Angolin, p.7
Angolin, page 7
Ciros glared heat. “Armetrian says Tate’s lifestyle is depraved and not the way of the rest of the world. I think we ought to listen to him.”
“If Armetrian told you jumping off the fjord line into the Abyss was the way of the world, would you take him up on that?” Irzek shot back. Please do us a favor and say yes!
“If it was the key to my future and everyone else’s, I just might! You’d do well to follow,” said Ciros. “And as for Tate, I don’t need anyone else’s reasons to hate him. All he ever does is get in everyone’s way—him and that stale old soldier honor of his. We’re headed for a real life in a world ripe for the taking, and he’ll do anything to keep us from it. Well, what’s coming is coming, and if he tries to interfere—”
Kerbentha jabbed Ciros on the shoulder and pointed his thumb at a passing figure: a man wearing a heavy gray cloak. Its broad hood was pulled over his head. He walked up Niro Way, slowed, turned his head slightly, and gestured as if to say, What are you all waiting for? He went up to a darkened house, stopped at the door. It opened silently without his having to ring. He disappeared across its barely lit threshold.
Stiffening legs carried Irzek alongside the others. He wanted to turn back, but he didn’t want to appear a coward. He’d had his fill of that. And deep within, desire for something new and exciting took him so covertly that he didn’t perceive that his cold feet had suddenly warmed. He wanted answers, wanted to know more about the life the others insisted they all deserved. And well, Kerbi didn’t seem scared, so why should he be?
They followed the stranger into the house. The door shut behind them—an old manual wooden door on hinges, not an automatic. Little was visible in the small foyer beyond bare pockmarked walls illuminated from above by a dim, spherical, floating light bot. A man, a different one, stood beneath it. Only the top of his head and shoulders, and a faint glow in his eyes, were fully visible.
“Greetings.” His tone said, I’d rather have anyone in but you lot. “Into the sitting room, please.”
Irzek’s stomach reknotted. He thought he would have lost his dinner, if he’d had any. The group filed in tentatively as if entering some dark, unknown cave in a remote corner of Angolin, instead of a harmless urban live-in. The floor softened slightly beneath Irzek’s feet. An area rug filled the middle of the room, strangely patterned and a bit threadbare in places. The room was otherwise sparsely decorated with what was probably not real furniture. Little appeared to be permanent. Synth furnishings were popular in Angolin, but their use here inferred temporary living over mode. The small room’s mustiness suggested likewise—not an unclean odor as much as a barely lived-in one.
Irzek looked over, found the hooded man from outside standing in a corner by a curtain-drawn window. The aura around him, if it could be considered such, was as off-putting as his companion’s. “A little more light, my friend. We don’t have your eye for darkness,” the covered man said. The host commanded the bot to increase output. The man in the corner withdrew his hood.
Irzek’s mouth opened.
“Lieutenant Commander!” Narond gasped in his place and jumped to attention.
Irzek fumbled a salute but said nothing. He had seen enough of the man on base, but they had never properly met beyond the other’s scolds and insults.
The Terror of Seventh, as new recruits called him, looked to Ciros, who wore a darkly satisfied smile. Armetrian was expected.
The raised light level unveiled the host. Luminous yellow-green eyes stared out from a face of thin white fur. Irzek frowned. What in the blazing suns is a Lenan doing here and working with—
“Evening, everyone,” Armetrian greeted. “I see you had no trouble getting here. I just hope you didn’t arouse suspicion. You were loud enough out there for the whole way to notice.” He looked to the Lenan. “This is my associate, Gallin. He’s done a fine job at maintaining a discreet presence here. We want to keep it that way, so be more careful in the future. At ease, Shipman Vinc. I won’t bite if you don’t make me.”
Irzek’s eyes flickered. His anxiety practically displaced the room’s dusty odors; even he felt it. Something was up. Armetrian wasn’t his usual self tonight. He was smiling.
“I heard about what happened on Bemin, Vinc,” he said. “That was a bold move on your part.”
Irzek’s vocal cords broke free of their bondage. “Sir, I know I disobeyed orders, but I didn’t mean to! Lieutenant Commander Tate—”
“Forget him,” said Armetrian. “Poor excuse of an officer. Can’t even recognize true bravery when he sees it. You tried to save a life. You acted selflessly and showed no fear. That’s what’s important. Our task needs someone with that level of honor.”
“Vinc doesn’t want honor. He wants whores,” Ciros said. “He tried to get out of this meeting by suggesting we go Up East.”
“Want women, eh, Vinc?” said Armetrian. “Of course, why not? Other than Tate’s kind, who wouldn’t?” He sat on the low sofa, beckoning the others to find seats also. He leaned forward with his hands clasped and elbows on his knees toward Irzek and Kerbentha. “And I can make that happen for you: beautiful ones, not the hags you find over in Nieuw Kered. But their services aren’t free and neither are mine. You two will have to prove your worth first. Join me. Follow my example, and you’ll be set for life, in and out of Angolin.”
Kerbentha was practically drooling. Irzek was more cautiously intrigued. “You said there was a task, sir.”
Armetrian raised his eyebrows. “The goal is liberation. The task is achieving it. My colleague and I intend to ensure that we can all leave this tiny nation someday and gain our share of the Outside World. That requires work.”
The Lenan stood quiet and motionless as Armetrian nodded to him. He contributed nothing beyond an unreadable stare.
“You wouldn’t believe the wealth available to men like us on the Outside, and especially with military power to back us up. The student movement is just the start. With Dawn Fire at the forefront, there are no limits.” The flame in Armetrian’s eyes softened Irzek and rendered Kerbentha barely able to sit still.
“What would we have to do?” the teenager asked.
“Keep your minds open to every possibility,” Armetrian replied. “And be ready to follow my commands. Stick by me, and we’ll all benefit, not just us but all of Angolin.”
“What about those who stand in our way?” asked Ciros. “Not everyone’s on board. Tate’s been against us from the beginning.”
“Everyone will come over to our side sooner or later. And you four will become instrumental in that, don’t worry. As for Tate . . .” Armetrian lost his amiable facade and reverted to the salty officer everyone was used to. “Ah, Negara. Negara! Nearly twice in one night—the man’s got too many lives. But we’ll fix that soon enough.”
“Sir?” Irzek asked.
“Tate knows too much, Shipman, and he’s as stubborn as he is interfering. But what he doesn’t know is when to quit,” said Armetrian. “He’ll have to be dealt with when he gets in our way. Because I know he will.”
The four young Guardsmen left the house with more encouragement from their new leader, and a deigned Lenan goodbye. Back at the corner, they picked up nearly where they had left off. Kerbentha could barely contain himself over the student movement, and he was so eager to work for Armetrian that he even suggested enlisting. “I hear you boys are recruiting. That would get me some quick experience! I’m as brave as anyone. Maybe I could become a soldier and join you three.”
“Maybe not!” said Ciros.
Narond was nearly as animated, but Irzek was subdued. He didn’t know how to take it all. He had spent his youth dreaming of far-off greatness. Now it was promised to him. But would he really have to work with Ciros and Narond to achieve it? And under Armetrian too? And what about his duty? He was a Guardsman, and he had sworn an oath to protect Angolin and uphold its laws. What would happen to that now?
Caught between what was right and what he wanted, he abruptly left the others and hurried up Ursula Way, ignoring Kerbentha’s loudly reiterated plea for East Vale pleasures. He left in as thick a mental fog as the one he had arrived in, and just as cold. He looked back, saw Ciros headed in the opposite direction. His steps were too purposeful, even for excitement over revolution. And carrying him in the wrong direction, off alone to the brothels.
4
THE GENERAL’S OFFICE
Are you afraid he won’t pass muster, General?
A blasting on Negara and sabotage at Port his first day in command there? Not exactly confidence inspiring.
But I understood he was doing well, sir. Outstanding performance in combat operations and a promotion, followed by his own command and prompt action in an emergency situation. I fail to comprehend your concern over his abilities.
His abilities aren’t the issue, Chlö-GE, it’s him that I’m concerned about. And I’m fully entitled to that. Officer or not, he’s the only son I have.
“Vinc, watch your parrying. Analyze your opponent’s actions and counter,” Dharmen ordered as he moved between dueling student pairs. “And remember to move and use your whole body. You’re not a stationary robot, don’t just stand there battling in place!”
Irzek was watching his parrying. His blocking. His whatever. It was the third time that morning he’d been told about his damned parrying, what other choice did he have? His sparring partner was doing just fine. So was the rest of the class beyond stray criticisms, but each time “Vinc” was called, he knew it meant him rather than his sister. Across the gym, Leatra handled her synth sword effortlessly.
When the Vinc twins enlisted, most of their village, including their parents, said learning the ancient combat methods would separate them from the crowd and help turn their service into lasting military careers. And having two Ergyres—instructors of the ancient Ergive battle arts—right on base was an unheard-of opportunity. “And it beats farm work, anyway,” was Kerbi’s input. “Unless you’d rather spend your lives milking melers and putting up with your father!”
Two months later, Leatra was at the top of the class. Likewise at Bemin. Irzek was another story, and right now, his increasingly impatient Ergive instructor and new CO wasn’t helping.
“It’s lunge, parry, retreat on your hind leg, Vinc, not the other way round,” Dharmen said on his next walk by. “When you advance, advance properly. Don’t back away scared and then rush up to your opponent with no attack plan. That’s not sword fighting!”
I did lunge first. Or maybe I didn’t! Irzek’s head spun. Yet another fog filled with the Niro house meeting drifted over his already limited attention span. Everything that he and Dawn Fire wanted, Tate was working against.
And if only he could concentrate on this and sword handling at once—his opponent countered his every move, if they could be called moves. He couldn’t get a single opening. Every feeble effort got him a level-four hit in return, not fatal but still unacceptable in this stage of training as Tate constantly reminded him. He had already taken hits to the left shoulder and both arms. In a real battle with real swords, he’d be limbless now, but this gave his attention no fuel.
Lieutenant Commander Armetrian was right, he thought through his multitask of battling his opponent and himself. I did show courage. Why should I have to prove that to anybody?
He felt a mild pushback. His opponent’s synth blade passed right through him. His eyes widened at the sight of the simulated cross-guard traveling from the back of the other’s blade right up to his chest. He looked down at his opponent’s hand across the grip. He shouldn’t have. He shouldn’t have been close enough to allow a complete ram-through to begin with. He cut an eye across the gym. Every hit, especially life-threatening registers, were recorded by the instructor’s internal.
And pacing the gym floor with his floating personal upright of student icons in tow, Dharmen stopped, frowned, and came over immediately: “Through the left lung, centimeters from the heart—near fatal, Vinc. Keep your guard up and focus on your opponent like I’ve told you.”
“But—”
“No buts, Shipman. Focus!” As quickly and hotly as they came, Dharmen-and-upright left to observe the rest of the class.
Irzek had focused: on the Bemin incident, on the Niro house, on coming into his own soon, as Lieutenant Commander Armetrian promised. A new life awaited him . . . and he wouldn’t get it with a sword. Who needs this outdated training anyway, he thought, staring over at Dharmen. The disapproving look he got back was intended to return his attention to his opponent, where it belonged. He didn’t take that meaning. His thoughts were in a new place now, and as dark as Gallin’s house. He ignored his opponent and studied the synth sword in his trembling hand, feeling its simulated weight and glancing back to his instructor . . . right before getting another ram-through.
Dharmen stood outside General Gennet’s office, waiting to be admitted and going over what he wanted to say. He had never met with any officer so senior in his career, but that didn’t unnerve him at all. Can Gennet be trusted? Am I wasting my time on a traitor who already knows everything I want to tell him? Those thoughts hadn’t left his head since he adjourned class. An intercom signal sounded followed by an all-base announcement . . . and he shut his eyes rather than listen, trying to control his sudden quaking. It didn’t occur often, but when it did, the faintest ping sent tremors through him. He would be fine one minute, but then suddenly, the simplest sounds triggered his CSD.
Rem-E, it’s happening again.
“Yes, sir, I am working on it.”
Can you work on it a little faster?
“I can on one condition.”
Which is?
“That you stop resisting my efforts and meet me halfway, as you humans say. Calm yourself and relax.”
All right, Rem-E, you win.
The door slid open. “Enter!” came the order from within.
Dharmen flinched. He opened his eyes and straightened his posture as he stepped in and stopped just across the threshold as required. He saluted, opened his mouth to address his superior, but the scene before him took his words.
The room buzzed with automation. Images and diagrams flashed through every wall, window, and table surface. Instruments trilled and hummed endlessly. He grunted, not anticipating all the noise. At the room’s opposite end floated the general’s desktop with icon arrays and open data windows spread across its surface, and still more on personal uprights. A holo of the Bemini Rise oscillated above. It held Gennet’s complete attention, bathing him in undulating light.
Dharmen was quietly amazed. He had finally been granted a proper meeting with the general instead of a hurried talk in a corridor, but he hadn’t expected to find a mini command center in place of a standard military office suite. “Reporting as ordered, sir.”
Gennet deactivated the holo and dismissed two hovering assistant bots. “Come forward, Lieutenant Commander.”
Dharmen rolled eyes at the mechanical annoyances as they whizzed past him and out the closing door. He deemed his internal irreplaceable. Robots were better out of sight. He moved into the center of the room and stood firm, hands clasped behind his back.
“At ease,” Gennet ordered. “And let me get right to it. I received word this morning that two cargo sloops were found on a small rise a hundred klicks east of Bemin. They’re the same two ships that fled Port the day your company arrived. There was no damage to the vessels but no sign of life either. Our saboteurs escaped, and hastily.”
Dharmen held his surprise at the news and at how openly it was given.
“They left behind their entire plunder: particle cannons, pulse torpedoes, ship-mounted shield emitters,” Gennet continued. “No signs of handheld or light weapons of any kind. It was all heavy ordnance and equipment housed on Bemin for deep space travel.” He turned one of his hovering uprights to Dharmen. “With skill and a lot of improvising, these armaments could easily have been retrofitted for atmospheric and land-based use.”
Dharmen scrolled through the manifest. “These weapons could’ve taken down every ship the Guard has, even with shields at maximum strength. And even cloak undershields could’ve been breached, Bemin’s as well as Angolin’s.”
“Most definitely. But though our thieves got away, at least their cargo didn’t, and now”—Gennet’s eyebrows lifted—“now we have the proof of smuggling that we desperately needed.”
“Sir?”
“I couldn’t approach HC with suspicions alone. I needed solid evidence. Sabo of our largest port installation and stolen ships full of heavy artillery—the Kraal can’t ignore this now.”
“Can we be sure of that, sir?”
“We can’t be sure of anything, but they’re alerted at least. HC has been hounding me all day, and I’ve received communiqués from four members of Parliament. Sit down, Mr. Tate. You wanted a meeting, so let’s have one.”
Dharmen complied, feeling odd to be doing so. It was the first time he had ever sat before top silver.
“I’m sure you’ve wondered why I assigned you to Bemin.”
“I have, sir.”
Gennet lowered his eyelids a fraction. “And?”
“I wasn’t quite . . . I was uncertain as to why you assigned me to Port when there are other, more sensitive areas that need safeguarding, like the intermountain cloaking generator stations or PDP itself.”
Gennet was silent. Dharmen breathed tensely and examined the space around the man. His desktop was in order with hardly a solid item on it. His sword was propped against the floating slab’s back edge, with only the hilt visible from a visitor’s perspective. Behind him stood a full suit of armor complete with helm, hauberk, and shield, all emblazoned with a high flyer with unfolded wings across a long dagger: the venerable emblem of the ancients.
“I had to keep my purpose secret up to now,” Gennet finally said, “but given events since your company’s first day at Port, I think you now know the reason for the posting, and why Bemin is as crucial as PDP or any other part of our defenses.”
