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CHAPTER 13




Lambert jammed his cane against the sidewalk as he focused on the metal doors to the auxiliary void port where the Izmir was docked. His bad leg ached from the brace and blisters had risen from him moving at the fastest pace he could manage all the way from Central.

He felt like a turtle trying to outrun a wolf as the sound of sporadic fighting had grown from the headquarters building and spilled into the surrounding city. He’d shared a rather tense but silent robo-taxi ride from the nexus point. None of the other passengers had seemed aware of the tragedy that had befallen the Hegemony, and most of them had seemed quite drunk or otherwise inebriated.

The usual police bots on the stretch of road from his drop-off spot were missing, which made the sense of dread from the darkness around him even worse. Ahead, two men went to the access doors of the void port and banged their fists against the biometric readers, then turned away.

“Not a good sign,” he said between pants, “not a good sign at all.”

A citywide lockdown made perfect sense to him, but just who was in charge of anything to make that decision wasn’t an answer he had.

“Hey. You,” a gruff voice said from an alleyway as Lambert passed.

Lambert continued on, in case there was some other “you” that had been addressed.

“He thinks he can run?” another man said. “Get over here, cripple.”

Lambert stopped. There was no use in exhausting himself further. He turned around.

Two large men stepped from the shadows, both in Hegemony army uniforms but with all the patches torn off.

“Who you loyal to, cripple?” one with a lit cigarette in his mouth asked. The other circled behind him.

“I’m afraid I don’t follow,” Lambert said. “I’m just trying to get back to my ship. Loyal to my need for a drink and a little sleep.”

“This one’s got jokes.” The other man kicked Lamberts’s cane into the gutter. “You like jokes, Chester?”

“I’m not in a jokin’ mood either.” Chester puffed smoke into Lambert’s face. “See, things are different around here now. No more Hegemony to make us soldier slaves. So are you Hegemony or are you not?”

Lambert feared there was no answer that would satisfy the men, who seemed bent on a little retribution against anyone they could blame for their lot in life.

“I am a man of Bretton.” Lambert bent his chin to the planetary crest on his lapel. “It’s a bit of a better place than this.”

His good leg trembled from bearing so much weight. He’d succumb to his disability in a most humiliating fashion in the next few minutes.

“Wait, Bretton.” Chester plucked his cigarette from his mouth. “Ain’t that the—”

There was a snap and Chester’s head canted hard to one side. Blood spurted from a bullet hole and the large man crumpled to the ground.

“Oye, wait a loving second!” The other man raised his hands. He went down from two more snaps from the alleyway.

A chubby man with a wisp-thin comb-over and skin so pale it might not have seen natural light in years stepped out of the shadows. He wore a full Hegemony uniform, though it was far too tight across his belly.

He lowered a silenced pistol to his side.

“Colonel Lambert, I presume?” the man said. “I have a proposition for you that I think you’ll want to consider.”

He picked the cane up from the gutter, shook off some fluid from an unidentifiable puddle and handed it back to Lambert.

“Thank you.” Lambert leaned heavily on the cane. “These two were . . .”

“Up to no good. Amazing how the lack of overarching authority brings out one’s true nature. Shall we continue this discussion aboard the Izmir? I’d rather not speak out here. These two likely didn’t have friends, but they might have cohorts.”

“I’m fine with that,” Lambert said and started towards the entrance to the void port. “But I believe the way’s locked.” He glanced up at the top of the high walls guarded by rolls of razor wire and automated gun turrets.

“Won’t be a problem for me.” The man jogged ahead, holding onto his belt to keep his pants from falling. He put his palm to a biometric reader. When it went red, he bit down on his thumb and yanked the finger hard. The fake digit pulled open. He shined a red light emanating from beneath the fingernail at the reader and it went blue.

The doors chugged open.

Lambert hurried inside and his savior locked the doors behind him. In the void port, the non-Hegemony crews of several ships lounged about hookahs or kicked a soccer ball between groups.

“They have no idea,” the man said.

“Wait, who are you and how did you do that?” Lambert asked.

“I am Neville Harris, Hegemony Intelligence Agency,” he said. “You are Brent Lambert, Colonel (Planetary Militia), one each, supernumerary quartermaster of the Eleventh Bretton Infantry. Date of birth—”

“I know who I am,” Lambert said. “What do you want? And how did you know—”

“It’s best we don’t discuss things here.” Harris’ eyes darted from side to side.

“Captain Mehmet runs a tight ship. I can’t just get you aboard, not while you’ve still got a pistol in your hand and I’ve only got your name. I do appreciate the help but as you seem to have your ear to the ground as to what’s happening . . . help me help you with Mehmet,” Lambert said.

“This isn’t in your psych profile. The agent on Bretton did an incomplete workup on you. Let us walk and talk on the way to the Izmir. Only thirteen-point-seven percent of personnel in this sealed facility have conversational Hegemony Standard ability. They likely won’t understand much from any snippets they overhear.” Harris pulled the silencer from his pistol and slipped both into a holster on the small of his back, though he was almost too fat to reach it.

“The news of the Hegemony’s sudden and total collapse wasn’t a surprise to everyone,” Harris said as they walked down a wide street between docked civilian vessels. “Members of the HIA were aware of the cracks in the system and predicted that a senior military leader would take umbrage with the growing disaffection with the Most High council. That actor being Telemachus wasn’t in the top five of the most likely candidates, but we did factor him into the equation.”

“You knew this was going to happen?” Lambert asked.

“We predicted it with low certainty. Not enough for the HIA to take overt action but enough for us to make contingency plans for our—for the Hegemony’s survival. Yes. Indeed.” Harris cleared his throat. “We estimated there were at least two more years before a dissolution occurred and we assumed there would be a period of open civil war first. Actual war. Not police actions such as Dahrien.”

“The HIA saw this coming and did nothing?” Lambert hissed.

“All projections were off, but it was possible.” Harris waved a hand over his head. “Imagine you were one of the Most High and the HIA came to you and said there was a reasonable chance of the Hegemony collapsing and then suggesting massive corrective action. How do you think it would’ve gone over with the Most High council?”

“As they’re all dead, they probably should’ve listened,” Lambert said.

“Reasonable deduction but irrelevant. The HIA Director, who likely perished aboard the Highest, was certain he’d be suspected of plotting a coup and executed immediately. He was one of the best Mittering aberrations in the entire Hegemony. Almost never wrong with his qualitative assessments. Almost,” Harris said.

“I don’t see what this has to do with me,” Lambert said.

“Well, it’s more to do with the Izmir and the amount of Tollonium Energy Units in her fuel tanks and her in-atmo flight characteristics.”

“What?” Lambert stopped, only a few dozen yards from the Izmir’s short ramp on the port side.

“Brass tacks, is it?” Harris came close and continued in a conspiratorial whisper. “I can get you off this shithole. I can get your entire battalion off this shithole, too. And then I can get you all back to Bretton and that ship back to Union space where it wants to go . . . all I want in return is safe passage.”

“To go . . . where?” Lambert asked.

“Bretton is sufficient for my plans at the moment. Me entrusting my personal safety to you, along with yours, should help convince everyone that I have a vested interest in getting you all back to your voluntarily techno-archaic backwater,” Harris said quickly. “My kind are about to be an endangered species across the Hegemony and I’d rather be anywhere else. Now, can I pitch the specifics to Captain Mehmet, or do I need to fall back on my secondary choice? The Schwanz is back there.”

“Let me introduce you to the captain,” Lambert said.


Lambert limped up the Izmir’s crew ramp, Harris moving slowly a few steps behind him, his hands high. Captain Mehmet, the look on his face growing more and more concerned as Lambert approached, held a hand out to help the colonel. Lambert pushed the offering away with the handle of his cane.

“I’ve found I’m more than capable of late,” Lambert said. He stepped over the threshold and put his back against the bulkhead and pointed at Harris. “He’s with me and you need to hear him out. I do suggest you button this ship up, Captain Mehmet, sooner than later.”

“Permission to come aboard,” Harris said. “I am armed. A single pistol on my belt.”

“Surrender it.” Mehmet took the weapon from Harris. He ejected the magazine and attached battery pack and spun the weapon in his hand. “This isn’t standard Hegemony tech.”

“I’ve quite a bit more of that,” Harris laughed nervously. “Aboard? Me? Now?”

Mehmet raised his wrist to his mouth and spoke quickly. A hatch opened further down the passageway and a broad-shouldered sailor in baggy pants and with a face that looked like it had stopped a ground car the hard way climbed out. He stomped a foot to the deck and grunted.

“This is Mr. Barnes,” Mehmet said. “He’s here in case there’s a reason for Mr. Barnes to rip someone’s face off.”

Mr. Barnes cracked his knuckles and grunted again.

“Permission to come aboard granted.” Mehmet bowed slightly to Harris. The stairs retracted into the ship and the door locked behind them.

“You look like you’ve been on the front line.” Mehmet glanced at the fire-singed heels of Lambert’s boots. “What happened?”

Lambert took a handkerchief from a breast pocket and dabbed at his forehead.

“You have no idea?” Lambert narrowed his eyes at Mehmet.

“No one will,” Harris said. “The comms networks across the planet have been disabled. Standard practice in this sort of situation.”

“Idea about what?” Mehmet glared at Harris. “The entire planetary network was shut down after a ship arrived from hyperspace. I’ve heard nothing since you left to get our final approval to unload the ship. And then finally pay me. Did you have to burn an office down or something?” Mehmet asked.

“Yes . . . indeed.” Lambert turned his eyes to a pair of sailors behind Mehmet and canted his head slightly.

Mehmet turned to the pair and spoke to them in their native language and snapped his fingers twice. The two turned and ran off, a spring to their step.

“I said we finally have good news and to prep the ship for take-off,” Mehmet said. “There is good news . . . finally. Right?”

Lambert cleared his throat. Harris grimaced.

“Yes, but no. Mostly no. In fact . . . we have a problem.” Lambert took a deep breath and related recent events to Mehmet, stopping the recap before he met with Harris.

The veteran spacer took the news in, then steadied himself against the bulkhead with one hand.

“We are two hundred lightyears deep into the Hegemony and the entire thing just disintegrated into anarchy? How . . . will I get paid?” Mehmet looked down the passageway where his sailors had gone and covered his mouth with a palm.

“Indeed, that poses a number of questions. But there is a solution, one Mr. Harris and I would like to discuss with you somewhere with fewer listening ears. Long walk from here to the command center, I assure you,” Lambert said. “It boils down to the good faith and credit of the Bretton government and our trust in Mr. Harris here. Who has saved my bacon once today.”

“I . . . beg your pardon?” Mehmet asked.

“Paying your sailors and making this voyage profitable for you and your partners is attainable, captain. You remember when you signed the consignment to transport the battalion from Bretton to here, yes? As part of the Governor’s instructions from the Hegemony, I was issued a Letter of Credit.” Lambert took out a small slate and pressed a button on the side. He mumbled into a corner and a golden certificate projected from the screen, and he held in front of Mehmet’s face.

“That was in the event my ship broke down and needed repairs en route to here.” Mehmet swiped his hand through the Letter of Credit but the holo remained.

“Ah, tut tut tut . . . read paragraph fourteen,” Lambert chided. “The governor’s duly appointed representative—that’s me—can take on debts to safeguard and guarantee travel of the Bretton Eleventh. The debt is secured by the Bretton government, not the Hegemony.”

Mehmet twisted around to peer down the passageway, then turned to look over Lambert’s shoulder. He looked across the ceiling, then under his boots.

“I don’t see the Bretton government or any money,” Mehmet said. “Stop being clever and tell me what your brilliant plan is before I throw you down the gangplank to save your own life before I have to tell my crew there’s no money. No. Fucking. Money.”

“There most certainly is money . . . on Bretton.” Lambert nodded once with great emphasis. “If you and the Izmir will transport the battalion back to Bretton, I can guarantee your fee for both transits . . . plus a bonus.”

Mehmet stared at him for several heartbeats, then finally blinked.

“Why don’t I just wait for this Telemachus to take full control of the government? New boss the same as the old boss. New boss doesn’t want to pay the old boss’s debts? The creditors will find a new boss who will. Same as it ever was.”

“Telemachus is a Skien soldier,” Lambert sighed. “They’re rather problematic to begin with, and he just murdered the Most High and blew up the Highest, then sent out a death list through the entire Hegemony. He’s not going to gain or maintain control of anything but the forces that are already loyal to him. Deseret? Tirana? Sudetas? All those sectors will declare independence from him. Especially when I saw the names of their Most High representatives on his death list. Telemachus won’t be in charge of much, and especially not of the treasury.”

Mehmet sucked his lips in, his eyes darting from side to side.

“Then what are you going to pay me in? Hegemony credits? I don’t think I can spend them anywhere, especially not when I get my ship home to the Union and never come back to this disaster,” Mehmet said.

“I can pay you in kind. Goods worth current market value of your fee. Doubled. Plus ten percent.”

“Only ten percent!” Mehmet shouted. He flinched and looked back to make sure no one heard him.

“I’m authorized to go fifteen percent over contracted for extraordinary events, which this undoubtedly qualifies as,” Lambert said. “The governor on Bretton, Engelier, happens to be my second cousin and I have a good amount of sway with him. I’m sure a bonus can be arranged. Once we’re home. All of us.”

Mehmet raised a finger, waggled it back and forth, then pressed it to his lips. His eyes closed in thought.

“Staying in the Hegemony and hauling freight might’ve been your original plan,” Lambert said quietly, “but that’s no longer tenable. I imagine you and your crew—and your creditors back home—want this ship back in Union space. Bretton is on the border. I’ll see your hold filled with enough of our exports to make this whole ordeal worthwhile. You have my word.”

“And you see, that is the problem.” Mehmet waggled his finger again. “You seem to be the only honest and aboveboard person I’ve met in the Hegemony. I wish you were a dishonest scumbag I could toss out of an airlock and forget about . . . but you are the best option I have for getting paid. For paying my crew. For me to get this ship home with my ledger in the black once all is said and done.”

“Then we’re agreed?” Lambert held out his hand.

“This is not how I agree to terms. You’re going straight to your quarters to write up a contract before I say a word to my crew about any of this.” Mehmet sneered at the offered handshake.

“That is legitimate,” Lambert said.

“You did see that my landing gear is still locked down by the port authority, yes?” Mehmet raised an eyebrow. “And your battalion is not aboard. These are significant problems.”

“I’ve yet to meet a lock that can’t be defeated by an appropriately sized axle grinder, have you?” Lambert asked.

“I don’t have—”

“I can unlock the cleats remotely.” Harris held up a hand. “It’s rather simple and allows us to leave without alerting the other ships that something’s amiss as we cut through the docking clamps.”

“He’s proven rather . . . capable,” Lambert said. “He got me through the outer gates with some sort of secret squirrel magic . . . and we still have the battalion’s foundries aboard that can print out an industrial-grade axle grinder in fifteen minutes.”

“There’s a matter of fuel,” Mehmet said. “I’ve enough TEUs aboard to get into orbit and maybe to a hyper transfer point, but nowhere else, and your battalion isn’t aboard, Lambert.”

“I have contingencies in place for both those problems,” Harris said. “There is an auxiliary void port close to Tabuk City where the battalion is currently located. Fort Triumph, ironic but we giggle over that later. There’s enough TEUs there to get this ship back to Bretton. We simply need to secure the fuel depot and land there. I have all the overrides.”

“And who’s in charge of this fuel depot at the moment?” Mehmet asked.

“The Hegemony, or a commander that still thinks he’s in charge of something in the Hegemony’s name,” Harris said. “I have the fuel transfer orders signed by Marshal Van Wyck right here.” He tapped a pouch within his jacket.

“Where were you when I needed something signed?” Lambert asked.

“All of this sounds . . . plausible, but the Izmir still needs some supplies before we make for orbit,” Mehmet said. “The compressors on the forward gear are shot and—”

“Beg, borrow . . . bribe.” Lambert shrugged. “Do whatever you need to. I’ll add in a cost-plus clause to our contract to make you whole for any expenditures. But I need receipts.”

“You want a receipt for a bribe?” Mehmet raised an eyebrow.

“At least an invoice.” Lambert shook his head. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. I need to go to the bridge and get in touch with Jematé before word reaches the front line. I suggest you work quickly before the city collapses into chaos and you have to shoot for any items you need.”

“The contract—”

“Not the best use of my time. I’m not leaving without my men, and you’ll get nothing until they’re delivered home. Safely.” Lambert’s face hardened.

Mehmet considered this for a moment, then held out his hand.

Lambert shook it.

“I still want a contract,” the captain said, “and we’re locking Harris into a berthing until he’s needed. I’m not letting a Hegemony Intelligence Agency ghost wander about and beg questions from the crew. Mr. Barnes?”

Mr. Barnes grunted.

“Take him to the chai boy room and rip his face off if he tries to leave without permission,” Mehmet said.

“Oh, there are chai boys?” Harris’ mood improved. Mr. Barnes put a heavy hand on his shoulder, then tugged at Harris’ fatty jowls. “Let’s get going then, yes?”

“Contract will be done soon as my hair isn’t on fire, Captain Mehmet.” Lambert limped down the passageway. “Do get this ship prepared as soon as possible. Things will only get more impossible from here on out.”

Şeytanın bacağını kırmak,” Mehmet called out. “May we beat bad luck.”

The captain raised the comms bead built into his wrist band and began speaking.





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