Empires gambit, p.59
Empire's Gambit, page 59
Fralin-yang’s voice suddenly filled the hollow. “Will the Karacknid people listen to me now? Your eyes cannot deceive you, though Taranaki has. Look at the strength and might of your god-king. He cannot even kill a lowly Human. He brings shame upon himself and upon all of us.”
Taranaki let out his loudest battle cry yet. It made James jump. Suddenly, Taranaki’s attacks came in faster and harder. Fralin-yang didn’t stop speaking though. “Taranaki is not worthy of the title Imperator. His actions have forfeited any right he once held to it. He is no deity but only a counterfeit. The only thing Taranaki is, is a traitor to our people.” James wanted to shout out for Fralin-yang to shut up. Waves of fear were running through him. He had given up counterattacking. It was all he could do to frantically avoid being sliced in two. Twice, Taranaki’s claws managed to make contact. The first grazed his right elbow; the second, his left thigh. James couldn’t afford to favor them though. He couldn’t afford even one hesitation. The pain from both injuries throbbed with every beat of his heart. Despite his training, James let it distract him. It was only for a split second. Yet it was all Taranaki needed.
As the Imperator swiped in at James with his left hand, James raised his right hand to deflect a blow with his knife. At the last instance, Taranaki switched his attack. Twisting his wrist, he reached out with his fingers and grabbed James’ wrist instead. James tried to yank his hand back, but he was too slow. Taranaki’s let out a large victorious bellow. At once, he began to squeeze James’ wrist. Pain like James had never felt before shot up his arm. He let out a scream as his knife fell to the sand. “Now you cannot run, you coward!” Taranaki roared. James could see his death right in front of him. Time seemed to slow down as Taranaki pulled back his right hand, aimed his claws at James’ heart, and started to move forward. A surge of adrenaline rushed through James’ body. His implants, detecting his fear, released as much as his body could handle without suffering an immediate cardiac arrest. Acting almost on instinct, James drove his free hand up to meet Taranaki’s. He was just quick enough to maneuver the blade into the palm of Taranaki’s hand. The force of both of their thrusts drove the point of the nano carbon knife through Taranaki’s armored scales and right out the other side. It was Taranaki’s turn to cry out in pain. James seized on the opportunity. Using Taranaki’s vice like grip on his right wrist as a pivot, he swung his body up and slammed both his feet into Taranaki’s chest. The blow knocked Taranaki to one knee. It also freed James’ wrist. James flew back several meters, landed on his side. He quickly rolled over and retreated further.
“You see,” Fralin-yang shouted. “Even when he bests the Human, Taranaki cannot finish him. He is no warrior, let alone an Imperator.”
For a second, James thought Taranaki was giving up. The Imperator fell forward onto his hands. But then James saw Taranaki’s muscles tighten. In a flash, he jumped to his feet. The glint of sunlight on metal alerted James to what was happening. He lifted a hand and tried to shout a warning. He was too late though. In the blink of an eye, Taranaki hurled the knife James had dropped at Fralin-yang. Johnston tried to shove the scribe out of the way, but he was too slow. With a sickening thud, the knife embedded itself right between Fralin-yang’s eyes.
In an instant, every Karacknid went silent. Clawed hands that had been raised to cheer on Taranaki froze in place. Taranaki’s words, not spoken with the intention of being so easily heard, filled the hollow. “Die, you traitorous scribe. You and all your people. Die!”
Unaware of the sudden shift around him, Taranaki turned his gaze on James. “Your puppet master is no more, Human. Now you go to join him.” James glanced desperately at the officiant. Taranaki had just broken the rules of the combat. Aides-de-camp were not meant to get involved in the fight, but neither were they supposed to be attacked. The officiant looked shocked, yet as Taranaki closed with James, he didn’t move or speak. Within seconds of Taranaki getting close enough to reach James, James knew he was in trouble. With the cut on his right arm and his wrist throbbing with pain, he could barely move it. He also felt his energy quickly being sapped. I need to end this quickly, he realized. He wasn’t going to last much longer if he didn’t. As he ducked and dived, James desperately sought an opening where he could strike. Taranaki didn’t give him one. Twice James tried, but each time he got a blow from Taranaki’s fist or foot driving him back.
In the midst of deflecting another blow, James’ body finally let him down. He wasn’t quick enough with his blade to fully deflect Taranaki’s follow up attack. Two of his claws sunk deep into James’s side just below his rib cage. James shrieked as he felt his insides being sliced apart. Taranaki followed up his strike with a heavy kick to James’ stomach. It sent James flying through the air as he doubled over in pain. James crumpled as he landed on the sand, his knife landing just in front of him.
Taranaki didn’t rush to finish his victory. Instead, he raised both his hands in the air. “You see, my people,” he called out. “I am your true Imperator. With one final blow, I will conquer this Human species and all of their allies. They will be our slaves until the end of time.” Though he was groaning involuntarily and panting heavily as shock threaten to cause him to blackout, James noticed streaks of blood flick off Taranaki as he waved his arms. I did hurt him, he thought surreally, even as he realized his death was just seconds away. Slowly, Taranaki approached James. James was too injured to tell if the Imperator was deliberately dragging out the end, or if his injuries were warping his perception of time. Whichever it was, it felt like an eternity for Taranaki to close the distance.
Though his eyes were fixed on the vile monster coming to kill him, James’ mind drifted away. He didn’t hear the warning shouted by Scott, nor Johnston’s orders for him to get up. Instead, his mind brought him back to some of his fondest moments he had shared with Christine and Jonathan. He smiled as he felt the sand on his feet and the feel of Christine’s embrace on his lips. Joy swelled in his heart as he remembered the look of sheer delight on Jonathan’s face as his son splashed in the waves. He could almost feel Jonathan in his arms as he rushed forward and scooped the boy out of the sea and threw him in the air. Suddenly, his mind jumped to another memory. It was of his own father and mother. They were walking along the grounds of Badminton House beside the brook that babbled by the edge of one of their fields. James was a young boy, running and playing as he watched his parents talk. Another image filled his mind; it wasn’t a memory, but a hope James had long held. He and Christine were walking the same path, Jonathan was there too. He was running and playing with several other children, children James knew were his own. Anguish filled him. He had failed them. He had failed everyone. In an instant, his anguish turned to anger. His vision suddenly snapped to the present. Taranaki was towering over him. He already had a clawed hand pulled back. “Die Human!” Taranaki screamed as he drove his hand forward. No longer caring about himself or his broken body, James screamed Christine’s name as he reached out with his good left hand and grabbed Taranaki’s claws. With all the strength he had he held back the Imperator’s blow even as the claws sliced into James’ hand and wrists.
For a split-second, Taranaki looked surprised. Then he snarled. With a rapid twist of his wrist, his claws spun, tearing James’s hand, wrist and forearm into shreds. James barely felt it. His entire focus was fixed on one point. Taranaki’s throat. Even as his left arm was cut to pieces, James threw himself to his feet. In his right hand, he grasped his remaining knife as tightly as he could with his shattered wrist. Still screaming his wife’s name, he drove it deep into Taranaki’s throat. Without a moment’s hesitation, he twisted it and drove it in further. Using all his augmented strength, he thrust one final time. Blood and flesh enveloped his hand as the knife pierced right through Taranaki’s armor and out the back of his neck. For a couple of seconds, both combatants stood chest to chest. Then silently, they both wavered and fell back away from one another. James’ mind went to the beach one last time, and then his world went black.
Chapter 45
Choosing the next Emperor or Empress is always a delicate time in the Empire’s history. The current Emperor and Empress must make their choice, all three Houses need to affirm the decision, and the other siblings must agree to abide by the succession order. When it goes well, it allows for a smooth transition of power; when it doesn’t, problems inevitably ensue.
-Excerpt from Empire Rising 3002 AD.
Silence engulfed the combat ring and the surrounding sand dunes. Nobody spoke or moved. Time seemed to have stopped in the hollow. Karacknids, Humans, Varanni, Gramrians, and everyone else were frozen in place. Johnston’s hand was clutching his heart. He was as shocked as anyone. He had known James was about to be killed. Then out of nowhere, he had slammed his knife through Taranaki’s throat. Now they both lay on the ground, neither moving. Blood was pouring from James’ side and arm. Johnston could see it soaking into the sand. They are both dead, Johnston thought with dismay. James had done it, but it had cost him his life. With a growing sense of dread, Johnston looked up at the gathered Karacknids. They still weren’t moving. How are they going to respond? If both are dead, will they uphold their side of the agreement? Had James’ death just signaled the death of his fleet?
The faintest of coughs reached Johnston’s enhanced ears. In a flash, he turned back to James. He took half a step back in surprise. James’ chest was moving. It was ever so slightly, but it was moving. Johnston heard another cough. It sounded like someone whose lungs were full of phlegm, or blood, Johnston thought. Then, James rolled over from his back onto his side. He coughed again. The movement shook Johnston out of his stupor. He didn’t know what the rules were, he no longer cared. Taranaki had already broken them. “Come on,” he said as he sprinted past Scott. He snatched the medical kit she had brought and raced towards the combat ring. As quick as his augmented reflexes would allow him, he was at James’ side.
His friend’s injuries were worse up close. There were two deep gashes along his side. Blood was churning out of them. James’ left hand and wrist was gone. Shreds of fingers and flesh were spread around where the stump lay. A glance at Taranaki told Johnston the Imperator was in a worse condition. A far fainter choking noise was coming from him. Even as Johnston watched for a couple seconds, it died away. The flow of blood from the wound in Taranaki’s neck was likewise fading. Johnston was glad. He didn’t know whether he would have been able to resist the temptation to finish Taranaki off if he hadn’t been dying anyway.
Pulling out a hypo-spray, he injected James with a cocktail of emergency medications. They would help his wounds stop bleeding, stimulate his bone marrow to immediately start producing more blood, and give his body an adrenaline rush to keep it fighting. Not being a medic, there was nothing more Johnston felt he could do. Instead, he scooped James up into his arms. Scott had reached his side by then. “How is he?” She demanded.
Johnston turned to show her James’ injuries. Her face went white. “He’s breathing,” Johnston assured her. “We have to get him back to Drake immediately.” Both of them turned towards the thousands of Karacknids who were still looking down on them. Many conversations had broken out, and already some were starting to shout. None had moved to come closer to the combat ring yet.
“Prop him up,” Scott insisted.
“What?”
“Prop him up,” she said, a fierceness entering her voice.
Johnston did as he was told. It brought a grunt of pain from James. His eyes fluttered open, but then fell shut again. “He is alive!” Scott shouted as loudly as she could. “Emperor Somerville is alive. He is the victor. Taranaki is dead. We came here for peace, and we will now leave in peace. We are taking him to our ship.” Lowering her voice, Scott gestured towards where the shuttles that had brought them down were still sitting. “Quickly, before they have time to figure out what they want to do.”
Scooping James up again, Johnston moved as quickly as he could with him. When he hurdled the combat ring’s metal plates, it brought another groan from James. Johnston hated adding to his friend’s pain, but the groans were a good sign. Ahead of him, the sand dune where Admiral Becket and all the others had been watching from was already empty. Becket clearly had the same idea as him. Shifting James slightly, he managed to reach his COM unit. “Pershing, this is Johnston.”
“I hear you General,” Pershing said at once. “We already have our shuttles warmed up and ready to go. All of our ground troops are getting ready to evacuate. We have you covered. If they try anything, we will shred them.”
“Make sure Becket and the others get out as well. And tell our troops not to fire unless we’re fired upon. I do not want to provoke anything.”
“Understood General,” Pershing replied.
Johnston kept moving. He only glanced back when he got to the top of the sand dune Becket and the other Admirals had been watching from. The Karacknids were still all in their places. Only the officiant and Taranaki’s aides-de-camp had moved closer to the dead Imperator’s body. The shouting had gotten much louder, however. In the few seconds that Johnston watched, he actually saw several Karacknids raising claws to one another. He had no idea what would happen now. Taranaki had been a god to many of them. Clearly, not all had been fully convinced, the Karacknid that had pressured Taranaki into allowing James to use his combat knives must have had questions. Will they turn on each other? Johnston asked. The fanatics could end up blaming the doubters. On the other hand, the last thing any who had harbored doubts would want was for the fanatics to seize power. Fralin-yang had said there hadn’t been a civil war in the two thousand year history of their space Empire. In part, that was why they chose their leaders the way they did. A duel typically left one clear winner. Whatever was going to happen though, Johnston didn’t care, as long as it gave them enough time to escape. Turning his back on the combat ring and all the Karacknid clan leaders, he moved over the top of the sand dune. As soon as he did, he broke into a sprint for the nearest shuttle.
Rushing up its rear access ramp, he found Becket was the only commanding officer there. She was surrounded by marine combat medics. At once, Johnston set James down on a medical stretcher they had prepared. He stepped back as they crowded around him. Feeling the shuttle take off, he moved to a seat and sat down. Becket moved to his side. “He is really alive?” She asked.
Johnston nodded. “Barely. But he is.” He glanced at the medics. They were working to patch up James’s wounds and stop the bleeding. “It’s a miracle. It will be another one if they can keep him that way.”
Becket reached out and squeezed his hand. Johnston put an arm around her. They had been close friends ever since they had served together under James on his first ship Drake. Johnston had taken Becket under his wing then. He had even admitted to her once that if she had joined the marines, she would have made a good combat soldier. Now however, they just held one another as they watched their friend fight for survival.
When the shuttle touched down on Drake’s hangar bay, the medics didn’t hesitate to rush James out. Emilie was there waiting. She glanced at Johnston and Becket before moving off with the medical stretcher. Becket and Johnston watched it go. So too did all the other officers who had come up on Drake’s shuttles. Only when James disappeared out of sight did Becket and Johnston turn to look at one another. “What now?” He asked.
“Now we get out of here,” Becket said. “If we can. You need to get in contact with General Pershing again. Make sure all your people are off the surface.” Becket swung around to look at the other officers. “Everyone needs to get back to their ships and to their posts.”
“What about you Admiral?” Ivanov asked. “You should remain here.”
Becket hesitated for a second. Drake was James’s flagship. Yet James’ command staff were the best, and they knew the fleet intimately. “All right, to the bridge then.” Gathering Ivanov, Anderson, Petrov, Davenport, and the others who had all gone to the surface, Becket broke into a run as they moved through Drake’s corridors towards the nearest turbo lift. As soon as she got to the bridge, she moved to James’ command chair. For a moment, she simply stared at it, then she forced herself to sit down. The holo display was already showing Gayla and the surrounding space. Hundreds of shuttles were still streaming up from the surface towards the Allied fleet. The entire marine and Gramrian ground force was being airlifted out as fast as possible. Amazingly, there were no missiles streaking in from any of the remaining Karacknid orbital battlestations or warships. Even more shocking for Becket, when she looked at Tanaka-lan’s fleet, it too was still sitting stationary where it had stopped for the ceasefire. This is not going to last, she was sure. “Warm up our reactors, we are breaking orbit as soon as the last shuttle has landed,” she ordered. “Any ships that are too badly damaged to follow us need to be abandoned now. We will not detonate them until we are clear. But they need to be scuttled. And open a COM channel with the fleet’s senior commanders.”
“Vice Admiral Becket,” Shraw said as soon as his face appeared on her command chair’s holo display. “How is Admiral Somerville?”
