Sigil of the Wolf - 25. Chapter 25

Karin City - Karin

Karin, with its clustered skyscrapers bathed in a white blanket of snow, was a beautiful sight. There were those who accused it of being grey, drab and dreary, but they failed to see what Iver saw whenever he looked down at it from the top of the snow-covered platforms of the fortress, watching the innumerable flights of shuttles and freighters that brought commerce to the trading city skim over the tops of the office buildings.

It was his city, in more ways than one now.

He didn't seek stewardship, but the circumstances had seen fit to thrust it upon him. Perhaps it was for the greater good. The Imperial industry had turned to war production, conscription had began across all the member worlds, the reports were good, he'd be able to field a significantly stronger Imperial war machine.

Scanning the buildings, his eyes came to rest on the shattered ruins of an office building, destroyed by the Osterburg Hunter-Killer at his orders. It gaped, the ruins poking up from the snow; it had taken three days to put out the fires that had burned when the building had collapsed in upon itself. His gaze travelled down to the shattered scar of the main subway line. Covered with the snow, it seemed to stand out more than the rest of the devastation in the dark greys of the city streets.

He ran tired fingers across his jaw line. His beard was mostly grey now, as were his temples, stark against the rest of his dark hair. He didn't seek stewardship, his popularity was non-existent. There were reports that more ships were joining Zoran's silent protest above Karin. Each of the deserters had painted over the Wolf's-head with VonGrippen's Falcons. Traitors, each of them; he'd let them go, for now, and once he recovered the Prince they would suffer.

He turned his thoughts to the missing Prince. Edward had to have help, hiding in the city; there was no other explanation for why they hadn't found him. Unless, of course, the Amsus had taken him with them when they had withdrawn. He wasn't about to let a defeatist attitude influence him, no; Edward was in the city because he had to be. If he wasn't, it was all over, and the General knew it. He was no statesman.

If he had help, then it had something to do with the renegade ships sitting over the planet. Captain Zoran's people were all over the city; the man had connections that ran back to the time before the resurrection of the Empire. The former Pirate Baron knew the underbelly of Karin society, cutthroats and thieves, all of them. Iver had fought them when he could, his guard maintaining order despite being hamstrung by the Commonwealth's liberal charter of laws.

The Prince was here, Iver was certain of it. And he was certain that whoever had him would attempt to contact Zoran. He turned from the view of the city and walked back across the landing platform towards the fortress. Once they contacted Zoran, he would know exactly where the Prince was, and it would only be a matter of time.

* * *

Edward sat on the edge of his bed; his head was better, Sam having taken his time fixing the concussion. Edward wasn't about to ask where he had gotten his hands on state-of-the-art medical technology: he was growing accustomed to the fact that Sam seemed to be a very resourceful man.

They were going to move that day, Major Malone having made arrangements with other dissatisfied members of the military. It seemed as if General Iver's handling of the Karin invasion had earned him another black mark. Another failure in a long list of them, and the population were growing tired of the rhetoric pouring out of the Karin fortress.

The news of the death of the Imperial Senate had not settled well with a people who were growing used to their first taste of freedom. The fact that the Prince too seemed to have vanished only compounded their distaste for the military dictator. They were looking up now at the growing fleet of ships bearing VonGrippen colours building over Karin.

VonGrippen... Taine.

Edward closed his eyes again, resting his forehead on his hand as he struggled with the conflicting emotions invoked whenever that name came up. A man who, everyone told him, loved him and would protect him, and yet Edward could barely remember him. A faint memory of standing in a forest, a warm set of arms around him and the powerful memory of brown eyes that kept him safe.

"All right, Prince Charming," Sam said, entering the bedroom. He was stuffing things into a small leather satchel he was carrying. "We need to get you to the pick up zone before the Grey men come round again."

Grey men, Edward had come to learn, was the Karin nickname for the Military Intelligence officers, Iver's secret police. Their slate-grey uniforms stood stark against the grey-and-white camouflage patterns of the Imperial Marines or the ominous black-slate armour plating of the Wolves.

Edward got up and pulled on the heavy parka, sitting on the back of a chair, tucking his soft hair into the Karin Guard cap that he tugged down.

"You all right lad?" Sam asked, lifting Edward's chin and trying to see into his eyes.

"I... I haven't slept." Edward replied wearily. He never slept. Not really. Since he had woken from the concussion-induced sleep, he'd found going back to sleep nearly impossible. Any sleep he did get was restless and wracked with bad dreams.

Sam studied his eyes, fishing through his satchel for a small palm scanner, taking a moment to get a few readings. He shook it, his busy white eyebrows knitting together in thought as he studied the results.

"Chemical imbalance," he murmured, "I can..."

"Sam!" Major Malone bellowed from the foot of the stairs.

"Coming, sweet pea!" Sam's voice pitched up an octave, becoming saccharine and obedient as he put the palm scanner away. "We should get moving," he said, "She gets impatient when she doesn't get her way."

Edward smiled tiredly and followed Sam down the stairs into the main bar. It was open, and a couple of patrons were drinking, despite the early hour. Val was behind her bar polishing glasses, keeping a ready eye on her customers in case they needed a refill. The strong, fiery-headed woman offered a reassuring nod and a wink at Edward as they passed through the bar and headed for the door.

Major Malone was wearing her combat fatigues, her yellow wolf's-headed beret and brace of pistols at the ready. She stood impatiently, looking towards the front door and the street beyond.

"Come on," she murmured anxiously.

"Is Luther outside?" Sam asked pleasantly, pausing long enough to kiss her cheek.

She gave him an exasperated sigh. "He's in the jeep, warming it up." She looked past him at the young Prince. "Your Highness," she kept her voice low so as to not be overhead, "When we get outside, just walk towards the jeep like you are meant to be there and get in the back. Don't look around, just keep walking."

Edward nodded, and took a deep breath as she threw open the door on the cold Karin morning. He did as she instructed, walking down the steps and moving forward, not looking up and down the street as he stepped out into the road.

The blaring horn caused him to jump back as the large wheeled truck jammed on its brakes, slipping on the grey slush in the street, its driver swearing at him out of the window before shifting gears and driving off again, the wheels spinning a couple of times to find purchase as it drove onwards.

Edward gritted his teeth, looking either way up the road as he crossed the street to the purring jeep, the young bright-eyed Luther sitting behind the wheel grinning at him, the Karin Guard uniform looking a little too large for him.

Edward shook his head as he climbed into the back seat of the warm jeep and glanced back across to where Sam and Major Malone were coming out together.

* * *

Captain Zoran paced uneasily beneath the great sloped windows of his bridge. A couple of Iver's prized Osterburg Hunter-Killers had just entered the system, their crews hand-picked by the General's staff. They, like the others before them, would take up a high geo-synchronous orbit, waiting for Iver's order to attack.

The cluster of 'VonGrippen' vessels was growing. Mostly cruisers; the new Imperial navy, made up mostly of former privateering and Pirate Captains, was built upon independent thinking; this was especially true amongst the capital ship commanders. The Navy valued cultivated intelligence over blind loyalty, and anyone with enough common sense to see the situation unfolding on the Imperial capital knew which side they had to be on.

Yet there were close to a hundred Osterburgs out there. The elite corps, Iver's Marine aviators, had been given something more deadly and more effective than just fighters. With eight-man crews, the fast-moving, deadly strike vessels formed a lethal wolf pack. He'd watch them as they tore through Raptor Squadrons to reach an Amsus cruiser, the heavy cannons smashing through armour and carving the larger ship like it was a Christmas turkey.

Zoran paced again. Fighter coverage would even the odds, but Excalibur was the only flat top in the fleet. Their own fighters were hopelessly out numbered by the Karin-based squadrons, and it was guaranteed that Iver was squarely in control of them.

There were more ships that had expressed their support of the House; most held the front lines, the heavier of the ships needed where they were keeping the Amsus at bay. There was no guaranteeing that the lines would hold if Iver started a civil war and those Captains decided to return to aid them.

It was down to the cluster of defector ships he had around him. A large number of cruisers and a collection of destroyers and frigates, and one very bold civilian transport that had joined them much to the surprise of the fleet officers.

Zoran paused his pacing. Malone would be getting close to the pick-up zone, and once the young Prince-ling was airborne, the show would begin. Iver wouldn't allow the Prince to reach the renegade fleet, and once he realized what was going on, the Osterburgs would begin their dive run...

He moved back through the bridge to his CIC. He wanted to get a message off to Highlord Taine before the shooting began. He was committed now; passive disobedience was one thing, but when Iver ordered the attack, Zoran had every intention of making the bastard regret it.

* * *

Rikard sat in the Command chair aboard the Excalibur. Many of the Imperial crewmembers had been secured beneath decks. The forward cargo bays had made a perfect place to put them until he could unload them at Ordessus. And since Taine's crew had demonstrated a creative capacity for trouble, he had decided that it was too dangerous to allow the officers to remain with their crewmates and kept them where he could keep an eye on them.

The Sub-Lieutenant was glaring at him with hate-filled eyes, the Kaynin doctor kneeling beside another woman wearing Kardiac colours who was beginning to regain consciousness.

That honestly surprised Rikard. He hadn't expected to see the blue-trimmed uniforms amongst all the red and yellow. But there had been a number of Kardiac pilots down aboard the support carrier Ark Royal. The traditional arch-nemesis of House VonGrippen; unlikely allies, but then, they lived in uncertain times.

Rikard turned the page of the Excalibur log book, reading carefully Highlord Taine's tightly coiled handwriting, squinting and tilting it to the light to read the tiny script. The man was meticulous in his record-keeping; precise numbers, dates. He had been a busy individual, Amsus Intelligence did him no justice at all. Taine really was a VonGrippen.

That made him dangerous.

Yet...

The Chancellor looked thoughtfully at Taine's handwriting, remembering the involuntary tremor when they had dined together aboard the Shifting Sands. He stroked his beard, the geneticist in him intrigued as he put two and two together. How ironic...

Rikard closed the logbook and set it aside, pivoting the chair as he lifted his leg and looped it over the arm of the chair. "Why do we not have bridge power yet?" He inquired, looking over at an Inquisitor.

The Inquisitor stood impassive. "Master, our technicians have restored the main power, however the main computer refuses to initialise, we believe it is sabotage." He looked accusingly over at the small cluster of Imperial officers.

"Oh no," Rikard shook his head. "the computer is online..." he patted the arm of the Excalibur's command chair, "She's very much awake and aware of us. She's just refusing to co-operate."

The Kardiac Wing Commander sat up, blinking as she looked around her at the Amsus troopers guarding them. Rikard smiled pleasantly.

"Good morning Wing Commander..." he paused and frowned, picking up Taine's log again and flipping to the right page, "Kendrick, isn't it?"

"Masconi," She rose to her feet, iron calm. She was a tough woman, unafraid of anything around her. He knew women that moved like that, deadly in their composure. "Kendrick's dead."

"My apologies," Rikard replied, closing the book and tossing it back onto the console, "Tempus III is in Polian territory, isn't it?" he inquired, "Near to..." he looked distant, searching his memory, "Ahh yes, the Skyella nebula. Am I correct?"

Masconi remained standing. Her eyes hadn't moved from Rikard's face, and yet Rikard could feel her anticipation. She was contemplating attacking. So like a Kardiac warrior, always ready to lash out without thought to their situation. Rikard gestured as the troopers lifted their assault rifles.

"No matter," Rikard said at length, loosening the awful tie he still wore, "The Polians, I am certain, will appreciate knowing the location of the remnants of your House."

Masconi took a step forward, her fists balling, the troopers stepping forward to press their weapons against her back. "You treacherous..."

Rikard tilted his head. "You'd be surprised how often..." there was a flicker of surprise upon his face as he turned his head, feeling something through the chair. He frowned as all the bridge consoles sprung to life. The Amsus fleet officers turned to look at the digital readouts that were pouring across the stations relaying data for firing solutions.

Masconi took the momentary distraction to drop, her leg spinning as she slammed one of the troopers into another, going for its gun. Her fist connected with its throat as she pulled the weapon free and swinging it around as below her the Inquisitor on the lower deck sprung into action, vaulting a console as he charged her. She swung the weapon around and sent a hail of 10mm slugs into it, pouring on fire as she tried to stop its advance.

The crackling boom and bright burst of light caused the amused Chancellor to arch his eyebrow as he observed the zero-point bore discharging at his ships. The lead Amsus cruiser exploded as Excalibur's fury slammed home.

He turned his head back as Masconi's assault rifle clicked on empty, the Inquisitor closing the last few feet and tearing it from her as she readied herself to fight it with her bare hands.

"Stop!" Rikard commanded, standing up. The Amsus vessels outside were buzzing about, trying to get firing arcs on the ship that had suddenly become a threat.

The Inquisitor stepped back obediently, leaving a panting Masconi coiled and ready to strike.

Rikard sighed. "That was... futile," he said, advancing on her as she was lifted from the deck, her arms snapping to her sides as she was pinned by his will. He tightened the invisible grip on her, squeezing her as he gritted his teeth and concentrated.

"Stop!" The Sub-Lieutenant put herself between him and the object of his anger, Masconi crashing to the deck, choking air into her starved lungs as Doctor Kyr ran to assist her.

Rikard regained his composure and looked down at the defiant woman. She was brave, throwing herself in his path like that. He relaxed, smiling at her softly. "Of course," he said, reaching out with a finger to trace it down her cheek before turning away, "Secure them in the Highlord's stateroom, and make sure they remain comfortable." He gestured dismissively; the troopers scooped to pick Masconi up, herding the Imperial officers towards the back of the bridge.

The former Chancellor looked up at the ship about him, once the pride of the Empire, fighting him with a righteous fury. He smiled coldly as he rested a hand on the chair, VonGrippen's coat still braced around it.

"It was a shame that you had to die," Rikard murmured, tracing the slightly-worn edge of the coat. It had been through campaigns, wars, survived the Imperial court and three hundred years lost with the Excalibur. "Perhaps if you had survived, everything would have been different. If you had had the courage to remain at your post, done your duty, I would never have unleashed the Amsus."

He knelt and leaned over the coat's shoulder, as if whispering to the old ghost that still haunted it, "Someone had to put an end to the insanity."

"No," the baritone rumble filled the bridge, causing Rikard to start and stumble back in shock, "It was over at Skyella. Your motives were entirely your own."

Rikard narrowed his eyes, looking at the walking dead. The old man was in his shirtsleeves, black waistcoat hanging open, looking weary like he always had, an old warrior who had never been permitted to put down his sword.

"You're dead!" Rikard accused, Amsus troopers on the bridge reacting as they saw the stranger in their midst, rifles coming up and safeties being released.

"I am quite dead," VonGrippen reassured calmly, standing with that self-satisfied look that had always infuriated Rikard, the one that said he was in control, "Do you really think I wouldn't anticipate your being here, Enarbrem?" He asked calmly, walking through the ring of troopers, the hologram fluctuating as it wavered, snapping back into focus a moment later.

"You know, you actually scared me," Rikard stretched out a hand and passed it through the holographic projection, smiling as he shook his head. "I am impressed."

The holographic Warlord tilted his head, his heavy eyebrows rising slightly. "I knew all about your betrayal, and the centuries of darkness that would follow."

"Interesting," Rikard replied smiling coldly, "Peligia must have been an enlightenment for you..."

"Peligia showed me enough to guide my hand," VonGrippen responded, slowly circling the treacherous Chancellor, "Do you believe in pre-destiny, Enarbrem?"

"No," Rikard replied simply.

"It's a shame," VonGrippen continued, "You see, pre-destiny has allowed me to set the next chain of events in motion." He stopped, looking back at the man that had betrayed his Empire, "Once this message has concluded you are going to see exactly what fate I have written for you."

"A dead old man, a captured ship and a memory?" Rikard sneered, "Excuse me while I tremble."

VonGrippen rounded the Command chair, leaning down to whisper in Rikard's ear, much the way the Chancellor had done with the coat moments before, "And to torment you further, Enarbrem, your undoing will be your own fault. The true irony is that the betrayer will betray himself."

Rikard drew away. He knew VonGrippen had found Peligia, and if it was an oracle, the old man knew what would happen. The former Chancellor considered him a moment, looking VonGrippen in the eyes, trying to read the face of an old enemy. Was it a bluff, made to force him to second-guess himself? VonGrippen was cunning; he knew how to manipulate people so well that he was able to reach from beyond the grave and guide the events of the entire galaxy.

"You're dead," Rikard said firmly standing up, "And with you died any hope for you, your race and your line. I'll find Peligia..."

"You will never set foot on Peligia." VonGrippen said. There was no malice, no threat in his voice, nothing but a simple statement of fact.

Rikard faltered. "Enough of this," he gestured with his hand, shattering all the projectors on the bridge, as he turned and looked about him, "You will see," he insisted, "Destiny is my sword!"

A beeping from the communications station caused the Chancellor to turn his head, the computer processing the message, a Captain Zoran issuing a report. And Rikard smiled.

"Do you see?" he called, tapping the screen looking about him, "Mine!" He scanned the contents of the message and relayed it back. Colonel Evans would be interested in what it had to say.

* * *

There was something wrong; she could feel it deep in her bones. Behind her, the jeep appeared like just another parked car gathering snow while she took a careful look around.

The park was ahead, a broad stretch of ground towards the edge of the city that had once been a part of Pirate Baron Zixor's estate. She remembered when it had been built hundreds of lower class homes had been demolished, all for one man's vanity, the citizens being dragged off to the slave markets to raise money to pay for it. That had simply been the way of life on Karin; you either survived, or you were a victim.

To the left, she tracked the shadow in the tree line. If he hadn't moved, she'd have never seen him. That meant he was spec ops, one of the Wolves probably. If there were Wolves in the park then they knew about the inbound dropship.

She tried to guess how many there would be, a platoon probably; there wouldn't be need for more. A pair of F-150 fighters standing by ready to intercept the dropship before it could land, and some mobile infantry ready to close off any avenue of escape.

Had they spotted her?

Probably, watching from the moment the jeep drove up.

If they were Wolves, then she was sitting in the cross hairs of a sniper's scope. Her years of experience picked out the nearest sniper's nests, a building off to her right with the heaped snow on its eaves, sun glittering off of a glass scope. If she gave any kind of alarm she'd be dead.

Calmly she returned to the jeep, slowly, giving no sign that she knew it was a trap. She opened the door and climbed back inside. Once the door was closed she looked over at Sam and said simply, "They're here."

Sam reached out an arm and wrapped it around her pulling her close to him. "It's a shame the Prince isn't, sweet pea," he said with a smile as he kissed the top of her head.

The Major looked up into his eyes and curled closer against him, sharing what was probably the last moment with her husband. "They're going to work out something's wrong when the dropship doesn't land... they'll spring their trap then."

He kissed the top of her head again. "It's a good thing we've done nothing wrong, then, isn't it?" He said optimistically. He had that natural way of always seeing the brightest side of things, even her.

* * *

"Where are we going?" Edward asked as the jeep bounced its way down the mountain road heading for the lowlands of Karin.

"We're going to take the main highway south," Luther replied, turning the wheel to take a side trail, "There's a ski lodge about an hour away from here. It's really busy this time of year and it has its own landing pads; if we hurry, we can make the evening shuttle run and be on the southern continent before it gets dark."

Edward sat back in his parka, realizing what Luther's parents were doing for him. Ever since his flight from the fortress he'd witnessed people being willing to give their own lives just to keep him safe. He didn't ask them to, they just did it, without second-guessing what they were doing; they believed in what he stood for, and that was enough for them.

His grandfather had once tried to explain to him, when he had been very young, what loyalty and duty meant. He hadn't understood. He'd selfishly believed that nothing was worth him giving up his own life. It had taken a long time for that lesson to sink in, and so much blood had been spilled to teach it to him.

"I'm sorry," Edward said quietly, "I'm so sorry..."

Luther turned his head, shaking it at Edward. "Don't be," he said in return, smiling one of Sam's optimistic smiles, "My parents will be all right, and you'll get to your ships. You'll see, it'll all work out."

Edward crossed his arms, staring at the snowy trees whisking by them, wondering if he was worth it, and what he would have to do to merit all the sacrifices being made for him.