B. Larson - The Empress

Aldo and Nina brought their army at last to the southern end of Lavender City. They hid in a dispersed pattern under the spreading domes of a thousand suntrees. Overhead, the great ship could be seen hanging in the sky. From the ground, it resembled an oblong moon wreathed by tiny artificial lights. Nina wondered if it tracked them and if it possessed weaponry capable of annihilating their army.

“We must press the attack without delay,” Aldo said. “We must rush into their ranks and prevent them from bombarding us from above.”

“Order the mechs in first,” Nina urged, not for the first time. “They are our shock-troops. Once they are engaged I will take my knights over the canyon rim. We will flank them and break them.”

“Can your riding machines handle such a fall?”

“If it is no greater than a few hundred feet, these mounts will fall, but catch themselves. The repellers will keep us from dashing our brains out on the streets below.”

Aldo reluctantly ordered the mechs to charge. Nina watched with glittering eyes. This, she hoped, would be her moment of vengeance. It would have been much better if she could have slain Sixty-Two personally, but having engineered his death was enough for now. She had an entire world to save, after all.

She watched the battle unfold in detail on a computer scroll. Vid pickups followed the mechs, and many of them broadcast live streams of the action.

Things did not go as planned from the start. Almost as soon as they broke free of the suntrees, the Gladius flared with bright pinpoints.

“They are firing on us,” Aldo said.

“They are firing on the mechs,” Nina corrected.

Aldo gave her a sidelong glance that was less than trusting. Did he suspect her plans? No matter, she thought. The die was cast. The mechs were already sprinting across open swards, their feet sparking on the Queen’s Highway as they ran. There was no point in recalling them now.

The snap and whine of descending missiles turned into blossoming explosions. Two initial impacts sent up mushroom clouds. Mech limbs twirled over the landscape. Blooming clouds of dust obscured the battlefield. There were a dozen more strikes all around the landscape, all hitting one clump of running individuals or another. Still, even under harsh bombardment, the mech charge continued undaunted.

Nina strained to see a flapping cloak-a lone figure different from the rest that wore a hat like a man. But there were only clanking, uniform individuals. Perrupters, altered laborers and a few rare construction mechs with massive bodies twenty feet high charged together. They all ran and ran. They died, but kept going. Nina felt a momentary pang of sympathy for them. She’d narrowed her hate to one individual, and no longer wished the rest harm. They were only slaves, as Sixty-Two had taken great pains to point out.

Her eyes roved over the mechs hungrily. Had Sixty-Two already been blown to fragments? She hoped not, she didn’t want to miss such a moment of triumph.

“So many losses,” said a voice beside them. “We can’t win the battle if it goes on like this.”

Nina craned her neck around in shock. It could not be! There stood Sixty-Two, unmistakable in his tattered cloak, scarf and hat.

“You!” she shouted, pointing out into the charging mass of mechs on the field. “Why aren’t you out there with your troops, leading them?”

Sixty-Two tilted his head to one side, a gesture not unlike that of a shrug. “You two are commanders, as am I. Why didn’t you lead the charge you ordered?”

Nina turned away in a fury.

“They’ve reached the alien lines,” Aldo said. “It is time, Baroness.”

Thousands of knights surged out of the suntrees. Nina realized, to her rage and horror, that it was Sixty-Two who was now going to watch her make a suicidal attack from a position of safety and comfort. Seething, Nina Droad screamed for her troops to charge. She might have refused Aldo’s order, but for her own code of honor. She’d sworn to follow a reasonable command from him, and this attack had been her own plan. To disobey now would be to dishonor herself and Droad House. Nor was it possible to sit out the action as Sixty-Two had done. On Ignis Glace, able-bodied nobles led their troops personally.

Ahead of her, she saw the ragged line of knights reach the canyon rim and fly out into space. They plummeted, and those that lost their nerve or who were less than masters of their mounts inverted and plunged to their deaths.

Nina soon came to the rim herself and felt her guts squeeze up tightly within her. She went over the edge and began a wild fall to the dark streets below. Wind rushed up, buffeting her and threatening to knock her from her saddle. Her mount bucked and twisted under her rump, and she fought the controls with every ounce of skill she had. Bright flashes showed enemy fire coming up at her, twice scoring the steel flanks of her mount.

She noticed her mount’s vid pickup was glowing red. Someone was using her cameras to watch the battle remotely. Perhaps it was Sixty-Two himself.

Life was anything but fair.

The watchtower of Lavender City, which had been converted to a hotel and back again to a fortification, was among the last places in the city to succumb to the alien assault. The Duchess Embrak had prepared for this moment, and possessed a slim laser pistol that was custom-shaped to fit her small pale fist. She drew it from the dressing table drawer and checked the energy pack, making sure it was fully charged. Soon, the aliens were hammering on the door. They struck the metal with such alarming strength and rapidity that it shook the walls. The Duchess trembled in shock. How many were out there? Was this the end?

She drew herself up and placed the tip of her weapon under her chin. Four pounds of pressure on the trigger, that was all that was required. She began to squeeze-relented-then began squeezing again. Her eyes shut tight and she bared her fine teeth.

The door buckled. An upper corner of the metal surface curled inward, as if it were folding paper. Her last two bodyguards glanced at her. She nodded to them in salute. One’s face streamed with tears, the other man’s face was locked in an animal snarl. She reflected how differently each person faced a horrific finish to their own lives. She was glad the bodyguards were here. If they had not been present, she doubted she could have maintained a calm exterior. Since there were witnesses, she did not want them to see her collapse over the velvet furniture and bawl like a jilted schoolgirl.

The door came down. Still, the Duchess didn’t fire her weapon and end her own existence. Partly, she was curious about what these aliens looked like in the flesh. There had only been flickering hints from the battlefield pickups. Since it was her final moment, she had decided to indulge that curiosity.

Gray creatures, vaguely man-like, rushed into the room. They moved with unnatural speed, like a vid that was played at high speeds. The two bodyguards fired and the first alien that entered the room went down, flailing. It bounded back up, but was blasted down again. Such vitality. The Duchess was impressed and fascinated.

Two more followed it. The bodyguards were expert marksmen and veterans of many conflicts-reasons for their employment. But they did not concentrate their fire this time, and the killbeasts reached them before they could be slain. One man was decapitated-the one that had been crying. The second grappled with the killbeast for a moment. But it was an uneven contest. The man had a barrel chest and a savage snarl, but he could not face the power of alien musculature. He was bent back double and gargling within seconds. His spine snapped audibly. The Duchess winced. Helpless, he lay on the floor, panting and raving, still alive.