And I doubt anyone's up to reading them, either.
In any case, here it is.
UNTITLED: EPISODE 5 PART 3
The hangar bay of the DSCS-PRETORIA could not hold a candle to the one of the carrier DSCS-PORTUGAL. Whereas the Portugal could field platoons of strike craft, all the Pretoria could fit were a few transport shuttles, and maybe one or two fighters if absolutely necessary. Garrett stood at the Hangar’s viewscreen, watching lazily as the shuttle carrying Captain Stefan flew off. He turned away and moved back through the hangar but forward through time, flashing back to the present and to the bridge of the Pretoria.
With the Captain gone, an uneasy silence hung over the bridge, the crew members not sure how to proceed. The uneasiness turned to shock as the independent fleet took its place on the stage. Members of the bridge crew murmured to each other, many of them frightened at the prospect of a new enemy. The DSC had one source of opposition and it was the Wheel. The fact that there were other groups able to rally military force against the Confederacy came as a shock to many of them. The charismatic Captain Sonett’s absence did nothing to ease their sense of malaise. Garrett took it upon himself to break the tension.
“Who in the hell are those guys?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.
“That is just it, Colonel.” The man standing beside him answered.
Lieutenant Captain Artyom Yurevich was a stiff man, earning his position on the Pretoria through relentless, conscientious work, and it showed in his stilted manner of speech.
“We do not know. They have appeared out of the blue. We have no idea from where they came.”
Garrett thought for a moment. Stefan would be safe on the Wheel battleship, and despite any personal feelings to the contrary, his safety was crucial, for morale, if anything. The real questions were how well armed were the newcomers, and who was their target?
“I’m going planetside.” Garrett announced to the bridge. Several of the members turned and nodded, others were absorbed too absorbed with their instruments to respond.
“That makes sense.” Lt. Captain Yurevich nodded, solemnly. “You take your men; assist the Kaisari on the planet. With Captain Sonett is absent, but he carries a communicator if there is an emergency. I will take command of the fleet.”
Garrett gave the Lt. Captain a quick nod. It was understandable. The independents could attack, and if Stefan were called back it could both put the negotiations in jeopardy as well as endanger his life. It was best if he remained on the Wheel battleship and Yurevich took control over here. He was just about to head back to the hangar bay when he heard the Lt. Captain cry out. Garrett moved back to the viewscreen to see what the matter was.
Hundreds of shuttles were escaping the Independent frigates, blitzing down towards the surface of the planet. Observing the attack, Garrett let out a hearty laugh.
“W..what is so funny?” Stammered Artyom.
“What are they getting at here?” Garrett said, furrowing his brow. “A fleet that size couldn’t fit enough troops to establish any control over the planet. Are these guys a bunch of idiots?”
“I do not know, Colonel!” Spluttered the Lt. Captain. “You and your men must get planetside! Whatever these newcomers wish to accomplish, it must be stopped.”
The shuttle docked, the airlock doing its business and equalizing the atmosphere. Stefan entered the hangar of the Wheel battleship Fulmination. The hangar, compared to the utilitarian model of the DSC hangars, was quite the stylized room. Much larger than the Pretoria’s, painted a sleek and shiny black with stripes of white surrounding the viewscreens and control panels arranged around the room. There to greet him was Admiral Schlieffen along with three Wheel marines keeping guard. The marines were unhelmeted, their dark hair cut short. Their eyes, two pairs of black and one of brown, observed Stefan’s every twitch with unnatural attention. Their trench coats were impeccably well fitted, and they held their deadly laser rifles closer to their bodies.
Such technology in the hands of the average soldier… unlike the DSC magnetically accelerated rifles; the Wheel used high powered lasers in their own guns. Since lasers travelled at the speed of light in perfectly straight lines, even the lowliest soldier could be an expert marksman. As long as one aimed squarely at another, they would hit 100% at a time, whereas the DSC’s weapons were affected by such things as atmospheric conditions and drift. The Confederacy had experimented with such weapons in the past, but the power sources necessary were too large and cumbersome to give to the average marine… the batteries were the key.
“Welcome to the fulmination, old sport!” The Admiral greeted enthusiastically, laying out his hands, open palmed. “I trust you had a pleasant trip?”
“It was fine, Admiral. I’m pleased to meet you.” Stefan said, stepping forward.
The Wheel marines took the step poorly, raising their rifles towards the DSC Captain.
“Ah ah ah!” Schlieffen wagged a finger. “Before you move any further, Captain, tell me, are you armed?”
Stefan gulped. Given the circumstances, he decided honesty was the best policy.
“Yes, Admiral.” He said, opening his coat and revealing his officer’s pistol, but keeping his communicator hidden. “I am.”
Admiral Schlieffen laughed.
“I admire your honesty, Captain!” He motioned at the marines to lower their rifles. “Although it’s for the best that you remain armed.”
Admiral Schlieffen opened his own bridge coat, showing Stefan two pistols along with an impressive sword’s sheath.
“You never know what sort of tricks the treacherous Wheel will pull. Anyway.”
At that moment one of the marines procured a blind fold.
“It would be rather impolite to hold a diplomatic meeting in the hangar…” The Admiral continued. “But it would be a matter of state security if we were to let a DSC Captain memorize the layout of one of our battleships. I apologize for the inconvenience.”
“None taken, Admiral.” Stefan gave a slight bow. “I understand your situation.”
With that, Stefan was blindfolded and, held by the arm, led through the halls of the battleship. The path they took led them through several twists and turns, likely, Stefan guessed, to disorient him. Eventually he found himself being sat down on a comfortable surface and his blindfold removed.
They were in what appeared to be a private lounge. He was sitting on a red couch, made of lacquered wood with a gold trim. There was a small coffee table separating him from Admiral Schlieffen, who sat on a similar couch across from him. The floor and the room’s walls were carpeted save for one, which was covered by a giant viewscreen showing the dark side of the moon, Andyal, concealing Kaisari behind it. The room smelled of leather and old smoke.
“Cigar, Captain?” The Admiral asked, offering a box while puffing on his own.
“No thank you.” Stefan answered. The marines left the room, leaving the Captain and the Admiral alone.
“Right, right. Well, before we get to business, old sport, something’s been on my mind.” Schlieffen said, chewing on the cigar. “You’re a Captain, yet you are in command of an entire fleet as opposed to a single ship, as is convention.”
He removed the cigar, letting it smoulder in his hand.
“Are the chaps in the Confederacy short on Admirals?”
“My apologies, Admiral.” Stefan replied. “But I’m not at liberty to discuss that.”
“Understanble, old sport… state security and all that.” The Admiral gave a infinitesimal smirk before returning the cigar into this mouth. “Now then, to the task at hand…”
Whatever else the Admiral had to say was interrupted by the sounding of an obnoxious alarm. Stefan, startled, stood up. A voice over a PA system began to shout.
“Admiral Schlieffen, your presence is requested at the bridge as soon as possible!”
The Admiral gave a long sigh.
“Dreadfully sorry, old sport.” He said, standing himself and dropping the cigar in an ash tray on the table. “Something appears to have come up. Make yourself comfortable, I should return shortly.”
The Admiral left the room, leaving Stefan alone with the blaring sound of the alarm. He strolled around the empty conference room for a few minutes before calmly strolling over to the door.
He tugged on the handle.
Locked.
Of course. They wouldn’t want him wandering around their battleship. Turning his mind to other matters, he searched the room for any other methods of escape: However, the room’s only vent was on the ceiling and was much too small to fit a man in his mid-twenties. Defeated, he collapsed back on the couch. Even if he did get out of the room, what could he do? He was a common soldier-turned-captain, not a secret agent. If he were caught, he’d likely be executed and that would be the end of that. Whatever trick the Wheel were planning to pull, he’d have to wait for it to come to him – then, he’d deconstruct their plan and turn it to the Confederacy’s advantage.
Andyal, the barren moon, hung ominously as the seconds ticked away. The noise of the alarm became a part of the background grumbling and groaning of the battleship. Eventually, Schlieffen returned, his face no longer the image of the nice old man but rather an image of total neutrality.
“Your planet seems to be in a spot of trouble, Captain.” He said, sitting back down. The cigar had gone out.
“Why? What’s happened?” Stefan asked, stiffening up.
“Independent vessels have arrived.” The Admiral said, seeming genuinely concerned. “It looks like they’ve got your planet in their sights, old sport.”
“Wh-what?” Stefan stuttered. Independent vessels? Which independent planet was stupid enough to attack the monster that was the DSC? Or, maybe…
“I assure you, Captain, that the Wheel does not hire mercenaries or any such filth.” The Admiral interjected, perfectly reading Stefan’s thoughts. “These independents are acting of their own accord.”
“D-damn it!” Stefan shouted. This was certainly a spanner in his works. He could not possibly work to subvert the Wheel while Kaisari was threatened like this. As the leader of the Kaisari Defence Fleet, he was responsible for the planet’s well-being, yet now, while negotiating for its safety with one enemy, another appeared, crawling out of the fourth dimension. His mind raced. He could not be in two places at once. He’d have to trust that Yurevich would act sensibly, but with things out of his control, anything could happen.
“What does this mean? What are they doing here!?” He grabbed his head with his hands, then let go, glaring at the Admiral. “What are you doing here!?”
Admiral Schlieffen, unfazed or even strengthened by Stefan’s visible disconcertion, answered calmly.
“As I’ve said, Captain, we’re investigating reports of DSC mobilization –“
“Come on, Admiral!” Stefan interrupted. “We’ve spoken with the Kaisari emperor, we know you were here first! Let’s resolve this one issue at a time. What are you doing here?”
The Admiral paused, Stefan’s words carrying their weight.
“Hm, yes.” He finally mumbled. “Honesty has been beneficial so far… I suppose I should own up, old sport.”
Stefan remained quiet.
“To tell you the truth, our fleet is in quite the pickle, should those independents choose to engage us instead of you.”
“Why? You’ve got much more ships and firepower than them.”
“The Wheel is not a cult of mindless technophiles, Captain. You give us less credit than we deserve. This was a reconnaissance mission.”
“Reconnaissance? Why bring a huge and heavily armed fleet on a scouting run? Wouldn’t that defeat the purpose?”
“You’re mistaken, Captain. We want the DSC to know we are watching them, however, were you to engage us we’d most certainly be destroyed.”
How could he say that? The Wheel outnumbered and outgunned the DSC several times over.
“Really, Captain, we would not stand a chance.” The Admiral continued, his devilish smirk returning, growing from before. “You see, this entire fleet is totally unarmed.”
Garrett Scott walked determinedly through the halls of the emperor’s palace. His platoon of men had assembled in the courtyard, waiting for further orders. Around him Praetorians scurried to and fro, accompanying ministers to their destinations. No one attempted to stop him : he was fully dressed for battle, officer’s sword and pistol at the ready, his combat armour adorned, his helmet underneath his arm. He pushed open the double doors to the throne room.
The emperor sat on the throne, surrounded by ministers and advisors, babbling away in their foreign language.
“Tradit a Kaisari Aquilonem indicare hostiles portum circa palatium…1”
“A nuntius a filius, Imperator! Recitans hostes descendens circa aestate receptum in Kaisari Insulae!2”
The emperor answered with orders on how to respond to the reports, dismissing the advisors. He noticed Garrett walking in, and waved him over. Garrett, not bothering with kneeling, marched towards the throne.
“Colonel Scott, your presence is most welcome.” The Emperor said. “Never would I have expected the Wheel to attack so directly.”
“I’m honoured, Imperator. But these invaders aren’t the Wheel. You’ll find this attack poses no significant threat.”
“What?” The emperor gasped, taken aback.
“Their numbers are too small. Your legions can easily beat them back.
“Regardless, Colonel, the lives of the sons and daughters of Kaisari are at stake. The defence must be organized as quickly as possible. The Cohortes Urbana across the planet are being rallied.”
Garrett was about to interject when another minister ran frantically into the throne room.
“Imperator, nostris concursurum hostium trans planeta! Nobis tradit a provinciae –3 “
“Bonum.” The Emperor interrupted. “Minister bello amplius disputandum.”
Dismissed, the minister ran off and the Emperor returned his attention to Garrett.
“I have also received reports of troops incoming to the palace. My only son, Lucius, is also in peril. Their target is not to conquer the planet but to disrupt the line of succession.”
“Imperator!” Yelled a new, booming voice. Garrett turned towards the source.
A towering Praetorian had entered the throne room.
“Hostium gutta naves sunt ad in aula Sunt pervenire in decem minuta!5”
The Emperor nodded gravely, standing up from the throne. He shouted a command at the Praetorian, who nodded and ran off.
“Colonel Scott!” He commanded, as palace guards ran to his side. “Legio I Kaisari and your chosen Legio XVI Noctus are moving to Austis as we speak. Until then, I entrust you with the command of the Palace Guard. Show me that you are worthy of commanding your own century.”
“I’ve commanded a regiment, Imperator.” Garrett spoke arrogantly as the emperor was escorted out of the throne room. “I can handle a century.”
“Then go!” The emperor stopped, yelling. “Drive these whoresons off our world!”
Hundreds of miles away, heir apparent Lucius Tacitus stabbed a man through his stomach. In one fluid motion, he removed the gladius and slashed the man’s throat. The assassin dropped to the ground, twitching and gurgling. To his right, a Praetorian picked up another assassin, lifting him over his head and tossing him out a window. The window shattered and the infiltrator fell three stories to the hard ground.
Lucius grabbed an edge of the blanket and wiped the blood off his sword.
“Gratias, Albius.6” He said to the Praetorian, who grunted in response.
These attackers were dressed in black, tight fitting fatigues; black masks covering their faces save for the red glow of some sort of goggles. Assassins: a common fear of all royalty. Yet, an attack of this scale was unprecedented. To live on a secure DSC world and be attacked in one’s own room in the emperor’s summer palace? Unthinkable. Truly, some great events had been set into motion. He had gotten the reports of soldiers descending to the planet, but he had not expected assassins. But the reports he had gotten – from cousins, uncles, in-laws of the royal family… someone was trying to break succession. Without a clear heir to the emperor, the planet would surely be in trouble and the Confederacy might have to intervene. Things did not bode well.
“Non manere in perpetuum. Sit scriptor movere.7”
Albius grunted once more. The burly Praetorian moved to the room entryway, opening it a crack. He waved Lucius over, exiting the room. Lucius followed.
Outside he could hear shouts and sounds of gunfire. He thought he heard gunships, too, somewhere off in the distance. Running after Albius through the halls of the palace, the two came upon a Praetorian locked in combat with two other assassins – one of which, judging by the way her fatigues hugged her body, was a woman..
The Praetorian’s helmet had been knocked off at some point and his eyes were wild with rage. One of the assassins lunged at him with a dagger, but the Praetorian moved quicker, grabbing the arm and twisting it behind the attacker’s back. The motion was accompanied by a series of sickening pops and splinters as bone and tendon broke. The assassin fell to the ground, screaming and clutching his ruined arm. The other one paused for a bit, contemplating his comrade’s fate, before turning and running the opposite way, trying to escape. The Praetorian sprinted off after her and caught up easily, tackling her to the ground. The frightened woman shouted out, but was silence as the Praetorian grabbed her arms, pulling them back with such force that, Lucius thought, they must have ripped out of her sockets. The screams of the second attacker added to the shouts of the first, who was still writhing on the ground. With a primal roar, the Praetorian grabbed the assassin’s neck and twisted it, silencing one voice. Stepping off, he unsheathed his gladius and plunged it into the chest of his original attacker, cutting off another life. Only then did he notice the heir and his guard.
“Damnaret, Eprius. Exisse, si viveret, posset interrogavi.8”
Epirus the Praetorian sheathed his gladius and knelt in front of his lord.
“Purgando, Dominus. Apprehendat eum si bella meo sensu caloris. Saepe aggressus non leo.9”
“Non materia.” Lucius waved for Epirus to stand. “Sunt onerarias pervenit?10”
“Sic, Dominus.” Epirus stood. “Egressus ad eos greges. Exspectant tua – quod diabolus est11!?”
All three of them had heard the footsteps, but Epirus reacted first. Unsheathing his gladius once more, he spun around on his heels, face to face with the newcomer. Albius put a hand on Lucius’s shoulder and moved forward to support his fellow soldier.
In front of them stood a hooded, masked man. Even with the hood shadowing his face Lucius could see some details on the mask. It was a pure ivory white, with thin slits cut out for eyes. A design of blue lines drooped down from the corners of the eyes, as if the mask was crying. A convex nose budded out from the beginning, and the slit for the mouth curved upwards in a barely-noticable smile. Besides this the masked man wore a conspicuous red scarf on top of some sort of black combat armour. A scabbard with a sheathed sword hung at his waist.
Epirus wasted one word on the man.
“Sicarius!12” He charged the man and Albius charged after him.
Epirus attacked first with a stab at the man’s chest, but missed as he was effortlessly sidestepped. The masked man twisted and launched an elbow to Epirus’s forehead, hitting him straight in the temple. The Praetorian collapsed, unconscious. Albius followed his battle brother and slashed with his own gladius, but again was easily avoided. The masked man, striking as a serpent, grabbed Albius’ wrist. With a flick of his arm the wrist was broken, Albius’ gladius dropping uselessly to the ground. The Praetorian shouted in surprise, then swung with his off hand, which the masked man grasped and twisted behind his back. From such a compromised position, it was easy for the masked man to push Albius to the ground. Keeping the much larger Praetorian pinned, the masked man grabbed the dropped gladius and shoved it squarely through Albius’ right leg. He stood up, brushed himself off, then turned to face the shocked Lucius. Two of Kaisari’s best praetorians… incapacitated so easily?
As the masked man took his first steps towards Lucius, the Praetorian attempted to lunge after him.
Useless. Shocked, Lucius saw the gladius had been struck with such force that it had actually embedded itself in the marble foundation of the palace floor.
Quite unexpectedly, the masked man spoke.
“Satis perdidi. Tempus breve est mihi opus et Austis.13”
The masked man spoke with a low voice that was almost a monotone. Lucius shuddered, inching away from the advancing man.
“Quod est…? Quod sunt…?14” He spluttered, on the verge of tears.
The masked man was now face to face with the heir to the Kaisari throne. Back against the wall, there was nowhere for Lucius to run. He saw nothing but the mask.
“Ego sum catalyst... vis naturae.15” The catalyst took a step closer. They were forehead to forehead. Swear poured down Lucius’ brow.
“Auctor est et in.”
The fleet was unarmed? So what was their plan? Provoke us into decimating an unarmed fleet, then use that to justify a war to their people? But does a totalitarian state like the Wheel, where civilians have no political rights, care about a cassus belli? Or was their intention for the Confederacy to not attack, causing Kaisari to lose confidence in their supposed protectors? Or was it all a lie, and the fleet was completely armed? Maybe the Admiral knew about the hidden communicator, and suspected that I would contact the fleet and order an attack, only to decimate us in combat? That was likely. To get us to attack them first, giving them the diplomatic upper hand and destroying a good part of the Confederacy’s fleet to boot.
Stefan ran through all possible courses of action at this point, yet not a single one had a favourable outcome. The choice with the least chance of ending in catastrophic failure would be to call for reinforcements and stall until they arrive, but in that time the Admiral would likely figure out his plan, and who knew how the independents were going to act. Stefan calmed himself. All he could do was wait and see how things played out.
“Of course, you could be lying.” He finally said, testing the waters.
“I assure you, old sport, I am not.” The Admiral firmly denied. “I would show you myself, you see, but for reasons already mentioned, I cannot take you to our weapons bay.”
“Hah, I get it.” Stefan shook his head, not understanding anything. “I suppose my willingness to negotiate was a wrench in your plans?”
“Plans, old sport?” The Admiral said. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“That’s strange, Admiral Schlieffen.” Stefan grinned. Perhaps he could put some pressure on the old Admiral. “Why fly a battle fleet into DSC space, yet leave it entirely unarmed?”
Garrett readied his rifle, aiming down the sites. Alongside him on top of the palace walls was a mixture of Kaisari Praetorians, Cohortes Urbana, and DSC marines. The defence was layered, with troops on the walls, in the courtyard, and within the palace itself.
The Kaisari towered over the DSC marines, some standing a full head taller. While the DSC armour was black and minimalist, the armour the Kaisari wore was the exact opposite. Loud and garish, gleaming white with red trim, helmets with crests of bright red. The Kaisari were fierce warriors, unafraid to broadcast their position to the enemy, daring them to come and fight. A warrior history stretching back hundreds of years, when they fought not with guns but hand to hand with sword and shield had sculpted them into powerful creatures. The guns they carried reflected this past, large and boxy compared to the sleek and modern Confederacy rifles. They fired slowly, but had excellent stopping power. One shot was often enough, just as one stab with a gladius would incapacitate an enemy.
“Ineuntes!17” Came the long awaited cry, echoing from down the walls. Garrett turned to the sky, witnessing the descent of those dark shapes. Having been under DSC protection for centuries, the planet had no standing anti-aircraft defenses, and so the palace guard had no choice but to let the dropships descend. The palace was built on top of a slight hill, and there was no way the invaders would drop their troops in the middle of the courtyard. Not even the most devoted of fanatics would throw away their lives like that. The path up to the palace was wide and cobblestoned, with little cover.
The ships landed at the bottom of the hill and began dislodging their cargo. They were painted black and shaped blocky, obviously based off the Confederacy’s designs – Wheel dropships tended to be sleeker and slimmer, without such rough angles. Garrett could see men and women hopping out of the dropship, but they were too far away for him to discern any noticeable details on their uniforms, except for what seemed to be glowing red goggles.
The pounding of the Kaisari guns began immediately. Garrett and his marines readied their rifles and opened up soon after. Very quickly he noticed a few of the ships remained hovering, strafing and changing position. These were obviously gunships. Ducking behind the wall, he radioed in the sighting, calling for support from rocket-armed Praetorians. Then, he was back in the fray.
The invaders had advanced up the hill, taking cover behind their landed dropships. The Kaisari guns were exceptionally loud, even drowning out the noise from Garrett’s own rifle.
This was an issue Garrett had once spoken to a DSC engineer about. Why, when all Confederacy weapons : tanks, gunships, rifles, pistols, anything, used magnetically accelerated projectiles, did they emit the loud “bangs” and barrel flashes associated with the out-dated use of gunpowder weapons?
The engineer had explained that the sounds and flashes were added in artificially. Humanity had spent the majority of their evolution using gunpowder weapons and so had evolved to be wary and alert to the noise of discharging gunpowder. In the days of humanity’s early space exploration, marines found it unnerving to have their guns totally silent when firing. Of course, in combat situations when stealth was paramount, the feature could be shut off.
Despite the suppression dealt down from the walls, the invaders had come in great force and heavily armed, firing from cover with grenade launchers and rockets. His hand forced by new advancing gunships, he called for a retreat to within the palace walls.
“When I was a child, you see, I very much enjoyed those espionage films.” Admiral Schlieffen was saying. Stefan fidgeted impatiently. “I absolutely refuse to play the role of the evil genius. I have explained to you that this fleet was on an unarmed reconnaissance mission, but that’s all I can tell you.”
Stefan groaned in frustration, standing up off his couch once more. He stomped over to the viewscreen, staring at the dead moon in front of him. What sort of game was this old man playing? Was his goal to waste time? Stefan didn’t need this. He needed to be in command of his fleet.
A bright halo began to appear alongside one edge of the moon. Soon, the entire viewscreen glowed with the luminescence of Kaisari’s sun. The sudden appearance of light caught Stefan off guard, blinding him. He shielded his eyes with his arm, turning away.
“You shouldn’t look directly at the sun, old sport.” The Admiral said, flicking a switch on the wall. Shutters unfolded and closed off the viewscreen. “It’s bad for your eyes.”
The effect wore off soon after and Stefan sat back down.
“If you’re not going to tell me anything useful, why bother bringing me here?” He asked.
“You know, I also dabbled in old Earth literature.” The Admiral mused, ignoring the question. “Imagine that, old sport! An admiral of the Wheel, indulging in those outdated practices. Have you ever heard of a chap called Fitzgerald?”
“Damn it!” Stefan shouted, slamming down on the coffee table. The Admiral was unperturbed by the outburst.
“Are you senile, old man?” He yelled, waving his arms. “Our planet is in danger and you’re keeping me here, talking about ancient books and movies?”
“There’s no need to be so brash, Captain.” The Admiral cooly replied. “Although I must admit, I have been delaying you here for a purpose.”
Stefan calmed himself. Finally, he was getting somewhere.
“The truth is, we have been waiting here for someone who wishes to speak to you. As for the matter of our fleet…” The Admiral waved a hand. “Don’t worry about it. As soon as your meeting here is over, we shall withdraw immediately and permanently from Kaisari. This, I promise.”
Stefan nodded. At least that was one problem solved.
“Who am I going to be talking with?” He asked.
At that moment a knock came at the door. The Admiral glanced towards it.
“That must be him now.” The Admiral said. “Come in!”
Landover of the Wheel entered the meeting room.
“Hello, Captain Sonett.”
An explosion burst open one of the palace’s walls, knocking over Garrett’s companion. Whoever these invaders were, they were determined to destroy anything and everything to get to the emperor. Dumb bastards, Garrett thought. The emperor was long gone.
In any case, it was almost the fiercest fighting Garrett had ever seen. While Garrett and the Praetorians had been in steady retreat, the Kaisari soldiers fought as if possessed by otherworldly demons. In these close quarters, many of them chose to abandon their guns for tradition, charging the enemy with shield and gladius. These primitive weapons were not made from the iron and steel of Kaisar’s day, replacing them with advanced bulletproof materials and complex alloys. They proved exceeding effective against the physically weaker invaders. If cornered, Garrett imagined, the Praetorians could probably muster enough strength to rip their attackers clean in two.
Garrett and a Cohortes Urbana were retreating down a hallway towards the throne room when the explosion hit. The man, pinned under a mountain of rubble, motioned with his head for Garrett to continue. Garrett tried to contact a medic over the communications network built into his helmet, but it quickly became apparent he was being jammed. Swearing, he told the wounded Cohort that he’d help him as soon as possible. He doubted the Cohort understood him, but the motion in itself was apparently comforting. Garrett set off, alone, further down the hallway towards the throne room.
Lieutenant Captain Yurevich watched the invaders landing with concern.
“Orders, Captain?” Asked the Pretoria’s head engineer, a thin man by the name of Ryosuke.
Yurevich glanced at the monitors surrounding the bridge, then at the viewscreen.
“Move to engage.”
“Sorry, Captain Sonett, but I’m not quite dead yet.”
This time, the explosion knocked Garrett off of his feet. But, it was not the explosion that shocked him most, but the man entering the palace through the hole it made.
Clad in black combat armour and a matching hood, the masked man stood in the new entryway, the light from outside the palace illuminating floating dust particles and bathing his body in an ethereal glow. Stepping out the light and into the darkened palace brought the man’s features into focus and revealed his red scarf, eerily similar to Garrett’s own.
“Garrett Scott.” The man spoke, his voice uncanny, a monotone, yet sounding as if the man behind the mask was on the verge of tears. “Your actions are pointless. You cannot save the emperor. We have already won.”
This man… This man was…!
Garrett attempted to scramble to his feet, but the masked man was on him in a second, stomping down on his throat with a heavy combat boot. Garrett was choked and began to writhe, clawing at the man’s leg, trying to reach for his rifle, his sword, anything, but it was useless.
“It is over, Garrett Scott. There is nothing you can do.”
The masked man let up on the pressure, but did not remove the boot. Garrett gasped, sputtered, coughed, and writhed some more, but could not free himself from the man’s hold.
“You…” Garrett broke into another fit of coughing, his voice raspy and strained. “You think the emperor’s stupid enough to stay in his palace while it’s under attack?”
The masked man uttered a sound that could have been a laugh.
“Of course not. We had anticipated that. The emperor is already dead.”
A crashed transport in the middle of a burning field, just outside of Austis. Shot down before it could escape. Imperator Tacitus crawled out of the burning wreckage, a leg and several ribs broken. A Praetorian’s mangled form lay some ways away from the crash site.
The catalyst strode through the flames surrounding what was essentially a burning pyre. The emperor could do nothing but watch with abject horror as he strode closer and closer.
Standing over the emperor’s body, he drew his sword.
Tacitus’ last words were
Deos
Nos
Salvum
“What!? Dead?”
“I killed him, Garrett Scott. As I have killed his son and his brothers. As I will one day kill you.”
“Why not do it now, then?”
“You still have a role to play in this story.”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
“This planet is a joke, Garrett Scott. The mythical Kaisar, unifier of the tribes, hero of Kaisari, was nothing more than the descendent of a professor of history, obsessed with the times of Gaius Julis and his Romans.”
“Who the fuck are the Romans? What does this have to do with anything?”
The masked man shook his head.
“We have accomplished our goals here. I will see you again, Garrett Scott.”
The pressure on Garrett’s neck mounted steadily until unconsciousness overtook him.
Legio I Kaisari and Legio XVI Noctus arrived at Austis, forcing the invaders to retreat. Lieutenant Captain Yurevich’s fleet successfully engaged the attacking ships, destroying nearly half before the rest retreated back into the safety of the fourth dimension. Many fleeing dropships were caught, but no prisoners could be taken as the attacking troops preferred suicide to capture.
Garrett Scott awoke in an infirmary to the sight of Legate Septimius of the Legio XVI Noctus, who, for the bravery shown by the DSC in their defence of the palace would honour Garrett’s wishes by granting him personally the first century of the legion, composed of its best and brightest legionnaires, with the rest of the Legion volunteering themselves for a tour of duty as auxiliaries of the Confederacy.
Despite everything that had happened, Garrett still managed to feel elation.
“What’s going to happen to Kaisari now?”
Back on the Pretoria, Garrett noticed Captain Sonett was not himself. His normally perfectly tousled hair hung over his eyes, matted with sweat. He was hunched over sitting on his bed, his uniform unbuttoned and crumbled. He absentmindedly twirled his pistol around his fingers.
“The Confederacy’s probably going to have to step in. Bring order to chaos.” He mumbled.
The Captain shook his head, looking up at the Colonel.
“What’s the nearest friendly planet to here? For some rest and relaxation?”
Garrett thought for a moment.
“That would be… ah, wait, no, at this time of the year… hm. New Pallas, was it? I think it’s New Pallas.”
“New Pallas, then. We’re going to New Pallas.”
“New Pallas…”
1: Reports from Kaisari Aquilonem indicate hostiles landing around the palace...
2: A message from your son, Imperator! He reports enemies descending around his summer retreat in Kaisari Insulae!
3: Imperator, our troops have engaged the enemy across the planet! We have reports from several provinces -
4: Good. Discuss this further with the minister of war.
5: Emperor! Enemy drop ships are incoming! ETA: ten minutes!
6: Thank you, Albius.
7: We can’t stay here forever. Let’s move.
8: Damn it, Eprius. If you had left her alive, we could have questioned her.
9: Apologies, Lord. I had let the heat of battle overtake my common sense. Our planet is not attacked very often.
10: It doesn’t matter now. Have the transports arrived?
11: Yes, Lord. They have landed at the docks. They await your – what devilry is this!?”
12: Assassin!
13: I have wasted enough time on you. I am needed in Austis and my time is short.
14: What is this…? What are you…?
15: I am a catalyst… a force of nature.
16: Your part in this story is over.
17:Incoming!
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