Sigil of the Wolf - 3. Chapter 3

HMS Excalibur - en-route to the Jump Nexus

Life aboard ship had settled into a routine of difficult drills. Experience had taught Darien the importance of being prepared: once they broke through the Amsus blockade, the continual attacks and running would ensure that any mistake would be a deadly one. He wanted to be sure before they even got there that mistakes wouldn't happen.

He was exhausted, every muscle aching after the endless damage control drills that he insisted on participating in. The crew needed to see him working right alongside them, to understand that what he asked of them was only what he could ask of himself. But while they could sleep at the end of their shift, the Highlord couldn't afford that luxury.

He had just completed an hour-long conference with two of the Imperial front line Captains who were updating him on the sudden and strangely uncharacteristic redeployment of the Amsus Fleet assets. One of them, Captain Zoran - a former Pirate Baron who had pledged his allegiance to the Imperial order - had compiled a detailed tactical map. The same map floated in the middle of his stateroom and flashed the location of known enemy resources. The Amsus were gathering for a counter-attack, pulling ships off of their blockade and collecting them into formidable battle groups, but as yet the location of the Amsus staging point was unknown.

It looked like the Amsus High Command had grown impatient with the siege.

That worried Darien. Imperial resources were stretched thin, and while they had plenty of ships, they had few men to crew them, especially when General Iver needed every able-bodied youth he could get in a flak vest invading insignificant colonies. The Amsus, on the other hand, seemed to have an inexhaustible supply of troopers, Inquisitors, ships and fighters.

The only thing keeping the Empire ahead was the technological advantage, but even that wasn't enough to counteract the immense manpower of the Amsus army. And, despite the discovery of the PKD's effectiveness against Inquisitors, there was no question about their decisiveness on the field.

The answer was simple: the fledgling Empire needed alliances, and it needed more free colonies to offer up its sons and daughters to a cause that would see them remain free. He saw that as his primary mission; the more damage he could do to the Amsus infrastructure, the more the people ground beneath Amsus oppression would see a chance at freedom, and with a little diplomacy, maybe they would join the Empire.

He tapped the silver pen against the black glass of his desk, chewing his lip and trying not to think about how sore he felt. He wasn't out of shape, far from it; he was in the best shape of his life, but even then there was only so much a body was designed to take before he felt every step.

He reached out to catch his coffee mug feeling the small vibrations from the support carriers' catapults launching the CAP; a quick glance at the clock on his laptop computer told him that it was third watch. Time he was getting some sleep.

He smiled over at the couches where Elias was sitting; his brow knitted together, working on a broken circuit relay, spare parts and tools spread out haphazardly across the coffee table. He was wearing Darien's old 49-ers ball cap turned backwards as he listened to music in his headphones, occasionally scooping up a nano-welder and applying it to the relay as he soldered new wiring into it.

Darien shook his head, unbuttoning another button on his shirt and getting up with a slight groan. He rubbed his legs as he walked around the desk to tap Elias on the head. When he looked up, Darien gestured towards the bedroom.

"Nope," Elias shook his head, "Too tired..."

Darien smiled as he sat down on the couch, and Elias instinctively lifted his arm, continuing to work as Darien shifted to get comfortable. They'd settled into a comfortable routine of just being together, even when in the same room they could be focused on...

He fell asleep in the middle of that thought.

* * *

"Three hour rule!" Katz said, stretching as he climbed out of the F-175 after his sixth consecutive hour on CAP, tucking his helmet under his arm and unzipping the nylon flight jacket he still wore with pride.

Masconi looked up from her clipboard, circling her F-120 fighter and running through the maintenance record with her Plane Captain and his crew of technicians. "What's the matter, you can't hack it?"

He glared at her, yawning as he rolled his shoulders to crack the joints. "You try sitting in the cockpit of a 175 for six hours!"

"No thanks," Masconi jibed, "More room in a 120. Are you racking out?"

Katz shook his head. "I need to eat. For all I know the Skipper will have us back out on a full Air Group deployment..."

Masconi groaned as well. "Not a chance," she said firmly, "I decide when those happen, and I promise to let you get at least an hour's sleep..." she winked, "Maybe half an hour."

Katz shook his head at her, reporting to the pilot's locker, stowing his helmet before he trotted back through the connecting halls of the Ark-Royal to the Excalibur, fighting the sudden wave of vertigo as he switched gravity planes in the connecting hallway.

Necessity had linked the Excalibur to its two support Carriers, but while the ship had adapted well, its personnel never seemed to be able to get used to the change in direction of gravity from one vessel to the other. Still, he was glad to be out of the cramped support carrier - which was packed to the gills with fighters, marines and supplies - and into the Excalibur proper, where there was more breathing room.

He passed a squad of Mayfair's marines, the Karin Expeditionary, yellow Wolf's-head patches on their grey urban fatigues, their sergeant bawling orders at them as they jogged past, each of them slowing to salute a senior officer, even though he was a 'flyboy'.

Katz returned the salute, even though they were aboard ship and it wasn't traditional to salute: Mayfair insisted that his marines observe specific disciplines. The Lt. Colonel expected his men to perform above and beyond and so far, they always met his expectations.

Marine country, the area of the ship surrounding the mech drop bays just behind the main hangar deck, was always crowded. Mayfair had a battalion of men aboard, stowed in the support Carriers and bunked down anywhere they could find space.

Many of the corridors were lined with supply crates pushed up and secured to the walls by heavy straps, some of the Marines finding beds for themselves on top of the crates, or in hammocks slung across side corridors. Field canteens relieved the pressures on the Excalibur's mess halls, converting supply closets to makeshift soup kitchens where hungry Marines could go and eat.

It was crowded, smelled something awful, but the Marines were content. It wasn't as if there was an abundance of space aboard the converted strike cruiser anyway. Katz shared a cabin with four other senior pilots; he was lucky that way, at least he had a bunk of his own. In some other parts of the ship, hot bunking was the rule. The only ones lucky enough to have their own quarters were the Highlord, First Officer, and the ship's doctor. Even then, everyone knew that Darien shared with the Chief Engineer.

Well at least someone was happy, he thought, plunging his hands into his pockets as he waited with a group of crewmen for the next elevator car, stepping back as Doctor Kyr and a group of medics exited, also coming off shift. The young Kaynin doctor flashed Katz a grin and a nod as he walked past, continuing to discuss the changes in the ship's medical roster. No matter how hard he tried, the doctor still looked like a little kid wearing his father's lab coat and carrying a stethoscope.

Excalibur was an odd community, different lives brought together from so many different places. And the ship changed those lives...

"Evening, Squadron Leader," Galadriel said, falling in beside him, smiling a brilliant smile as she accompanied him towards the mess hall.

"Hey," Katz up nodded back at her, still sauntering at his own pace, "Not up on the bridge directing traffic?"

She laughed. "Not out in a fighter breaking traffic laws?"

"You got me there," he admitted, the pair turning the final corner and entering the mess, long serving tables along one wall, chef standing dour-faced as usual, watching over his servers, hand wrapped around a serving ladle that he used to keep them in line.

"He always looks like a demented French Chef," he murmured, causing Galadriel to smile again.

"Stop it," she murmured, "I don't want him to think we're laughing at him."

"Good point," Katz said with a nod, biting his lip, "I don't want to have to eat out of the Marine soup kitchens..."

"What jack boot surprisé not your thing?" Galadriel teased, nudging the senior pilot, "Or are you watching your figure?"

He shook his head, looking at her. They'd become fast friends after the mess at Arcanis, when she'd come aboard the Excalibur. She possessed a vibrancy that complemented his cocky attitude well; had he been interested, he'd have... True, had he been interested, she would probably have said no - her type tended towards strapping jarheads, not scrawny pilots.

She winked and nudged him again, gesturing with her tray to the fact that he was next in line. "Wake up," she said, waiting till he had selected before she followed through, picking up a sandwich and following him to a seat.

He sat poking his plate tiredly, yawning again, his eyes wandering to follow a young technician, his ball cap pulled low and tee-shirt un-tucked.

"What is it with you and that type?" Galadriel asked, cocking her head around to follow the young man.

"Shh," he hissed, "He'll hear you." He flushed, slightly embarrassed.

Galadriel shrugged her narrow shoulders, adjusting herself on the edge of the chair to sit forward a bit to nibble on her sandwich. "You never get anywhere because you're too shy to ask." She said, fixing her deep brown eyes on him, "My father always said, 'don't ask, don't want'."

Katz stretched out a bit and lounged in his chair. "We're not on Karin, I can't go picking up random crew members."

"I have a date with Sergeant Hobbes." She fired back.

"Yeah, but you're Navy and he's a Marine." Katz settled and sampled his food, screwing his nose up and pushing the plate away. Chef had heard him.

She laughed at him again, looking over to where Chef was glaring at him from underneath heavyset eyebrows. She turned back, deciding that she should probably stop teasing her friend. "You're a cute guy," she said, kicking to catch his attention as he began to nod off. "Look, I can try to set you up..."

He shook his head. "No thanks..."

She turned and grinned at the young technician, who was sitting eating his supper alone; he looked about him as he realized a senior officer was staring at him. "I'm gonna call him over..."

"Don't..." but it was too late, as she furiously beckoned the confused young technician over to their table.

* * *

Lauren had tossed and turned much of the night, finally abandoning sleep as she rolled herself up into her blankets and sat cross-legged on the edge of her bed. She looked at Doctor Kyr as the tired alien rooted through his small black bag for something that would help.

"You're lucky," he murmured, "I don't usually make house calls."

"Thanks, Doctor," she said, as she accepted the sleeping pills he handed to her.

"Your physiology makes sleeping difficult," Kyr said, sitting down beside her and looking sympathetic. "While there are no real changes between this body and your old one, there are still some genetic markers that are throwbacks to the construct template. It won't interfere with your usual life; however it will result in the odd night of..."

"I was thinking about him," she said, glancing up through her hair that fell forward across her face in disarray.

Kyr licked one of his incisors and sighed. "I can restrict you from duty for a day or two, let you get some sleep, you've barely rested in the past god knows how long."

"I can't do that to Darien, he's only just got back to the ship, he needs me to keep things running." Lauren said, resting her head back against a bulkhead.

"I think he'd understand..." Kyr offered.

"No," Lauren shook her head firmly, "It's taken this long to get him to trust... me, I don't want to remind him of the change again."

"He's your friend." Kyr pressed, "You're exhausted..."

"He's also in command of this ship," Lauren reminded, "The sleeping pills will help; it's just a touch of insomnia."

Kyr stood up and folded his stethoscope, repacking his doctor's bag, sighing as he did so. "All right, but if this persists, then I am going to insist that you take some time off."

She nodded again, downing the pills and offering him a reluctant smile. "Thanks."

He shrugged. "Take care of yourself, please?"

As he left, he took a long, ragged breath. He was run off of his feet, dealing with the minor little accidents that always happened when people were worked too hard. But that was why they did the drills: to ensure that the mistakes were made, and the lessons learned.

There was a different smell though, about the crew, one of eagerness and excitement. It was a contagious feeling, and he too was glad to be out of port again. Even though it had meant missing out on the Thanksgiving dinner with his family.

The Kaynin 'home world' was luckily safely amongst the worlds sheltered by the Orion expansion after the old Empire had fallen, and the Amsus had conceded the territory in the hopes of preserving Orion neutrality. It meant that his people had luckily been spared the genetic purges the Amsus Inquisitors had carried out, exterminating any artificially created races the Empire had seeded on worlds in its quest for the perfect soldiers.

He shivered, realizing how close they had come to being totally annihilated. It had irked the council of lieges at the time; loyalty to the old Empire nearly sent them to aid the futile Imperial defence mounted by Lord Morvanor in the last few days of the Empire. That would have been a fatal mistake.

He yawned again, a sense of familiarity passing over him as he stopped. He'd been passing a technician talking to young Squadron leader Katz, both sitting high above the Mech bay, feet dangling over the railing, smoking a cigarette between them, and Kyr had been thinking about the other couples on the ship. Darien and Elias, to be precise.

It had always bothered him that every time he looked at the young engineer, he felt as though he should know him from somewhere. It was frustrating because, try as hard as he might, it just remained elusive as to exactly who.

He nipped his bottom lip, riding the elevator up to the bridge; there was only one person with an extensive enough database to offer any kind of insight.

Commander Durnham was dutifully on the bridge standing watch. The centuries-old holographic image was imprinted with the memories and personality of the Excalibur's original first officer; he was the closest thing they had aboard to a history expert. It was surprising, the amount of trivia that he had collected over the years. Kyr was hoping to pick his brain.

The Commander eyed him as he ordered the Excalibur to alter course, the helmsman adjusting the trim of the powerful vessel as it traversed the system waiting for its jump drives to spool up to full charge. They were a jump away from Eisenhower Station and the jump Nexus that would take them to Sentinel Station, the beachhead of the Imperial liberation.

"Doctor," Kit walked up to the upper tier of the bridge standing easily, "What can I do for you?"

"I was hoping to grab a moment of your time," The doctor looked about at the multileveled command centre, bustling with activity even at that late hour.

The commander nodded again. "Very well, go ahead."

Kyr chewed his lip again, wrapping his arms in close about him as he rested against one of the unused tactical consoles. "I wanted to ask you who Lieutenant Elias reminds you of?"

The Commander paused, looking distant as he scanned his database, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, he looks like Lieutenant Elias to me..."

There were times when Kyr found the holographic commander to be entirely too much like an AI. He shrugged. "Well if he were to look like someone else, who would he closest resemble... you know... historically."

Kit sighed again, resuming his search, pausing as he removed his glasses to clean them. "Can you be more specific? 'Historically' is rather a broad topic. I mean, I am always finding comparisons between human appearances; I pick out blood lines and ethnicities... and humanity does have a rather limited gene pool." He stood thoughtfully. "Odd, I guess I am becoming accustomed to no longer being human..."

Kyr frowned. "Well, it has to be somebody noteworthy. I mean, I wouldn't recognize him if he was artificially created to a 'type'."

"One 'Type' construct typically resembles another," Kit pointed out. "Take a blonde-haired, blue-eyed 'type', I find they all resemble Barbie dolls..."

Kyr laughed at the insidious toy that still permeated society even after hundreds of years. "Elias isn't exactly 'Barbie'."

"I am just stating that, statistically, a culture's idea of beauty tends to influence personal selection of construct appearance," Kit observed. "You need to be aware, however, that just prior to the fall, Highlord VonGrippen deleted any files that could possibly be used to identify senior Imperial officials in case the Amsus captured this ship after the Transcendence."

Kyr began to pace, tapping his jaw with his finger, his other hand fiddling with his stethoscope. "Could we access the Imperial databases? Maybe run a search?"

"It's that important to you?" the Commander asked, tilting his head to regard the young doctor.

Kyr nodded. "He's my best friend, it's only right that I figure this out."

Kit stepped back and gestured to a side console. "Be my guest, Excalibur says she is willing to help you..."

Kyr grinned as he sat down and cracked his knuckles. "Tell her thanks," he said, leaning forward to look at the holographic screen that began scanning through historical footage.

The Commander shrugged, shaking his head in amusement as he returned to the business of overseeing the ship's operations.

* * *

The news blared out its tinny music, Darien stood towards the door to his stateroom, battered travel mug in hand as he watched the holographic broadcast take shape in the middle of the room.

As usual a number of his senior officers had gathered to watch it with him, part of their morning ritual where he would get a feel for the different ship's departments, and discuss his schedules for them. They were about half an hour from making the transit to Sentinel Station, and from there, it was a few short jumps to the Amsus Blockade.

He waited while the news reporter updated the news of the war, a propaganda piece put out by Walker's government to keep faith in the war effort. It was optimistic, it had to be. He was asking his people to foot a massive bill in fielding the Imperial fleet, not to mention the cost in life it had taken to get this far. The reporter added that the Excalibur was en-route to the front lines, Highlord Taine at the helm...

Mayfair whooped, and a couple of the other officers clapped. Darien shook his head and motioned them back into their seats as he listened to the news anchor wishing the brave men and women of the House VonGrippen flagship good luck.

However, there was a clear push by senior Senators to draw the war to a halt, take the time to rebuild and consolidate their positions, heavily criticizing the war effort's lack of tangible progress. It was a sobering piece of news, and everyone in the stateroom sat quietly through it.

The anchor switched to other news: the Orion stock markets were doing well, despite new sanctions imposed upon them by the Amsus. It was probably the effect of having unlimited access to the Haligonian Jump Nexus: that meant a flood of goods and shipping, and the Orions were swimming in the profits. It was all part of Walker's plan to influence the Orions that the Empire was good for business.

Apparently a human businessman named Nicholas Denver was making waves, intricate publicity stunts that promoted his business ventures throughout the Orion Directorate. Darien perked his ears up at that.

"Denver?" he inquired, as everyone looked over at Nazzien.

"Yes," Nazzien replied, stretching out a bit on one of the couches, "House Denver joined the Orion directorate shortly before the Empire collapsed, taking much of the Empire's industrial base with them; they were allowed partnership providing that an Orion joined their board, and we sheltered them when the Amsus finally conquered Earth."

"Right," Darien said, chewing his lip thoughtfully; if another Imperial House had survived, it was another potential ally in their fight.

"Technically it's no longer an Imperial House," Nazzien reminded, "Three hundred years, and Denver controls a significant portion of the Orion commodities exchange. Nicholas Denver took over the operations of the company a few years ago."

"You're well informed..." Masconi nudged him.

"I own stock," Nazzien explained, "When I say it's a big company, Denver owns one of the five Orion mega-corporations."

It sounded like the perfect arrangement; with the Empire toppling, the House of Denver had successfully seceded and hidden itself behind the safety of Orion neutrality, and while they had sacrificed much of their identity, they had still managed to retain their autonomy. Unlike the House of Kardiac, which had survived hidden on a single world on the far reaches of space, or the House von Karin that had survived as nothing more than a shadow of its own greatness. Even their own House, VonGrippen, that had survived in the legacy of the fleet and the fact that Taine's crew choose to wear red. The House of Denver still spanned several colonies, retaining its strength and growing over the years during which the others had been ruthlessly put down.

"How do I meet Nicholas Denver?" Darien asked, chewing his lip. The opportunity of talking to an Imperial House, even one so vastly different as Denver had to be to survive, was too great to pass up. The tangible benefits if they agreed to rejoin the Empire were huge, and even if they elected to remain neutral, it still wouldn't hurt to have an in with the Denver industrial base.

Nazzien closed his eyes, and sighed, knowing full well Darien's reputation when it came to all things Orion. "You don't go within a thousand light years of the Denver Corporation?" He asked, hopefully. He suddenly had visions of the Amsus sweeping down, burning, looting and pillaging till the stock certificates he had worked much of his life to earn were worth nothing.

Darien shrugged. "We have an opportunity to..."

"I know, I know," Nazzien shook his head, "Save the galaxy, free us all from tyranny..." He stood up. "If the Amsus destroy Denver corp, you are going to owe me a lot of money..."

"I'll have the Empire dock my paycheque," Darien winked, looking about the room. "Has anyone seen Doctor Kyr?"

"He's on the bridge," Commander Durnham stated from the far end of the room, "reviewing historical archives, I think he fell asleep sometime around four this morning."

"Right," Darien said shaking his head, stepping back as the door slid open as he gestured towards the bridge. "Shall we?"