Empire: Book 2, The Chronicles of the Invaders (The Chronicles of the Invaders Trilogy) (12 page)

CHAPTER 23

I
t was clear now that the raiders who had arrived through the wormhole were something more than Nomads. Paul and Thula took the time to search the dead in an effort to find any identifying marks or papers, but they came up entirely empty. Like soldiers everywhere, the Illyri had a fondness for adorning their skin, often with details of campaigns or unit names, but the bodies that had fallen aboard the
Envion
were as devoid of such markings as they had been on the day they were born.

“Here,” said Thula, pointing a finger at a series of tiny scars on the head of one of the dead Illyri. The Nomad was female, her scalp almost entirely shaved except for a tuft of hair at the crown arranged in a kind of ponytail. She had been strong and muscular. It hadn’t saved her from a bullet, though.

“What is it?” asked Paul.

“Laser scarring, I believe. I would bet a lot of money that, until recently, this Illyri had a tattooed scalp.”

Paul examined the marks, and realized that he had passed over similar scars on some of the others.

“They were wiped clean, just in case any of them were caught or killed,” he said.

“Exactly.”

Thula reached into a pack at his feet and drew from it a hand scanner, used to diagnose internal injuries.

“What are you going to do with that?” asked Paul.

“Make another bet with you.”

“Which is?”

“That they’ve all had their Chips removed.”

Thula activated the scanner. He didn’t need to scan all of the dead to win his bet: after three came up negative, Paul conceded. Chips both carried and transmitted essential data about their carriers. They were as individual as fingerprints; there would be little point in erasing all other identifying marks while leaving Chips in place.

“You want to hazard a guess as to who they were?”

“You first,” said Thula. “You’re the officer.”

“Forces of the Diplomatic Corps, not the Military. It’s hard to get soldiers to turn on their own.”

“But we’re not Illyri Military. We’re Brigade troops—human cannon fodder.”

“Even so, the
Envion
was a Military vessel, with Military crew.”

“Okay, accepted,” said Thula. “I’ll see your Corps, though, and raise you Securitats.”

“Explain.”

“A feeling, and no more than that. But the Corps always uses Securitats for its dirty work. If it’s torture, deception, murder, it will have Securitat prints on it somewhere.”

“Okay, then: Securitats, but not their A-team. We took them too easily.”

“They weren’t expecting to have to deal with the Military, human or otherwise,” said Thula. “They were just hunting a politician. You don’t need hardened fighters to kill politicians. And they were working without Chips. After years of relying on their input, they were probably a little rusty.”

It made sense, but then most things Thula said made sense.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like to be the lieutenant around here?” asked Paul.

“It’s above my pay grade. Also, I like to be in a position to blame someone else when things go to hell.”

“So you’re just a grunt?”

“That’s me.”

The
Envion
groaned again, but this time there was also a grinding sound from deep in its bowels as metal began to separate from metal. The ship was in its death throes.

“Well, grunt, get those unlocked pulse weapons stored away before we both end up floating home.”

Thula piled the crate of pulsers onto a transport platform, along with the other guns, grenades, and ammunition gathered by Paul, and directed it toward the Nomad ship. Paul took one last look at the dead Illyri, all of them now stripped of their blast masks and a good deal of their clothing. If they were Securitats, there was no telling what kind of vengeance their superiors might try to visit on those responsible for their deaths, justified or not. Paul was now glad that he had listened to Councillor Tiray, and had refrained from sending a distress message through the wormhole. He could only hope that the two Nomad ships had not managed to send back any messages of their own.

•  •  •

By the time Paul reached the Nomad vessel, Galton was seated beside Rizzo, both of them lost in their own thoughts. Rizzo had been fond of De Souza, and maybe more than that. Paul didn’t know if they’d ever had a relationship, but he believed that Rizzo might have been a little in love with their dead lieutenant. As for Galton, now that the fighting was over and they were about to leave the
Envion
, he had time to think about Cady. His expression was unreadable as he stared down from the window at Torma, the world on which his lover now lay buried. Paul gently laid a hand on his shoulder, an attempt at comfort that Galton barely acknowledged. His cheeks were wet. Paul left him to his grief.

Meanwhile Peris and Tiray were locked in loud discussions with Steven about the Nomad ship’s technology.

“Gentlemen,” said Paul, interrupting them, “perhaps we could continue the debate after we’ve freed ourselves from the
Envion
.”

Steven glanced up at his brother as Peris and Tiray moved away without complaint. Paul’s tone, although polite, had brooked no opposition. He was changing, inhabiting his new role as lieutenant. Back on Earth, fighting the Illyri, Paul had been groomed for leadership by the Resistance’s commanders, and had accepted every responsibility that was given to him. But this was different. They were far from
home, conscripts in an alien army and barely out of basic training, yet when they had been at their weakest—their comrades dead or dying, their ship crippled, a superior force preparing to attack—Paul had rallied them, forging them into a new fighting unit, and all those who would have killed them were dead. Steven was sorry that De Souza was gone, but he was also grateful that his injuries had led to Paul’s promotion, for Steven did not believe that De Souza could have handled the situation as well as his brother.

His eyes moved past Paul to Alis, Tiray’s aide. There was something familiar about her, something he could not quite place. She looked very young, but she was beautiful in a hard way, like a statue molded from gold. He had tried to apologize for touching her, but the apology had been almost as awkward and embarrassing as the original offense. As Steven stumbled over his words, Alis had simply watched him with her unblinking Illyri gaze, her head turned slightly to one side like a bird listening to a worm trying to talk its way out of being eaten.

The Nomad vessel shook as something ignited in the heart of the
Envion
. Fire bloomed briefly on one of the lower decks before the hull ruptured and the flames were smothered. The blast distracted Steven from Alis.

“Get us out of here,” ordered Paul.

“Yes, sir,” Steven answered instinctively, then realized that he was talking to his brother. “I mean—”

Steven paused, and thought.

“Yes, sir,” he repeated, and in the reflection on the cockpit glass, he thought that he caught Paul smiling.

But just as he prepared to unlock the Nomad ship, it rang with an alarm sound. Paul turned to see that Galton, unnoticed by anyone else, had risen from his seat, and had opened the connector door.

“Galton!” cried Paul. “What are you doing?”

“I’m sorry,” said Galton. “I can’t leave here.”

He stepped through the door and into the connector. Before Paul could react, the door had closed again, and seconds later he both felt and heard the shuttle detaching itself from the
Envion
.

“It’s Galton,” said Steven. “He’s decoupled us from inside. Do you want me to try to dock us again?”

And in that moment, Paul made his most difficult decision yet.

“No,” he said. “Let him go.”

Sometimes, he thought, grief was just too much for a person to bear.

He stepped to the one of the hull windows and saw Galton looking back at him from an observation bay. Paul raised his hand in farewell and thought that he saw Galton respond before he turned away. The Nomad distanced itself from the
Envion
, the larger ship growing smaller and smaller through the windows, the great yellow mass of Torma lying behind it. Paul felt a terrible pang of sadness as he watched the final moments of the
Envion
, his last sight of Galton still fresh in his mind, remembering the faces of those who had served on the destroyer, losing their lives in doing so, and how the ship had held itself together for long enough to allow them to escape safely, as though it had wanted them to live. But he hoped too that the memory of the raiders’ slaughter might die with the vessel.

A massive explosion ripped through the destroyer, instantly tearing it asunder. Its two halves separated, and as if in slow motion, the wreckage began to drop toward the surface of Torma, shedding debris as it went, the shards turning to bright stars in the planet’s atmosphere, and among them was Galton, descending to join his lost love.

They watched the death of the
Envion
in silence. Only when it was gone from sight did Alis approach Paul and ask if she could take the copilot’s seat. Paul gave his consent. It seemed like a good idea for Steven to have some help.

“Set a course?” asked Steven.

“Just take us away from that wormhole,” said Paul, “while I try to get someone to tell me how we ended up in this mess.”

•  •  •

The
Nomad
—for, in the absence of a better name, that was what they chose to christen their new vessel—was a technological wonder. As Paul made his way to the rear, passing from the flight deck through a series of crew compartments, and into engineering, he could hear
Peris and Tiray marveling at it while simultaneously trying to figure out where it had been constructed, and by whom. Four or five virtual screens overlapped in front of the two Illyri as they examined weapons systems, flight controls, and engines. Paul watched them in silence for a time until finally he grew tired of hearing them compliment a vessel that had been partly responsible for reducing a destroyer to wreckage, and its crew to ash and floating bodies, and coughed loudly.

“Lieutenant,” said Peris, his eyes bright, “it’s astonishing. We are decades away from producing a craft like this.”

“By
we
,” said Paul, “I take it you mean the Military?”

Both Illyri grasped his implication immediately, for the same thought had already struck them.

“Absolutely,” said Peris. “This must be the work of the Diplomatic Corps, but where did this technology come from? I mean, we have our own research divisions working on advanced propulsion and construction systems, but even if the rumors are true, we still haven’t come close to developing a fusion engine of this sophistication. The
Nomad
is barely one-tenth the size of the
Envion
but its engine is at least three times as powerful. This thing is fast, resilient, and armed with weapons capable of taking down a Military destroyer. It shouldn’t exist, but it does.”

“And it came hunting for Councillor Tiray,” said Paul.

Thula came back to join him. There were now two humans and two Illyri. Paul stole a glance at Peris, still shoulder to shoulder with Tiray, both gazing around them in wonder. It remained to be seen where precisely Peris’s loyalties might lie if he had to choose between the Illyri and the unit.

“We need answers,” Paul continued. “Thula and I examined the bodies of the raiders on the
Envion
. All identifying marks had been surgically removed from their skin, and their Chips had been pulled from their skulls. That’s not an easy piece of surgery, is it, Thula?”

Thula nodded. “From what I’ve heard, true Nomads deactivate their Chips, but they don’t go cutting into skulls to pull them from the cerebral cortex.”

“Right,” said Paul. “Now, putting all these pieces together, what
we have is some kind of secret Corps vessel disguised to look like a piece of Nomad junk, carrying trained raiders—we reckon Securitats, given the dirty nature of the work—who targeted an Illyri politician, and wanted him badly enough to be prepared to take on a Military destroyer and kill everyone on board.”

Tiray looked pained.

“Lieutenant,” he said, “you are not alone in losing friends and colleagues. Do you know what lies on the other side of that wormhole? I’ll tell you: the wreckage of a ship called the
Desilus
, with a crew of twenty, among them my own stepson. The
Desilus
was to have been my mission ship, but by the time I reached it, everyone on board was dead, and the
Desilus
itself resembled the
Envion
in its final moments. It was only a miracle that brought me and Alis safely through the wormhole.”

Paul looked at him coldly, for it was the arrival of Tiray that had been the
Envion
’s undoing.

“You’ll have to forgive us for not regarding your coming as a miracle,” said Paul. “The last I heard, miracles involved raising the dead, not sending the living to join them. Your miraculous escape drew the raiders down on us instead, which brings us back to the main question: What makes you so important? What did they want from you?”

Tiray looked to Peris. Clearly he was uncomfortable with being interrogated by a human—resentful, even. Paul wondered how many humans Tiray had even encountered until now; a few Brigade troopers seen at a distance, perhaps, but no more than that. Tiray clearly expected Peris to intervene on his behalf. Now we come down to it, thought Paul. Now we will see.

“Councillor Tiray, please answer the lieutenant,” said Peris.

In happier circumstances, Paul might have cheered: Peris was a soldier, and soldiers stuck together, especially when confronted by politicians.

“This is a very delicate situation,” said Tiray. “Many lives may be at stake, maybe even the future of the Empire.”

He had been talking to Peris, but now he turned and directed his attention to Paul.

“I mean no offense, Lieutenant, but you are human, and I am Illyri. You fight in the Illyri Brigades, but we are not on the same side.”

Before Paul could reply, Peris intervened.