Know your battle ground.
Fight from a position of strength.
Show no mercy, and give them no quarter for they will give you none.
Trust in God, die well.
Karin City - Karin - Imperial Territory
The FTL transmitter aboard the Excalibur activated, redirecting the broadcast towards the Black Tower, the monument of obsidian glass that dominated the southern heart of downtown. There were few buildings in Karin built on the scale of the Black Tower. The tallest was easily the First Bank of Orion Headquarters for the Apilon Rift; the Orion structure of pyramids was always lit at night, doubling as the Orion Embassy on the frozen world. The second tallest was the Senate building; fat and sprawling, it resembled a domed coliseum, officer towers protruding from one end, angling up towards the sky. But the third, dark with its black mirror glass and white communications masts that touched the edges of the clouds, the Black Tower was by far the most foreboding.
Another relic of the Commonwealth, the Black Tower had been originally constructed to house the Information and Intelligence division of the Commonwealth, a pet project of the deceased Pirate Baron Zixor, a means for him to spread his control throughout the sector, monitoring potential trouble and giving him the tools to react to that trouble should he have to.
When Lieutenant Colonel Evans had been asked to re-establish the Imperial Intelligence network, it had been only natural that he take over the Black Tower as his base of operations. The vaults locked in the heart of the tower were near legendary, a repository of knowledge that should never be graced with the light of day. Subsequently his successor Caldone had inherited the building, and had put it to good use.
The communications receiver activated, pre-programmed relays forwarding the transmission through the building, up to the highest level and to the Director's office. The holographic projectors resolved and built the image.
Enarbrem Sul'Rikard adjusted his sleeves as he crossed the floor to the bank of tiled windows and the terrace outside, taking the time to examine the positioning and seeing for himself that Caldone's preparations had been completed.
It was exactly as he expected it to be. The area was large enough for his needs. He turned his head and looked up at the mountain fortress that dominated the skyline; three of the four remaining Highlords were gathered there. But his interest was squarely on the silver-white starship that hung suspended in the sky. Prince Edward had seen fit to have all of Rikard's enemies aligned for the same final act - Rikard smiled. It was strange how fortune had always found an opportunity to smile upon him.
He looked about him thoughtfully as he pulled on his glasses and began to take notes; everything had to be exact if it was to work correctly.
He measured how many steps it took from the door to the dark polished desk, to the walls, the height of the ceiling. He carefully noted where everything was in the room, tables, chairs, the low leather couches in the far corner across the broad floor, even the type of flowers in the vases. He marked it all down, plotting step by step exactly what would transpire, and how.
The doors opened as the avatar, Caldone, entered his office. The Director smiled warmly as he closed the doors behind him, crossing to a side table and pouring himself a cup of tea from the pot set there.
"I have completed the preparations as per your instructions," Caldone reported, "Darien Taine is here with the Excalibur, however the ship is crippled..."
"I know," Rikard replied as he tilted his head up. "It was a shame that he survived the Rock of Braal, however the experience will make him second guess himself. I have dispatched a shipment of cargo, hidden amidst the latest convoy of Denver transports ferrying war supplies to the Empire. In a couple of days you will have the rings." Rikard gestured to the broad open floor of the office. "Put them here."
"As you command," Caldone responded, "I sense the Emperor here on Karin, however he has not made his presence known to the general population."
"He will," Rikard reassured, "As soon as you have the final piece of the puzzle, we shall deal with this little Imperial uprising and once again establish order." He shifted. "With the election looming, I trust Evans will be freed from his cell?"
"With the nomination for Chancellor, and all the opposition factions allied behind him, Walker will have no choice but to concede the opposition are running campaigns designed to appeal to the general population of the Apilon Rift, peace, a chance to rebuild. It offers concrete hope against Walker's endless war." Caldone lifted his teacup to his lip and blew upon the surface, "Once the Senate is names its choice for Chancellor..."
"Ensure Evan's wins that vote," Rikard replied. "And finalize preparations, I will be on Karin soon enough."
* * *
Lex Talionis monitored the Chancellor's transmission while he used the unique opportunity that it provided him with.
While the Excalibur's firewalls would detect a second attempt to access those systems, the computers in the Black Tower weren't prepared for the assault. He was clever, rewriting the programs he needed in microseconds. He buried the seeds of his consciousness in the inferior computer systems while creating an avatar of himself that he allowed free and independent reign.
The Tower's computers controlled and directed everything in the building, from the air conditioning up to the sentry guns that protected the sensitive areas. His avatar flexed its muscles and set to work on his own, making preparations.
His first move was to access the Karin information net, the digital network that linked businesses and government facilities together. He carefully searched for anything that he could make use of, ignoring the copious amount of digital images that made up ninety percent of what was available on the net - organics and their twisted fascination with the flesh.
He found it quickly: an Imperial contractor that manufactured military hardware. A computer that was rigged into the Karin web, yet also acted as a firewall to the facility's intranet.
Lex tore the firewall down in moments. He was a second generation AI, enhanced with the best computers the Empire had at its disposal; a desktop PC and an out-of-the-box retail firewall program badly in need of a security patch the network administrator was too lazy to bother installing were no match for him.
He reconfigured the computer system, tailoring it to his needs, accessing the robotic production line and inputting his own schematics. He patiently watched the defence contractor cease its production of equipment and begin construction on something far more deadly.
* * *
"We've made several attempts to contact the Gorean Imperium, in an effort to get them to respond," Doctor Kyr shrugged up at Darien, "But so far they have made no effort to contact us in return, and they haven't sent any kind of medical aid."
Darien sat on the low couch, leg crossed over his knee, looking up at his chief medical officer, glasses perched on the end of his nose, papers littering the coffee table, a pot of black jet fuel (coffee) almost empty to one side, being used to keep a stack of profiles from sliding onto the floor and into the pile of acquisition reports.
"How long until Ambassador Xanatos is capable of making his own transmission?" Darien asked, making a few notes in the margin of the profile he was reading, returning his attention to the doctor.
"It's going to take him at least a couple of weeks to build up the strength," Kyr said, shrugging his small shoulders helplessly, "But there's no real way to gauge the level of damage Rikard's biopsy has caused to the Ambassador's neurological functions. We have to consider the possibility that he may never recover."
Darien nodded sadly. "I understand. I'm sorry, doctor."
Kyr shook his head. "I'm doing the best I can... but speaking of patients," Kyr dropped onto the couch across from Darien, "How are you, Skipper?"
Darien lowered the file he was reading to his lap, scooping up his coffee mug and taking a draught. "Better..."
"You were tortured by a rogue AI reincarnation of Kardiac," Kyr said, his brown eyes scanning Darien worriedly, "Not to mention the fact that you were shot at point blank range."
"But you're worried about..." Darien gestured with his mug.
"Your illness." Kyr nodded. "Are the medications holding up?"
"The episodes are fewer, further between," Darien nodded, "I'm still feeling stiffness in my muscles, and I can't shoot worth a damn..."
"I could make a witty comment about you never shooting straight to begin with," Kyr said, reaching out for the pot of coffee and a spare mug. Properly armed with a cup, he sat back and gave his usual smile, an entirely too big grin that accented his dimples. The thick dark hair gave under its own weight to fall across his forehead. He pushed it back absently.
"It's good to have you back, Doctor," Darien said after a pause, "Matty has been a handful..."
"When isn't he a handful?" Kyr said wryly, "I see he's stolen your jacket."
"I gave it to him," Darien said with a small smile, "I feel better knowing he's wearing it."
"Tracking device in the lining?" Kyr grinned.
"No," Darien smiled, "James would never have let me part with it if it did, no, I..."
"It was a sweet gesture," Kyr said with a nod, "Marry him and get it over and done with already."
Darien looked up, and glanced out at the sunlight sweeping in from the Karin afternoon, biting his lip. "That..."
Kyr drank from his mug, watching the skipper. "What? I'm a Kaynin; we mate for life, when we mate. The Empire bred us to be loyal, so when we are in love, we know we're in love and that's it. My grandfather used to tell us pups that love is like a bone, you sink your teeth in and you grab on..."
"Then you bury it in the back garden?" Darien quipped. He shook his head. "Sorry, I owed you for the straight crack."
"He's dying for you to ask him," Kyr said after a pause.
"He said something?" Darien asked.
"He doesn't have to, he's my best friend, I smell it on him, when I can smell him..." Kyr sucked on his teeth, tracing his tongue over an incisor. "I have him down in Sickbay, but... I can't run any tests on him."
"Is he being stubborn?" Darien asked.
"No, quite uncharacteristically co-operative, but according to the instruments, the short boy we've all come to know and love isn't actually a boy, or a human..." Kyr heaved a long sigh. "He's not actually anything. I can touch him, I can interact with him. But as for him actually being there... Nada, zip, zilch."
"Drives you nuts, doesn't it?" Darien observed. He sat forward. "Look, we're not announcing that he's here on the ship, it won't go over well on Karin. Too many people will see it as... I haven't mentioned anything to Walker... I think Matt is trying to keep a low profile..."
"I agree, the last thing any of us need is the second coming of Matt." Kyr sat up as well, "We're going to go away for a few days. He wants to do something, and it gets us away from Karin for a bit..." Kyr shifted, hating that Edward had made him tell Darien about the impromptu 'road trip'.
Darien stood biting his lip as he walked back to his desk, a collection of odds and ends scattered across it, sitting down as he picked up a small piece of sheet metal, scoring it with a sharp knife, "It might actually be a good idea," Darien said, thinking back to the peace on the floating island with its towering mushroom trees, "Just take an FTL relay and carry recallers."
Kyr looked over the mess that topped Darien's normally immaculately clean desk, watching the Warlord's hand shake as he tried to work, pausing to steady himself he set to the task again taking it slowly.
"Are you sure this is okay?" he asked again.
Darien glanced up over the rims of his glasses, "Go Doctor, have a good time, everyone else is taking leave, besides when Matt's with you I tend not to worry as much."
"Liar," Kyr responded with a wry grin, "I'll keep an eye on him."
Darien smiled thoughtfully as he pulled the silver pocket watch out of his pocket; flipping it open he set it down beside him. The cracked dial of the ancient instrument rocked gently back and forth catching the light as he pulled a round piece of glass from the pile of pieces and returned to engraving the outer surface of the wheel-like disk.
He stared at it for the umpteenth time, wondering what the hell it was. Shrugging simply knowing that it had to be built and he went back to work cutting and adjusting, marking and tweaking to get it perfect.
* * *
Parkins Industrial wasn't a large factory; it'd at one point been a production facility for the best farming equipment in the Apilon Rift, combine harvesters that were important to many of the agricultural planets that dotted the sector's far reaches. There were few colonies in the Apilon Rift that didn't own at least one Parkins product. The distinctive rust-red machines had rolled off of the production lines at rates almost rivalling the military contractors that they shared a lot with on the industrial park.
The loud yelling coming from the owner's office echoed over the sound of the injection moulds and the assembly lines. Jeff Parkins, eldest son of the owner, was in a screaming match with his secretary Denise - something that was a regular occurrence in the late hours of a Friday afternoon.
"What's she on about now?" asked George Stamos, shift supervisor. He was leaning on the back of a chair, glancing up at the slanted windows of Jeff's office that afforded the young manager of the factory a view over his shop floor.
Mark McNab looked up at his supervisor. "Denise told him he can't keep leaching net access off of next door, and that if he didn't get a proper office connection, she's gonna report him."
"Ouch," George hissed, shaking his orange Karin Raiders ball cap, a freebee he'd pulled out of a two-four a year or so ago and had taken to wearing religiously.
Both men knew that Jeff had, in order to save money, spliced into the plant-next-door's communications hub. They had a fast connection and really wouldn't notice the extra cable in amongst all the others. It had taken George and the other shift supervisor Aaron an entire night to bury the cable underground so that no one would see it.
The clanking and rattling from the automated assembly line had them stop their musings, and George exasperatedly set his coffee mug down to walk across to one of the large pieces of machinery, hauling off and kicking the stubborn piece of equipment in an effort to get it to co-operate.
The clicking clanks from the machinery indicated that it wasn't about to comply.
"Stubborn piece of..." George stopped, looking at the small black cylinder wedged in the access well.
"What is it, George?" Mark asked, reaching out to lift the tightly-packed device, tightly-woven fibres coiled around a small cylinder about a foot in length. Mark pulled it off of the conveyer belt and examined it, turning it to and fro as he tried to figure out what it was. He looked at the others that were rolling off the conveyer, equally as oddly designed, each slightly different.
"Jeff's gonna be pissed," George observed as he pulled a PDA out of his pocket and set a maintenance order on the assembly line, tapping the PDA as jargon began to scrawl across its display. "Piece of junk..." he cursed as he put it away, going for one of the phones and calling up to the office.
Mark had grown up on one of the local colony worlds closer to the Gorean Imperium. Working in an agricultural community had its perks, but he'd craved big city life, and Karin had put out the call for factory workers or Military. And while he'd considered donning a uniform, it had been his father who had changed his mind, pointing out how important the industrial sector was, and how it was the steady stream of equipment from the factories on Karin that kept the economy flowing and thus kept the soldiers alive.
He shook the rod a couple of times and jumped as it shook back, dropping it to the factory floor, staring in shock as spikes sprang out of the fibre shell, folding over as they lifted the cylinder off of the ground.
"Hey...George..." Mark called, turning to his friend who was arguing into the phone, staring up at Jeff up in the officer staring back down from his window looking almost apoplexic banging on the glass and making gestures.
"Just a second," George covered the mouthpiece, "Jeff's pissed," George said, stating the obvious.
"George," Mark grabbed his arm and pointed to the cylinder that was now scuttling across the factory floor and crawling under a pile of machinery.
"What the...?" George lifted the receiver to his ear and looked up at Jeff, "Hang on," he yelled above the din of the factory floor. Slamming the receiver back into its cradle, he grabbed a broom to get the errant piece out from underneath one of the injection moulds.
Cursing in Greek, he bent down and rammed the broomhandle under the machinery, a look of frustration on his face as he worked blindly trying to catch it and scoop it back into the open.
Mark folded his arms and leaned over George's shoulder. "You should use the other end, try to scoop it..."
"Do you want to do it, genius?" George asked, glaring balefully up at his co-worker, "Tell you what, why don't you stick your hand up and under..."
The sound of pistons and machinery caused both men to turn their heads as the agile automatons bounded up from the far side of the factory, a couple of the dexterous machines leaping up on top of large pieces of machinery like a pack of wolves, painted in that same tacky rust red, Parkins Industrial logos emblazoned on their hides.
Beneath the red armour plates, the black fibrous pieces had locked together and were working like coiled springs, mimicking organic muscles that flexed and rippled powerfully. Each was about the size of a small bear, adaptive photo-receptors whirring and clicking as they sighted in on the two factory workers. A couple leapt down from their high perches, flexing their arms as sharp combine harvester blades shrieked to life like buzz saws.
* * *
Masconi sat quietly aboard the wrecked HMS Prometheus Unbound. The repair crews predicted that the vessel would never fly again, that it had been lucky to make the return journey to Karin at all, given the sheer volume of damage done to the small Osterburg Hunter-Killer.
She sat in her father's cabin, most of the wall blown out, debris everywhere. The ship had made an emergency landing at Karin Starport and had been cordoned off while engineering crews attempted to assess the salvage potential of the tough little warship. They had allowed her onboard once they had recognized the insignia on her collar and the golden lion's-head on her armband.
The chair she sat in was missing an arm. Shrapnel had ripped the leather padding open and stuffing tickled the back of her neck as she sat, the heavy folds of the Kardiac greatcoat in her lap.
Kardiac.
The progenitor of their house, the one who had guided and shaped them into a keen purpose and sent them out to be his warriors, to fight his war. His madness may have twisted his vision, but the training, the dedication, which had been pure. They were warriors, and proud ones.
The Italian heritage ran thick through their veins, the importance of God and of Family, and yet the determination in each of their hearts to live and enjoy life. Her father had always enjoyed his life, and somewhere, along the road, she had forgotten that.
"I knew you'd be here," Edward said, standing in the ruined doorway dressed in Darien's leather jacket, a small smile on his face and his hair in a mess. The Immortal God-Emperor was a little short.
"What?" she asked, lounging back into her chair.
"I came to..." he shifted a little, setting his hands into his pockets as he bounced nervously, "I'm no good at all the 'make you feel better' stuff that Darien does so well." He flashed his eyes as he glanced out of the view port towards where the Excalibur hung suspended over the city. "But, you're the next Highlord Kardiac..."
"No I'm not," she said calmly, no trace of bitterness in her voice.
"You are," Edward said, looking at her, "You are, because I say that you are. I'm the Prince, I choose my Highlords. I choose you because I know you'll protect House Kardiac, and... temper their zeal."
Masconi sighed quietly as she turned the blue lapel upwards and showed it to Edward. "I am a fighter pilot, not a politician..."
"And Darien's a policeman, Walker was a playboy... and the Matriarch was... well, still the Matriarch, but she's the exception rather than the rule..." Edward smiled at her. "House Kardiac needs a leader who can guide it. I need a warrior to lead them, I need a warrior on the High Council, and I need you to be that warrior."
"When did you become so...?" Masconi frowned at him, tilting her head to the side, examining his face and his eyes. "I almost forgot who was behind those eyes, that you're not an engineer anymore..."
"I've always been me," Edward said calmly, "I've just had two lifetimes to grow up in, two lifetimes of memories. But I was still me in both of them."
Masconi stood up, tucking the greatcoat over her arm as she tugged him by the collar of his blue mechanic's shirt towards her, looking down into his confused blue eyes, as she reached up and took off Darien's 49-er's hat she had appropriated, leaning forward to pull it onto his head. "Darien Taine is a lucky man to have someone like you."
"I keep trying to tell him that," Edward said with a light shrug, "But I think he knows... Are you going to put the coat on?"
Masconi ran it over in her hands. The great coat was made in very fine doeskin black cloth with a dark blue falling collar that reached to the mid-calf above the ankle. All the buttons were gilt and the lapels of the coat were folded back to show the Kardiac royal-blue facings. It was clasped at the back by a cloth half-belt with two buttons in the rear of the waist, and a central rear vent, hidden in an inverted pleat that reached from the collar to the hem. The cuffs had deep turn backs again done in the rich blue, unadorned by any insignia; a mark of the Highlords, the symbol of their power, and of the importance that their voice carried.
She drew it on, feeling like she was swimming in the large coat, her hands holding onto its edges, her eyes looking down at it around her. "I pledge to you the same vow of service that my father gave..."
"I don't want vows," Edward said, touching her hand, again reminding her of Elias, "Just give me deeds instead."
"As you command, your Highness," Masconi bowed her head, "What do you need?"
"I've got to get off this world before someone recognizes me," Edward said with a warm smile, "and a couple of our friends are in trouble... If you want to come with me, we can go give them a hand, and maybe when we're done... House Kardiac can take its place in the High Council Chamber."
* * *
His watchful eye never blinked.
It watched, coiled and waiting for its time, knowing that it would have to make a move soon, or let the universe sweep past it, washing away the old all together.
He would not be swept aside so easily. Rikard would learn that.
He moved for the first time in millennia, and for the first time in a thousand years, his entire world trembled.