Black Legion: 04 - Last Stand (5 page)

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.”

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.