Mutineer's Moon

any politician again, and Hatcher, Amesbury, and Chernikov agreed unanimously with Horus: Earth needed a single, unquestioned source of authority, or her people would be too busy fighting one another to worry about the Achuultani.

So Colin had declared peace and, backed by Dahak’s resources, made it stick with very little difficulty. When he then proclaimed himself Planetary Governor in the name of the Imperium (once more with Dahak’s newly-revealed potential hovering quietly in the background) and promised local autonomy, most surviving governments had been only too happy to hand their problems over to him. The Asian Alliance might still make problems, but Horus and his new military aides seemed confident that they could handle that situation.

Once they had, all existing militaries were to be merged (and Colin was profoundly grateful he would be elsewhere while his henchmen implemented that decision), and he’d named Horus Lieutenant Governor and appointed all ten of his surviving fellows Imperial Councilors for Life to help him mind the store while “the Governor” was away.

All of which, he reflected with an inner smile, would certainly keep Horus’s “retirement” from being boring.

The thorniest problem, in many ways, had been the surviving southerners. Of the four thousand nine hundred and three mutineers from stasis, almost all had declared their willingness to apply for Terran citizenship and accept commissions in the local reserves and militia. Colin had re-enlisted a hundred of them for service aboard Dahak (on a probationary basis) to help provide a core of experienced personnel, but the rest would remain on Earth. Since they had been sitting under an Imperial lie detector at the time they declared their loyalty anew, he felt reasonably confident about leaving them behind. Horus would keep an eagle eye on them, and they would furnish him with a nucleus of trained, fully-enhanced Imperials to get things rolling while the late Inanna’s medical facilities began providing biotechnics to Earth’s Terra-born defenders.

But that left over three hundred Imperials who had joined Anu willingly or failed the lie detector’s test, all of them guilty, at the very least, of mutiny and multiple murder. Imperial law set only one penalty for their crimes, and Colin had refused to pardon them. The executions had taken almost a week to complete.

It had been his most agonizing decision, but he’d made it. There had been no option … and deep inside he knew the example—and its implicit warning—would stick in the minds he left behind him, Terra-born and Imperial alike.

So now he was leaving. Dahak’s crew was tremendously understrength, but at least the ship had one again. The survivors of Hector MacMahan’s assault force, all fourteen of Nergal’s surviving children, and his tentatively rehabilitated mutineers formed its core, but it had been fleshed out just a bit. A sizable chunk of the USFC and SAS, and the entire US Second Marine Division, Russian Nineteenth Guards Parachute Division, German First Armored Division, and Japanese Sendai Division would provide the bulk of his personnel, along with several thousand hand-picked air force and navy personnel from all over the First World. All told, it came to barely a hundred thousand people, but with so many parasites left behind it would suffice. They’d rattle around like peas in the vastness of their ship, but taking any more might strain even Dahak’s ability to provide biotechnics and training before they reached the borders of the Imperium.

“Well, we’ll be going then,” Colin said, shaking himself out of his thoughts. He reached out to shake hands with the three military men, and smiled at Marshal Chernikov. “I expect my new Chief Engineer will be thinking of you, sir,” he said.

“Your Chief Engineer with two good arms, Comrade Governor,” Chernikov replied warmly. “Even his mother agrees that his temporary absence is a small price to pay for that.”

“I’m glad,” Colin said. He turned to Gerald Hatcher. “Sorry about Hector, but I’ll need a good ops officer.”

“You’ve got one, Governor,” Hatcher said. “But keep an eye on him. He disappears at the damnedest times.”

Colin laughed and took Amesbury’s hand.

“I’m sorry so much of the SAS is disappearing with me, Sir Frederick. I hope you won’t need them.”

“They’re good lads,” Sir Frederick agreed, “but we’ll make do. Besides, if you run into a spot of bother, my chaps should pull you out again—even under Hector’s command.”

Colin smiled and held out his hand to Horus. The old Imperial looked at it for a moment, then reached out and embraced him, hugging him so hard his reinforced ribs creaked. The old man’s eyes were bright, and Colin knew his own were not entirely dry.

“Take care of yourself, Horus,” he said finally, his voice husky.

“I will. And you and ’Tanni take care of each other.” Horus gave him one last squeeze, then straightened, his hands on Colin’s shoulders. “We’ll take care of the planet for you, too, Governor. You might say we’ve had some experience at that.”

“I know.” Colin patted the hand on his right shoulder, then stepped back. A recorded bosun’s pipe shrilled—he was going to have to speak to Dahak about this perverse taste for Terran naval rituals he seemed to have developed—and his subordinates snapped to attention. He returned their salutes sharply, then turned and walked up the ramp. He did not look back as the hatch closed behind him, and Osir floated silently upward as he stepped into the transit shaft.

His executive officer looked up as he arrived on the command deck.

“Captain,” she said formally, and started to rise from the captain’s couch, but he waved her back and took the first officer’s station. The gleaming disk of Dahak’s hull, no longer hidden by its millennia-old camouflage, floated before him as the visual display turned indigo blue and the first stars appeared.

“Sorry you missed the good-byes?” he asked quietly.

“Nay, my Colin,” she said, equally softly. “I ha’ said my farewells long since. ’Tis there my future doth lie.”

“All of ours,” he agreed. They sped onward, moving at a leisurely speed by Imperial standards, and Dahak swelled rapidly. The three-headed dragon of his ensign faced them, vast and proud once more, loyal beyond the imagining of humans. Most humans, at any rate, Colin reminded himself. Not all.

The starship grew and grew, stupendous and overwhelming, and a hatch yawned open on Launch Bay Ninety-One. Osir had come full circle at last.

The battleship threaded her way down the cavernous bore, and Dahak’s voice filled her bridge with the old, old ritual announcement of Colin’s own navy.

“Captain, arriving,” it said.