Evan Currie - Heirs of Empire

“Hey!” Brennan tried to protest, only to be cut off by a hand the size of a shovel slamming down on the counter.

“Out!” the barkeep bellowed, making Brennan stumble back.

He heard sounds he recognized and looked behind him to find several lase blasters not quite pointed his way. Brennan slowly raised his hands and walked backward to the door. Everyone inside watched him silently until he was gone and the door closed behind him.

The barkeep walked around and over to the door, slamming bolts home to lock it tight.

“What the hell was that about, Yenn?”

The big man shrugged off the badly fitting vest he wore and tossed it aside as he walked over to the painting of the capital hanging on a wall. He plucked it off and tossed the picture aside, then drove his elbow through the wall. He reached into the hole and drew out a silver-and-ivory baton just a little over a foot long.

“Boys,” he said as he turned back, “we have some messages to pass along ourselves.”

Brennan stomped back to the small field that held the Naga, not looking at nor speaking to Kennick as he hauled himself up into the fighter and dropped unceremoniously into the pilot’s seat.

Kennick licked his lips for a moment, then decided to risk it. “How’d it go?”

“Delivered the message, whatever the hell it was. Then the jerk kicked me out of the place and locked the damn door.” Brennan scowled.

Kennick blinked, a little confused by that himself, but he didn’t know what the skipper’s whole plan was. Maybe it was just to get the kid out of the way in case it all went bad and his sister bought it in the fight. That sounded like something she’d do, but if that was the plan, he didn’t think it had worked, because there was no way the kid was going to sit around with family on the line.

“So,” he said finally, “what now?”

“Now we get this crate back in the air and fly as tight to the wind as I can manage,” Brennan said firmly. “We should be able to catch the fleet before the fighting is over, at least.”

Kennick nodded.

Yup, her plan definitely backfired if she thought she was going to keep the kid out of that fight, thought Kennick.

He didn’t have any orders other than gun for the kid if needed, so he wasn’t stupid enough to get on the wrong side of a potential emperor. Even as it was, the kid held just a little too much power for Kennick to be comfortable annoying him.

“Your call, kid. You planning on mixing it up with the enemy?” Kennick asked.

Brennan started running the preflight checklist, barely glancing up. “You have a problem if I am?”

“Not as such.”

“Let’s play it by ear.”

Kennick smiled to himself. This kid would never make it in the legion. Too bad he’s too high profile for the skipper to recruit him full time. I think he’d fit right in on the Andros .

The idea of what was essentially the crown prince of the empire serving aboard a corsair struck him as funny enough that Kennick spent the entire liftoff procedure just barely keeping in his manic giggles.

Above and behind him, Brennan noticed, but decided for the sake of his own sanity not to ask.

Besides, he was too busy climbing for the top wind layer and angling the Naga for the capital.

It was time for a homecoming.

In a small house miles from anywhere, a hidden panel in the floor opened and a hand reached in to draw out a gold-and-ebony baton. The hatch was left open, and the house quietly abandoned a few minutes later.

The Cadre were mobilizing.

The Andros Pak was riding above the top wind layer, her sails extended below to catch the slipstream as they tore through the thin air over a hundred thousand feet above the ground. At the speeds they were running, the lifting body of the ship itself was enough to keep the Andros aloft, which allowed them to translate all the strength of the winds to forward motion.

There were minimal hands on deck, as most of the crew operated their stations from the interior. Mira could have done the same, but she enjoyed the cold air and shocking crisp colors that could only be experienced at the edge of the atmosphere.

Her clothes were insulated but tight, and she wore a light breather and tinted glasses to protect her eyes from both the cold and the low pressure. At over nine hundred miles per hour, they weren’t quite breaking any records, but Mira would be surprised if there had been another skimmer of the Andros ’s class that could have touched her.

“We’re two hours out from the capital,” Gaston announced as he walked up behind her.

Mira nodded, glancing back and smiling as she noticed how bundled up he was, not a patch of skin to be seen. Body control was one of the basic elements of Cadre training, and she was so used to the benefits of it that she often forgot that most people froze in temperatures that she considered mildly chilly at worst.

“Clear,” she answered. “How are we looking belowdecks?”

“Crews are ready to go,” he said. “Are you sure you can control those?”

“No problem,” she said confidently. “The systems are designed to allow them to be slaved to a central control for precision. We don’t use them that way often, of course.” She grinned wickedly. “We’re a contrary lot, Gas.”

“Really,” he responded dryly, “I never would have guessed it.”

At one hundred thousand feet, the air was thin enough, and they were moving fast enough, to whisk her laughter away as the Andro s sped onward.

“It’s time.”

Lydia looked up to where William was standing in the doorway of her suite and nodded.

“I’ll be up on deck shortly.”

William nodded and stepped back, letting the door slide shut.

The loyalist forces were preparing to move out, a veritable flotilla of skimmers the likes of which he didn’t think he’d ever seen before.

Most legion mobilizations involved escort cruisers running cover support for the ground-based transport. It was a slower process, but usually not by as much as one might expect, since high-speed rail infrastructure was standard in all corners of the empire. It was, in fact, what the empire was known for.

This time, however, they couldn’t trust the magnetic rails or the new quantum ones. Both had one weakness in common: you couldn’t help but come in from known vectors and be spotted long before reaching your goal. When the enemy held the switches and fortified all the nexuses, you didn’t travel by conventional methods.

William made his way to the open deck of the baron’s cruiser, the Pillar of Miogaro , and the flying bridge. The Pillar ’s bridge was large enough for the baron to have a section cut out of it for himself and the field marshal to observe fleet actions without disturbing their captain.

As he stepped in, William nodded to Groven and bowed to the baron.

“Your Grace.”

“Relax, old friend,” Kennissey said tiredly, waving him in. “Here we have no titles.”

“All ships have reported they’re ready to lift off by the numbers,” Groven said. “We’re ready.”

Kennissey nodded slowly. “Very well. Give the …”

He paused, his attention deflected behind William as he saw Lydia Scourwind step on deck. She was wearing the same uniform as earlier, but it had now been altered to the gold-and-black Scourwind colors. The baron waved her on and stood to greet her as she stepped up beside William.

“Empress Scourwind …” Kennissey bowed at the waist, joined by Groven, who stiffly matched the motion. “Welcome.”