Laconian Titan LLS Valediction, Tarsus Assembly Point
Cyrus, the tall and enigmatic half-brother of the Emperor watched the fleet review with a mixture of excitement and pride. It had taken many months of subterfuge and cunning to bring together so many people from such diverse parts of the human domains. From his position on board the Laconian flagship, he had the perfect few of his Armada. The Tarsus system was the last area of neutral space between the worlds of the humans and his own race. Just a short distance from there were the feral borderlands, occupied by a mixture of humans, Mulacs and a myriad of other races. For the last two hundred years, this area had become one of the most important bridges between the empires of the humans and the greatest power in the region, the Median Empire. The two great civilisations had moved into the same territory at the same time, with bloody consequences. In total, the Terran worlds contained only a fraction of the planets and inhabitants of the Empire, yet they flourished when they should have been consumed centuries earlier.
The interior of LLS Valediction was unlike any of the other heavy warships in the fleet. A Titan was something out of the ordinary as it was, but this vessel was even more unusual. Valediction was the oldest of the Titans, and the most famous ship in the Laconian fleet. She had been present at the great battle of Sala when the combined Terran fleets had smashed the invasion force sent by the Median Empire. It was an epic battle of which scores of poems, songs and plays had been constructed to celebrate the achievements of humanity. With hundreds of decks, many corridors and untold rooms, the ship was more a society in space as opposed to an actual vessel of war. Cyrus has listened with interest days before when a human, an old engineer from the supply fleet, had explained to him about the Titan. He had said that to Terrans, the Titans were mobile colonies, more a marching polis than a ship of war. Each Titan contained enough citizens, warriors and supplies to operate for years. They were fully self-sufficient and could function in deep space without even an escort.
What I would give for my own fleet of these behemoths, he wished.
The command deck was wide and large enough to house a hundred officers. Banks of computer displays ran in columns, each one attached to the ribbed inner skin of the ship. What really made this ship special was its large-scale virtual observation system. The entire inner surface of the deck was controlled at a molecular level to give it the characteristics of a flawless three-dimensional video display. Standing on the deck was like flying through space, with the full ability to see outside of the ship, past the armour and into space itself. It was as if only the command deck itself existed, and there was no more to the ship. Lesser versions of the technology were used on frigates and cruisers but nothing on such a grand scale. Dozens of officers moved about, some checking the scanners, others leading security patrols throughout the ship.
Cyrus watched the scores of Laconian military personnel and smiled inwardly.
So many warriors, all so dedicated to a cause they don’t even know yet.
He looked to the inner skin of the command deck and noted the positions of the many ships, great hulks of Titans, long and slender cruisers plus the small but deadly wings of destroyers. In a much larger formation above the Armada was his own fleet of Imperial ships. Unlike the rough, angry looking shapes of the human ships, the ships of the Median Empire were small, sleek and looked incredibly fragile. What they lacked in brute strength, they more than made up for in sheer numbers. Each vessel was crewed by contingents of completely loyal automatons, the artificially created slaves used throughout the Empire. Cyrus thought of them pale and weak compared to humanity; but they could drown the human colonies in numbers they couldn’t imagine.
Humans, he thought. They prefer Terrans, don’t they? I have to remember. They are never happy when referred to as humans, a strange people, very strange. Too many people and too many customs. This will change when my mission succeeds, I think.
He looked out at the assembled ships and tried to hide a smile. As well as the four mighty Titans, there were scores of other Terran ships. Cruisers, battleships and transports waited in formation for the order to move. Their vessels looked crude and ungainly compared to his own, but he knew their strength and had no doubts what would happen if a Terran capital ship faced off against a Median vessel. Even so, a quick glance to the sides of the fleet showed even more ships from his own worlds. Over fifty Median cruisers had answered his call, and twice as many smaller vessels moved about the fleet in small groups.
Terran muscle and Median finesse, an interesting combination.
Cyrus, like most Imperials, shared a common but uncertain link with the Terrans. At some point in the distant past, there had been a crossover of genetic material. Scientists, scholars and ministers of various religions had all proposed different hypothesis. No matter who was asked though, the inarguable conclusion was that the two races shared a common heritage, and one that seemed to draw them together in the most unlikely of scenarios, but never in peace.
Will this be enough? he thought, watching the vast fleet before him. I have the Terrans, their Titans and my own forces. Can I do what must be done, or should I wait and build up my forces? If I wait, I lose the element of surprise.
He watched the Laconians move about their business, each moving efficiently, but never stopping for idle gossip or conversation. One officer approached him and stopped directly in front. He saluted and handed a document, a simple sheet with a list of captains in the fleet. Cyrus nodded, glancing at the man before he moved away. The Laconian was strong certainly, but he moved with a sluggish pace, so different to his own species. Outwardly, Cyrus appeared of a similar build to a human man, but with a few significant differences. Due to his race’s more sophisticated development, they had modified themselves to increase both their lifespan and tolerance to disease and illness. His features were smaller, almost feminine, and his skin was tighter and smoother than an equivalent human. He looked like a man in his prime rather than over ninety years old. Clearchus, the Laconian commander stepped forward.
“My Lord. The Armada is assembled and awaits your command.”
Cyrus nodded, but said nothing. He looked at the human with a mixture of awe and dismay.
He sighed. They are so strong, so powerful, and yet their lives are short. They burn brightly before fading forever. Tragic, but for me, useful. If they could ever do the things we can, the Empire would be torn apart.
Clearchus was a famous General, possibly the most famous human leader in the last hundred years. As a Terran male, especially a Laconian, he was the exact opposite of the elegant, almost beautiful-looking Cyrus. A little shorter, at two metres tall, his torso and arms were thick and toughened by continuous training and conflict. Stood next to each other they gave the impression of a warrior and a dancer, in terms of their physique and stature. Clearchus tapped a device on his left arm, and a model showing the entire fleet appeared as a detailed, digital projection.
“Every kentarchos is ready.”
“Thank you, General Clearchus. Just a few more minutes, I am waiting for one last contingent before we make way on our adventure. What is the status of your own contingent? I understand you have been busy while waiting for my arrival?” asked Cyrus with a smooth, elegant voice.
“Yes, Tissaphernes implied that the situation at the gates required our attention, and that you had already promised our services to him. We were attacked by a number of raiders before you arrived.”
“Yes, that is what I heard. I will be discussing this with him shortly. Tissaphernes is a strong friend and ally of my brother, the Emperor. But do not let this fool you. He is a lord and mighty ruler in his own right. My brother may rule the largest domain in the galaxy, but he does so with the co-operation of his Satraps. Each has control of many worlds, soldiers, even ships. It is through the support of the local Satraps that he wields his power. But Tissaphernes is something else. Do you know what he did when my brother became Emperor?”
Clearchus fidgeted uncomfortably. Court and political intrigue was something he really didn’t enjoy. He’d come from a state that valued military service and loyalty above all else. That had not stopped him being exiled from his own people after his victory over the Alliance. It seemed the one thing they feared back home, even more than defeat, was a victorious general. He’d managed to miss the end of the war with the Alliance and been left to rot in one of the League’s many border stations. Strategos Lysander, one of his archrivals, had won acclaim in that war, and he wouldn’t forget the betrayal. Cyrus watched him, intrigued by the man’s change when the subject shifted from combat to politics.
“Well, the short version is that Tissaphernes implied that I was against him becoming Emperor. We almost came to blows, even as my father lay dead but still warm.”
“That is why you forced yourself into involuntary exile to your own borders?” asked Clearchus.
“In part, yes. Watch Tissaphernes. His interests lie in one place only, himself. He would sooner kill either of us than see his own position affected.”
He looked out at the assembled Armada. It was a mighty force, but he could also see the precarious position they were in. Unlike the Terrans, he knew the size of the enemy. Even Clearchus couldn’t comprehend the numbers arrayed against them if they were not quick. He turned back to Clearchus.
“As it stands, we cannot start the campaign along the border until we have established a series of staging posts. We are not fighting one fleet but a co-ordinated series of attackers. The last thing I want is to end up trapped and with limited supplies. We need substantial fuel and supplies before making the next series of jumps, and this area is the only place within ten jumps that can provide this.”
“Why the urgency?” asked Clearchus.
Cyrus watched him, waiting before answering. The General knew the basic plan and the mission, but did he want to give him the details for his real objective? The longer he withheld the specifics, the harder it would be for the Armada to turn away. There was a chance they would simply turn and leave if he told them the truth.
A little truth will hide the lie. A smile formed on his face. He knew well the strengths and weaknesses of most of the Terran factions. The Alliance was proud and easily angered. The Laconians were quiet, stoic but irresistible in battle and violence. It would be easy to goad them into battle when it suited him.
“We have a large fleet, but even the most foolish of enemies will have scouts and spies. The longer we take, the greater the chance he will have to bring in more forces. I am just worried we will increase the difficulty by waiting, that is all.”
“Numbers don’t concern me,” said Clearchus with a strong sense of pride.
They should, my young friend. Cyrus almost felt pity for the man’s hubris.
“The Armada is in excellent shape. You have done your work well. The Terran contingents alone are already enough to provide over thirty bandon. I do not know of any ground force that could stand to their number or quality.”
“You think this, even of your non-Laconian troops?” asked Cyrus, somewhat surprised at his comments.
“They may not match my Laconians, but they are still strong, well drilled and trained. With your coin, we have sufficient quality weapons and armour to equip the entire force. Every Terran here has military experience and training and are more than a match for any Medes, Mulac or even Mycona.”
“I see, and your ship?”
Clearchus nodded at the question.
“As you would expect, my Laconian infantry are fit, trained and ready for battle. They are itching to get stuck into the enemy, my Lord. What of this contingent? Do we not already have enough troops?”
Cyrus smiled at the General.
These Laconians, they seem simple with their constant training and desire for conflict. Yet there is something about them, something simple perhaps to admire. Their courage, or is it the simple pleasure they take from doing something well?
“I’ve heard about your ship, one of the last twelve Titans still in existence amongst your people. My father tried to destroy them all, you’ll recall? They proved somewhat difficult. As for the contingent, they are a last minute addition from the Ionian Realm, and they have their own special talents.”
Clearchus smiled, but due to a small scar above his lip, it looked more like a snarl. He had no great vendetta against the Empire, but he did wear that self-satisfied expression worn by most Laconians because they all knew, man for man, they had no equal.
“I see. Yes, the Ionians are probably the best shipbuilders and engineers we’ve yet encountered. Still, I don’t see what use they will be in this expedition. I’m sure you have your reasons.”
He waited, but Cyrus said nothing. It was clear he was not interested in discussing it any further. Clearchus might be officially in charge, but Cyrus held the purse strings, and in a mercenary adventure such as this it was all about the money. He thought back to his comments about his ship.
“Lord Cyrus, your people in the Empire may have infinite resources, people and ships, but none are a match for a Terran Titan and her crew. A hundred Median vessels would be hard pressed to even board a Titan. And why would you ever want to board one? Especially one protected by Laconians!”
“Quite. You would do well, young Clearchus, to not become too smug about your position with the Terrans. Your people and your ships are strong, but nobody, not even Laconia, is invincible. Perhaps if you had a few more people of your own, your own planet wouldn’t be in such a poor position. A few earthquakes and a slave revolt, and suddenly you are without money or manpower. Remember my offer, The Median Empire is prepared to make a sizable offering of our own automatons to help your people. They may not be as strong and durable as your own slaves, but they are numerous and loyal.”
Clearchus snorted with derision at the prospect of having Median automatons toiling the lands that his ancestors had protected and built.
“Never. We are not perfect. I will give you that. But we will rebuild, and with the money from this expedition, the Laconian League will become the strongest and dominant empire amongst all Terrans. Don’t misunderstand our use of indentured workers in our society. They are treated well and are able live long and stable lives on Laconia. The use of artificially created life is outlawed on every civilised Terran world.”
Cyrus nodded as if agreeing.
He cannot see it. The weakness that he feels is his people’s strength.
“The slave revolt on your planet would suggest otherwise, though?”
He watched the General’s reaction and quickly regretted his words. It was critical that the Laconian general would command his forces in battle. He might be an able politician and administrator, but there was no doubt who the true masters of war were. He looked at Clearchus and spotted the tension building in him.
They are so quick to anger, so passionate and so willing to fight.
“I’m sure your friends in the Alliance will be glad to hear that Laconia will once again be powerful and well resourced,” laughed Cyrus, doing his best to calm the situation and avoid a possible confrontation.
Clearchus was no fool and noted the change in Cyrus’ voice. The Median nobleman had clearly realised he had overstepped his mark. He avoided the earlier comments and smiled, at least as close to a smile as he could muster. Cyrus relaxed a little, glad that they were back on neutral territory, for now.
“It amazes me how with all of the worlds and empires run by you humans, you seem to spend more time fighting each other than a common enemy.”
He crossed his hands in front of his body and smiled.
“Not that I am complaining, of course. Because of your constant fighting, you have produced the finest fighting men and women in the known Galaxy.”
He turned and looked out through the thick, reinforced window.
“And that is no easy feat, when you see some of the warriors in my brother’s Empire.”
Clearchus laughed out loudly.
“Trust me, we’ve thought about that. Luckily for you, we have enough to worry about with the rest of the Terrans to have any designs on your own empire…” he said, and then paused for effect, “…for now!”
Cyrus laughed, but the comments did hit home. He was beginning to think the same thing. The Terrans were an asset, but they also posed a grave risk, and one he would have to manage carefully. He watched the ships for a moment, the number and size of them was impressive, but it was the Titans that really caught his eye. In his many years he had seen them, sometimes in battle, but most of the time waiting at some starbase. Only once before, had he been able to witness three in one place. Now there were four of them in formation, each surrounded by hundreds of smaller cruisers and destroyers. It was a force capable of destroying entire fleets, possibly even empires. He smiled inwardly as he thought about his plan and turned back to the General.
This will work. I will make it work, he decided.
“Why did you think I hired so many of you? With four Titans and the best-trained warriors in the Galaxy, there will be none who can stand before me. When this is all over, it will lead to a lasting peace and I hope, a period of mutual trust and understanding between both our peoples.”
Clearchus nodded in agreement. Although many might doubt the intentions of one of the most powerful men in the Empire, he considered himself to be a good judge of character. Cyrus had always been clear with him right from the first time they had met The armada of mercenaries had been assembled from the rusting remains of a dozen fleets, and each thrown together into a hasty but well equipped armada. Only the Laconian ships were in decent shape, but like most things Laconian, they lacked the numbers to be able to go it alone. He just wished the Laconian League had the resources to carry out this mission for Cyrus alone, rather than having to involve warriors and ships from every part of the Terran territory.
A change of Laconian guards approached. They wore the grey uniform adopted by the Ten Thousand, but like Clearchus, they also wore their own Laconian armour over the top. This advanced equipment was relatively thick and provided strong protection against projectile weapons and thermal charges. Their helmets were tall, crowned with an imitation of an ancient plume to increase their height and foreboding. On the left arm of each warrior was the body shield device. Weighing nearly fifteen kilograms, it was often carried in a pack by other Terran soldiers. The Laconians trained to use it on their arm, so they could make use of the projected shield as both a defensive and offensive weapon. When activated, the device created a metre-wide disc of energy that was proof against all man portable weapons. They stood in front of the six men that were currently stood watching over Clearchus. Cyrus nodded in the direction of the guard party, and they moved through their standard procedure for the changing of the guard. It was partly practical and partly tradition, but it also maintained their position as the pre-eminent practitioners of war in the fleet.
“Your men carry their full panoply wherever they go? Even on board ships?” he asked in surprise.
Clearchus returned the salute from his men, and they formed up neatly around him and Cyrus, all waiting and watching for signs of danger.
“Of course. They are my personal guard, and a picked unit from my ship that follow me wherever I might go. Of what use would they be if unarmoured or armed? What about your guards?” he asked coyly, tilting his head slightly to the right.
Cyrus looked to the darker part of the ship where two men waited silently. They were Imperial agents but carried no visible weapons or armour.
“What guards?”
Clearchus laughed out loudly at the poor attempt to conceal armed guards on his bridge. He indicated with his hand and in less than a second, the six Laconian guards had activated their body shields on their left arms. The devices flashed and created a semi-transparent glowing shield that extended around the hand and into an oval that covered half of the body. At the same time, they raised their right arms, pointing their carbines directly at the Imperial agents. Almost as quickly, the two agents drew small metallic objects and pointed them at the Laconian soldiers. They were tiny, but Clearchus was certain they would be powerful and deadly weapons, especially if being used by the personal protectors of such an important man.
Cyrus laughed, “Okay, you make your point well. They are bound to me, and each is the newest son of their families. They have long provided guards to protect the sons and brothers of the Emperor and are completely loyal. They serve the same purpose as your own warriors.”
Clearchus indicated for his guards to stand down. They moved back to their positions and deactivated their carbines and shields. They stood still, almost like statues apart from their heads. Unlike most ceremonial guards, these men were always busy and checking the area around them. Also unlike Alliance soldiers, who usually planted the shield generators on the ground to provide cover to fight behind, only the Laconians trained to carry theirs into battle. In the right hand of each warrior was an Asgeirr-Carbine, the weapon that marked out any Laconian soldier. Though it was no more powerful than a pulse rifle of the Alliance, or any other Terran colony, it had advantages. It was half the length of a rifle. This reduced the effective range, but it made the weapon more manoeuvrable and combined with the built-in blade, it turned the right hand into a combined projectile and close quarter combat weapon.
A door to the side of the command centre of the ship hissed open revealing a three-man delegation. They wore the distinctive garb of the Ionian territories. A disputed area that had once been under Terran control, it had now been carved up into a dozen separate territories, each controlled by a powerful Ionian warlord. The high gravity world had helped breed a swarthy but short people who specialised in shipbuilding and high-energy weapons. The woman in the centre approached Cyrus and bowed down low.
“Lord Cyrus, our siege vessels are here and ready for work.”
Cyrus nodded in pleasure.
“Excellent, may I introduce you to the leader of our expedition, Strategos Clearchus of the Laconian League.”
The woman bowed again, though this time not quite as low.
“I had no idea we had the pleasure of Ionian troops on this operation,” he said with suspicion.
“Well, not even the Laconians can match our technology when it comes to the kind of fighting we can expect on the borders of Empire space.”
Clearchus well understood the barbed insult. It wasn’t just that their technology was more advanced; the woman was referring to the failed attempts by the League in the last few years to reclaim the lost territories run by the cartel of Ionian warlords.
“Perhaps. Even so, you are now under my command.”
The leader of the Ionians looked to Cyrus in surprise, but he nodded in agreement also.
“In that case, we are now all ready. I suggest you return to your ships as quickly as possible, and we will leave in approximately thirty minutes.”
The party of Ionians bowed politely and left through the door from which they had arrived. Further away, a number of officers moved about the command centre, checking the status of the hundreds of ships. Cyrus stepped to a large display that showed each contingent, its commander and the ships under their command. The Ionians appeared at the bottom, a tiny but powerful addition to the vast Armada.
“So, my friend, what does this bring our total to?”
Clearchus examined the display for a moment and moved several icons about as he calculated their forces. It didn’t take long for him to finish.
“Just over ten thousand four hundred Terran mercenaries, sixty ships including our Titans plus your own forces. By my reckoning, we have nearly twenty thousand automatons under the command of Ariaeus, if he ever turns up.”
“Excellent. Well, my ships and troops will be useful, but it is your Terran warriors I am counting on to win the day. Ariaeus is a bold tactician and with twenty thousand of his own warriors, he will be able to keep the battle going, but your spatharios will decide it.”
He stepped closer and examined the ships in detail.
“So, we have roughly ten thousand Terran mercenaries, interesting. That is what you shall be called until the expedition ends. A fitting name for such a venture.”
“Name?” asked Clearchus, a little confused at his statement.
“Yes, you are the Ten Thousand, and a name that will be remembered for thousands of years. Now, for more pressing matters. We will leave and start our mission.”
Clearchus moved closer so that only Cyrus could possibly hear him. He whispered into his ear.
“Is it not time to inform the fleet as to our true intentions?”
“Soon, I have several important communications to make with my own forces that are due to arrive. Then we will meet for a fleet briefing in the command centre where both of us will stand together and explain the full purpose of our expedition.”
Clearchus nodded and watched as the Median nobleman moved out of sight. From the shadows emerged his two topoteretes who had been waiting and watching from a discrete distance. Clearchus stepped to the main computer system and moved through a series of gestures to bring up a starmap of the region of space on the border of the Median Empire. Pleistoanax and Kleandridas were his most senior commanders and normally commanded half of the military forces at any one time. Perhaps more importantly, they had sworn a blood oath of protection for Clearchus. When he entered battle, at least one of them would always be present with him, the second usually assisting in the command of the army. All three of them wore their traditional crimson Laconian uniforms, topped with their iconic helmets, even when on board a ship. As well as the long flowing robes, they also wore the common infantryman’s breastplate. An archaic looking device, it was actually made of an advanced polymer compound that was proof against many common weapons. In the past, there were occasions where the armour had even withstood direct fire from plasma weaponry, an impressive feat. Only the senior commanders and the elite bodyguard unit were entitled to wear the red tunics and armour. Other Laconian units were allowed to wear the crimson cloak but only for ceremonial purposes.
“Now that Lord Cyrus is away, we can discuss the details of our force. He might be nominally in charge, but we know where the true power lies in this fleet, and it is with the Laconian commanders and its rigid structure.”
Both men nodded but to a level that only a man paying extreme attention would have noticed due to the barely discernible movement.
“As you both know, only ten percent of our heavy infantry is Laconian or trained by our forces. We might have armed them like us, but trust me, they aren’t the same as us.”
The two topoteretes smiled, both well aware of the obvious insult.
“I want you to check with each Dukas that their Tagmata are drilling and training to the standard I laid out. It might not be strictly the system we normally use, but it is better than the training they get in their own militaries. Officers from Komes upwards are to use Laconian orders and organisation during this operation. I understand that some of the Megaran troops under Pasion are trying to drill in the Alliance fashion. Explain to them in words that they will understand that this Armada is an attacking force, and we do not hide away behind our shields. We need aggression and drive to win our battles.”
A young auletes approached. He wore the uniform adopted by the fleet, of field grey, almost black with the colours of his leader on his shoulder. He stopped and saluted, waiting patiently for the commander to acknowledge his presence. He finally turned to face the young man.
“Strategos, we have picked up an urgent distress signal from one of our scouts in the Cilician Gates sector. The Kentarchos says it is a matter of life or death. His words, Sir.”
Clearchus nodded and pointed to the large display unit that was showing the starmap he and his comrades had been studying.
“Put him through here. As you were.”
The man saluted and then tapped a device on his wrist. With a simple gesture, he moved the connection from his own device and to the map display unit. As soon as the video stream arrived, he left. The three senior officers stepped closer to see the video. It showed the interior of a ship that was evidently sustaining heavy fire.
“Strategos, I am sending you detailed information on a large fleet of ships in this sector. It would…we cannot…Mulacs…invasion underway…” said the commander of the ship. Over half of the video stream was damaged, and the audio was barely intelligible. As Clearchus continued listening, he beckoned to one of the senior auletes who rushed over. He turned and spoke quickly before returning to the feed.
“I need detailed analysis on this feed, immediately!”
The image flickered and jumped as though it was going out of phase. When the image finally cleared, the scene was one of carnage and destruction. Bodies lay throughout the ship, and only a handful remained at their station.
“This is Strategos Clearchus, Commander of the fleet, what is your status?” he stated in a clear and surprisingly calm voice.
There was no response, and the audio stream on the transmission cut, followed soon after by the audio stream. He waited for a few more seconds, but it was clear nothing more was coming through. Clearchus looked to his two deputies and considered the situation.
“There are only two possibilities,” he explained. The two men nodded in agreement. Pleistoanax spoke first.
“Either they are unable to transmit, or they are unwilling. I would say that based on the videostream, the former is the most likely.”
“But who were they attacked by, raiders or a patrol from Tissaphernes? This is, after all, his own territory,” added Kleandridas.
Clearchus rested his chin in his hand as he considered the problem. He didn’t like the news, and it was a distraction from their primary mission. Even so, it could not be ignored.
“It may be Tissaphernes’ territory, but we are operating as a military force that is sanctioned by the Median Empire. The commander of that scout vessel gave us a few vital clues. Firstly, that an invasion of some kind is underway. Why would this have anything to do with Tissaphernes, unless he is mobilising a fleet to go somewhere? The most telling of all though is the Mulacs.”
Kleandridas nodded.
“I agree. The Mulacs are a menace in this region of space. The last reports Cyrus gave us showed that dozens of raiding parties, each upwards of five thousand mercenaries and a dozen ships, have been recorded. That’s more than enough to raid stations and small colonies on their own. If they have united under the banner of one Mulac leader, they would have the logistics and numbers to attack an entire colony, maybe even a planet.”
Clearchus moved his hand and brought up a diagram of the force’s structure. At the top were him and Cyrus. A simple movement of the hand, and the system proceeded to establish a secure connection.
“Clearchus, is there a problem?” asked Cyrus.
“Yes, you need to come back immediately. Our scouts have detected a large invasion force, possibly Mulacs at the Cilician Gates.”
“I’ll be with you in three minutes. Assemble the Dukas. We might be starting the campaign early.”
The battlestations alarm was the sound Xenophon was dreading. For the last week they’d been conducting drill after drill, and it was starting to bore. That dreaded sound meant getting up early, throwing on clothes and then more physical exercise. Sometimes they rehearsed ship boarding action defence, and other times they met in the landing bay to prepare for an assault. If nothing else, they had started to get to know the rest of the three hundred members of the Night Blades. Their leader, Komes Pasion, was a rigorous teacher and leader. In just days, he had already transformed Xenophon and Glaucon from their often slovenly ways, to keen and aggressive members of the group.
“This is your commander, Dukas Xenias. We have just received urgent information from Strategos Clearchus. All units are to assemble in your ready rooms for an immediate briefing. This is not a drill. We will be jumping within the hour.”
Xenophon stumbled from his bunk and landed a short distance from Glaucon who was already pulling on his grey uniform. Since joining up, they had been issued their uniforms, dull grey overalls with mounting points for plating, equipment and webbing. It was much better quality gear than would normally be issued to troops, and undoubtedly down to the lavish funds made available to the mercenaries.
“I thought we weren’t going to be going into action for a few more weeks?” said a confused Glaucon.
Xenophon nodded in agreement.
“Something has obviously changed. It’s not like they have told us much, anyway.”
In the bunk opposite, Roxana jumped down. She was already in her overalls and grabbed her boots from the rack. She had obviously listened to their conversation, as she joined in where they had left off.
“Our job is to rid the border territories of raiders, pirates and anybody else who shouldn’t be there. What if they’ve found a patrol or a raiding party?”
“Could be,” replied Xenophon. “Let’s get to the briefing and find out.”
Glaucon was ready first and already out of their dorm and heading along the corridor to the briefing room. Dozens of other mercenaries were also making their way in the same direction. All of them wore the grey uniforms of the mercenary force, and the only difference between units being national or unit emblems. Unsurprisingly, the image on his chest and shoulder displayed a darkened blade with a lightning strike running through it. A young woman ran back to her room, evidently having left something behind. She said something that Glaucon couldn’t quite catch as she rushed past, something to do with Mulacs.
He entered the room and was soon followed by other members of the unit, including Tamara, Xenophon, Roxana and lastly, Jack. The room was packed, and they were forced to the side where some of the other members of the unit waited. A few seconds later their commander, Komes Pasion, walked in. He didn’t wait, and he moved directly to the middle of the podium and launched into his briefing.
“Men and women of the Armada. As you know, this force was assembled and funded at the expense of our host, Lord Cyrus of the Median Empire. We have been organised with the sole purpose of operating outside of Terran space. This is a legal requirement for most of your homeworlds. You might be mercenaries, but this operation is something much nobler than the norm. Over thirty planets and colonies had been raided or attacked by a variety of hostiles factions in the last eighteen months. Most of these areas are located inside the borders of Median space.”
He pointed to the wall, but nothing appeared. He looked about until he spotted two technicians who were rushing to set up a device.
“Whenever you’re ready,” he said impatiently.
Luckily for them, the device flicked on, displaying a three-dimensional model of the area of space around the Median Empire. The hundreds of worlds were impressive, especially when compared to the modest number of Terran worlds arrayed against it.
“Now, if you look here, you will note that there are people in our galaxy other than our two peoples. The Median Empire itself is a confederation of hundreds of races, yet their core systems are inhabited by the Medes themselves. The Core Worlds are secured and guarded by the elite troops of the Emperor himself. The worlds outside of Medes control are something else, however.”
He pointed to a section of the map near the border of the Empire. It zoomed in to show the planets in detail.
“This part to the top of the map is one of the most sparsely populated but richest parts of the Empire. A regional governor called Tissaphernes controls it. The Medians call these leaders Satraps, and they exercise full control over their territories. This region in particular has come under a number of attacks in the last few months. So far, their military has been able to hold off most of them. That was until the capital was virus bombed three months ago. Most of Tissaphernes’ troops were killed, and they have been fighting a holding action ever since.”
He pulled back on the map to show other areas of the Empire.
“Other Satraps are experiencing similar problems, especially with the newer, more aggressive races here, and here. One in particular, the reptilian Mulacs have been attacking almost continually. Their empire has never been explored by either the Medes or us. We do know they are able to strike with scores of raiding parties, each containing thousands of warriors. These are our primary targets for this campaign.”
He paused for a moment, letting the news of the enemy, the target and their operation sink in. He was well aware that many of the mercenaries would have been expecting, potentially hoping, for an easy ride through this fight. He nodded to the two technicians who proceeded to bring up a model of the Median Lord Cyrus himself before adding one last comment.
“Lord Cyrus and Strategos Clearchus have received new intelligence, and I will let them explain it to you directly.”
He moved to the side, but not before making the map zoom out slightly to show more of the area of space they would be campaigning in. He ensured that one area in particular was centred. It was an area of space where the Median worlds extended, with one sticking out like a spearpoint directed towards the Terran worlds. The frozen image of Cyrus flickered and then burst into life. He wore the same clothing as the rest of the Ten Thousand, but there were minor alterations including insignia, headgear and a sash.
“Greetings from the Median Empire to all members of the Ten Thousand. You are the best-trained, equipped and motivated military force seen in this region of space for a hundred years. It was my intention to move through my Empire’s lands, so that we might collect additional forces on our way to the border regions. Our Satraps in these areas are suffering greatly at the hands of pirates and raiders. This will have to wait, however, due to an unforeseen crisis. You will note that on the display is a system known as the Cilician Gates. Some of you may be familiar with it. This area is the closest Imperial system to any Terran world. It is also the first point in a series of jumps that can take us to throughout my Empire. Whoever controls this area of space, also controls the gateway into my Empire. A few hours ago, a massive invasion force of Mulac raiders smashed through the defences and started a full-scale ground invasion of the Cilician homeworld. We cannot proceed with our campaign if this enemy blocks the path into my Empire. They are stopping our movement but also blocking all trade and communications in and out of my lands.”
He stopped and motioned to somebody out of sight. Unlike the normal video streams, the three-dimensional transmission could only show one object and not its surroundings. He disappeared and a distortion field replaced him. Roxana pulled Xenophon and Glaucon to her, taking advantage of the lull.
“I’ve heard of this Tissaphernes. He’s a powerful warlord in his territory and definitely not on friendly terms with Lord Cyrus. There are rumours he has fired on Terran and Median ships.”
The image coalesced into the shape of Strategos Clearchus. He also wore the uniform of the Ten Thousand, but over the top were the various parts of Laconian armour that he was rarely seen without. He even wore his archaic military helmet.
“This is a serious and worrying encounter before our expedition has even started on its course. To clarify, our scout ship, the Odysseus, was destroyed in a co-ordinated attack by more than one unidentified ship. We suspect that everybody on board was killed in action or taken prisoner. That is over one hundred crew, and people that were due to travel with the fleet and take part in our grand adventure. This part of space is supposed to be heavily guarded by Median forces, but it would appear the rot of raiders and slavers has already pushed this far out into the frontier. We are being paid by Lord Cyrus and by extension, the Median Empire, to help restore their border territories and to drive out all and any hostile forces. Back home most of us would be without work, but out here we are well paid and have the potential to provide for our families and ourselves for years to come. Whether these enemies are Terran pirates, Mulac raiders, Medes rebels or even the Mycona, it makes no difference. We have been paid well to fight, and we will eliminate them all.”
Two officers entered the hall followed by four men struggling under the weight of a much older projection unit. They lowered it carefully in place and then stepped back. It wasn’t Terran technology; it had the effeminate look of Median equipment.
“Ever seen anything like that?” asked Roxana.
Xenophon simply stared at the item, enthralled by the exquisite detail along the shape of the unit. Carved figures of many different creatures ran around the lower part. General Clearchus continued his briefing. A beautifully detailed model of the planet appeared with emphasis on a large mountainous landmass. The largest mountain was covered with antenna and small towers that betrayed its design as something much more than just rock.
“Regional information has been provided by Lord Cyrus with regards to the defences and standard dispositions in this region. The main world is Cappadocia, and it is the home of the regional grand fleet plus at least one royal army. Lord Cyrus has information on at least three Mulac raiding fleets that have travelled through here in the last year, so there is a good chance this is one of them. We could bypass this region, but it will slow us down by many weeks and leave us with a hostile enemy behind us. I have therefore decided the Cilician Gates will be the first test of the Ten Thousand. We will secure this region, collect additional supplies and show Lord Cyrus we are worth every credit we are charging him.”
A quiet murmur of agreement travelled throughout the space. The General couldn’t see their reaction, however, and continued speaking.
“We leave in one hour for the Cilician Gates. Upon our arrival, we will show both the Medes and anybody that wants to try and stop us what we are capable of. This is the territory of Emperor Artaxerxes, and therefore by extension his siblings, who include Lord Cyrus. He has asked us to recover this territory, and we will do so as quickly as possible.”
Xenophon was surprised at the mention of the Median Emperor. He had only recently taken power. At least that was the rumour, since little information came from the heart of the Empire. As well as being immensely rich and powerful, the Empire was infamous for its use of agents, spies and assassins.
Are we working for Cyrus or Artaxerxes? he thought.
“We will immediately establish space supremacy in the system, and this will be provided by an advance jump by the Titans. If, as we suspect, the enemy is in the process of attacking Median colonies or outposts, we will assist by launching ground assaults against any of their camps. We do believe this is likely to be a Mulac operation, and it will prove a useful experience for our later campaign. Your commanders will continue your briefing.”
The image vanished, and the room fell silent. Dukas Xenias stood alone and looked out at the assembled troops. Everyone looked both eager and confused at the news. He nodded at them and smiled.
“Our previous experience suggests the Mulacs don’t rush their attacks. They use large numbers of ships and ground troops to blockade a moon, station or even an entire planet. Once secured, Mulacs then strip the site of everything they want. This includes loot, weapons and especially slaves. Assuming any of the inhabitants of Cappadocia are alive, they will have retreated to the royal fortress, the mountain Citadel, here.”
He pointed at the model the soldiers had brought in. The Citadel was gigantic, perhaps almost a kilometre tall when measured from the base. The rest of the city paled in significance to this imposing structure.
Xenophon looked to his comrades and spoke quietly.
“Look at that thing. Are they serious about attacking this place?”
“Who says anybody is there? I bet we’ll jump in and find nothing but the Median fleet wanting to know what we are doing,” answered Tamara.
Dukas Xenias pointed to a number of large industrial sites based around the Citadel.
“This is it. The lands of Tissaphernes are rich. This planet is critical to the Median Empire, and therefore to our paymaster. We will be greatly rewarded for helping to clear them of raiders. Get your gear and wait in the landing bays. I suspect we will be action as soon as we arrive at the Gates.”
He paused for a brief moment before finishing with a simple, “Good hunting.”
He turned and left, leaving the room to the assembled troops. As soon as he exited the door, a great din erupted from the scores of men and women. Glaucon shouted over the noise.
“This is it, then? We’re going to war.”
Jack beamed with excitement, and Tamara stood still, a look of dumbstruck confusion about her. Even Xenophon looked less than excited at the prospect of battle. Glaucon put his arms around the group and beamed.
“Come on, how much trouble can a few thousand Mulacs give us?”
Xenophon said nothing; he just looked directly at him and tried to remember what he knew about the Mulacs. Try as he might, he simply couldn’t find anything positive to say about them. All he could think about was the Citadel and thousands of heavily armed alien warriors.