice them. His brain recorded the event but filed it away in his subconscious. Something deep down must have identified them though because he quickly snapped about to see the continuous flicker of gunfire.

Treachery!

It took seconds for them to reach Vairya, but not before he had given the signal to return fire. The impact of the volley was massively underwhelming, and he barely felt the impact.

Is that all Boubak has to offer in battle?

He laughed to himself, wondering why he had been worried. He might even have ignored the tiny indicator in the bottom right of the battle near the Terran ship. It was nothing momentous, but it was worrying.

A jump indicator, the Terrans, they are escaping!

Tissaphernes was many things, but never stupid. All of the data quickly coalesced in his mind, the Terran ships, the Boubak, the fleet dispositions, and the rest. All that vexed him was the betrayal of Ariaeus. He signalled to the communications officer, completely bypassing the senior officers of the ship.

“Is Darbabad Forouzandeh still trying to communicate with us?”

The Sarvan of the ship nodded.

“Yes, my Lord, as is Ariaeus.”

Tissaphernes felt his heart burn in his chest at the mention of the treasonous dog Ariaeus. If he’d been allowed, he would have had the noble executed well before the Battle of Cunaxa.

“Accept their data requests. I will speak with both of them.”

The officer pressed a handful of buttons, and the images of the two nobles appeared on the left and right of him inside his obsidian cocoon.

“Lord Tissaphernes, the Terrans have tricked you,” said Ariaeus bitterly.

Before he could respond, Darbabad Forouzandeh spoke.

“It is true. The Terrans have captured Lelegian ships as well as the Sraosha.”

Tissaphernes trusted nobody, but the information matched the facts around him. He said nothing and looked back at the disposition of the fleet. The Terrans were definitely withdrawing and were followed closely by a small number of Lelegian ships.

“Why were you firing upon Sraosha?”

Ariaeus shook his head and sighed.

“Sraosha was captured ten minutes before you arrived. The Terrans moved other captured ships around her and then turned on my forces. I fought back just as you arrived.”

He inhaled, doing his best to stay calm.

“Before you attacked my fleet.”

Tissaphernes might have apologised if he felt any responsibility for what had happened. Instead, he laughed at Ariaeus. He looked out through the gap between the black vertical plates to where his Darbabad waited.

“Give the order to stand down. This fight is over. Set an intercept course for the Terrans before they can escape.”

He then looked at the two Median nobles.

“So, it would appear the Terrans have been more imaginative than we might have ever expected. Perhaps if you had thrown your fleet in at the start, we might have won this fight?” he said to Ariaeus.

His rival said nothing, however, as he realised he had actually survived what had been a bitter betrayal by Tissaphernes. He could see the look on the Satrap’s face, and at that moment found he had no idea who his real enemy was, the Terrans or Tissaphernes.

*

Evacuation deck, Median Battleship ‘Sraosha’, Larissa System

The interior of the mighty warship had filled with smoke and sparks as she moved to her death throes. Continuous bombardment by dozens of ships had done their work, and with the shields finally gone, there was nothing to do but wait for the ship’s inevitable demise. The inside of the ship was another matter, however, as the crew and warriors of both sides ignored their previous struggle and ran for the nearest hangars, dromons, or evacuation decks. Xenophon was the last of the Terrans from the command deck to reach the lifeboat. There were similar decks, but this particular one was fitted along the flanks for the lower levels where most of the automatons worked.

Run you fool!

Glaucon and Artemas watched from the narrow doorway, waving at him to join them. They had already made it. Xenophon and a handful of other spatharii had checked the lower deck one last time for wounded or lost Terrans while the others carried what wounded they had to the lifeboat.

“Come on, Tissaphernes is right behind us!”

As if to emphasise the point, a long series of explosions ripped through the innards of the ship. The small numbers of unarmoured automatons remaining suffered when hit by debris and flashes of heat from the scores of impacts. Xenophon ducked past one unfortunate soul who’d just seen his right arm torn off from the shoulder. He grabbed the wounded soul and dragged him behind and towards the waiting lifeboat.

“You’re coming with me!”

The young looking female automaton didn’t argue and did her best to keep up while blood poured from the open wound. It wasn’t the first automaton he’d ever met, but it was the first he’d helped after being so terribly wounded. Contrary to what most people thought, they were flesh and blood just like all of the Terrans. Another projectile ripped the walkway apart to his right with a mighty crash. It was followed by a number of secondary explosions and equipment tore itself apart, sending fragments towards him. He slid down low to avoid it and found himself on his side and rolling along the floor.

The damned artificial gravity well is failing!

The automaton was too slow. She lost her footing and was then thrown across the walkway. He tried to grab her, but it all happened too fast. She crashed into a heap of bodies and then vanished over the edge with a scream.

“Leave her!” shouted Tamara.

The teenager was only a few metres ahead and running as fast as she could with her arm wrapped around a wounded stratiotes warrior. A mixture of heavily armed spatharii and the lightly equipped stratiotes moved behind her to get away from the crippled ship, and Xenophon almost crashed into them as he kept on.

I should get her.

He knew he shouldn’t, but something deep inside wouldn’t let him leave somebody that vulnerable behind. Even as the last few Terrans surged past, he slowed and moved to the edge of the walkway. The gravity had shifted so much now that the section felt angled at nearly thirty degrees and increasing. In less than a minute, he suspected the gravity would in effect be reversed, or much more likely, it would tear the ship apart from within. He looked over the edge and into the vast chasm that had once been a series of bulkheads. Instead of metal, he found a completely sheared off section and a drop of almost fifteen, perhaps even twenty decks right down.

Poor thing, she will never survive that.

He wiped the bead of sweat dripping from his chin and then spotted her, just a metre away and hanging from a jagged piece of shredded metal. Her struggling body looked like a fish dangling from a fishing line right over the edge. The terrified automaton screamed in terror. Xenophon shook his head, looking back at the waiting lifeboat where his friend waited.

“Glaucon, over here!”

His friend wasn’t keen, but somebody inside pushed him and he stumbled out. He looked back at them and then ran towards Xenophon and the shattered walkway. He slid alongside him and almost stumbled, but Xenophon grabbed him to keep his friend upright.

“Easy now,” he said, holding on to him.

“You crazy fool, we don’t have the time. This ship is going to blow.”

Xenophon looked over the ledge and at the poor automaton hanging over the ledge. Two more explosions ripped a section thirty metres away, sending it deep into the rear of the command deck.

“Okay, let’s get this done!”

Xenophon dropped to his knees and then lay on his stomach to spread out his weight. He moved the edge and waited while Glaucon braced himself and grabbed onto his legs.

“Don’t go too far now.”

Xenophon moved further until his stomach was pressed into the edge and looking down at the automaton. She was now within arm’s reach, and he extended one arm out but could only brush his fingers against her tunic.

“Swing towards me,” he said firmly.

She looked at him but clearly had no idea what to do. No matter how hard he shouted she would not do anything other than wait for the inevitable moment where an explosion rocked her off the shattered metal section and down to the lower levels, and her death.

“Swing, damn you!”

Xenophon pushed forwards a little further and heard Glaucon call out.

“No more, I can barely hold you like this.”

The ship shuddered from either another bombardment or yet more explosions. It was almost impossible to tell them apart now as the ship began ripping itself apart. Xenophon grabbed her tunic and tugged, but the shift in gravity began to pull her away in the opposite direction.

Damn, this isn’t going to work.

He looked up and to his side to speak with Glaucon and found Artemas staring back at him. She tried to smile and then bent down to help Glaucon hold him.

“Tell her to swing,” he said, grimacing as the ledge bit into his stomach.

Artemas didn’t hesitate and gave quick, decisive orders to the automaton. The response was instant, and in seconds she was rocking from left to right. Xenophon watched her move and waited for the third swing before releasing his hands and taking a wide grab. His left arm struck her first and then he had her around the waist.

“Now!” called Tamara. She had also arrived to help.

All three pulled on Xenophon’s legs and finally he was back on the shattered walkway, and with the bloodied, battered but still living automaton. Glaucon lifted him to his feet and bashed his fist against the side of his friend’s helmet.

“Maybe now we can leave?”

Words were unnecessary, and the entire group ran the short distance to the lifeboat and made it inside as yet another series of explosions tore a large chunk out of the flooring. The gravity shifted again and began to increase in intensity. The door hissed shut behind him, and Glaucon had to manhandle his friend into the nearest seat and hit the coupling button to activate the straps. The lifeboat shook and then everything became still as they pushed away from the massive ship. The windows were tiny, not much bigger than a head, yet they provided a sombre view. Once they’d made it fifty metres from the hull, the main engine activated, and they blasted away at full power towards the escaping fleet.

“Well, that was…interesting,” said Artemas with a wry look.

Xenophon looked at her and then to his friends. None of them seemed terribly impressed with what he had just done. He looked to his right, and there sat the automaton as well as three other Terrans, all of whom were being tended by a spatharii medic. He looked back at them, especially Artemas.

“Hey, we took the ship.”

Glaucon looked back as the mighty vessel broke into a dozen smaller chunks.

“Yeah, we took her all right.”

*

Imperial Palace, Babylon Prime, Core Worlds

Ariaeus knelt before Mitra. As usual he was stripped to the waist and carrying his massive glaive. Ariaeus then dropped down to the floor, face down on the spotless surface. His clothing was ripped, and a number of cuts ran down his exposed flesh. The muscled warrior looked back at the form of his Emperor who gave him a simple nod. He looked back at the prostrate figure.

“Up!” demanded the Emperor’s Justice.

Ariaeus was in a great deal of pain, but he still lifted himself onto his feet and waited as the tall figure of Artaxerxes approached. He bowed as smoothly as he could, but his bruised ribs slowed him down.

“Now, tell me again how my loyal subject Tissaphernes abandoned the Core Worlds, and has returned to the border with all of my regional forces?”

He took another step and then stopped just a metre in front of Ariaeus.

“Where are the Terran mercenaries?”

The mention of Tissaphernes was the single subject that was able to put fire into his heart. His back straightened as remembered his last view of the Satrap leaving the Core Worlds.

“My Lord,” he started, “Tissaphernes said nothing. He gathered up all the remaining Carian and Lelegian ships and left for his own domain.”

Artaxerxes remained expressionless and waited.

“As for the Terrans, they escaped our forces before we could catch them. They took a number of our ships with them as well.”

“You must have an idea where they are going?”

Ariaeus closed his eyes as the pain in his ribs tore through his body. He opened them again to reveal bloodshot eyes.

“My agents detected them leaving the Core Worlds and heading in the opposite direction they came from. Their course will take them through the Carduchian Pass and eventually on to our border worlds at Trebizond.”

The Emperor seemed satisfied with this news.

“Good. You have been a loyal, if unsuccessful commander, Lord Ariaeus. I understand a number of the Terrans offered you the chance to claim my throne. Why did you not take it?”

Ariaeus sensed a trap, but his mind and body were too shattered to give it more thought.

“It is not mine to take. I am yours to command.”

Artaxerxes considered his words carefully before speaking.

“I have other, more pressing concerns at this moment than worrying about a band of homeless Terrans wandering through my Empire. Now that you have shaken them from the Core Worlds, they are no more of a threat to me.”

He turned away and walked back up the steps where his entourage of generals and commanders waited. Ariaeus counted at least a dozen of them, including his newly promoted generals. He recognised few of them and none seemed particularly interested in him.

“The rebel Amyrtaeus of Sais is the only threat to the Empire that concerns me. This trifling matter with the Terrans is now over. They can wander home in their own time.”

Ariaeus watched as he moved, noting with terror that the Emperor’s Justice had taken two more steps towards him. He sensed his life was coming to an end.

“My Great Lord. Let me punish these Terrans.”

Artaxerxes turned back and smiled.

“Why? They have been savaged and now they retreat like a wounded animal. Every time I have sent one of my generals to fight them, they have been bested by their own petty ambition. The Terrans are a violent race, and we will deal with them, but they are not to be underestimated.”

He tried to hide his feelings, recalling the moment where Cyrus had come ever so close to deposing him on Cunaxa. It was a risk he would never take again.

“Tissaphernes has wronged you greatly by letting them cause countless damage to our worlds and fleets. The citizens of the Empire deserve to see your will carried out.”

He bowed and dropped to both knees.

“I will not destroy them in one battle as Tissaphernes or Phalinus tried, Great King.”

It was an odd statement and seemed to get the interest of all of those watching. One laughed without thinking and received a curt glance from the Emperor’s Justice. Artaxerxes waited and then moved back down the steps to stop in front of the battered, prostrate Ariaeus.

“Tell me, noble Lord Ariaeus. What would you do differently?”

Ariaeus knew it was his only chance. He had to appeal to the character of Artaxerxes, the Median who had almost lost everything to these Terrans, but no longer had the time or resources to concentrate on their elimination because of the new revolt under the command of Amyrtaeus.

“Just give me a single ship, My Lord.”

“To what end?”

Ariaeus looked up at him and did his best to smile.

“I will bleed them out over weeks and months until just a handful will stagger out to their border. They will starve, suffer appalling deprivation and loss, and their only respite will come at the end when they think they have made it home.”

Artaxerxes face lit up as he listened.

“Go on.”

“Those last few will face an ignoble death at the hands of their own treacherous kind. I will use what little wealth I have remaining to assemble a small force of Terrans to finish the job, assuming they ever reach the border worlds.”

The Great King nodded his acceptance and signalled for Ariaeus to rise to his feet. He held his hand up and turned his around to face the assembled officers of the Imperial Army.

“Noble Lord Ariaeus will be granted access to all worlds, bases, and ships as he continues his valuable quest.”

He then leaned in closer.

“Do not return until every one of this so called Black Legion is away from my Empire. I never want to hear from them again.”

*

Terran Titan ‘Valediction’, Tigrian Maelstrom

If Xenophon closed his eyes, he could believe it was five days ago when they had first arrived at Larissa to trade with the locals. At that moment in time, it seemed the fighting of Cunaxa and the dangers of the Imperial fleet were a thing of the past. Since then, they had been pursued and eventually trapped at Larissa, only to shatter the Medes once more before leaving. What had amazed him the most though, was that almost a thousand warriors from five different worlds had pledged themselves to him as elected Komes since the boarding action. It gave him a powerbase and the mandate he needed for a fuller plan to get home alive.

So much has happened, yet our numbers continue to fall and they never falter.

It was an unhappy thought, made bearable by the fact that all of his friends had made it through the fighting in much the same way it hard started. All of them except Roxana, who was still being looked after by the medics following her impressive encounter with armour piercing pulse rounds. A cool hand touched his forearm, and he shuddered a fraction. The fighting was days away, yet his body still betrayed him. He suspected it would be months, perhaps years before he would accept such a surprise as a welcome one, and not the prelude to something terrible.

“Are you ready, Komes?” said Lady Artemas, her voice quiet and smooth as silk.

He looked at her in her elegant fusion of Terran and Median clothing but still wearing the boots and armour that continued to mark her out as a warrior.

“My Lady,” he said politely.

They both turned and looked out at the vast hall of the Titan Valediction.

“Stratiotes,” he started.

It was the common vernacular for all the assembled warriors, and a term he had used specifically for this occasion. In theory, the term denoted the lighter armed infantry, although in the last weeks even they had been performing the same roles as the spatharii. In days long past the naval crew were known as the stratiotes. Xenophon used it as an inclusive term, one that would unite the factions of the Terrans.

“Larissa is a reminder to us about our strengths and weaknesses. When we work together as one people, motivated by what ails us all, we can do the unimaginable.”

He nodded as he spoke, as if agreeing with himself.

“Yet when we split along familial or national lines, we fragment, and even the Medes can best us.”

He pointed up to the ancient carved ceiling of the Titan’s great hall.

“When we boarded the enemy flagship, we landed with warriors from a dozen ships in the fleet. There was no master, no Dukas, and no true leadership, just a desire to see the job done. I witnessed the power and dependability of our warriors, something the Medes can never match.”

He paused and let this sink in.

“Even so, we left our worlds with a fleet of close to a hundred ships, including four hallowed Titans and over ten thousand of the best warriors ever seen. We can win a hundred battles and still the Medes will swallow us up whole.”

This drew mutters of dissent from the Laconian ranks, but the rest remained silent.

“I therefore make this offer to you all. If you choose me as Strategos, I will lead this Legion out of Median territory and back to our own domains, and with as few casualties as possible. I will not throw away your lives on useless attacks. You will live to enjoy the wealth you have already attained.”

He watched a small group of Laconians laughing at the rear but took solace in the fact they seemed to have little in the way of support now. Artemas leaned in and whispered to him.

“Your people have tasted victory and defeat, and they prefer what you have to offer. The results will confirm this.”

He watched on as the next Komes from the Arcadians stepped out from the crowd and moved to the front to make his speech. Xenias smiled politely to the man before turning his gaze to Xenophon. At this distance they were too far apart to speak, but the simple nod of thank you was easy to see. Xenophon moved his head just a fraction in response.

Perhaps the vote will go the way I need. In any case, I’m sure Xenias will do his part to encourage his own people to make the right choice.

Artemas could see he was thinking something, but even she was unable to guess what it was. She followed the direction of his eyes, but the crowd had already moved, and Xenias had merged back into the surroundings.

“You keep your little secrets then, Xenophon.”

She looked back at the crowd.

And I will keep mine.

*

There were always a good number of warriors in the gymnasium, but all of them had moved aside to watch the spectacle of the challenge. The voting had been dragging on for more than six hours now, and the last count had actually delayed the scheduled light-speed jump. Out of a mixture of boredom and frustration, Xenophon and his friends had headed down there to burn off some sweat, but instead the workout had turned into a challenge.

“This is what you want?” asked Glaucon.

Tamara laughed.

“Oh, yes, old man. It’s time to explain a few things.”

Glaucon and Xenophon faced off against Tamara and Artemas with blunted training blades. All four were stripped down to their training clothes and wore neither gloves nor footwear. The only piece of protective gear was the thinly padded head covering that was actually more of a coif normally worn under combat helms. The weapons were metal but edged in soft plastic that would absorb most of the impact.

“I don’t think so,” growled Glaucon playfully.

It was a sparring match, nothing more, yet all four of them took it as seriously as an actual battle. As might have been expected, Tamara made the first move by hurling her weapon at Glaucon. He managed to beat it aside, only to find the teenager jumping up at him screaming.

“Xenophon!” said a loud, brash voice.

Artemas and Xenophon, both who had squared off against each other, paused for a moment and looked to the entrance. The armoured bulk of Xenias entered, along with a number of the newly elected Dukas for the Legion, including Timasion, Xanthicles, Cleanor, and Philesius. The last of them to enter was Chirisophus, and he seemed especially pleased with himself. Xenias spoke first before the Laconian could attempt to gloat.

“Xenophon, I am pleased to inform you that the Legion has voted for a traditional command with a single Strategos and Dukas for each of the major contingents.”

Chirisophus nodded and then stepped ahead to block him off.

“I have been selected at Strategos due to my greater combat experience and leadership.”

He then paused, as though he was trying to select the right words. His face even dulled a little, and it gave the impression he was being forced to do something against his will.

“The Legion has decided to reinstate the Topoteretes, and you and Xenias have been selected.”

He took a short breath before continuing, even though Xenophon seemed numbed at the news.

“I do not always agree with either of you, but I can now see that to lead this Legion I will need both of your wisdom. Will you help me lead this…mongrel Legion?”

Xenophon looked to his friends, each of whom gave him the nod. Even Glaucon who lay on the ground with Tamara’s elbow in his throat nodded.

“Very well. What are your orders?”

Chirisophus licked his lips before speaking.

“No orders, just a request.”

“Anything,” said Xenophon.

“What would you advise we do next?”

That was the first time he had heard the Laconian commander say anything he considered even remotely sensible. It surprised him so much that he almost forgot that he had now become both a Komes in the Legion but also one of the two Topoteretes.

“Just one thing, Strategos.”

Chirisophus smiled. It was the first time Xenophon has used a title of his without his tone dripping with sarcasm.

“We should head home.”

APPENDIX I: THE GALAXY

APPENDIX II: PEOPLE

Ariaeus

Median general and Cyrus’ second-in-command. The young rival of Tissaphernes but powerful and ambitious. He commanded a fleet that was double the size of the Legion as well as over 20,000 automaton stratiotes. Famous for leading a series of revolts in the border lands against central Median control. He was a loyal friend of Cyrus but never fully trusted by the Terrans.

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 and niece of Cyrus.

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.

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.

Crixus

Laconian politician and former general. Leader of the Thirty Tyrants on Attica during the occupation and considered both a hero on his homeworld and a tyrant on Attica.

Cyrus

Half-brother of the Emperor. Tall for an 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.

Erika Montoya

A Terran politician on the planet Attica. After decades of service for the state, she became one of the Thirty. One of the few officials 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.

Glaucon

Friend of Xenophon. A playboy from one of the richest families on Attica. A strong democrat that grew up with Xenophon. He joined the democrats on Attica and aided their revolt against the Tyrants prior to his exile. He escaped with Xenophon after being accused of helping one of the collaborators. Known for his bitterness towards Clearchus for the death of his brothers in battle.

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.

Julius (Dekarchos)

Dekarchos of the elite 6th Spatharios on board the Arcadian Titan Olympia. Assisted in the evacuation following the disaster and commended for bravery under fire.

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.

Kybernetes Maxentius

The executive officer of the Terran light-cruiser Drakonis.

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.

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 and spent time both in the Alliance military and working as a mercenary prior to the expedition.

Tamara

A young teenage warrior with the Black legion. A runaway with experience of smuggling and black market dealing.

Tissaphernes

Median Satrap and high lord of the rich regions around the Cilician Gates. Close friend of the Emperor and major rival of Cyrus. His power and influence was second only to his scheming and politics.

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 his father 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 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 used a high velocity pulse round and was capable of long distance interdiction and could 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, and 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 commanders 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.

Helms

Armoured helmets used by both sides. The Corinthian helm was the most common and featured a fully enclosed cover with nasal and cheek protection. It was often used alongside the Illyrian type of helmet, a design that could be traced back to the days of the ancients. It covered the top of the head and the cheeks but left the face completely open, making it perfect for use aboard ships. It connected to the airtight suit underneath the armour.

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 antennae 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 preeminent Terran Empire lead by the 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, was based in the heart of its territory and protected by an elite navy of a thousand ships. Its worlds included hundreds of races from primitive farming worlds to the death worlds and the advanced robotic domains. The dominant race were the Medes who inhabited 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 were found carving out their own territories in the border regions.

Night Blades

The elite special forces reconnaissance unit on-board 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 of 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, known as the Epilektoi. 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 (Dekas) or junior command position on a ship

Pentarchos, commander of 5 warriors (Pempas), or junior command position on a ship

Auletes, communications officer

Medes Ranks

Arteshban, commander of an army

Darbabad, commander of a large fleet or navy

Sarvaan, commander of a ship

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. The term was also used as a generic placeholder for all types of warriors.

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 was dangerous, and 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 archrivals 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.

Tigrian Maelstrom

The massive region of space that split one section of the Core Worlds from the rest of the Median Empire. Faced in the opposite direction to the Su’bartu Maelstrom and was based around a cluster of seventy stars and hundreds of worlds. Not as rich or as well defended as the Core Worlds, yet teeming with rich planets and supplies as well as multiple naval bases for the Empire. The Tigrian Maelstrom was known in the Empire as the Great Crossroads as it was the central point for most travellers and traders.

Titan

The largest capital ship used by the Terrans. Capable of carrying tens of thousands of crew and warriors. Four Titans accompanied the Ten Thousand. Each Titan was commanded by the senior Dukas, selected based on the man with the largest contingent. Titans in the fleet included Valediction (under Clearchus) and 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, built 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 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.

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. Organisation prior to Cunaxa.

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

300 spatharii and 300 stratiotes (Night Blades) under Komes Pasion the Megaran

Titan Herakles

Designed from the onset to be faster and more agile than the other titans.

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 Meno the Thessalian 400 spatharii deserters from the border worlds

Table of Contents

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

APPENDIX I: THE GALAXY

APPENDIX II: PEOPLE

APPENDIX III: TERMINOLOGY

APPENDIX IV: THE TEN THOUSAND