The Dark Defiance Read online

  THE DARK DEFIANCE

  Published by A.G. Claymore

  Edited by Beryl MacFadyen

  Copyright 2012 A.G. Claymore

  This is a work of fiction. Names, Characters, Places, Incidents and Brands are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademark status and trademark owners of any products referenced in this work of fiction which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with or sponsored by the trademark owners

  Other Titles By Andrew Glen Claymore:

  http://agclaymore.blogspot.ca/p/available-titles.html/

  Table of contents

  Arrival

  Rumblings

  The Mist Clears

  Forced March

  History’s Fulcrum

  An Interview with Andrew Claymore

  Arrival

  Midgaard

  In the region of the Eagle Nebula

  Snorri Siggurdson had nine seconds left to live. He had been pushed off a walkway up on level three-hundred-twenty-nine. The gravity of Midgaard was accelerating him by thirty-seven feet-per-second for every second that he fell. He waved away the retinal projection that still showed his lord’s accounts and reached for his dagger. Everyone dies, he thought. That much is common. It is only the manner of your death that is important.

  He suppressed a brief flare of rage at the fool who had cut his skein short, centuries before his time. He thinks he knows more about honor than I do? I will die with a blade in my hand and feast in Valhol tonight while he will remain a pauper.

  He realized that this might well be one of the areas of the city where the garbage workers had been executed. The trash was piled several levels deep in some areas. His dagger could conceivably be stripped from his hand before he perished in the accumulated filth.

  He was nearly struck by a passenger vehicle. He flew past it so close that his blade sparked as it passed through the suspensor bleed around the small craft’s bottom edge. There were too many ways for him to lose his dagger before dying.

  He shuddered, not from fear of death.

  I will not spend eternity in the mists of Niflheim. He angled towards a walkway that raced up out of the darkness. It would cut his remaining lifespan in half, but that was no consideration at all. The blade must remain in his hand until he was dead.

  Heald thu nu, hruse, nu haleth ne moston…

  Snorri Sigurdsson’s master would have to find another way to prevail at the Althing.

  The Völund

  Final approach to Khola

  Harrison Young took a deep breath and drove the doubts from his mind. This is the fourth transition and I still expect disaster. If the engineers had missed just one little circuit when they reverse-engineered the engines, Harrison and his crew could be sitting on a time bomb. He activated the ship-wide intercom. “This is the captain. The distortion drive is shutting down in thirty seconds. Strap in now or forever hold your pieces…” As if a restraint harness will help anyone if this goes horribly wrong. He grinned at his hypocrisy, catching himself in the act of tightening his own restraints.

  “Approach vector confirmed.” Carol Cernan began to read off the countdown, still using NATO number pronunciation after six years out of the military. “Coming out in; ten, niner, eight, seven, six, fife, fo-wer, three, two, one.” She kept her eyes on the screen.

  Everyone kept their eyes on their screens. A burst of gamma radiation and high-energy particles was released into the ‘dump’ end of the approach corridor. The result was enough to temporarily blind anyone foolish enough to stare out the ship’s windows. After four days of travel from the last transit station, the space-time compression at the front of the ship had picked up any cosmic debris that lay in their path. When the drive was shut down, those particles were released with enough energy to destroy anything in their path. The longer you left the drive on, the more spectacular the show.

  “Thrusters to full power. We have two minutes to exit this corridor.” Harrison unbuckled his harness but remained in his chair. “First officer, you have the conn.”

  “I have the conn,” Carol confirmed. She was un-concerned. Two minutes was one minute more than the Völund needed to get out of the way. Not that there wasn’t danger involved. The rules of the road out here were very clear. If you failed to clear the corridor before the next ship came in, you wouldn’t have to worry about getting in the way.

  You wouldn’t exist anymore.

  Captain Young rotated his chair to face the back of the bridge. Thomas Kennedy was in the middle of nodding his readiness when he stopped and stared at the floor between them, raising his right hand to his earpiece. He grimaced. “Sir, Orbital Control has given us coordinates for geostationary orbit around the second moon.” He paused for a half second. “They also feel quite strongly that we should stop at the Cera transfer point on our way here next time. Evidently, that was rather more fireworks than they are accustomed to.”

  “Tell the little bastards they’re lucky we didn’t drop out facing them,” Kale Thompsen growled from the open hatch in the wall behind Tommy. He stopped his mug halfway to his mouth, gesturing with it as he spoke. “Maybe we should take off for another week and come back, just to show ‘em how much we care.” Coffee splashed out of the mug, spattering Thomas’ boot.

  Thomas gazed up in silence at the company mercenary for a half heartbeat. “So,” he turned back to the captain. “I’ll thank them for the suggestion then, sir?”

  “Do that, Tommy. Ask them when we can get clearance to take a lighter down to the surface while you’re at it.” He looked past the translator to where Thompsen lounged against the hatch frame, cradling his mug in both hands as he looked out the front windows. “Not bothering with restraints any more?”

  The man shrugged his indifference. “Not like I’m gonna enjoy asphyxiation any more if I’m strapped in. If something tears us open on dropout, I might as well get sucked out into space and die with a nice view.” He suddenly stepped forward, away from the hatch, with a look of amazement on his face. “Speaking of views,” he breathed in awe, “what the hell could do something like that?”

  The ship had turned towards their destination, a gas giant orbited by two moons. The habitable moon, Khola, was home to several million descendants of the old empire. It was a lush, watery world, roughly the size of Earth but dwarfed by the planet beyond it. The vast majority of its citizens lived on the main continental archipelago near the equator. The other moon, Internia, was a shattered mess. Massive pieces were in various slow stages of drifting towards Ghela, the sullen gas giant that held the two smaller worlds in thrall. One massive section, roughly half of the original satellite, doggedly continued in its orbit, trailing debris behind it.

  “Scan for military activity,” Carol ordered. She raised her hand in acknowledgement as the captain half turned towards her. “I know,” she began. “That moon looks like it’s been drifting debris for thousands of years.” She turned back to her bridge crew. “Doesn’t mean we should get caught with our pants down by something unrelated.”

  “If it’s that damn old, then why the hell don’t we know about it?” Kale asked nobody in particular. “Maybe we should put the squeeze on that little monkey and see what else his people are holding back. Waste of rations, bringing a consultant that won’t consult.”

  The window frames cast a sharp lattice pattern of shadow across the locker doors on the starboard side of the bridge. It quickly faded. A new ship had arrived behind them.

  “That ‘little monkey’ has a name, Mr. Thompsen, and you will use it as long as he’s a member of this crew,” Harrison began calmly. “As for this little surprise,” he nodded at the
bridge windows, “the old empire hasn’t been out here since the collapse of the high-speed portals. This whole region was on its own when Rome was still a campsite along the Tiber. The data we captured after the war wouldn’t have included this.”

  Tommy cut in. “Sir, they say we’re welcome to land anything under sixty tonnes. We just have to contact Orbital Control before launching.”

  “Thanks, Tommy.” He looked at Kale. “Go round everyone up, we’ll meet in the lounge in fifteen minutes.”

  “You know,” Carol chided, “we do have an intercom.”

  “I prefer the personal touch.”

  “Personal?” She frowned as she looked over her shoulder at the departing mercenary.

  “It gets that person off my bridge…”

  The Ormen

  In Orbit around Cera

  Caul Hrada’s rage was subsiding. It was an anger that had both surprised and pleased him. Before his ships had poured through the velentsgaat, he had experienced misgivings. He had feared that he could never live up to his grandfather and namesake. Over seven thousand years ago, Caul the Great had led a raid against this very world at a time when the now-dead empire had still been strong.

  The battle in orbit had been against two fleets of imperial warships. Both enemy flagships had been captured and many imperial vessels destroyed. So much material had been taken in the orbital battle that the raid on the surface of Cera was more a matter of form than any real need to carry on. The Cerrans had come through the raid with most of their civilization intact and most of their citizens alive.

  They were never taken as slaves. Few Cerrans lived beyond a century and so they would have had to be bred and trained every few decades. As a resource, they were worse than useless. Far better to leave them alive to rebuild, so there would be something for the next raid. Every generation, they would raid a different collection of worlds, as Odin had intended, but Cerra was always a lucrative destination.

  Caul knew that all of Midgaard was waiting to see whether he would live up to the legend of Caul the Great, or join his father, Odin the Unlucky, in shame and mystery. He had carried that weight in silence for centuries, knowing that, one day, he would answer them – when enough negative matter had been collected to power the velentsgaat generators.

  His greatest fear had always been that he would lead the fleet into ruin. The taint of Odin the Unlucky had hung over him for the last twenty five centuries, and it was said by many that the bloodline of his house had run its course. It was only by the thinnest of margins that he had held on to his hereditary role as leader of this war band. Liev Bliekr had been nipping at his heels for centuries. It had come down to the Althing, two days ago, when Sigrunn Kveldufir had withdrawn her own bid to lead.

  Her bargain had made perfect sense and her reasons were so clearly based on self-interest that Caul had little inclination to go searching for ulterior motives. Sigrunn the Night Wolf was not a Hauld given to plots and schemes. Her house was known for directness, honor, and swift and blinding violence – all good qualities in an ally.

  Still, he didn’t like making bargains with his back to a tree.

  Doubts nagged at him until the moment he stepped onto the bridge of his flagship. Then, as he gave the order to activate the drive and open a tunnel through space to Cera, the doubts fell away. Something deep and atavistic had awakened as the dark window spilled them out into the face of the planetary defenses. Suddenly, his soul was filled with the ancient sagas, knowing that the name of Caul the Hard was being written, even now, into new songs that would be sung for the next five thousand years. Now that battle was joined, he became remorseless. It was in his nature after all.

  The battle had been vicious and deeply satisfying. Only two of his ships had been lost. The subsequent raid on the surface had been an orgy of blood. Caul’s people were capable of incredible savagery when let off the leash and, when they had run out of armed opponents, the killing had still continued through the night.

  Caul himself had nearly been killed in the early hours of the ground fight. He had landed on the outskirts of the planetary capital and was moving forward against light resistance when an entire factory wall to his right was suddenly cut from the building by explosives. Two storeys of masonry toppled over, missing him by mere inches but taking four of his best household retainers to Valhol.

  Half his men laid down covering fire while he led a screaming charge up through the rubble. The enemy soldiers were surprised by the immediacy of the raider response. He waded into their midst and killed five of them in close combat, three with a blade. As the leader, it was his duty to inspire, to be seen in the greatest danger and to show no fear. The man is nothing, the body – nothing. Only reputation matters.

  When you die, all that is left is your reputation.

  Now, he stood on his bridge – no self-respecting Hauld would allow a chair in his command center – and supervised as his captains filled their holds. A few more planets like this one and they would return to Midgaard as heroes. The glory attained by his grandfather would never be equalled – the imperial forces no longer existed and so no worthy enemy could be found. The Dactarii, the military race of the old empire, were little more than a fable now. Nonetheless, they would return from this voyage wreathed in the glow of success. Caul’s family name would be fully restored. He would be able to fulfill his obligations.

  Still, Khola ate away at his liver.

  Why had Odin and his advance guard been cut off?

  The Völund

  In orbit around Khola

  Tommy strolled into the crew lounge and headed for the empty spot next to Gelna, a Dactari who had been helping Tommy’s stepmother with her research since his capture. He had been taken prisoner during the Dactari Republic’s ill-conceived attempt to add Earth to their holdings. They had tried to stage on Mars, growing a cloned force that would then be launched against the Earth. The flaw in their plan was that it gave the Humans enough time to build forces of their own and they had a far greater industrial capacity than the small factories that the Dactarii had landed on the red planet.

  The Humans had won by the narrowest of margins and the Dactari captives were still regarded as dangerous. Life on Earth was less than enjoyable for prisoners like Gelna. When he had been offered the chance to accompany Jan on the Völund he had accepted before she even finished outlining the terms and restrictions.

  Kale loomed over Gelna from behind the couch, menacing, but largely ignored. The crew tended to avoid the alien, consciously or not – Tommy wasn’t sure – but he had known the creature for more than ten years now and he considered him a friend. Aside from his father and stepmother, only Doc Fredo and his daughter Elise could claim to have a comfortable relationship with the captured medical officer. Their interest had started out as purely professional, but they quickly warmed to the small alien’s dry wit.

  “So, writing your memoir?” He nodded to the tablet on Gelna’s lap.

  “It’s an image of an old tattoo that the troops used to wear on Khola, thousands of years ago,” the small creature mused. “It advises that the wearer is tainted.”

  “Tainted?” Tommy noticed, out of the corner of his eye, that Gelna’s long tail was twitching with mischief. He’d known him long enough to tell when he was up to something. Gelna made a horrible poker player – if you knew him.

  “Seems the indigenous species on Khola have no qualms about eating any other species, as long as it isn’t one of them.” He held the tablet at an angle that kept Tommy from seeing it. “Used to lose entire patrols in the early days of the occupation. Took a few years to figure out what was going on. An under officer blew the case wide open when he threw up his lunch after eating in one of the ‘gulleys’ – the back street markets – and they analyzed it to find out what was wrong with him.”

  “And?”

  “And, they found the DNA of several different soldiers, as well as the flu bug that had made him barf in the first place. Almost charged the poor fool
with cannibalism until they went and checked out the restaurant.”

  “They just grab people and put ‘em in some kind of big stew pot?” Tommy stared at his friend, mouth hanging open.

  Gelna nodded. “That’s when they started getting this tattooed on the back of their hands. Nobody wants to buy tainted meat, or organs.”

  “I was just about to ask if they went into the organ trade,” Tommy shuddered. “Seems a waste to dump a bloke in the stew pot if you can peddle his kidneys for a higher price.”

  “Just wait until human visits become more common out here.” Gelna grinned. “Won’t be long before you can pick up a human heart on the cheap.” His tail was twitching non-stop.

  An arm reached over Gelna’s shoulder, snatching the tablet. Tommy turned to watch as Kale walked over to a club chair and set the tablet on the side table, pulling out a felt-tip marker as he sat down. “Thanks, by the way,” Tommy spoke out of the corner of his mouth to Gelna, “for not giving me a blatant look at those glyphs. I would’ve had an obligation to set Kale straight, seeing as he works for my dad.”

  Liam Kennedy dropped onto the couch on the other side of the alien. He frowned at Kale who was drawing on the back of his hand with a marker. “What is Thompsen doing?”

  “I’m never sure, really, what Thompsen is doing,” Tommy answered vaguely before switching to Dheema, the language of the old empire. “An invitation to pinch him?”

  Gelna grinned. “An old tradition from imperial days. You wore the glyphs on your skin during your birth week so strangers could pinch you and join in the celebration. It will be interesting to see if the practice survived here.”

  The captain walked past the couch, threading his way through the furniture of the spacious lounge to stand with his back to the long bank of floor-to-ceiling windows. “All right folks, we’re finally here,” he began. “We have clearance to land at Khulmet, which is their main population center. Their business day begins in just over two hours – I want our shore party on the ground by then.” His gaze swept the fifteen crew-members who weren’t currently engaged in the business of keeping the ship in operation. His eyes settled first on ‘Bernie Stanford – MBA’.