Sigil of the Wolf - 9. Chapter 9

HMS Excalibur - intercept course - Orentes System

Home.

Darien marched onto the darkened battle-ready bridge as he watched the Imperial Osterburg Hunter-Killer departing orbit, its engines carrying it away from the Excalibur, charging its jump pods for a quick escape with its prey.

Darien wasn't about to allow that to happen. Evans may have held an edge in firepower before, but now that advantage rested squarely with the Excalibur. Easily outclassing the smaller Imperial vessel, its fighters were deploying and its weapon systems were engaged, ready to cripple the cruiser and halt its flight.

Again Darien hesitated. He was about to order his ship to fire on Imperials, and try as hard as he could, he couldn't bring himself to issue that order, to cross that invisible line that separated him from them.

He looked around him at his crew, Nazzien ready and waiting on the ship's powerful weapon systems, while the rest stood watching him. Even Kit seemed hesitant, the hologram nervously polishing his glasses and shifting from foot to foot.

"Stand down," he ordered angrily.

"Highlord," Nazzien turned, "if I do that..."

"I know." Darien replied turning from the bridge, "Recall the fighters and power up the jump drives, we're returning to Karin."

He turned from the bridge, his fists tightly balled as he marched, entering his stateroom, the orb of Orentes hanging in the plate glass of the great stern windows.

The young Highlord seethed, his arms tightly folded as he glared behind him. Every instinct in him wanted to get Elias back, to protect him from the tortures Evans had planned, but that would mean crossing a line he dared not cross.

"You are going to have to fight." Kit said, materializing in the middle of the stateroom.

Darien turned his head. Sometimes the hologram was a mind reader. "They are Imperials and Human beings."

"They are the enemy now," Kit replied simply, "They are committing treason... Perhaps you don't know what it was like when the Bishops seized control of the Empire and Kardiac came to power, but..."

"I am not VonGrippen," Darien snapped, turning.

"No, you were a police officer." Kit reminded, the hologram looking firm as he stepped up beside the young Highlord, "And they are breaking the law. You are the defacto head of House VonGrippen, which makes you our Highlord; you are equal to Walker von Karin as far as the crew, this ship, and I are concerned. One of our own has been taken. Your House demands him back."

"If I cross that line..." Darien warned.

"You have to," Kit replied calmly, "VonGrippen stood by and did nothing, watched as Kardiac's templar swept down on any that failed to believe as he believed. The internment camps for non-believers, the termination zones... the purges. The crusades that eventually brought the Empire down, burned it alive in the fire of his fanaticism..."

"Take a look at the Nizari Isma'ili sect," Kit pressed, "Once proud and powerful, forced to flee Earth, shattered by Kardiac's persecution, descending to serving a Pirate Baron just to survive."

Darien closed his eyes, his hands clasped behind his back. He used the title when it was convenient, but it was more than simply an intimidation tactic. There was more that went with donning the black greatcoat with its blood-red lapels. More than just the simple title of head of House, it meant being the leader of his people.

The crew were sombrely carrying out his orders as he emerged from his stateroom, walking to the centre of the bridge, having donned his greatcoat again, the collar turned up as he stared darkly up at the observation windows. His arms were folded, his mind assessing the situation, what he would have to do, Knight's Cross glittering at his collar.

"General Broadcast," Darien ordered, in command again.

"Done," Sub-Lieutenant Galadriel replied, smiling lightly, glad to have the Highlord back onboard his ship.

"Renegade Vessel," Darien gestured to Nazzien, who powered the Excalibur's weapon systems gratefully, "This is the Imperial Warship Excalibur, I am Highlord Darien Taine, Head of House VonGrippen, with the full authority of the Imperial Senate. I order you to stand down and prepare to be boarded, I have my full arsenal trained upon you and fighter elements ready to cripple you if you should fail to comply with my orders. You have ten seconds to respond, or I begin to open fire."

The Osterburg shifted, its own weapon systems fully charged as it began a slow turn, trying to present an attack profile to the Excalibur.

Darien watched as the clock ticked to ten, then pointed at Nazzien, the Excalibur's zero-point bore crackling to life as it discharged across the smaller ship's bow, the Excalibur's main rail cannons sending ceramic slugs at relativistic speeds crashing into the engineering section of the Imperial warship, ploughing through its shields and carving great chunks from the exposed ion drives. The battlecruiser's main engines flickered and died as it tried to manoeuvre. Her Captain had expected a warning shot first; Nazzien had considered that sufficient warning.

"Sir, I have the enemy ship's Captain," Galadriel said looking up, "He's furious that you attacked his ship..."

"Captain," Darien said firmly, "You are a declared renegade, unless you surrender your vessel immediately I shall be forced to open fire again."

Mayfair swallowed, coming forward from where he had been standing. He looked ashen. "Highlord... I... Those are Imperials."

"They are the enemy," Darien rounded on the Colonel, "They have attacked my House and I am going to do everything in my power to defend our sovereignty."

Darien gave the Colonel a cold, hard stare, "Where do you stand Colonel?"

Mayfair shook his head, "I'm sorry, Highlord. I can't, not this time..."

Darien extended his hand. "Your side-arm, Colonel."

Mayfair slipped his automatic out of its holster and handed it across. "I'm a yellow jacket," he said proudly, "I cannot go against my House..."

"I understand," Darien replied sympathetically, looking up at the view port that was tracking the listing Osterburg, "But your House has declared war upon mine."

Darien turned the automatic over to the COB who had stepped up. "Chief, take Colonel Mayfair to his quarters and post a guard. Do the same for all members of House von Karin on ship who can't stay the course." He paused, "Treat them with respect." He met the Colonel's eyes and nodded, "I'm sorry."

"Sir," the COB nodded, leading Mayfair off as Darien turned his focus back to the Imperial warship that was powering down her systems, knowing that the Excalibur had her beaten.

"Sir, the courier," Commander Durnham pointed to the rear deck of the battlecruiser, the larger ship rolling now to keep the main part of its body between the Excalibur and the smaller support ship that was detaching through explosive bolts, jettisoning as it extended its jump pods, the Excalibur's fighters screaming to catch up before it could jump, but they were too late as the small vessel engaged and ran.

"I'm tracking the jump..." Lauren commented, "He's running back for Sentinel..."

Darien watched it go, looking over at the crippled battlecruiser that, despite her damaged ion drive, was no worse for wear. She could still jump as soon as her jump pods were charged, and she still had her auxiliary engines for manoeuvring.

"Secure for a hyperspace jump." Darien ordered, turning to return to his stateroom.

He looked over at Commander Durnham. "Access the Imperial TAC-net and gather as much information as you can on ship and fleet movements before they lock us out all together. And have Wing Commander Masconi meet me in my stateroom."

He paused, looking about at his crew, the realization of what had just occurred setting in.

"No one attacks our House," Darien said firmly.

Attacking Sentinel would be suicide, but Darien Taine knew there was more than one way to skin a cat.

* * *

Masconi stood uneasily before the desk; there was a darkness about the man sitting behind that desk, his fingers steepled and the Highlord's greatcoat braced about his shoulders. She could feel Darien's anger, just like she had seen it on the faces of most of the crew. Their friends had attacked them, and betrayal cut far deeper than the Amsus ever could.

"Have you heard from your father?" Darien asked quietly.

Masconi shook her head. "Not since the retreat, sir." She was worried about Colonel Ramsey, and for all the House Kardiac troops that had been at the forefront of the fighting when the Amsus had pulled off their miracle in taking the world, leaving the small collection of troop transports ferrying the Kardiac forces dangerously exposed.

Darien's eyes shifted to the tactical map of the Imperial beachhead, the Imperial forces stretched precariously thin as General Iver redeployed troops. It was subtle, simple rotations of certain units, what troubled Darien was that Iver was pulling fresh units off of the front, leaving battle-weary battalions and regiments without the desperate relief they needed.

Masconi saw it too. "He's planning a coup, isn't he?" she asked, folding her arms and scowling at the map, "That son of a bitch..."

Darien nodded, appearing much older to her; the events and the strains were beginning to show on his face, a subtle line here and there, and a lightening of the hair at his temples.

"That was my guess. The Senate and the armed forces haven't exactly seen eye to eye on how to run this war, and the General has run out of patience."

"That doesn't explain why Lieutenant Elias is so important to them." Masconi mused. She began to pace, something she had picked up in the flight ready room from anxious commanders who had taught her everything they knew, including a few bad habits. "Are they hoping that if they have a hostage you'd just leave?"

For the first time, Darien wondered how much he should tell her. They were friends, she'd served under him loyally since Tempus, but she was House Kardiac, a blueblood, and with the possibility of an Imperial civil war looming on the horizon, how far did her loyalty to him extend? He recalled the battle for Tempus, and how she had stepped up, standing by his side, even when it threw her into conflict with her own House, and her father.

He recognized the paranoia that was beginning, the lines had been drawn and Darien had crossed them.

Old rivalries and House lines, yet another legacy that had survived the fall of the Empire. The reds, blues, yellows and greens, all that remained. House VonGrippen was nothing more than a single ship with a fiercely loyal crew and scattered border worlds that owed Darien their liberty. House Kardiac an army from a long-forgotten garrison world halfway across the galaxy in enemy territory. House von Karin was a collection of worlds held together by one man's charisma and his dedication to a cause, and House von Taïr; the Taïrians, were, by a bizarre twist of fate, the strongest of all the Houses that remained - but they had traditionally always kept out of the internal struggles between Houses.

Masconi looked back at the Highlord shrouded in the greatcoat, staring at her thoughtfully. "My father has a saying," she said, biting her lip and regarding him with the same level of scrutiny, "In for a penny, in for a pound."

"It looks like it's going to be difficult keeping your House out of this one," Darien said regretfully.

"There's more to the Empire than House von Karin," Masconi replied, "And if there is going to be a change in leadership, I think we need to have say in it."

"I agree," Darien stood, feeling awkward for a moment in the coat, but the men needed a symbol, they needed a clear direction to follow and that coat carried with it an abundance of symbolism. "Let's go rescue your father."

* * *

Katz finished debriefing his pilots. The CAP had been working hard under Commander Durnham; the Excalibur running quick and fast had meant that the pilots had to trap quickly, landing on their first or second pass, leaving little to no room for error, so that the Excalibur could make its next jump and repeat the procedure again.

It taxed the pilot's nerves, tested the limits of equipment, and burned a lot of fuel.

And he could see the signs of strain on their faces, especially amongst the younger squadron members, those who hadn't served on the Excalibur before.

The plane crews reported that two of the F-175s of Squadron VF-54 were experiencing technical problems; one had a faulty sensor package, the other's fire control computer refused to initialise. The new fighter's electronics were finicky at best, and Katz was worried about pushing his planes too hard.

He flipped through the checklist, walking through the Ark-Royal's hanger deck, ducking to pass through hatches and avoiding the low-slung piping. He climbed a gangway to reach an upper deck, heading back towards the Excalibur. Maybe they could spare an electrical engineer to come give the plane crews a hand finding out what was causing the problems on the F-175s.

"Morning, Squadron Leader." Galadriel popped off a salute as she bounded into step with him, like clockwork every morning the Sub-Lieutenant had to be keeping tabs on him.

He nodded and passed her the report on the F-175. "Heard about this?" he asked.

The TNC officer rifled through the papers, stepping to one side automatically to allow a couple of crewmen past ferrying a crate between them. "Looks like a problem with the master computer," she said, stopping to take a closer look at the technical schematics, "Look, both the fire control and sensor package have to run through the master computer here..." she pointed to the connection splices that plugged into master computer.

"Yes but if it was a mechanical problem with the computer, wouldn't it take down other systems as well?" Katz scratched his head and paused to rest on a crate of ammunition secured against the bulkhead. "I'm no good at this computer stuff," he admitted truthfully.

"I'll have one of the bridge computer techs come down," Galadriel reassured, "Get inside it and sort it out." She stopped and leaned closer to him, "You okay?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" Katz asked in confusion.

Galadriel raised an eyebrow and tapped the wolf's-head patch on the arm of his uniform.

He stared down at it and shrugged. "I didn't think I had to change it," he said, frowning, "All this House bullshit... I thought we had a real enemy to fight."

"It's important to some people," Galadriel said firmly, "I'm proud to be Blue."

"It's like everyone has caught rainbow fever," Katz grumbled, "Bluebloods, yellow jackets, redcoats... We're all just humans trying to survive against an alien race that's gonna kick our asses."

"Yeah, just there's more to just being human. I'm proud to be from my House. We survived in Polian territory alone for three hundred years. My culture fashioned my soul, it's what made me strong."

"Mine taught me that the son of a slave is still a slave." Katz bit out, reaching up and pulling on the wolf's-head, tearing it from his sleeve and tossing it to the deck, "I really couldn't care less."

Galadriel bent down and picked it up, straightening it out and picking off the torn stitching. "And what about what it means now? You're not a slave anymore..." She set it down on the crate, "Why do you think Ashley wears a red ball cap?"

"Fashion." Katz replied, still staring at the patch.

"He's proud to be on this ship, and it's his way of saying 'look I'm a red'. After all the Amsus took away from us, our identities are what survived. And look at all the people around you, if they didn't have an identity before, they have one now, and they are so proud of it."

"Pride comes before the fall." Katz quoted, "Look I should go, I've got work to do..."

Galadriel nodded, "Take care..."

* * *

Kyr sat in the small office off of the main sickbay, leaning over a microscope as he studied the samples he had taken from Elias. He wasn't content to just let it go, there had to be some way of reversing what had been done. However, it was starting to look like he'd need a miracle. It was like a wildfire had come and burnt a house down, fragments and ashes remained, but try as hard as he liked, he couldn't restore what had been lost.

Nurse Pia fetched him a fresh coffee, setting it on the corner of his desk and discreetly leaving him alone. The doctor preferred to be undisturbed when he was lost in his studies, it helped him to think.

There were common DNA strands in all constructs and artificial beings. Inquisitors, Kaynin, even in constructs, genetic markers showed the Imperial techniques used in their creation, the subtle manipulations to make them smarter, or stronger, or even give them fantastic gifts like the Inquisitor's regeneration.

He yawned again, sniffing the bittersweet smell of the coffee and licking his lips absently. He had grown to like the stuff since being on that ship. The ship seemed to possess a near endless supply and part of Kyr secretly suspected the ship was powered by coffee.

Elias was a mystery; his genetic markers were so close to a perfect duplicate of a real human being. All too often the meat markets on Mars would substitute third- or fourth-generation clones, fixing the genetic errors in them with standard manufactured codes, leading to common traits. The blue eyes, for example, were usually the exact same pigment from construct to construct. The hair was usually a standard shade of strawberry blonde, unless of course the client had the money to request something special.

The easiest technique was to take a pre-made construct and surgically alter it to meet the client's requirements; more complicated procedures required copies of existing people. There was always a high demand for models and movie stars, and the Martian black-market was rife with stolen DNA in the form of hairbrushes or other personal items claiming to have belonged to this star or that.

However, there was no doubting that Elias was a first generation construct; there were none of the usual genetic markers that accompanied artificially created individuals. His genetics were almost pure. His DNA had been altered subtly to make him more compliant. The expense used to make him had to have been astronomical. Using three-hundred-year-old DNA to reconstruct a human being was expensive enough, but factoring in whose DNA it was... the price climbed into the realm of ludicrous.

People simply didn't possess that kind of money. It would bankrupt a mid-sized colony to produce a construct of that calibre. That meant an Orion corporation, or a government, leaving Kyr with an even deeper mystery as to why a person would want a near perfect construct of Prince Edward VonGrippen.

The fact that Edward was dark haired and Elias was blonde meant nothing, there were more than enough products out there to change that, and Kyr secretly suspected that Elias bleached his hair.

He shifted, sliding along the bench to his computer, leaning in to call up the encyclopaedia. While it had been difficult to identify who Elias was from the photo archives, once he knew who he was looking for, documents and histories still remained. The Amsus had been meticulous in preserving certain histories, storing them in their archives like the pack rats they were. Nothing got thrown away, no matter how trivial; it was documented, cross-referenced and them promptly forgotten in the database. Mountains of data that would take forever to sort through, unless you knew what you were looking for.

Prince Edward was the only direct relative of the Emperor; old VonGrippen had married the sister of the Emperor and fathered a son, a son killed by some political intrigue surrounding the Imperial court. From the archives Kyr was reading, he could see the wedge that had been driven between VonGrippen and his wife. The young grandson, Edward, had remained with his grandfather, in the hopes of sparing the boy a life in the decadent Imperial court, and the fate of his father.

Kyr sipped his coffee, imagining what it must have been like growing up aboard a warship for the young man. Living under the tutelage of Admiral VonGrippen, a legend even while alive, and learning from him what it meant to lead.

There was no explanation as to why Prince Edward had remained with Lord Morvanor on Earth during the invasion. Only the recordings of his trial, the last heir to the Empire standing trial for the sins of his forebears. Alone and condemned.

Morvanor had been spared the trials, dying when the Amsus had destroyed the Imperial palace; the young Prince had been apprehended while trying to make his escape on a courier, the Praetorian trying to spirit away the last hope amidst the ruin.

There were plenty of mysteries surrounding that day, things the Amsus had never explained. Why the Shields that had protected Earth had suddenly failed, how the Amsus had managed to overwhelm the meagre defences so quickly, or how they had known which ship, amongst the refugee ships, the young Prince had been hiding on.

* * *

Evans tilted the translucent crystal, inscribed with a delicate script that was definitely not Polian in origin. There was a glow inside it, like a flame of colour that burned without sign of a power source. Rikard's orders had been explicit, and Evans wasn't about to disobey.

The laboratory aboard Sentinel had been converted to his purposes, secured in the heart of one of the spires that rose above the floating citadel. The tower was heavily reinforced, set aside for Military Intelligence purposes and nowhere near as easily accessible as the stockade had been. Evans was taking no chances with his prize this time; the guards were his own, each armed and under instructions not to allow anyone but MI personnel into the tower, and he was confident that even if Taine were to appear, he wouldn't risk attacking Sentinel Station with its impressive array of zero-point bores, capable of destroying even the Excalibur.

He turned back to the observation window where his medical technicians were preparing the patient. Originally, the plan had been to insert artificial memories, a carefully constructed persona that would have been easily controlled by the General, a puppet Prince to rule in name only while the Military exerted its control.

But Rikard had other plans, and Evans turned the crystalline device over in his hands wondering exactly what that plan was.

The speaker crackled. "He's ready to be implanted."

Evans nodded down to the technician, walking down the stairs and out into the lab floor, examining the young face of the sleeping boy. The boy who would be king, he mused as he ran his fingers over the crystal in the correct sequence, angling it towards the boy's temple and watching as the fire began to dim, fading until it went out. The transfer was complete.