Sigil of the Wolf - 17. Chapter 17

Ararat - Zemûn home world

Kyr struggled to catch his breath, coughing and spitting to get rid of bits of plaster that he could still taste. The desperate flight from the police station had gone by in a blur for him, the tank and the Highlord, the struggle to get through the city streets unseen, keeping to the darkened alleyways as troops scoured the streets looking for them.

"So what now?" Nazzien asked, brushing taupe powder from his face and adjusting the ridiculous-looking hat that sat down across his ears with a broad brim.

Darien scratched his temple, closing his eyes to think a moment. They had to somehow navigate their way through a city with the entirety of the civic defence force looking for them, get through the security of the starport, and board an Orion Tradeliner without being noticed.

Compared to what Darien had recently been through it didn't sound all that difficult. He checked his watch. They had an hour until the Tradeliner was due to depart: they were running out of time; unless he came up with some kind of plan - and quickly - they'd be stranded on Ararat.

And he was fresh out of sawed-off Polian boom sticks.

Nazzien rested against a wall, keeping his eyes peeled for pursuit. "Typically Tradeliners send negotiators out onto local worlds to purchase rare commodities. Given the limited amount of time Denver's planning to spend on this world, they are going to be in a hurry, and the quickest way through customs on rocks like this is..."

"Lots of money." Darien said with a sly smile, "I'd kiss you Lieutenant, but you're dirty..."

"I'd rather you didn't even if I was clean," Nazzien replied, "I know humans have strange mating rituals but I am content not experimenting...."

"Not what I heard..." Kyr grinned, "Masconi was saying the other day about...."

Nazzien reached out and held the young Kaynin's mouth shut with his fingers.

"Don't make me get a rolled-up newspaper..."

Darien shook his head, smiling as he leaned back against the wall; with all the tension of the past few weeks, a little light humour reminded him that they were a long way from beaten.

* * *

Rikard looked at his watch, mildly disgruntled, pacing to and fro by the departure gangway. Taine was exceedingly late, and judging by the activity in the city and what his men had reported from the radio chatter, he probably wasn't going to make it out of Ararat alive.

He snapped the intricate Orion timepiece closed and slipped it into the embroidered waistcoat's pocket. He could have waited longer, but that would have simply been a waste of time. As it was he could order the Shifting Sands back to the nearest Amsus outpost and shed the persona of the disgustingly decadent Mister Denver once and for all.

He glared at one of the Orion officers. "Inform the Captain that we may depart." He pushed back the tails of his fine suit and walked along the marble deck of the embarkation lobby towards the elevators that ran through the great ship, returning to his staterooms.

There was an old Imperial charm about the ship, stylised in a fashion that would have done some of the great artisans of the Empire proud. Extra care had gone into every aspect of the ship from the hand-carved ivory murals to the gilding on the signs. The guests who had booked passage on the ship had done so because she brought a little class to the otherwise drab and stale commercial liner market. Rikard mused that he might give the ship to the Orions once he was done with it, a generous token of his appreciation, not that they realized who he was. They were as oblivious as they were dim witted.

He felt the shuddering of the ship's take-off, numerous antigravity plates lifting the magnificent vessel skyward and away from the ruin of Ararat. His elevator car came to a rest on his private deck, letting him out to walk towards his cabin.

He drew up at the sight of three ragged-looking individuals standing beside a worried-looking steward. Rikard blinked, adjusting the lapel of his coat and looking towards the steward for some kind of explanation.

"Sir, I am sorry, they insisted..." the Orion steward began.

The tall human, covered in plaster and the odd cut, stuffed a PKD into the pocket of his large Zemûn-style overcoat and extended a grubby hand. "Mister Denver, Highlord Taine. Thanks for the invite."

Rikard's confusion gave way to amusement. As unpredictable as ever, Darien Taine had the unwavering knack of being where he was least expected to be. He smiled a warm, false smile and shook Taine's hand.

"A pleasure to finally meet you," he said, turning to his steward, "See to it that our guests are settled and that they are allowed a chance to freshen up." He looked back at Taine. "We'll be departing Ararat shortly. Once I've attended to my ship and you have... had a chance to change, we can sit down and discuss what it was you wanted to meet with me about."

Darien nodded thankfully, gratefully following the steward who ushered them towards the elevator. Rikard watched them go, entering his suite, a thoughtful look on his face.

The two Praetorian that shadowed him everywhere shimmered back into existence, flanking the doors to await his orders, the former Chancellor taking a seat as he mulled over his next move.

* * *

Darien felt as though he'd never get clean. He rested his head against the tiled wall of the shower, breathing in the steam as he let the water cascade over him. His muscles ached. The running and crashing and constant fighting on the Zemûn homeworld had taken its toll. If he could, he would have fallen into the soft, luxurious bed he'd seen on his way in and slept for a week.

He couldn't afford to do that. The Empire depended on the alliances he could forge while he was out in Amsus territory, not to mention that he still had to find the location of the mysterious Propylon device the Amsus were using to beat the Empire back.

The stress was beginning to take its toll on him, he'd never had an 'attack' in the field before. And never so rapidly on the heels of another one; he chalked it up to stress, how many times had he seen TER-SEC officers crack under the pressure of trying to maintain the law for their Amsus overlords? He knew that once he had Elias back, and everything was back to normal...

He ran his hand through his wet hair and took a deep breath, hoping to god that Elias was okay. He was pushing himself as hard as he could, straining his crew one the faint hope of getting some king of ally to help him. He would get Elias back, stare into those beautiful blue eyes that looked at him with such open love.

He climbed out of the shower, towelling himself off gently to avoid the new collection of bruises he had gained plummeting through a rooftop. His clothes were a mess, torn and shredded in places, but the steward had anticipated his need and had kindly laid out a uniform in his size. He paused as he picked up the fresh TER-SEC uniform.

Denver was well-informed.

Darien felt that old familiar cold knot in his stomach as his fingers traced over the lines of the white cotton shirt, up to the black epaulettes with their dual insignia marking his Inspector's rank. He glanced about him at the luxurious accommodations, his eyes narrowing as he weighed his options. Either Denver was being very naïve, or he was sending a message to his 'guests'.

Darien slipped the uniform on, buttoning the dress shirt and tying the tie by rote. How many years had he worn that very uniform? It was comfortable, familiar, and he set his trusty PKD into the drop leg holster. There was no way he was going to remain unarmed; sure, he'd grown a little paranoid, but it was justified given all he'd been through.

Satisfied, he walked through into the main suite where the Doctor was sitting enjoying a bite to eat, ravenously tucking into something exotic.

"Nazzien's still showering," Kyr said, noting Darien's glance around for the weapons officer, "You should try this, it's..."

Darien shook his head. "I'll pass," he replied. "Do you still have your comm link?"

Kyr reached into his pocket and produced the small device, Darien nodding his gratitude as he lifted it to his mouth, keeping his voice down, "Excalibur?"

"Confirmed," crackled Lauren's relieved reply, "We were getting worried over here. Masconi and Katz were itching to send in the cavalry."

Darien smiled to himself, moving to the great windows that showed the stars and the retreating orb of Ararat behind them. "We made it, just about. We should be jumping fairly soon, I just wanted to check in and make sure everything was proceeding according to plan over there."

"No problems here," Lauren replied, "We're proceeding as per your orders and will execute our own jump once you are clear of the system."

"Excellent, Taine out." He clicked off the TAC-link and tucked it into his pocket. He was confident; utilizing some of the best in Imperial encryption software, it was difficult if not impossible to break the TAC-link's scrambler; all the Orions would register was that he had a transmitter and the duration of his conversation. He looked about him and smiled. If they had bugs in the room, the white noise generator would have dealt them a rather nasty burst of static.

Nazzien emerged from his room clean and normally dressed, adjusting the fine cotton shirt with its lace-up front, a typically Orion fashion. "I've never flown first class on a Tradeliner before," he admitted, examining the fully stocked bar in the suite.

Kyr frowned. "I have. My parents used to insist we take a cruise every couple of years or so, though this is the nicest Tradeliner I've ever been on."

"Denver knows good taste," Nazzien said with a smile, holding up a bottle of something thick, oily and green, "Very good taste!"

"Try to remember we're not here for the food," Darien murmured, walking to the door and resting a hand on it. It was disconcerting; he couldn't feel the steady strumming of engines that would normally reverberate throughout a starship. On Excalibur it was a reassuring presence, on R-403 a sense of agility. On the massive Tradeliner, it was nothing.

"They dampen first class suites," Nazzien explained catching Darien's expression he liberally poured himself a glass of the noxious-looking green liquid, "Some passengers complain of motion sickness, plus it creates waves in the pool."

Kyr smiled. "I've missed Tradeliners," he admitted with a sigh, "Pools, the food, the style..."

Darien stepped back as the knock at the door heralded the return of the steward. He politely stepped aside. "Inspector Taine, Mister Denver has invited you to dine with him in the first class dining room."

Darien's eyebrow rose at the usage of his old title. Denver wanted it clear that he knew Darien's place. He set his jaw and followed, glancing back at his shipmates standing amidst their gilded cage. There was nowhere to run, and Darien's discomfort began to rise exponentially.

* * *

Edward slipped again on the snow, his arms flying out to steady himself as he tried to keep his balance. Below him was a quarter-mile drop to the surface of Karin far below. He tried to keep his eyes ahead of him as he put one foot in front of the other, vowing that he'd wear boots with proper grips from then on, if he survived.

The narrow catwalk was the only way out of the fortress that wasn't blocked by Amsus troopers, a narrow bridge of metal that formed part of the drawbridge structure that connected the outer gatehouse to the fortress itself. Although the route was treacherous, Abdul Aziz had decided it was worth the risk to get his young charge to safety.

Edward kept his eyes focused ahead. He only had another hundred meters and he'd be safely across the gangway. The wind caught his coat and caused it to billow out as he walked, threatening to throw off his delicate balance. He fought for another step, snow stinging his face as the wind hurled its full fury against him. He was cold, but alive, and if they reached the gatehouse they could disappear into the relative safety of the city.

The sounds of continued fighting still reached his ears, the Empire dropping troops from its orbital stations to assist in the defence of the city. Whilst the Amsus had surprise, they were steadily being beaten back by the tenacious Imperial forces.

"We must hurry, your Highness!" Aziz bellowed above the wind, the large man shielding his eyes against the wind, whipping his open woollen coat about him as he shivered in the deadly Karin cold.

Edward straightened himself; he wasn't about to die on Karin, not because of the wind. He took another step forward, following it up by another one, moving quicker, hoping that speed would make him more sure-footed, teetering a little and steadying himself as he ran the last few meters and jumped onto the rooftop of the gatehouse.

He slid a little, cold hands finding a purchase as he held on, clambering to his feet as the Fida'i assassin dropped silently to the rooftop alongside him. The two men looking back for a second at the darkened fortress, the sound of alarms roaring in the distant structure.

Aziz wasn't about to hesitate long, he worked quickly as he kicked snow off of a section of the roof, pulling at a partially frozen trap door, straining his large muscles and giving up when it refused to budge. His chest heaving from the effort, he glanced helplessly at the young Prince huddled in his greatcoat, the visored fur cap pulled low against the wind, squinting at the puzzle thoughtfully.

Edward stood up, pulling Aziz's PKD from its holster, changing the setting on the weapon and stepping back a pace, sighting in on the hinges of the rooftop hatch, squeezing the trigger, watching as the hinges buckled under the psycho-kinetic disruptor blast. The metal crumpled under the second shot, tearing from its bracket mounting as the young Prince did the same on the second hinge, the trapdoor collapsing into the gatehouse with a massive series of clangs and an almighty crash.

Aziz took his weapon back from the Prince, dropping into the building first, waiting to catch Edward as he dropped down afterwards, setting the young Prince back on his feet as he slowly moved down the staircase towards the guard hall, coming face to face with the heavily armed platoon of city guards training pulse weapons on him, laser sights dancing on his chest.

"Hold!" A young guard Captain held up his hand, and his men hesitated as the Captain, his own weapon held tightly braced to his shoulder, eyed the big Arabic man. "Who the hell are you?"

"I am to protect the Prince," Aziz nodded, his hands up, blocking the stairwell behind him. "I was sent here with the blessing of the Aga-Khan..."

"Who's behind you?" The Captain demanded, his men tightening their grips on their weapons.

"I am," Edward said, stepping around the large assassin amidst the startled gasps of the Karin Guards.

"Your Highness!" The Captain intoned in shock, dipping his assault rifle, "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, Captain," Edward stood uneasily, squaring his shoulders, "There are enemy troopers inside the Fortress and I can't reach the secure bunker..."

"Your Highness should accompany us to the auxiliary command post," the Captain said, clicking open his TAC-link to issue a report and get orders as the clustered guards stared in wonderment at the young Prince, curiosity getting the better of some of them as they craned around for a better look.

For Edward it was the second time he had been hurriedly evacuated ahead of an Amsus invasion. He recalled what had happened that time; he wouldn't let them take him again.

The Captain ended his conversation with the command centre and turned back. "I have orders to get you to one of the emergency shelters, we can hold up there until they can send reinforcements."

"Boots," Aziz remarked, looking down at the battered dress shoes Edward wore over his soaked socks.

The Captain studied him a moment, thoughtfully eyeing some of his men, pointing to his smallest man. "Give the Prince your gloves and boots..."

Edward shook his head. "No... no, I'll be fine..."

The young guard tossed him the black leather gloves, and was already down unlacing his boots as Edward stared in shock.

"We're going to split into two squads," the Captain continued, "First squad will remain here and guard the gatehouse, the second squad will escort the Prince to the emergency shelter." He looked over at the Prince, who had exchanged his shoes with the young recruit and was now lacing up the boots, gloves gripped between his teeth.

They set out again into the cold of the city, the Karin Guards sweeping up the street, carefully advancing from building to building, covering the deserted snow-covered streets and keeping an eye out for the enemy. The sounds of battle still rang out in the night, the occasional chatter of gunfire and the odd grenade exploding off in the darkness.

Prince Edward hung back, Aziz at his shoulder; the Fida'i warrior seemed to have eyes in the back of his head as he guided the Prince after the guards, pausing to pull him back at any sign of trouble, his PKD sweeping the gloom as he waited for the Guard Captain's signal to move on.

A rush overhead showed the Imperial dropship, spotlights on as it illuminated the streets, its omni-directional thrusters causing the vessel to sweep to and fro as it carried on its patrol trying to seek out the Amsus in the darkness.

They all jumped as the dropship exploded, crashing into the city a few blocks away. The Captain urged them onwards; there would be no aerial pick-up with the Amsus still out there.

Edward found himself longing for... he swallowed, keeping focused. There was no time to daydream about a faded memory, no matter how safe it made him feel. He took another step as Aziz grabbed the back of his coat, pulling him around behind him seconds before the gunfire began, Amsus troopers spilling out of a side street and opening fire on the Imperial guards caught out in the open.

They dived for cover behind motorized vehicles covered in snow, doorways, anything they could find as they returned fire, as Aziz pushed Edward back around another corner and pressed him against the wall, leaning around occasionally, the PKD whining as he gave what cover fire he could to the soldiers.

The cries were horrific, and Edward had to bite his own lip to keep from crying out himself, the echoes of shots, the sound of death, they were things no man should ever have to hear, let alone be burdened with the knowledge that they were dying to protect him.

Aziz drew back, looking at the now empty PKD that he tossed away, tugging on Edward's greatcoat, forcing him to open his eyes. "My Prince," he said, leaning close, "When I move you must run..."

"Where?" Edward asked desperately.

"Down the street, take a left, and run until you come to a mosque..." Aziz insisted, the Imperial gunfire faltering and falling silent, permeated by the odd sporadic burst.

"Mosque..." Edward nodded.

"There you will ask for the Imam, he will help you." Aziz clapped his shoulder. "Go now, your Highness."

Edward nodded as Aziz vanished into the darkness, his deadly black blades dropping into his hands as he rounded the corner back onto the main street, uttering a long battle cry as he went, making as much noise as he could to draw fire.

Edward did as he was told. He ran, not looking back as he sprinted, skidding around corners, listening as the Arabic war cry too fell silent under a sustained burst of Amsus weapons fire. His feet pounded through the foot of snow. He wouldn't be taken a second time.

* * *

"Oh my god," Major Malone looked up from her tactical board, a look of horror on her face, "The Amsus just ambushed the Prince's escort..."

"What?" General Iver bellowed, livid as he pushed other officers out of the way and took a look for himself, watching as the lights blinked out one by one marking the valiant last stand of the Karin Guard halfway to the emergency shelter. "Order Alpha Company to..."

"Alpha's pinned down, sir," Malone said, shaking her head, "They're taking sniper fire in the main concourse..."

"Order all our dropships to cover the area," Iver ordered, "get as many troops as we can into that section of the city..."

"You're too late," Walker observed, folding his arms by the larger situations board and shaking his head as the last light went out.

"You're not that lucky," Iver sneered as he rounded on the Archduke, "He's still alive, he has to be..." He glared over at Evans. "Unleash the Wolves..."

"The Wolves are currently what stand between us and the Amsus in the fortress," Evans pointed out worriedly.

"Do it!" Iver commanded, angrily pointing to the large blast doors, "That's a reinforced metal alloy, and unless the Amsus have brought heavy cutting equipment, it'll hold. Now send the Wolves!"

"Sir," Evans nodded, swallowing as he issued the orders to send in the Imperial Special Forces.

* * *

Darien walked out into the elegant dining room. The grand sweeping music emanating from the stage rose and fell in crescendos and diminuendos, and he spared a slight smile for the contralto who was singing, the alien sweeping back and forth as she warbled to the music, clicking in a very modern beat despite the fact she was singing an ancient Orion song. The dancers in true cabaret style were down amidst the tables, kicking and flowing in time to the music, billowing skirts sweeping past him as he made his way through them.

The first class dining room reminded Darien how close Orion culture was to its decadent roots. The massive trestle tables were filled with food; the beautiful girls standing in the centre of the tables danced suggestively for the patrons in their gaudy over-styled clothing. The guests ignored them, bellowing and laughing at each other's conversation.

To one side, a pair of Orions were duelling for the entertainment of a small crowd, a violent dance of blades that clashed and rang as they connected and spiralled away from each other. Elegant and ornate as their moves were, Darien would have wagered James could take them.

His eyes narrowed as he glanced around the large room, past them to the great domed ceiling that showed the stars streaming by. It was elegant, but Darien's experience taught him to fear so much glass. In space, you wanted as much armour between you and hard vacuum as you could get.

"Inspector!" The regal voice rang out across the chamber, "Welcome, Detective Inspector Taine."

Darien's eyes locked onto his host, seated above the crowds at a separate table, his own small feast laid out for him so that while he was a part of the entertainment, he remained above it. Nicholas Denver smiled and beckoned him to join him, motioning for a steward to produce a chair for him.

Darien inclined his in thanks as he sat down.

"You had me worried on Ararat," Denver said, dipping a ladle into a thick stew and spooning it onto Darien's plate, "But then, I shouldn't have underestimated you."

"It was close," Darien said to his host, taking a moment to gauge the man.

Denver was not a man lost to the dilettante's social life. There was a cunning edge to his eyes, and while his glass remained full, Darien noted that he never reached for it. He was a man who liked the appearance of wealth and all the trappings that went along with it, yet Darien recognized the type all too well. Illusion and misdirection was the best defence for a man like Denver.

Denver, for his part, smiled as he set the spoon down and straightened in his chair. "I see certain pretences are not needed," he said, his voice losing the boisterous edge. The slur was gone as well.

Darien nodded. He was right on his assumption; Denver was sharper than he let on.

"We could cut straight to the point," Darien remarked, folding his arms and sitting back into his chair.

"Oh, I know why you are here," Denver replied calmly, stroking his dark beard, "Your Empire has bitten off more than it can chew by tackling the Amsus, and you are looking for an industrial base to support your floundering economy. Now you are going to play the race card on me, asking me to help humanity gain its freedom. I will protest that neutrality has suited my business aspirations and kept the House of Denver alive when so many others were ground under by the enemies of the Empire... Enemies like the Polians, Amsus, and a few others you are unaware of..." Denver smiled as he picked up a small loaf of bread and broke it, "You know my answer."

"I could appeal to your sense of honour," Darien replied, knowing that it was a futile gesture. Denver wasn't about to help them, they had nothing to offer him except the possibility of war and total ruin if they failed.

Denver shrugged. "I'm a businessman, my battlefield is a boardroom, and there is no honour there..."

Darien took a long deep breath, looking at Denver awhile, thinking about what the cost had been just to meet the man. Knowing that he'd had to try, and if he just got up and walked away from that table then he'd be letting everyone down.

"You're a Highlord, Your House is strong, and you know that there is material wealth to be made not just in war, but in the gains you will get once I free Earth..." Darien looked up at the businessman, "And I will liberate Earth."

"You are asking me to make a heavy investment based purely on you," Denver said sitting in his chair. "You are the only collateral the Empire has to offer, your General Iver is a blundering lummox who would be lost on a battle field were it not for a pretty little map pointing him in the right direction."

"I am asking you to invest in your own people," Darien said, absently rubbing his hand again a moment before reaching for some of the bread. Denver's eyes watched his hand, and Darien drew it back, clenching his fist to stop the motion.

The businessman shook his head, "I don't..."

Darien's eyes flicked to the glass dome, and the flickers of light outside, the arrival of ships appearing in formation, an Amsus attack formation.

Denver paused, his head turning as he frowned, catching the same thing Darien was staring at. "They wouldn't dare..." he murmured, rising to his feet as the Amsus Predators screamed down on the Tradeliner.