In the Shadow of Her Majesty, Chapter Thirty Five

 

Chapter Thirty Five:  The Threat Made Real

As you, O reader, now know me as a person who prefers to maintain composure and decorum under even the most trying of circumstances, you shall not be surprised to learn that I am not of the sort who ever yields themselves to the siren song of overindulgence in strong drink; this is for reasons I shall here incompletely enumerate: it is unseemly to lose control of one’s faculties in the company of others, as the preposterous libertines who cry in vino veritas presume quite incorrectly that personal integrity, truth and duty are not intertwined; inebriation is in immoderation disrespectful to the natural vigour of our mortal flesh and our healthy bodily drives, and, finally; participation in bacchanalia is accompanied by such lingering miseries upon the rising of a new day as to make the cost of such crass merriment a uniquely Faustian bargain.

That is not to say that I am of such a hennish temperament that I refuse the warming delights of libations under appropriate circumstance when offered by an amenable host.  You, dear reader, have borne witness to such in my recounting of the winter gala at the House Fairfax, and I do rather enjoy several glasses of singular cabernet, but only on occasion and in moderation.  With that established, I found myself thinking, for those unfortunates who have oft yielded to wanton drunkenness, that the sensations that overwhelmed me upon my waking would have seemed all too familiar.  

My temples throbbed and ached such that cohesive thought was at first well nigh impossible, my vision was blurred and flecked, and my digestion was most unpleasantly perturbed; indeed, it required a mighty effort and considerable focus not to disgorge the contents of my stomach at the very first moment I regained consciousness. 

Adding to this was the notable unpleasantness of the circumstance into which I unexpectedly awoke, for though I had been certain I was passing into my Maker’s care, the poisonous oblivion inflicted upon us by Caddigan’s bombardment was intended to subdue but not destroy, that we might be brought into a place of brutish captivity and dark intent. 

 That is where I found myself; I lay upon a cold floor of steel plate, where…judging from the bone-deep discomfort in my back and limbs….I had clearly been prostrate for quite some time.  I was otherwise unharmed, save that my movement was most rudely constrained by a metal shackle tightly encircling my ankle, which was itself affixed to the steel floor via a thirty centimetre chain.

The room was very large, excessively warm, and horrifically bright, as from overhead the blaze of dozens of primitive incandescents stabbed through my bleary eyes and stirred another rushing surge of barely repressed nausea.  The hangar…for it most resembled such a structure…had within it a broad assortment of scientific tools and implements, and was filled with the bustle of dozens of men wearing coats such as one might see in one of Stewart’s laboratories.  These were hardly the only presence in the space, for standing at even intervals along the walls were a baker’s dozen of the rough armoured forms that had so effectively impeded our flight from the settlement.

All of these persons and objects seemed no more than shades or ephemera relative to the presence that loomed in overwhelming inscrutablity at the centre of it all: the Sepulchre.  

Standing four times the height of a man, and a width one third of its height, the Selpuchre was shaped from intermingled alloys of funereal coloration; onyx as deep as a starless void, dun carbons of charcoal, lustrous ebonies evocative of the living flesh of the noble Amhara, and an oxford blue so deep the mind could barely perceive its variance from the onyx, such that one could not be sure if that whisper of indigo existed in only in one’s imagining.  These were interlaid in a pattern whose elegance was reminiscent of the sublime art nouveau glasswork of Louis Comfort Tiffany, had that gracious genius chosen to work with shadows rather than light.  Upon what I discerned to be the front of the object, a single circular panel glowed with the purest golden luminosity at the height of my shoulder; upon it were inscribed the twin lions of Her Majesty’s gracious seal.

It was of the greatest conceivable elegance, yet it was so much more.  It radiated a supernal and distinct impression of mass, of being more than all around it.  To this portentous bulk was added a sense of restrained dynamism, of a power near immeasurable that was barely constrained.  The air about my person veritably sang with invisible energies and vibrations, as if moved by a song so deep it defied human hearing. 

The Sepulchre sat silent at the heart of the room, the clear purpose of all gathered, friend and foe alike.  

From behind me, Suzanna’s voice croaked, in a tone that told me that she, too, was still suffering the ill effects of our recent sedation.  “Becca.  You’re…alive.”  I turned with some difficulty, and saw that she, too was similarly restrained at the ankle.  Next to her lay Diego, who issued forth a sound midway between a grunt and a groan, then gave me a blunt and wordless nod.  His three cybernetic limbs were all pinioned by a troika of peculiar devices, which appeared to be suppressing electrical activity within and thus rendering him incapable of motion; his beautiful face bore the bruising and swelling from what must have been a recent and brutal beating.

“I..am,” I replied to Suzanna.  My voice surprised me, for it was but a withered husk of its normal self.  There seemed little else to say, and so I said nothing more.

A door opened, and with the sound of their jackboots clanging against the steel-plated floor, a group of uniformed Caddiganites entered the room, under the charge of an individual who wore the trappings of a commanding officer.  He was a tall man, with close-cropped white-gold hair, and with his dress uniform, chiselled jaw and fine features would have been quite handsome, if one overlooked the casual sadism evident in the faint twist of his smile.

Behind him, upright and unrestrained but flanked by a half dozen armed soldiers, was…and here my heart nearly burst with relief…Stewart.  

My dearest looked rather worse for wear, but was clearly in far better condition than I.  His strides were reluctant, and slowed upon his espying Suzanna, Diego, and myself in our restrained debility.  His eyes lighted upon mine, and within their blue-grey skies flashed an anger I had never before seen upon his countenance.

The Caddiganite officer approached us, while with a quick motion signalling to the soldiers escorting Stewart that he was to proceed no further.  Stewart being thus detained, the officer turned briefly to face me.  His eyes were utterly cold, and he gazed upon me with the same distaste one might evince in considering how to dispose of a sickly rat found upon one’s doorstep.

“I am Senior Assault Leader Barnes.  And you are…Rebecca Hughes?  The so–called ‘Countess Montgomery’?  That correct?”

I should, under nearly any other circumstance, have introduced myself as fully and formally as the Codex dictates, and perhaps such a bold assertion of self could have borne within itself a defiance suitable to the occasion.  As the dear Madame herself so wisely counsels, Dans les moments d’épreuves et de difficultés, notre engagement envers les bonnes manières peut être la garantie la plus sûre de l’intégrité de notre âme.

I was, however, barely myself: still racked with nausea, my mind clouded by debilitating discomforts both physical and spiritual. This Barnes creature gazed upon me as if I were nothing, and was in intention nothing less than a predator in whose eyes I had no humanity whatsoever.  Had I had my wits more about me, I should have thought to respond more fully; as it was, I simply returned him a look of pure defiance, speaking not a single word in reply.

“Whatever,” he grunted, dismissively.  “We know exactly who you are, just as we know that this is your sister Suzanna, and this…”  here he gestured to Stewart…” is your ‘fiance.’  More importantly, he’s part of the design team that built this extremely frustrating object behind me.  We know everything we need to know about you.” 

Barnes turned on his heel, now facing Stewart.  “What we do not know is the purpose of this object.  We can’t do a xxxxxxx thing to open it.  You’re going to tell us what it is, and you’re going to turn it on for us.  That’s going to happen right now.”

Stewart’s voice was steady as he replied.  “I have already told you that I shall not do that, under any circumstances, and no matter what the duress.”

“You have.  That’s why we’re here with your friends.”  Barnes gestured dismissively towards Diego.  “This one, this xxxxing terrorist cyborg?  He’s been a pain in our collective xxx for years.  He’s as good as dead already, but that execution needs to happen publicly and painfully.  An example will be made.  Supreme Leader Caddigan’s direct orders.   Nothing changes that.  But these two little xxxxxes?”  Here he pointed at Suzanna and myself.  “Both of them will die right now, if you don’t do what we ask.”

“Sir!  You cannot suggest that I should…”  Stewart began, but a swift blow to his midsection from one of the soldiers doubled him over, and his voice choked away to silence.

“Assault Trooper Billings!  Now!  Here!”  

With that order, one of the hulking armoured things moved away from the wall, striding towards us, the sound of steel upon steel filling the hangar with an ominous approaching percussion.  In short order, it loomed between Barnes and myself, standing at ready attention.  

“Trooper!  See this female prisoner?”  

The insectoid “head” whirred slightly, motors turning as the human being within gazed down upon me; through the visor, I could see his small rodent eyes had no more mercy within them than the cold glass lenses that supplemented his vision.  There would be no pity or quarter from this one, perhaps even less than had he been purely a machine.

“Yessir.”  The voice that emanated from the armour was oddly light, as if the one within was barely an adolescent.  There was, nonetheless, a sadistic eagerness evident in the undertone.

“Trooper.  Activate your flamer, short flame, maximum focus.”

“Yessir.”

Upon the leading edge of the armour’s right arm, a protuberant metal nozzle suddenly ignited, casting forth a flame that was first orange and smoking, but then quickly focused to a tight blue dagger, the intense heat of which was already uncomfortable upon my face despite being several metres away.

“Trooper.  If the male prisoner does not comply with my orders within the next ten seconds, you are to burn this female prisoner until she is dead.  You are to take your sweet xxxxing time about it.  D’you understand that order?”

“Yes SIR.”

I shall confess that of all of my recent encounters with my own potentially imminent demise, this was easily the most traumatic; to lose one’s life suddenly in a great fall or in the heat of martial endeavour is one matter, and to die pinioned in a sadistic, intentional, extended agony is very much another altogether.  Despite my willingness to give my very life for Queen and Peerage, I nonetheless found myself involuntarily drawing back to the furthest possible distance, pulling the short chain taut until the shackle bit deep into the flesh about my ankle.  Like the terrible vision of Father falling flaming from the sky, this moment has etched itself into the fabric of my most dreadful nightmares, those that cause me to flee to the refuge of wakeness in a cold sweat; in those night horrors, I again feel the stab of pain from my ankle, the heat, the brightness, the taste of bile in my mouth, the terror, pure and animal.

Barnes took a step towards Stewart, who was regarding him in return with a peculiar look.  Rage, yes, but something else, something I couldn’t at that moment quite identify.  It wasn’t fear, nor was it horror, both of which I myself was feeling in considerable abundance; it was something else, something he was working mightily to quiet in himself.

“So,” Barnes said, his voice a serpentine drawl.  “Your call.  Help us, right now, or you get to watch her die slow and screaming.  Once we start, she’s dead.  No going back.  I’m going to give you to the count of ten.  One…”

“Stop.  I’ll do it.”  Stewart’s voice immediately interjected, firm and uncharacteristically laconic in acquiescence.  “Whatever you need. Just don’t hurt her.”  

They had won.

Chapter Thirty Six: Opening The Sepulchre

In the Shadow of Her Majesty, Chapter Thirty Four

Chapter Thirty Four: Our Hopes Dashed

Before any in the room could utter even a single word of concern, the unwished-for crackling of the Finches’ cannon was joined in song by the familiar rising howl of the settlement alarm, which for the second time in as many days issued forth its call to arms.

It was at this very moment that Ernest soared up the stairs into the second floor meeting room, dispensing with the use of bipedal locomotion altogether in his great rush to convey the news of what was transpiring outside. 

“Ladies.  Gentlemen. There is urgency.  We are under renewed and significant assault. We are outmatched by a force that is nearly upon us. All who are able must retreat to shelter in the woods, immediately.”

This dire warning was underlaid by the distant overhead droning of rotorcraft; it was clear that we had, despite our efforts and fervent desires to the contrary, not yet seen the fullness of the Caddiganite capabilities.  Every soul in the room quickly heeded Ernest’s warning, and as one we made haste with him out of the building, with the intention of effectuating our escape.

As I exited the building, all was hubbub and noise and shouting, as the anarchists put up a great hue and cry that all should beat the hastiest of retreats.  Those who were not bearing arms were carrying children, or were upon their sturdy backs carrying bags and packs seemingly laden for that very intent and purpose.  

I caught a glimpse of the shadowy form of the Finch high above, engaged in a desperate struggle with four or five assault rotorcraft of an unfamiliar design; the detonations of dozens of projectiles sparked across the surface of its hull, and though battered, it did not fall.  Yet neither did it smite them from the sky, as one might have expected, and the grim reason for this impotence soon became evident; I could see that the forecastle turret had been damaged, the potent but delicate weapon that was the Finches’ primary advantage no longer appeared capable of engaging the enemy, having been shattered by an ill-placed rocket.  It was now as a talon-clipped hawk worried by crows, for though it was likely beyond harm itself, yet it could not prevent itself from being driven back and away from their swooping and peckings.

“We need to take our leave post haste, dear Becca,” shouted Stewart over the din, as he strode briskly ahead of me.  “Gerald informs me that they must with the deepest of regrets fall back, for despite their best efforts, they are now sorely overmatched.  The Admiralty has been notified, and our plan has been by necessity aborted.  The fastest ships of the fleet have been diverted to our aid, but they shan’t arrive in time to stave off this assault.  Caddigan moves with an unprecedented rapidity and aggression; they are too many, and we are here too few, and help is not near enough at hand to interpose itself on our behalf.  We must away!”  

A hand brushed my arm, and I turned, where saw the careworn but welcome face of Suzanna; she had, as I had previously mentioned, spent many of the last hours in weeping and lament; her eyes were darkened and the usual bright and healthy shine of her countenance had been supplanted by the grey veil of woe.  “Joao informs me that they likely intend to strike at us with bombs from the air.  There is no subterranean shelter from such an attack here, and it maddens me desperately that this…this…retreat” (here she choked back a sob that seemed to be both sorrow and a frustrated rage intermingled) ”is our only recourse.”

“Oh, dear Suzanna,” I said, “it is and we must, and leave both mourning and the sweet taste of vengeance for another day.”  I did not say, although I thought it, that neither of those necessities would be accomplished should we be expunged from this mortal coil in a shower of heavy munitions.  As the dour wisdom of Scripture teaches, a live dog is greater than a dead lion, and it was with our collective tails between our legs that we now sought the possibilities that a more felicitous hour might bring.

Mere survival was to be our most immediate concern, for as Suzanna had declared and Ernest was now broadcasting at maximum volume for the information of all, the preponderance of the Caddiganite airborne assault was soon coming high and from the south, approaching us as a swarm of plump hornets, giant quadrotor transports bearing within their bellies the rude implements of our potential destruction.  They were yet at a great altitude and an equivalently great distance, and not yet visible, but their arrival was as certain as a coming storm.

All eyes were turned upwards as we walked briskly towards the compound exit amidst the rushing throng of other settlement dwellers, all of us enthralled by the imminent advent of this new horror.

With my sister by my side, and flanked by staunch Joao and stalwart Ernest, each bearing with them supplies quickly gathered to sustain our persons during our flight, we raced to the gate of the inner compound; there we turned rightward, separating from the larger crowd, our intention being to exit on foot through the great breach that remained as an unhealed wound in the southernmost wall of the outer compound.  Our pace quickened, stirred on by shouting and the roaring engines of anarchist trucks taking flight towards the main gate, each one overbrimming with refugees and their scant necessaries.  In but a momentary glance, I caught sight of Diego lifting a woman and her infant child into the rear of a transport, then turning to assist in the loading of another.  His eyes met mine, and there was an instant of mutual acknowledgment before he was lost to sight, to his people, and to his duty.

At the high southern horizon, the first of the wave of Caddiganite rotorcraft could now be seen above the lowest clouds, moving with a slow, terrible and inexorable deliberacy towards us as the hum of their props rose menacingly in our ears.  Our pace quickened yet again, my flight now headlong and as swift as my hiked skirts permitted, for the clearing in which the settlement compound rested was a stark target amidst the surrounding forest canopy, as neatly distinct as a painted bullseye for the cruel bombardiers above us.  Whilst that attack neared, I felt a rising relief, for we were the lot of us now halfway to the wall, our pace now more than sufficient to remove us from the area of greatest concern.  A group of a dozen anarchists had chosen to flee the settlement on the same path, and were but seventy paces ahead of us, at the very verge of the ruined wall, when they suddenly stopped, as their leader issued forth a shout of alarm.

Yet again, our intentions were to be thwarted.

At that precise moment from behind us came, all at once, a great crackle of small arms fire; before any of our small party could turn our heads to see the cause, our attentions were transfixed by what suddenly lay before us.  

Stepping from without into the wide breach of the compound wall came a great shadow, a hulking figure of misshapen and displeasing proportion.  It was, though in generally bipedal form, at least thrice the height of an average human being, with arms, legs, and torso all of a greater thickness and formed out of a dun metallic alloy.  The head was featureless but for an array of lenses and sensors cast spider-like around a single thick reflective visor slit, through which a soldier within surely peered at us from the security of his armoured anonymity.  Its arms were both ended not with hands or other utilitarian appendages, but with heavy, long and rifled barrels for varying sorts of projectile ordnance.  

Never before had the Hammer evidenced such a device, and it was clearly derived from the stolen fruits of Her Majesty’s technological store, perhaps reverse engineered from the remains of the servant who had been torn from the sky prior to the assault on my person, yet at this moment not a whit of that larcenous industrial plagiarism was of consequence; our worries were rather more immediate.  Another of the great armoured forms, then another, and then yet another appeared, gathering together as an bristling and impassible impediment to our flight; a similar obstruction was clearly occurring at the main gate.

The leader of the anarchists ahead of us, finding the escape of herself and her comrades blocked, gave a mighty scream of inchoate fury, and levelling her rifle discharged it in a stuttering defiance.  The effect was precisely nothing at all, other than to stir one of them to fire a single perfectly targeted round that cast her to the ground as a shattered and lifeless ruin.

Another of the goliaths then levelled its beweaponed right arm towards all of us, at which Stewart cried for all to get down, to take shelter.  We did so, with Joao and Ernest moving to interpose themselves between Suzanna, myself, and our potential demise.  Yet the beastly device did not a single thing, and merely remained in a posture of silent menace.

It did not need to commence firing, for from above us came a rapidly rising whistling; our pause had been enough that the rotorcraft had passed overhead and discharged their contents, death would not come from before us, but would rain upon us as fire from the heavens.  This was, quite obviously now, their intent; we were trapped as surely as animals penned for the slaughter.

I closed my eyes against the fire and the shattering of my flesh, once again commending myself to our Maker with what was coming to be a rather unwelcome familiarity.  

Yet the first impact came not with a roar, but with a peculiarly muffled crumping, a soft and vaporous variance from my expectation.  That first incongruously gentle sound was joined by a dozen others from all about us, followed by a great stifled hiss that seemed to rise from a hundred serpents shushing.

I was, all at once, aware of a sickly saccharine sweetness that pervaded both scent and taste, and a great rushing elation began to overcome me; yet though the feeling was not without pleasure, it was a pleasure unbidden and undesired, clouding my thoughts, dizzying my mind.  It was gas, some sort of soporific gas they were using, I thought, as invisible as the air around me, and my false elation became a great wave of fatigue.

I sank to the ground, my arms weakening, and was dimly aware of both Ernest and Joao flinging themselves bodily at the mechanised monsters that penned us in; the sound of heavy automatic gunfire fire filled my ears, but it seemed to come from somewhere in the very far distance, and faded beneath a high pitched tinnital hissing. 

I must warn Stewart and Suzanna that it is gas, it is gas, my mind whispered, but I could not rise, nor could I find in myself the vitality to speak or move even my lips.  This was the very last thing that passed through my consciousness before my vision tunnelled to darkness, and then there was not even a moment to feel lament or fear before I thought no more.

Chapter Thirty Five: The Threat Made Real

In the Shadow of Her Majesty, Chapter Thirty Three

 

Chapter Thirty-Three: The Threat Explained

“So…you’re saying we’re all totally xxxxed?”  Diego leaned back into his chair, massaging his troubled brow with his cybernetic hand.  “Jesus xxxxing Christ on a bike.”

The battle had been won, but before us still lay the heart of the war.  

The Caddiganite incursion, as you have heard, had been utterly defeated, with but a scant number surviving their ill-conceived aggression to flee scattered and impotent into the great sprawl of surrounding forests.  At best count, nearly ninety of their number had perished in the assault on the settlement, although given how completely the accelerators wielded by Stewart and myself obliterated their targets, that number may well have been quite considerably higher.

Amongst the anarchists, almost a score had perished, and a similar number had suffered injuries both minor and dire.  It was a terrible blow to such a small community, but though the paroxysms of lamentation and rage still flowed fresh through those who survived, and weeping and shouts of anger could be heard throughout the compound as bodies were prepared for interment, there was yet urgent work that required our attention.

Within the now-familiar wood-hewn meeting room of the Central Committee, two representatives of Her Majesty had assembled in conclave with the surviving leaders of the settlement.  Stewart and myself, of course; with the notable absence of Suzanna, who had acquitted herself with such boldness upon the field of conflict that to exclude her from the discourse would have seemed a slight.  But Suzanna had retired to quarters elsewhere, her heart still in tatters from the woeful news of Father’s untimely demise; she could not bear to be in the company of others, and preferred to enter her time of mourning in a place of solitude.  Joao, faithful and solicitous as ever, remained at her side, for the company of servants is of such a different character than the presence of living souls that it did not feel to her to be an intrusion.

Of the anarchist leadership, there were three in attendance: Diego, of course; Raj, naturally; and finally the androgynous and now-black-haired Shain, who was clearly still struggling with the death of Liberty.  That ill-starred guardswoman was, evidently, a lover to them, or one of their lovers, to be more precise; in our society, such a thing might be a scandal, but was unsurprising contextually, as anarchists are anarchists in both affairs political and affairs of the heart.  Yet loss is loss, and human sorrow is human sorrow, and given that, one could but admire how well they were hewing to their duty.  I would not have thought less of her had she chosen to tend to the dread business of grief, any more than I thought less of dear, broken-hearted Suzanna.

The crew of the Finch remained aboard ship, under the skilled governance of Stewart’s second in command, First Officer Gerald McLeish, a ruddy faced Scot who hailed from Her Majesty’s redoubt at Port Aberdeen.  Gerald, or so Stewart had oft confided in me, was perhaps slightly overbold of speech, prone to speaking his mind without due consideration for propriety.  Even so, Stewart considered him a dear friend, and took his candour with magnanimity; some of Gerald’s superiors during his service in the Royal Navy were rather less inclined to interpret his insights as anything other than borderline insubordination.  He is, in point of fact, a friend to the both of us to this very day, and will freely and laughingly admit to this fault, which is of little import given the many admirable qualities he possesses.  The Finch remained at station high above the settlement, keeping watch lest the Caddiganites attempted another attack.

Ernest and Thomas had taken provision of the necessary medical supplies from the small infirmary onboard the Finch, and with said supplies were aiding the overmatched settlement doctor in her care for the many and variously wounded.  Each of our servants were capable of the most intricate surgeries, their dexterous hands, clarity of vision, and encyclopaedic grasp of both human anatomy and the medical sciences making them remarkably capable practitioners of the healing arts.

That, my most patient reader, is where matters stood.  Let us return to those gathered about the table, where Diego had wondered aloud in the directest of manners as to the role he and his community might play in what was to come.

Stewart shook his head, untroubled by the profane character of the query.  He had, as had I, quickly acclimated himself to the rough particulars of the anarchist vocabulary, understanding the intention underlying their crude and simple manner.  Further, his friendship with his second in command had acclimated him to the well intended expression of such impolitic candour.

“No. Not quite.  I am saying, Diego, that there is considerable cause for alarm, particularly for those of us who inhabit this region.  The object that was so cruelly stolen from Her Majesty is not necessarily a weapon, but it could certainly be used as such.  It contains within it technologies that are at the very leading edge of the Royal Society’s science, and as such represents a quite nontrivial risk.  Should Caddigan’s scientists and engineers find the wherewithal to circumvent the security protocols of the containment device you have described as a “sepulchre,” we may all be in grave danger.”

Raj piped up.  “Couldn’t you people just, I don’t know, just, you know, slaughter them?  Doesn’t seem to be much of a fight when you put your minds to it, honestly.”

“It will not be simple, and yes, we will be doing all that we can, my friend.  Our reconnaissances, coupled  indicate that they have already integrated technologies stolen from us on other occasions into their arsenal; the rail guns are perhaps the most notable recent example, but evidences suggest other, equally pernicious devices may now be in their possession or under development in their slave-factories in the Floridian archipelago.  Not every fight will be as easy as the one we just concluded.”

This, given the losses the anarchists had just suffered, proved too much for Diego to stomach.  His voice raised in an irritated growl.   “Easy?  You call that easy?  We nearly lost…”

Raj gave a loud hissing sound, which was enough to still the outburst.  “Diego.  Listen to the man.  Listen.”  

Stewart continued.  “I do, as that force was just a small fraction of what the Hammer could have brought to bear in this region.  Suffice it to say that we take this threat with all due seriousness, and we do not take victory for granted.  To that end, our entire North Atlantic fleet is as we speak gathering off the Virginia coast.  Three regiments of the Queens Royal Airborne Hussars have been called to active service, and I anticipate their arrival here within the next several days.  We shall begin with an aerial bombardment, at which point the Hussars will breach the outer perimeter of the Caddiganite forward base.  They shall be reinforced by a regiment of Heavy Fusiliers, which together shall establish control of the facility.  Should these efforts fail, and secondary action be necessary, the Admiralty has standing orders to destroy not simply the Caddiganites, but also the contents of the sepulchre.  There, Raj, is your simple course of action.  But there is a substantial risk.”

“What?” rumbled Diego.  “What risk?”

“The sepulchre contains the very heart of Her Majesty’s Power.  Within it is an energy source that I cannot, for reasons of security and the integrity of the Crown, divulge.  If it is damaged, there is a significant likelihood that it might…explode.”

“It’s…got a, what, a nuke in it?” piped Raj.

“In a manner of speaking, yes, but one of a very particular nature and design which again, I cannot divulge.  But I shall share this: Should it go critical, the resultant detonation would be almost entirely unprecedented.”

“So, worse than Nagasaki?  Worse than London?”

“London is an excellent and relevant frame of reference, Raj.  And possibly worse.  Should the Caddiganites open the sepulchre incorrectly, or if it is damaged, there is the risk of the complete obliteration of all life in a hundred kilometre radius.  Or potentially much larger.  We have only theoretical and simulated data for such a calamity, and our models are not reassuring.  It may be a risk we are obligated to take, should we be unable to secure the contents of the sepulchre, but for rather obvious reasons, we’d prefer not to explore that thread of potentiality.”

“But you might?”

“Yes.  Should my efforts prove unsuccessful, that is our next course of action.  The fleet, which will shortly stand at its full fighting complement of thirty five ships of the line, should prove sufficient to be more than a distraction, as it can wholly destroy the base; if not, and if the Caddiganites’ newly found capacities thwart our efforts, the Admiralty will bombard the site from orbit, and we shall be obligated to rely solely on the vagaries of chance as regards any collateral damage.”

“Collateral damage?   Meaning all of us dead?  Are you xxxxing serious?” 

“Yes, Diego.  In that scenario, yes.  I wish I were not.  You.  I.  This settlement.  All of us.  But that is only if our assault fails, and if our failsafe fails.  I assure you that the Crown will make every effort to ensure that we succeed.  I will stake my life upon it.  That, in fact, is Her Majesty’s specific desire in this circumstance.”

Shain spoke up, their voice husky from crying, but nonetheless imbued with both intent and curiosity.  “You’ll stake your life on it?  What does that mean?”  

I, too, was bright with attention at Stewart’s utterance, for that was the first I had heard tell of Her Majesty’s intent on this matter; for reasons most obvious, my whole person was aflame with both pride and trepidation.

Pride, because it is only in the most portentous and significant of circumstances that Our Lady deigns to condescend to matters particular.  All of us know that She trusts the affairs of state to Her Appointed Ministries, for what Monarch of Beneficence chooses to rule alone as a singular tyrant?  

It has been a trifold sennight of weeks since you received, in the Post, the chapter containing my humble meditations on the role of the Ministries and Societies in the maintenance of the Crown and our singular way of life.  I shall not repeat what I have already so sufficiently elucidated, which may easily be brought to mind by a reading of that volume, but rather offer this confirming statement:  In matters trivial or intimate, Her Royal Highness leaves us such latitude that it is indistinguishable from the deepest freedom.  In matters of middling import, Her Gracious Hand is but the softest whisper in the ear, the very gentlest touch of a shepherd’s crook against the side of a naively scrolloping lamb before it finds itself in a place of danger.  Yet She is, in matters crucial to our wellbeing and the integrity of Her Commonwealth, utterly engaged and thoroughly capable, guiding us with wisdom and strength, our very present and corporeal Athena.

Such troubles have been blessedly few, and that my beloved Stewart himself was seen as worthy of personally carrying out Her Majesty’s wishes was a remarkable honour.  

Trepidation, because…

Well, naturally, because the mere thought of losing Stewart was to me a mortal horror.  I simply could not imagine existence without him at my side.  Every vision of my future, every thought of my station as Countess Montgomery and my duty to the Peerage, all of it was devoid of meaning should it not be undertaken without him at my side.  

It really is no more complicated than that.  That Stewart was willing to lay down his life for Queen and Peerage was without question; I too share that profound conviction, as do you, no doubt, dear reader.  

To lay down one’s life is one thing.  To lose the entirety of one’s vision of the future is another matter altogether.  And so it was with the deepest of interest that I listened as Stewart presented Her Majesty’s intent.

“It is Her Majesty’s will that I join the first wave of Hussars in their aerial assault upon the Hammer firebase, with the stated purpose of securing the energy source within the sepulchre.  Assuming that we are not simply cut to ribbons on my approach, I may be able to lock down the sepulchre, and thus spare us the greater danger that might occur should it be damaged.  

There is, of course, a nontrivial risk to my person.”

There was a momentary pause as Stewart’s voice fell silent, his voice hanging in the air, and all present considered his statement.  It was Diego who spoke first, growling in his typically measured manner.

“So…there’s nothing for us to do?  Just sit here on our hands, while you take care of everything? ”

Stewart was once again unperturbed by the stridency of our ally, and merely nodded.  “Those are Her Majesty’s orders, conveyed directly to me by the Queen herself.  I do not for a moment question Her wisdom, or Her intent.  Let it be said that the danger of a detonation is not our greatest fear.”

“There’s worse?  Worse than being slagged by a nuke?”

“There is, my friend.  Worse still would be if Caddigan’s scientists and engineers successfully open the sepulchre, and ascertain the function of the device within.  If they are able to reverse engineer what they find, or glean any of its workings through the pernicious cunning they have already shown in co-opting our technology, they would become a force most terrible, a peril to both the Peerage and to all of those, such as yourselves…who wish to live as they choose.  In the hands of a heartless tyrant, I dread to imagine what depredations would ensue, and the horrors of the long bleak reign that would follow.”

Diego nodded.  “Yeah. OK.  There we’re on the same xxxxing page, Stewart.  So, what do you need us to…”

Again, Diego was interrupted, his voice stilled, but not by any welcome or calming interjection.  All started to their feet, for our ears were filled with the unique and particular tonality of the Finch discharging her particle cannon, once, then again, then again.  

Something was terribly awry.

Chapter Thirty Four: Our Hopes Dashed

In the Shadow of Her Majesty, Chapter Thirty Two

Chapter Thirty-Two:  A Sisterly Disagreement

With the battle now thoroughly and resoundingly won, and our adversaries routed, Stewart took his leave, as the crew of the Finch had alighted and required his direction in helping care for the casualties.  I, however, had my own familial duties to attend to, specifically as pertained to my younger sister and her headstrong arrival.  It was not hard to find her.

Suzanna I discovered standing with both Joao and Diego, near the breached wall at the southern perimeter of the compound, where whilst in some earnest and animated confabulation with Diego she was wiping the bright stains of fascist blood from the curved and gleaming surface of her blade.  

Around the two of them, the bodies of a dozen slain Caddiganites lay where they had fallen, each bearing the gruesome wounds that had driven their souls from their mortal frames, wounds inflicted by both blade and fist.   Near them, several anarchists were searching the corpses for valuables, removing boots and belts, rifling through packs and pockets for ammunition and electronics that could be turned to better use.

It was clear that they had made one another’s acquaintance as comrades in the thick of battle, and equally clear, given the laugh that rose from Diego’s lips and his attentive posture, that Suzanna’s manner was to him rather pleasing.

I also could see, as I approached nearer, that my beloved little sister was largely but not entirely unharmed: her cheek had been grazed, a wound that would certainly scar without swift treatment; her armour, much pitted and dented, would require repair but had proven, as it was designed, to be an impenetrable integument against many the bullet and blow; her affect, a peculiar admixture of deep physical weariness and a feral intensity, the madness of battle a dimming yet terrible brightness lingering in her eyes.

It was with that ferocity that her gaze met mine, and a dark smile spread beneath her bloodied cheek.

“Rebecca!  You hadn’t introduced me to your friend Diego.  He’s really quite delightful, and ever so handy in a pinch.”  

I nodded, rather more brusquely than I had intended, at the both of them.  

“Your sister’s pretty xxxx amazing with a sword, Rebecca,” Diego grinned at me.  “Seriously kicked some xxx.  Should’ve told me that when we talked about her, but like you said, all your people are full of surprises.”

Suzanna turned to Diego, the sardonic bend to her smile taking on a notably different character.  “You’ve been talking about me with my sister behind my back, Diego?  Why, that’s not very polite of you.  I…”

I was in no mood for this sort of banter at all.  “Diego, would you give us a moment alone?  There are matters of interest to the Peerage I must discuss with Suzanna.”

Diego gave a curt and uncharacteristic little bow.  “Sure thing.  I’ve got xxxx I need to do.  Suzanna?  Good meeting you.”

“The pleasure’s all mine, Diego,” she said, and as he withdrew to attend to other affairs, she turned to fully face me, the sharp edge of her smile once again as cutting as her Nipponese blade.

“Lovely little outing, wasn’t it?  Quite the affair.  You really should have told me the gala would be so invigorating…I might have joined you sooner.”

It had been my hope that Suzanna would not attempt to unsettle my temper upon our meeting, but as I have noted with regret elsewhere in this recounting, it is the peculiar curse of siblings that we fall so easily back into the patterns and forms of our childish spatting.  It was clear that this was yet again our lot, and that she was eager for it, for she could read my displeasure with no more difficulty than I might read the musical notation for Mary had a Little Lamb from a pianoforte beginner’s primer.

She knew, as you know, that I could hardly be pleased with her frivolous attitude, and that my greatest concern was with her wanton disregard for the integrity of House Montgomery.  Should some dark fortuity have caused that bullet to have travelled but centimetres to the left, the wound would have been the end of her.  I, too, could easily have perished, but placing myself in this perilous circumstance had never been my intention.  Should that dismal conjunction have occurred, all of Father and Mother’s aspirations for House Montgomery would have been dashed in a single stroke, our heritage expunged, our line ended, our house in ruins.

I steeled my tone.  “It has hardly been a pleasurable experience, Suzanna.  Lives were lost, and the entire future of this community was in danger, which is the very farthest thing from the kind of lark you make it out to have been.  How did you come to find your way here?  Was it Stewart?”

Her smile remained strangely unchanged, and her voice sharpened.  “Stewart?  Why would he have told me anything?  Of course not. You left me in charge of the household, as you perhaps have forgotten.  In that capacity, and my rising concerns at your failure to arrive at the expected time, I simply inquired of Joao as to your location. Ernest had so thoughtfully engaged Level One protocols, and so Joao apprised me of the general nature of your location and your deteriorating situation.  Given the urgency of your predicament, I took immediately to the twinjet with Joao.  it seemed prudent for me to…”

“Prudent?” I snapped.  “Prudent?  For you to come here in such a rash and precipitous manner, where you could easily have been struck down and numbered among the dead, laid out lifeless as yet another of these broken bodies?  Leaving behind your responsibilities to house and lineage, so that you could play samurai like a silly child?  How could you possibly consider such an action prudent under these circumstances?”

Suzanna’s eyes flashed with an all-too-familiar fire.  “I’m not your infant sister, Becca, and your implication thereof is an insult to both my intentions and my obvious…obvious…competence.”  She swept the katana about in a gesture that highlighted the bloody ruin around us.  “Look around you!  Why do I train every single day?  Why have I both learned and developed the arts of combat, and invested years of diligence in honing my skill?  I am a warrior, not some petulant adolescent dilettante, as you seem to still consider me.  I should not be so bold as to impugn your capacities as a markswoman, nor would I so rudely slander your efforts on my behalf should you have come to my defence were our circumstances to be reversed.  How dare you!”

“I dare, little sister, because it is simply unacceptable and a wanton derogation of your duty to House Montgomery,” I hissed back, my voice as flat as a hammered blade.  “To have both heirs to our fragile lineage here without necessity, and thus placed in mortal peril, is to endanger our every possible future.  It is the wildest and most inconsiderate of actions, yet another sign that you are utterly incapable of…”

“What I am capable of,” she snarled back, “is clearly obvious to anyone but my controlling, rigid xxxxx of a sister.”  Had I not been so recently in the company of Diego, this profanity would have caused me to fly into a fury, but I was somewhat inured to it now, and so I simply glowered at Suzanna as her berating continued.  “It is you, Rebecca,” she went on, her voice raised now to a near shout, “who insult the honor and martial prowess of House Montgomery, presuming unjustly that I, the Lady Suzanna Wexton-Hughes, do not bear the very same blood that runs in your veins, that I am not also a fierce daughter born of our gracious and lamented mother and our noble father.  Father will hear about this insult directly from me, of that you can be sure.”

There was a pause, into which she clearly expected me to place my next white hot rejoinder.  

But no speech came from my mouth, and no words rose to my now stumbling mind.  I felt suddenly as frozen as an affrighted rabbit, the fiery furnace of our quarrel abruptly extinguished, the blood draining from my face.  It was as if I was suddenly far from the field of our conflict, and again lay with my eyes turned heavenward, watching fire and ruin fall from a war torn sky.

Suzanna laughed, a short, haughty snort of triumph.  “Cat got your tongue, Becca?  Or perhaps now that you know when Father, when…I’ll…I’ll…”  

She stopped, struck by the sudden and ghastly transformation of my visage; we had sparred often enough that she knew that this was not a part of our all-too-familiar verbal dance of swords.  I am not, as you know, one to easily quail at sorrow, yet I was so startled at the realisation of her ignorance that speech became utterly impossible.

“Becca?”  The sternness hung in her voice, but it crumbled around the edges, as still I could not find my tongue.

She did not know.  I had assumed that she knew, that she would have been duly informed, that someone from the Admiralty would have shared the terrible news of Father’s fate with her.  I had assumed that the mighty energies she manifested in our defence of the settlement had arisen from a similar place as my own, that desire to avenge the bitter and recent loss of our Father.

But my assumptions were foolish and mistaken; she did not know.  It had only been three days, and although it would have seemed to my soul that every star in heaven and every blade of grass  upon the earth must have knowledge of the grievous void Father’s absence left in my heart, in affairs of the Queen’s business such things are frequently not published far and wide.  The loss of so well-known and doughty a vessel as the Firedrake was of no trivial consequence to the security and safety of all in the Peerage, and the outcome of the matter was very much still in question; it was yet an affair of state to be held in the very deepest of confidences.

I would have to tell her, and the very thought of inflicting that blow filled my eyes to glistening.  Oh, Penthus, Penthus, how bitter are your torments, and how your cruelties redouble when you use us as the unwilling instruments of your malice!

“Becca?”  Again she spoke my name, now in a voice most querulous, as my tears and ghostly appearance cooled Suzanna’s fury as completely as they had my own.  I pressed back hard against my sorrow, restraining it and containing it, for I had a woeful duty to perform.

“Suzanna,” I said, my throat barely opening enough to release the words.  “Father.  Father is…dead.”

She blinked.  “What?”

“He perished along with all of the crew of the Firedrake, torn flaming from the sky by a Caddiganite railgun.  I…I saw him die.  I…watched all of them die.”

Suzanna took a step back, her mouth working helplessly, eyes widening with the rising dawn of horror.  “What?  No.  No.  That can’t be.”

But she saw my bright tears flow unchecked down my cheeks, a weeping witness to the truth that reason and hope would both deny.

She fell to her knees, a guttural wail rising from her lips, her great heart and courage broken by the loss; I knelt and embraced her, my cheek to her cheek, my lips whispering comfort to her through the veil of my own sorrow.

“I’m so sorry,” I said.  “I thought you knew. I was so afraid. I couldn’t lose you both, not you; not you, too, Suzanna.”

She tried to speak, but could not, and now neither could I, so we simply wept, huddled together amidst the stench of death and ruin around us.

Even through her armour, I could feel her trembling.

Chapter Thirty Three: The Threat Made Clear