It takes almost two hours to activate the hex gate. Well, thirty minutes to activate it and one and a bit hours to rip the gate free from where it’s been for the last five hundred years. Behind the picture of Major Wolf, which hides a bricked-up doorway.
Behind the door is a small room, filled with rubble, then another door, blocked in its turn. Major Wolf, Leona Zabo and their AI, Calinda, really wanted to keep the gate hidden.
‘If you’re lying . . .’
General Luc glares at me.
I nod, to show I understand. He knows I’m not lying.
OctoV, our glorious leader, the never defeated, whose very sweat was perfume to his subjects, told me that Colonel Jaxx was to be the new emperor.
Well, Leona did. But there’s no need to make things more complicated than necessary.
The Wolf has me repeat the bit about OctoV several times.
So I do. OctoV’s last order for the commander of his personal guard was that he transfer the Wolf Brigade’s loyalty to the new emperor.
‘He told you this when?’
‘A while ago,’ I tell General Luc.
I’m not about to say it was in the shadow of an oak tree, with OctoV’s avatar wrapping her arms around my neck. Any more than I am about to say I put a round through her head on his orders. Leona will remain an Aux in General Luc’s memory. If he remembers her at all.
Engineers with angle grinders and hammer drills cut their way through the first door and clear the rubble. Then they attack the final door, coughing at a cloud of dust thrown by burning stone and mortar.
‘Almost there,’ Major Whipple says.
‘Cut carefully,’ General Luc warns him.
The Wolf knows his sappers can cut fast or carefully. Doesn’t stop him demanding they do both. There is a battle raging, he reminds them.
We know. Those barrier gates are slowing the tanks on the spiral. Halting them long enough for anti-tank weapons to rip off their tracks. But the last wave of gliders dropped infantry into the high valley just below the castle.
Those men are now climbing towards us.
They wear stealth camouflage, carry pulse rifles and move in tight formation. The only way we can see them is on screen, and we find them using a weird mix of radar, echo location and thermal tracking.
General Luc insists, and he may be right, that they are Octovian. Renegade Death’s Head or elite squads drawn from the cream of Farlight militia. But the metalheads targeting our courtyard are Silver Fist.
They drop, we kill them before they can land, they drop some more. Rachel’s doing her share. To be honest, she’s doing more than her share. The Wolf Brigade snipers aren’t happy with that, which works for me.
Maybe they’ll improve their aim.
‘Faster,’ General Luc barks.
His sappers keep cutting. Occasionally they glance my way, wanting to know why a Death’s Head lieutenant has their general’s attention. Why they’re ripping apart a hidden room while their oppos die on the walls.
When one of them hits metal, everyone freezes. The sapper steps back, as Major Whipple steps forward, then the major steps back for the general.
‘Sir,’ I say. ‘Let me.’
‘At last,’ the SIG says. ‘He does something useful.’
Pistons hiss and braided hoses flex as my fingers grip stone.
Mortar crumbles and a scab of wall breaks free to reveal honeycombed bomb-shielding. Whoever hid the gate wanted it safe from damage.
A second later, the rest of the shielding tears away, and then I’m staggering under its weight, sappers scattering as I turn to rest it against a wall. One of them tries to move it and fails, raising his eyebrows.
Not sure what I expect.
Gold chasing? Weird carving, fist-sized chunks of memory diamond maybe? What I get is a door-sized hexagon on a simple stand. As the Wolf wipes away dust, ceramic gleams like bone beneath.
‘Sir,’ I say. ‘We should get this upstairs.’
He looks round the little room, the rubble of its bricked door and the sheet of bombproofing against the wall. ‘We can fetch Vijay down.’
His lips twist into a smile.
‘I suppose Lady Aptitude goes too?’
‘And Senator Wildeside. Me, my team, you. Everyone . . . We all go,’ I add. ‘There’s no point otherwise.’
The Wolf sighs. ‘Why you?’ he asks.
That’s the question really bothering him.
Why did our glorious leader choose me? ‘Because I’m stupid enough to obey orders, sir.’
*
The feeds are full of events on Farlight. A glorious revolution is taking place. The corrupt regime of OctoV is crumbling as the poor and dispossessed rise against his brutal rule. The latest news is that OctoV has killed himself in his palace.
We see a vista of Farlight city.
A single shot is heard. They’ve given it too much echo. A real shot would be flatter, much more matter of fact. But the U/Free are keeping the news simple. We’re barbarians, after all. Subtle isn’t what they’re selling.
‘You’ve changed,’ Debro says, when I say this.
‘We all have.’
And we’re going to change more, she must know that.
According to the feed, Prince Thomassi has asked the Enlightened for help in quelling the last few outposts of resistance. That would be us. As is their way, the U/Free will send observers to ensure the rules of civilized warfare are obeyed.
A map on screen shows our planet.
We’re a tiny red dot. The rest of the planet is a peaceful blue. High over the Wolf’s Lair are comm sats and news drones. We’re being watched, and the viewing figures along the bottom say our audience is increasing.
Up on the walls General Luc has ten men. Some on belt-feds. Others fire rockets or mortars as fast as their launch mechanisms can handle. Needless to say, that’s one sergeant, one corporal, a lance jack and seven troopers.
They’re loaded for bear.
Pulse rifles across their backs, double holsters at their hips, knives in both boots, and grenades around their waists. Every semi AI and self-loading armament is up there. Doesn’t matter what they hit at this stage. So long as they make a noise and keep the enemy occupied.
‘Sven.’
‘Sir?’
Vijay sighs. ‘You don’t need to salute every time.’
‘You’re the emperor.’
‘Yes,’ he says. ‘I’ve been meaning to mention that.’ His face screws into a look of deep worry. ‘Is it true?’ he asks. ‘OctoV really said I was to replace him?’
‘Yes, sir. That was the plan.’
We stand in General Luc’s hall. Battle honours hang from the walls. Oil paintings of past campaigns mix with portraits of OctoV. In most, the emperor wears a green cavalry tunic.
In one, a Wolf Brigade jacket, with a pelt tossed over the shoulder.
I think I can see the faintest shadow of breasts. And then I decide I can’t. Although it’s hard to miss the softness of those hips.
Most of the Wolf Brigade have gone ahead to prepare for Vijay’s arrival. Marching in pairs to the gate, they vanish as they step through. Only Aptitude, Debro and the Aux remain with the new emperor.
Plus those troopers on the walls.
They’ll die, because that is their job. Make a noise, look like twenty times their number, make every rocket, grenade and round count and leave this world like men when the moment comes.
Turning to Neen, I ask, ‘You understand your duties?’
‘Sir, yes, sir.’
He recites the list back to me.
These are the new rules. ‘Protect the emperor first, Aptitude second, her mother third. Die if necessary.’
I slap him on the shoulder. Neen looks surprised, then steps back and grins.
For a second he’s the floppy-haired farm boy I met outside Ilseville. ‘Never thought we’d get this far, sir.’
‘Nor me. Thought I’d be replacing you months back.’
His grin widens.
Hugging his sister, he checks that Ajac’s clip is full, Iona carries medical supplies and food, and Rachel has her rifle ready. Then he salutes Vijay.
‘Sven goes first, sir. You go next. We follow . . .’
None of us knows what we’ll find on the other side. The hex has ten thousand settings, according to General Luc. Who knows which one Leona chose?