A Titan's Vengeance (The Great War Book 2) Read online

  Beyond lay an unremarkable gray potato-shaped asteroid, orbiting far from the primary of this barren star system. Even the surface placements—a multitude of which must surely be tracking them—were invisible to the naked eye, and Hest warranted, all but the most powerful of sensors.

  The mass rolled gently, their perspective changing as the transport arced around toward its destination. Around them, the lethal Wolf fighters prowled, keeping a watchful eye for enemies, foreign or domestic.

  A moment later, the narrow end of the asteroid became visible. Only instead of more rock, there was a dark hole, stretching deep into inky blackness. Chatter washed across the comm. A circle of lights blazed on, chasing the shadows away. More illumination activated, creating lines running deep into the core of the asteroid and showing the course the transport’s pilot must take.

  “A magnificent accomplishment. No?” Even sitting just over the central aisle from Revanch, she could barely hear him. His voice was quiet and weak. It was as if he didn’t quite have the nerve to speak up in a group. Or maybe it was a reflection of who, or more accurately what, the man really was—the head of the dreaded Executors. The not-so-secret police of the Neo movement. Resolute in their hunting of Loggists, dissidents, the genetically impure, and those deemed unworthy of a place in the so-called bright future promised by the Neo Galton Hegemony.

  Her skin crawled at his mere presence. The contempt she wanted to show nearly crept onto her face, an expression she quickly subdued and replaced with a tolerant smile. People had disappeared for less. She was getting better at hiding her true feelings, but sometimes, just sometimes, she was tempted to show what she really felt for these people.

  She turned to him, looking into his watery eyes. Before she could reply, the man sitting next to the head Executor clasped a hand on his shoulder and leaned forward, his eyes locked with a piercing intensity on what was through the window. “Indeed, it is.” His voice was loud, firm, cutting and confident, a marked contrast to Revanch’s. Unlike anyone else in the Hegemony, he was the one person who truly had nothing to fear from the secret policeman. Revanch’s loyalty was utterly unwavering, the Executor holding a devotion for him bordering on religious fanaticism.

  The Prime.

  He looked unremarkable. His uniform, the plain working rig of the army. The only adornment separating him from a regular officer was a dark sash with a silver broach of the Black Sun glistening on it and a tasteless soul patch of beard on his chin. “This facility is truly a testament to the ingenuity of the Galton people.”

  Hest forced herself not to roll her eyes. One of the things she had found strangest about the Prime, now that she was spending more time with the man, was the fact that his public persona matched his private one. He never dropped his impassioned rhetoric. It wasn’t as if he secretly held different views to those he portrayed to the masses—his opinions and policies were untampered by pragmatism even to his most trusted council.

  If she didn’t so abhor what the Neo party stood for, she’d actually appreciate that lack of guile, knowing he was no different behind closed doors as when addressing the public. Say what you would about the racist, probably mad bastard, it was no different. Perhaps that was what the Galton people appreciated. Not the message itself, but the honesty behind it.

  The transport swept around into the portal. The strips of lights running along the entrance blurred by, a testament to the sheer size of the base and how deep they were going into the bowels of the asteroid.

  Suddenly, the transport emerged into a huge chamber hollowed out in the rocky core. It was lit by red floodlights the same color as the star outside, only in here, it gave the impression of heat. As if the place were a forge.

  And in a manner of speaking, it was.

  An ominous silhouette lay within the space, yet the transport flew so close to it, not all was distinguishable. A wall of battle steel rolled by, occasionally punctuated by the flash of a portal or window. Then the transport rose, swooping under the huge imposing barrel of a main battery cannon, easily twice the length of the jump-transport itself. The big picture was lost in how close they flew to it, but the hints she was seeing spoke of something truly massive and devastatingly powerful.

  Silence washed through the transport as the occupants admired the glimpses of what they were looking at.

  They careened around the rear of the ship, past the nozzles of engines the size of office blocks before surging up the ship’s monumental flank. Dozens of smaller weapon emplacements flashed by. Flak cannon. Light pulsars and the fearsomely sized secondary batteries.

  Even Hest, as cynical and war-weary as she’d grown after the Asteria campaign, couldn’t help but feel a beat of admiration as she looked at the huge beast. The construction of something such as this really was something to be proud of.

  “Magnificent,” the Prime uttered, mirroring her thoughts. “Truly, magnificent.”

  ***

  Sarven watched the transport breach the atmosphere field of the docking bay, leaving a shimmering ripple. It slipped across the congested hanger of the huge base on a humming repulsor field and settled to the metal grid of the flight deck.

  He gave the chamber one last check. There was no hiding the fact this was a working facility. The banners proudly showing the Black Sun may have hid the worst of the barnacles of equipment adorning the walls and the cranes hanging down, but the smell of industry and the piles of stores marred the vista for the visiting leader of the Hegemony.

  Two thousand and sixty-five men and women filled the chamber, standing at ease, arrayed in squares signifying their positions and departments. The white dress uniforms of the officers at the front, the gray of the enlisted. The green of the army contingent. The suits of the civilian contractors who would be joining them on any maiden voyage.

  The whine of the transport’s engines spooled down, leaving the huge space silent.

  As if to fill the absence of noise, the Senior Warrant Spacer shouted, “Attention!”

  As one, the crew snapped their legs together, their heels stomping the deck.

  The door of the transport rotated down, turning into a ramp with the ringing thud of metal striking metal. A silhouette appeared in the hatchway.

  Two thousand and sixty-four right fists snapped to the left side of their chest. As one, the crew roared the same two words.

  “Hail Prime!”

  Except Sarven, standing at the head of the company next to his captain, Redora Lasik.

  The Prime prowled down the steps, looking left and right, taking in the ship’s company. His eyes locked onto Sarven’s, boring into them as the admiral stood, his hand locked to his forehead in the salute of the old Imperium.

  “Admiral.” The Prime stepped in front of him and cocked his head as his small eyes narrowed. “I find my pleasure at your achievements here rapidly turning to displeasure.”

  Sarven held the man’s piercing stare as long as he could bear, then motion caught his eyes from the ramp. The slippery eel Revanch stepped down, taking in the scene. His mouth opened in what looked to be a distressed sigh as he saw Sarven standing, frozen in his quaint salute. The secret policeman shook his head, his expression maudlin as if he regretted and was sad at what he was seeing.

  “Apologies, my Prime. I simply sought to honor you with tradition.” Sarven snapped his right fist down, then back up with a clenched fist to beat his chest in the approved Neo Hegemony salute.

  The Prime’s stern look changed to one of condescending amusement, then he chuckled. “Misjudged, perhaps. We are in a new era, after all.”

  “That we are, my Prime.”

  “Speaking of which,” the Prime lowered his voice and leaned close. Sarven fought the urge to rock back on his heels, away from him. “I received your memorandum.”

  “Sir,” Sarven responded. Try as he might, he couldn’t meet the Prime’s intense gaze. Instead, he locked his eyes on the man’s nose.

  “Perhaps now is not the time to discuss it.” The P
rime still didn’t return his salute, leaving Sarven and the ship’s company standing, their hands across their chests. “But, I feel your impassioned pleas deserve an immediate response. I will say my opinion has not changed. The Loggists are a blight on the purity of our race. Their cleansing will continue.”

  Sarven fought to stop his teeth baring in a snarl. The Prime and his fucking obsession with the Loggists and genetic purity. How that race should be expunged from the galaxy for some perceived failing of a thousand years ago. It was only by Father Terra’s grace that Revanch had not yet unearthed the fact that Sarven’s grandmother was one. If the Executor had, then it was more likely he would find himself in one of the rumored camps than in his current position as an admiral in the Astral.

  “In fact”—the Prime tapped a forefinger to his lips thoughtfully—“there is no need to waste time discussing this further. That is my final word.”

  With a casual breeziness, the Prime stepped back and bumped his fist to his chest, releasing the crew from their salute. Sarven lowered his hand to behind his back, taking the at ease position.

  “Of course, my Prime.” Sarven managed to somehow keep his voice from a frustrated growl as someone else disembarked the transport. He frowned, seeing who it was.

  So, the rumors are true. General Aria Tor Hest was accompanying the Prime.

  The Prime had adopted the Hero of Asteria as his ward. Promoting her, when some—most likely Revanch—would have had her shot or worse for her defiance of orders, for pressing the attack on the beleaguered Kingdom forces at Port Rorian when she’d been told expressly not to. A pleasant enough reflection on her, that she’d used her initiative to slam home their advantage, perhaps. Except when Sarven’s friend and predecessor, Admiral Karth, had done the same thing—attacking and destroying the Kingdom carrier, Falcon, and her flotilla, in defiance of orders—he’d found himself damn near cashiered, or worse. There was nothing, Sarven had oft ruminated, like the random-seeming offering of punishment and reward to help encourage indecisiveness.

  It was something, at least, that the Hegemony hadn’t quite managed to expunge the old guard. People like Sarven, people like Hest and her commanding officer, Galen. If the Hegemony treated their senior military officers like what was happening in the People’s worlds, then they’d have long since been placed against a wall and shot.

  Sarven gave a mental shrug. It was welcome, he supposed, to be meeting another genuinely capable combat commander, rather than a Neo sycophant...as seemed to be the norm these days. And, if rumors were true—in some circles, at least—then she was as displeased with the Hegemony leadership and the war as he was. As were others in senior military positions, as well.

  Of course, nothing could be proven. No one was willing to be completely honest. Yet. And the fact she’d been promoted might mean one of two things. Either she’d genuinely bought into the Neo cause, or Revanch was taking—on behalf of the Prime—the view he should keep his friends close and his enemies closer.

  Regardless, perhaps a conversation awaited with the general. A gentle test to find out if their views really did align.

  “Come, my Prime,” Sarven said, putting the thought to one side for the time being. “Refreshments await. I appreciate your journey here to Thoth has been long.”

  Sarven turned, gesturing with his hand down the red carpet between the thousands of men and women forming the ship’s company.

  All of which had been laid out for the undisputed tyrant of the Neo Hegemony.

  ***

  The red light of the docks spilled into the sumptuously adorned mess. Canapés from all throughout the Arcadian Sector and beyond filled the table in an impressive and delicious spread.

  But Behemoth was the true vision to be admired.

  He squatted aggressively in the long cylinder of the docks, now brightly lit. Everything, from the hammerhead of his prow to the massive cluster of engines, shouted “war machine.” Behind him, a second, equally massive vessel could be seen lodged deeper in the dockyards, this one still in the midst of construction. Behemoth’s soon-to-be-named brother-ship.

  Captain Lasik animatedly entertained Revanch, apparently unintimidated by the fact a single wrong word would find her with a noose around her neck. She was young. New. Without the protection of decades of service. Maybe she was counting on the fact she was a card-carrying member of the Neo Party to insulate her from such risks. Not something, Sarven understood, anyone should rely on in these uncertain times.

  Or, Sarven supposed, perhaps she was simply an Executor. They were everywhere these days. In fact, he eyed the two of them while straining to keep the suspicion from his gaze. It would be faintly ridiculous if Revanch hadn’t placed one of his minions in a senior position on the Hegemony’s brand-new flagship.

  And it didn’t get any more senior than the ship’s captain. Except for him, that was. He was under no illusions, knowing that his service, and his popularity with his spacers, were all that protected him. But more and more trusted officers were being replaced by sycophants. And soon, he’d be alone. And vulnerable. Then? Well, if he hadn’t acted by then, then he would likely be a guest of the very man in this room.

  “He’s a...useful man to keep around,” a voice murmured in his ear. Turning, he met the bemused gaze of the faintly smiling Prime. “Carrot and Stick, as they say. He provides a healthy sense of fear, which helps harden the resolve of even our occasionally wavering soldiers.”

  Sarven flashed a thin smile in return. “And, my Prime, what is the carrot?”

  “Why me, of course,” the Prime said as his smile grew to a wide grin. A grin as comforting as that of a hunting shark. “I provide the inspiration. Instill the pride in our soldiers and citizens. A beacon of hope amid the turgid recession our nation finds itself in.”

  “Of course.”

  “You are still uncertain of me, aren’t you, Valin?” The Prime let the smile drop from his face, to be replaced by a fanatical earnestness. He held his hand up, as if forestalling any response. “We’re not so different, you and I. Both of us fondly remembering the days of the Imperium, for all its flaws. And now, both of us wishing Galton to attain its rightful place as the capital of an empire which will last for all eternity.”

  Maybe, Sarven conceded, but not at a cost of our souls.

  “And we will accomplish that, you and I.” The Prime pressed on as he gestured through the window at the bulk of the warship beyond. “And him.”

  “One battleship won’t win a war, my Prime,” Sarven said quietly. “Not even this one.”

  “No.” The Prime nodded in agreement. “No, it won’t. But knowing how to apply his magnificent power, that is what will win it. The Kingdom is without elegance. They simply rely on their navy’s power and numbers. That has made them sloppy. It’s made them lazy. You, though? You have the luxury of the most powerful warship in the Reach and the ability to pick your fights.”

  “Quantity is a quality of its own,” Sarven said, adding belatedly, “my Prime.”

  “Perhaps,” the Prime replied. “And perhaps, as important as the devastation this ship will bring forth, will be the message he carries in his mere existence and the resolve of his crew.”

  “His existence will be short, if he is cornered,” Sarven replied. “Most powerful or not.”

  The smile on the Prime’s face didn’t change an iota, yet it somehow became more calculating.

  “Let us move to other topics,” the Prime said. “More inspirational matters.”

  He turned to the room, casting a sidelong glance at Sarven as he did.

  “Brave spacers of the Hegemony.” The Prime clapped his hands as he addressed the people gathered in the mess. All around the room, the senior officers and civilian invitees paused, some of them with mouths still full of food, yet daring not to chew further. “You have no doubt been eagerly awaiting your orders. The direction of our nation, of me, on how you are to use this magnificent war machine to further the Hegemony and the Neo cause.”
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  The Prime gestured through the window. “You will take part in Operation River. You will strangle the resistance from the Kingdom. Defeating their convoys. And break their will to fight.”

  Looking around the room, his eyes settled on Lasik and he gave a smile, one that seemed genuine. “I am told that some of you are admirably brave. And wish to test our wonderful new machines against the best the Kingdom has to offer. That day may yet come, when this ship, joined by his brothers, will dominate the galaxy. But for now, your task and that of your consort, the heavy cruiser HAS Cerberus, is just as important.”

  Theatrically, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a flexi-pad, and unrolled it. He cleared his throat, making it obvious he was going to read what was on the pad word for word. “You are to voyage into the Reach and position yourself in the trade corridor between the Federation and the Kingdom. The objective of the Behemoth is not to defeat enemies of equal strength, but to tie them down in a delaying action while preserving his combat capacity as much as possible, so as to allow Cerberus to get at the merchant ships in the convoy.” The Prime glanced up, apparently making sure he still had everyone’s attention. Of course he did. “The primary target in this operation is the enemy's merchant shipping; enemy warships will be engaged only when that objective makes it necessary and it can be done without excessive risk. Admiral?”

  “My Prime?” Sarven lifted his chin, looking at the ruler of his nation.

  “Hunt down the enemy’s shipping. Strangle the Kingdom into submission. Then bring my ship, and crew, home victorious.”

  Chapter 3

  Captain Cutter

  Kanth System – KSS Cronus

  Captain Cutter tugged his starched black dress uniform taut as he stepped through the hatch into Cronus’s flag mess.

  He gave a low whistle as he took the ostentatious chamber in in all of its glory. In the center, a large table dominated the space, set for a sumptuous meal. Around the edges, decorations—holos and watercolors depicting scenes of battles throughout history—were artfully arranged around memorabilia from two decades of cruising the known galaxy. Cronus was as much a projection of diplomatic power as she was a warship. When the Kingdom wanted to show its might, Cronus was the ship which was sent. The prime minister, even the king, had hosted everyone from the President of the Federation to the Chairwoman of the People, and the leader of every significant power between within these gloriously appointed bulkheads.