Evan Currie - Heirs of Empire

“You never were one to waste talent, I’ll give you that much,” Seph acknowledged, shifting his grip as he finished his head count.

“No, I never was. You don’t need to die here, Meynard,” Corian offered. “The emperor is a weak-willed, sadistic piece of filth, and you know it.”

“I serve the empire, not the man.”

“So do I.” Corian leaned forward, bracing his hands on the rails. “It’s time for new leadership.”

“You, I suppose?”

“We are Cadre. We are the best of the empire,” Corian said, his tone rising. “Who else should rule? Who else deserves to rule?”

“I’ve served in the Cadre for over ten full cycles of the Great Islands,” Seph answered, his tone pensive now. “I’ve seen kingdoms rise and fall, brought more than one into the empire myself. You know what I learned in those ten years?”

Corian looked evenly at him for a long moment before answering. “Enlighten me, O veteran of so many years,” the sixty-three-year-old general said sarcastically.

“In all my time,” Seph said, as though he’d not heard the sarcasm, “do you know how many nations I’ve seen that came out better for a violent overthrow of the government? In forty years, not a single one. How many in your sixty-three?”

“I’m not like any of those fools!” Corian snarled. “Rank amateurs. We carve through them like they’re nothing . You know that.”

“You’re exactly like those fools,” Seph countered. “Arrogant, self-aggrandizing, egotistical. You think you’re better than everyone, just like them. You know what you really are, Corian? Do you?”

“Why don’t you tell me?”

“You’re a superb warrior and a general whose leadership skill in battle is nearly unmatched,” Seph said, tensing, “neither of which make you competent to lead the empire in anything other than a war.”

“And he is? That imbecile we call emperor is?”

The cool, collected figure was gone. The man above him was spitting as he spoke now, and Seph smiled slightly as he finished marking off his targets. Corian was legendary for his calm under fire, but almost equally so for his lack of patience with the orders of those he considered fools. Pushing his buttons was as easy as implying that those he had so little respect for might just be correct.

It was the opening he was waiting for. Seph fell into the projection link and made his move.

He made it eighteen feet before the first shot was fired reflexively.

Seph’s Turo flowed out to full extension as he swept it up, already in motion before the shot was taken. The flat of the blade swept into the path of the gamma charge, slapping it away and splattering it across the room behind Seph as he continued his charge.

More carbines fired, most of the shot tracks cleanly missing as Seph powered his armor to the highest levels and planted a foot on the closest wall and kicked off. In midair he swept two more blasts aside, his armor tracking every single blaster aimed in his direction along with their trajectories. Before each shot he got about a tenth of a second warning as weapons ignited their rounds, just enough to let him intercept the attacks with his own weapon.

Gamma bursts could tear through his armor easily enough, but there wasn’t much of anything that could damage an Armati.

Of course, once the ambushers got their act together and started firing together, they’d easily overwhelm his ability to defend against them. That’s why he had to close the range as quickly as he could.

Seph hit the catwalk in a slide, turning it into a roll that brought him to his feet right underneath one of the shooters. He reversed his grip on the Armati, running the man through as he knelt low, and then sheltered behind the body.

“Sloppy, Corian,” he called out. “I shouldn’t have gotten more than ten feet!”

Corian sneered from where he’d taken cover. “This isn’t exactly a Cadre deployment, Meynard. You still aren’t getting out of this alive.”

That’s not the plan, Seph thought as he took the weight of the now cooling body across his shoulders. The temporary lull in the fighting was only a brief respite, but for the moment he could feel the uncertainty as the men-at-arms balked at shooting through one of their own. That wouldn’t last much longer.

“Fire!” Corian ordered. “He’s dead, just fire!”

Seph drew his back up as he powered to his feet, throwing the body up and through the air. He twisted under the airborne corpse, extending his sidearm and firing.

Unlike the carbines, his sidearm was older tech and less lethal. The lasing rounds loaded in the 1796 blaster burned in the high ultraviolet range, not hot enough to perforate Cadre armor projectors but more than enough to turn flesh and blood to expanding plasma.

The closest man-at-arms took the first shot dead center in the torso. The burst of coherent UV superheated the flesh, blood, and bone of his sternum with enough force that the resulting spray of hot plasma lifted him off his feet and threw him back over the rail. Seph stayed low, sprinting under the body he’d thrown, leaving that cover behind.

As he straightened up, he slashed with his Armati, half slicing through the next man as he hit his stride. The men-at-arms weren’t more than a distraction to him. Lined up along the catwalk, they couldn’t mass their fire and one on one they fell like leaves from a tree.

Seph didn’t give a damn about them.

He wanted Corian.

The blaster in his off-hand roared, lasing rounds seeking out their targets almost as fast as his Armati sliced through those in its path. Seph bulled through, sending men flying in both directions … over the rails and hard into the wall as he focused on his target. Corian had to die. Taking out the head of the snake would end everything, and the general’s arrogance had put him within reach.

Seph was two-thirds of the way to his target before the first gamma burst holed through his armor and into his body. He staggered, straightened, and slashed his Armati into the shooter. Blood splattered the rail as the man fell aside, and then another burst took Seph in the gut. Four of the men-at-arms got their act together as he stumbled back, leveling their weapons and clearing enough space so they could coordinate their fire.

Those still on their feet watched as burst after burst of coherent gamma blasts burned through Seph Meynard. He staggered forward, his sidearm roaring twice more. For the first time, Meynard missed a shot, the laser glancing off the wall and barely scorching the metal. He swiped with the Armati, barely connecting, and threw his weight forward.

He broke through the four men, eyes falling on Corian as he fell forward to his knees. Seph lifted his Armati, willing the shift. The weapon morphed as he tried to focus, with Corian’s image changing to two, then three, then back to one.

The general stepped forward and pulled the Armati from Seph’s hand with a calm composure that belied his earlier rage.

“Walking dead,” Corian said, “and you’re still trying to kill your target …”

He sidestepped the sidearm and plucked it from Seph’s hand as well. “Careful now. Wouldn’t want to have that go off accidentally.”

Seph didn’t answer as he slumped back on his heels.

Corian turned the Armati over in his hand for a moment, shrinking it back to its standard form and casually tapping it against Seph’s projected armor.

“Very impressive, commander. I applaud your target focus,” he said pleasantly, shaking his head as he turned away. “Too bad you wouldn’t work for me. Such a waste.”

“Burn in the skies, you traitorous …”

Corian whipped back around, the Armati in his hand extending out into a blade that slashed through the projective armor as though it weren’t there. Meynard’s body hit the ground a moment later as Corian turned the Armati over in his hand, considering the feel of it.