Fury - part 4
The communicator's chime brought Fury out of a troubled sleep. She woke to a pitch-dark cabin, and as was her practice, took three deep breaths to clear her mind before answering. Dreamstuff clung to her brain for a few moments, distorted memories of the meteor's devastation on H-O Two, of gliding through the aftermath, the shattered ecosystem wailing like a thousand hurt puppies. Starwolf bodies strewn over a broken landscape.
Enough! She reached out and hit the accept button. "What is it?"
"Sirdar-Prime, there's a message for you," said Stalan Perovich, her Executive Officer on the Gladius Dei. He sounded uncertain, which pricked her interest. "It's, ah, somewhat unorthodox. I wasn't sure I should disturb you."
"What's so unusual about it, Exec?" As she spoke, she swung out of her bunk and reached for her robe. Her quarters were small and functional, and she could navigate them with her eyes closed.
"Well, ma'am, it's an HCAR voice-only transmission that came in on an old command frequency, using an outdated Outermost protocol."
"We do occasionally get those, Exec. Fringe groups or former allied tribes who don't stay current with our protocols." She belted the robe on and padded to her desk, stopping before she barked her shins on the chair. Reaching out with one sure hand, she pulled the chair open before seating herself. "How outdated?"
"Sixteen years, ma'am."
A chill traced its way down her spine. "I'll take it. Privately."
"Acknowledged. I'm sending it now, ma'am."
"Thank you, Stalan."
She folded her arms in the dark and waited. A moment later a deep, resonant voice filled the room, a voice she remembered very well.
A voice she'd given up for dead years ago.
"Hello, Alyx, this is Mace. If you're listening to this, I'll assume you're wondering where the Seven Hells I've been over the last umpteen years." A laugh followed, then: "All over would be the easiest answer, but I don't think it'd be a terribly satisfying one for you. I haven't much time to explain, since I'm trying to slip into the Nirel-Malak Lattice without stirring up Cardinal Spear. And in any case, I have something to show you that absolutely needs to be shown in person. With luck, I won't be far behind this message. Christ, I may even beat it if the relays at Hindershot are still as bad as they were in '24.
"You'll need something to prove it's really me and not a fake. When I arrive, I'll transmit on this frequency again. Ask me anything you like. I'll see you soon, heya? Take care."
The message bleeped to signal it was over. Fury realized she sat bolt upright, her fists clenched in her lap. She made herself relax, but she remembered a sandy-haired man of powerful build, hard but kind. A warrior and a minstrel. A man she'd hated with frightening passion once upon a time.
But that was a long time ago. Times had changed, and they doubtless would change again. She had become a different person, and she faced a near-impossible task in this reckoning with the Starwolf. Still, the message had aroused her curiosity. She tabbed Perovich's commlink.
"Sirdar-Prime?"
"Exec, if we should receive another message on that frequency, patch it to me at once. First priority."
"Aye-aye, ma'am."
She closed the circuit and stood. Why had Mace decided to come out of retirement after so many years? What did he have that was so important? She dressed in the dark, then turned up the lights to make the final adjustments on her uniform. Once she was satisfied with her appearance, she picked up her swagger stick and went to the bridge.
Preparations had gone well. The strike fleet was nearly ready to depart. Up until now, only the senior officers knew they were going to hit Ymir instead of driving toward Outermost. Fury planned to make a fleetwide announcement one hour prior to departure. To allow her troops to prepare for an arctic combat zone, she'd selected the false target of Grimschloss, a nearby star system with an icebound world held by the Order of the Talon. She'd even sent a few recon units to reinforce the ruse. They'd had orders not to engage under any circumstances, and they'd returned without incident, though they'd confirmed Starkweather's information that Sirdar Do'Brennin had mobilized. Grimschloss fairly crawled with O-T Talons.
No, the real target was Ymir's capital of Skyrholm. In addition to the morale value of a strike on the capital of the system hosting the Starwolf Muster, there was a POW camp nearby that held Blood Eagle prisoners taken on Shekerik Two. Fury's plan was to hit Skyrholm and free her people. Surely that would be more than enough to wake the Bloodlines.
The bridge of the Gladius Dei was a busy, efficient place. It was taller than it was wide. A holodisplay column dominated the center of the room. Command stations formed a half circle on the upper level, and the lower half of the room - called the Gunpit - held the primary gunnery stations in another semicircle. Fury's command seat had its own level just above and to the right of the command stations. Once on the bridge, she mounted the stairs and took her seat. The crew members on station nodded to her but didn't interrupt their work. This was the critical period before going into battle, when the crew made one last shakedown of the myriad of electronic and mechanical systems throughout the ship. Fury didn't care to break her crew's concentration with petty displays of military protocol. The Gladius Dei was one of the most powerful warships in the wilderzone, and Fury meant it to function at peak efficiency.
She began to review her plan for the assault on Ymir. It relied heavily on the Blood Eagle's technological advantages in speed and targeting, which could become a significant factor in starship combat, given a clever commander. Fury knew she couldn't defeat DiVaragas. She might, however manage to achieve her objective and get out without losing too much of her force. If the plan worked, that is. She had no illusions. Military strategy was as subject to the laws of chance and entropy as anything else. However, she had the advantage of a far smaller force to coordinate. If they sliced in quickly, made the hit and run by the numbers, they might get out.
With forty percent casualties.
But if the Starwolf had been alerted and were waiting for them, it could be much, much worse. No question. This venture was a huge gamble. She pored over their intelligence again, ran several more simulations, and made some adjustments. She was supposed to be the brilliant strategist, the miracle worker, but she couldn't find any miracle here. At best, she'd achieve a Pyrrhic victory. She wiped perspiration from her forehead and sipped some tea a thoughtful steward had left for her.
There was another element to her strategy. The Starwolf had a huge number of warriors, but there were a lot of newbloods in that muster, and they'd make all the mistakes newbloods tended to make under fire. Fury's force, on the other hand, was virtually all veteran. Add to that the truculent independence of the various Starwolf warlords, and she dared hope there'd be enough of a difference in discipline to tip the scales.
Her commlink beeped, startling her. How long had she been working over her screens? The chronometer said she'd been here nearly nine hours. She stifled a groan as she stood.
"Fury here. What is it?"
Chalad's voice answered her. "Commander Perovich said you'd left orders regarding a certain transmission, sir. We've received such a signal. Do you want to take it there?"
"Yes." Her command station had more than enough privacy, and was also equipped with anti-eavesdropping features if she needed to trigger them. "Put it through, Felice. Voice only." She didn't feel ready to see him yet.
"Hello, Sirdar-Prime." Mace. Fury felt herself tense again, but she clasped her hands behind her back and waited.
"It's been a long time, Starkar. If that's who you are."
His voice held amusement. "Like I said, ask me anything, Alyx. Let's get this over with."
"All right. How many moles does Freya Cloudchaser have on her left hip?"
Silence. Then "That's not fair, and you know it."
"That's my question, Sier Mace."
"OK, have it your way." A sigh. "None on the left hip, three on the right. One on the small of her back, just above the tailbone. Satisfied?"
"What was the first song you sang to the Great Eagle's children?
"A Pirate Lullaby. I was a little drunk."
Fury ran a fingertip across her eyepatch. "I loved that song," she said quietly, her voice full of emotion. "What in Hunter's name are you doing here?"
"Why don't I come aboard? I could use a drink, and I'd like to see you." He paused. "It's been a long time."
"I'll send a cutter. Give me your coordinates."
He did, and forty minutes later, Fury waited in the shuttle bay with her Ravens flanking her. The cutter docked, and a minute later, the hatch hissed open. Mace walked in, still a strongly built man. He had close-cropped hair over a seamed face that bespoke exposure to the suns of a host of alien worlds. His eyes were a steely gray, but they crinkled when he saw her. He wore loose civilian garb and carried a laser harp under one arm and a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He was nearly sixty, but he still moved with a spring in his step.
The sight of him was a shock, but not nearly as much as the man that stepped into the bay after Mace.
She sensed Sevaya stiffening next to her. Chalad exhaled sharply.
The man's hair was a long blonde mane that spilled out over his shoulders, and his face bore several days' stubble. He was only a little taller than Mace, but though he wore similarly loose garb, it looked tight on his physique. He carried himself with a confidence and grace that reminded her somehow of a pacing lion. His eyes blazed blue from a deeply tanned face. He looked at her and nodded in recognition.
Her throat tightened. Ulysses Alexandre Konovalev. Her brother. She cursed Mace silently for keeping quiet, and she blessed him for finding her little brother after so many years.
Despite the storm of emotion the sight of these men caused in her, she kept an iron grip over her voice and facial expression. "Gentlemen. Welcome aboard the Gladius Dei. I fear you've caught me in the middle of planning an invasion. May I offer you some coffee?"[1]
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